Sean didn't have a comeback. It was true—he had explicitly targeted Neal and then deliberately set up Jane to ambush Lawson.
"Alright, fair enough. We'll call it even. What's your name?"
"Lawson."
"Mr. Lawson. Have you been feeding intel to Nathan Neal this whole time?"
"You tracked me down specifically to ask questions you already know the answers to?"
Sean laughed. His intensely serious face softened significantly.
"Mr. Lawson, you're exactly as sharp as I expected. No wonder you managed to close cases for an idiot like Neal."
Neal really was a disaster. Honestly, Lawson had practically spoon-fed him the Francis Ricci bust, and Neal still managed to choke.
He had sent exactly two agents to transport a high-value mafia target to a public hospital, getting Francis immediately executed by a solo hitman.
Lawson was still annoyed about that. He had fully planned to visit Francis in federal lockup after cracking the St. Martin's vault, just to rub it in his face. Now, that entertainment was gone.
The best he could do now was laugh over Francis's grave.
But having an incompetent handler wasn't a bad thing. It made Neal infinitely easier to manipulate, as proven by the fully drafted FBI credentials.
"I appreciate the compliment," Lawson replied. "So, why did a complete stranger go to all this trouble just to meet me?"
"You can call me Sean Arthur. I wanted to see if you'd be interested in working with me instead. Unlike Neal, I am a consummate professional."
The fact that Sean and Jane had tracked Lawson down so quickly proved they were, indeed, highly capable.
Well, Sean was highly capable. Jane was... very pretty.
Judging by her performance in the alley, Lawson figured she was a fresh-out-of-Quantico intern. She probably had less than two years of field training.
But a handler's competence didn't matter to Lawson. He only cared about what they could offer him.
"Mr. Arthur, I don't care who I work with. I only care about the payout."
Lawson laid his cards on the table. Sean nodded in approval.
"Of course. I can absolutely give you what you want. So tell me, what exactly did Neal promise you for this intel?"
Lawson looked at Sean with a knowing smirk. So, Arthur was after the ledgers too.
The Bonanno ledgers were a nuclear piece of evidence. Whoever secured them would go down in history as the agent who dismantled the Los Angeles Mafia.
But no matter how slick Sean's pitch was, there was absolutely zero chance he could beat Neal's offer of a full FBI badge.
"Mr. Arthur, Neal and I already have a verbal agreement. I'm not backing out. Maybe we can work together on the next job."
Sean frowned, his brow furrowing.
"Mind telling me why?"
"Because Neal offered me something I can't refuse. I don't break contracts."
Sean's frown immediately vanished. He was a professional; he didn't press for details on Neal's offer.
"I understand. Not a problem. Like you said, there will be other opportunities."
Sean reached his hand out through the driver's side window.
He was right. Considering Lawson was about to join the Bureau, they might literally be coworkers soon.
Lawson took his hand and shook it firmly.
"In the East, they say 'an extra friend is an extra path.' I never mind making new friends."
"Ha! Ancient Eastern philosophy? I like it. Here is my card. It has my direct line and Jane's number. Use it if you ever can't reach Neal."
Sean handed him a small piece of paper.
"I will. Hopefully, our next meeting will be a little more relaxed."
Lawson stepped back and walked away from the car.
Watching Lawson disappear around the corner of the alley, Sean turned to Jane.
"Jane. Seriously. How the hell did he get the drop on you?"
Jane's face flushed deep red as she recounted the humiliating details of the ambush.
"Wait. A bespoke bulletproof suit?" Sean's eyes narrowed. "Who the hell is this guy?"
Initially, Sean assumed Lawson was just a highly connected street rat. But a custom-tailored ballistic suit meant serious money and serious connections. This guy was playing a much higher-level game.
"Let's go. We need to run a deep background check on him as soon as we get back to the office."
"Sir..." Jane looked down at her lap. "I realized today that I'm completely out of my depth. Maybe I should go back for more training."
"Jane, your analytical skills are top-tier. You just lack field instincts. That only comes with time on the street. You'll get better."
"But sir, I don't want my mistakes to get another agent killed! If Lawson had actually been a threat, both of us would be dead right now!"
She was right. Lawson had effectively taken her hostage and ambushed her Senior Agent. If he wanted to, he could have put a bullet in both their heads and walked away.
Sean thought it over and nodded.
"Alright. If you really want it, I'll submit a recommendation for you to attend the advanced tactical course at Quantico."
Jane let out a massive sigh of relief.
"Thank you, sir! I promise I'll improve!"
"Jane, you know... given your family's background, you don't have to—"
"Sir! I changed my name and joined the Bureau specifically so I wouldn't have to rely on my family!"
Her face was set with fierce determination. Sean just sighed.
"Whatever makes you happy, kid."
---
After running three more countersurveillance loops to guarantee he was clean, Lawson hopped in his car and drove straight to the Sangiovese Bar.
The sun hadn't fully set, even though it was already past 6:00 PM. In the height of an LA summer, it stayed light out until eight.
Because of the early hour, the bar was already filling up with the after-work crowd.
Svafa was standing behind the bar, looking incredibly bored. But the second Lawson walked through the doors, her icy blue eyes lit up.
"Lawson! You made it!"
"Come with me. Now."
Lawson didn't even slow down. He grabbed Svafa by the wrist and dragged her toward the back office. The stunning Swedish owner immediately noticed the dark, heavy fire burning in his eyes.
The fearless Valkyrie suddenly remembered the absolute physical devastation of their first encounter.
"Wait! Lawson, what are you doing? I have to manage the floor!"
"Let Tom handle the front!" Lawson growled, referring to the bartender.
"Lawson, seriously, what's gotten into you? You're actually scaring me!"
Seeing a six-foot-tall, lethal woman looking genuinely intimidated only fueled the fire in his blood.
------------------------------------------------------------------------ lemon
**Detailed Scene – Expanded for Mature Readers**
The office door slammed shut behind them with a heavy thud, cutting off the low hum of the after-work crowd outside. The small room smelled of polished wood, faint citrus from her perfume, and the electric charge of something about to snap.
Lawson's grip on Svafa's wrist was iron. He spun her to face him, eyes dark and burning.
"Linsey," he said, voice low and rough, "I have a massive amount of pent-up aggression right now."
The words landed like a match on dry tinder. Between Sofia's teasing smiles, Audrey's deliberate brushes against him, and Mia's constant testing of his control, Lawson had been walking around strung tighter than piano wire for days. Every time he'd forced himself to stay disciplined, the pressure had only built. Now it was a live wire under his skin.
Svafa—tall, striking, with those icy Nordic blue eyes—felt the heat rolling off him in waves. She was no delicate flower; she'd stared down dangerous men before. But this… this was different. The sheer, barely leashed hunger in his gaze made her pulse spike.
She tried to cool the fire the only way she knew how.
"Lawson, wait— just give me a second. Let me cool you down first."
Before he could answer, she dropped to her knees on the office floor.
Her hands moved fast, efficient, almost clinical at first—unbuckling his belt, dragging his zipper down. His cock sprang free, already thick and heavy, flushed dark with everything he'd been holding back. She wrapped one long-fingered hand around the base and took him into her mouth without hesitation.
The first slow glide of her tongue made Lawson's breath hiss between his teeth. Svafa worked him with cool precision at first—long, wet strokes, her icy blue eyes flicking up to watch his face. She took him deeper, throat relaxing, saliva glistening along his length as she bobbed. One hand stroked what her mouth couldn't reach; the other cupped and rolled his balls with gentle pressure.
She was trying to soothe him. To take the edge off.
It only made the fire worse.
Lawson's hand tangled in her hair—tight, not gentle. His hips twitched forward despite himself. The wet heat of her mouth, the soft sounds she made, the sight of this tall, gorgeous Valkyrie on her knees for him… it was gasoline on the blaze.
"Fuck, Linsey…"
After a few intense minutes she pulled back slightly, lips shiny, breathing hard through her nose. She thought maybe that would be enough. That she'd taken the worst of the pressure off.
She was wrong.
Lawson's control finally shattered.
He hauled her up by the shoulders, spun her around, and bent her over the heavy wooden desk in one smooth, powerful motion. Papers and a half-empty glass went flying. Svafa let out a sharp breath as her palms slapped down on the surface. She didn't fight it. Instead, she reached for the clean folded towel on the corner of the desk, bit down on it, and braced herself.
"Just get it over with—Mmph!"
Lawson didn't waste another second.
He shoved her skirt up over the curve of her ass, hooked two fingers into the thin lace of her panties and yanked them aside. She was already slick—whether from the dominance, the taste of him still on her tongue, or the raw need radiating off him, it didn't matter. He lined up and drove into her in one hard, deep thrust.
Svafa's muffled cry vibrated through the towel.
He didn't start slow. He couldn't. Days of denied release poured out of him in brutal, rhythmic strokes. The desk creaked under them. His hips snapped forward again and again, the wet sound of skin meeting skin loud in the small office. One big hand gripped her hip hard enough to bruise; the other fisted in her hair, pulling her head back just enough to arch her spine.
Every thrust punched a broken sound out of her, swallowed by the towel. Her icy composure had melted. Her inner walls fluttered and clenched around him, hot and tight and perfect.
"This what you wanted?" he growled against the back of her neck, voice ragged. "You wanted to cool me down? Feel that? That's what the others have been doing to me for days. Teasing. Testing. Leaving me like this."
He punctuated the words with harder, deeper thrusts, grinding against her ass on every stroke. Svafa's legs trembled. She pushed back against him, meeting every brutal snap of his hips, taking everything he gave her.
Lawson reached around with his free hand, fingers finding her swollen clit. He rubbed tight, fast circles in time with his thrusts. Her whole body jerked. A high, muffled whine escaped around the towel.
"Come on," he ordered, voice rough. "Let go."
She shattered.
Her orgasm ripped through her hard—legs shaking, walls pulsing and squeezing him in rhythmic spasms. The towel barely contained the broken cry that tore out of her throat. Lawson fucked her straight through it, relentless, chasing his own release with single-minded intensity.
When it hit him, it was violent.
He buried himself to the hilt, grinding deep as he came, pulse after thick pulse flooding her. A low, guttural groan ripped from his chest. For several long seconds he stayed locked inside her, forehead pressed between her shoulder blades, breathing hard, the tension finally—finally—cracking and draining out of him in waves.
Slowly, the brutal pace eased. His grip on her hair loosened. He stayed buried deep for a moment longer, savoring the aftershocks, then carefully pulled out. A trickle of his release slid down her inner thigh.
Svafa stayed bent over the desk for a few seconds, breathing raggedly around the towel, thighs trembling. When she finally stood and turned, her icy blue eyes were glassy, lips swollen, hair a mess. She looked thoroughly used—and satisfied.
Lawson tucked himself away, then reached out and gently pulled the towel from her mouth. He wiped the corner of her lip with his thumb.
"Better?" she asked, voice hoarse but with a hint of her usual cool amusement.
He gave a low, rough chuckle and pulled her against him for a moment, forehead resting against hers.
"Yeah," he murmured. "For now."
Outside, the bar continued its evening rhythm, completely unaware that their owner had just been thoroughly fucked over her own desk by a man who'd been pushed to his absolute limit.
Svafa straightened her skirt, smoothed her blouse, and gave him one last long look—equal parts warning and invitation.
"Next time," she said, voice still rough, "warn a girl before you show up like that."
Lawson's mouth curved in a dark, satisfied smirk.
"No promises."
---
"Current radar shows a tropical depression rapidly approaching the California coast from the Pacific. It is expected to make landfall in Los Angeles County by 3:00 PM today. We urge all residents to prepare for severe storm conditions..."
The weather anchor's voice on the radio was chipper, but the news was anything but.
"Mia, did you hear that? It's going to pour!"
A young bank teller frowned as she brewed a fresh pot of coffee in the breakroom.
Outside the breakroom window, the sky was pitch black. Lightning spiderwebbed across the heavy, bruised clouds. The air pressure was dropping rapidly.
"Jessica, it happens every year. Haven't you gotten used to it by now?"
Mia kept her head down, mechanically grinding coffee beans. Her mind was entirely focused on what was about to happen today.
Los Angeles rarely got hit by actual hurricanes; tropical storms were the absolute worst they usually saw. Down in Mexico, it was a completely different, much more violent story.
"I know, but I still hate it! Why didn't they close the branch? Nobody is going to come to the bank in the middle of a torrential downpour!" Jessica complained bitterly.
"Shh! Keep your voice down. The General Manager might hear you!"
"Oh, please. With all this thunder, he can't hear a thing. Ever since Lopez took over, this place has been—you know what, whatever. I'm going back to my window."
Despite her tough talk, Jessica grabbed her mug and hurried out of the breakroom.
The storm had one major upside: the bank floor was completely dead. The staff was basically getting paid to stand around.
Making sure her back was turned to the breakroom security camera, Mia quickly pulled out her burner phone, double-checked her messages, and sent a final confirmation text. Then, she grabbed her hot Americano and walked out.
Right as she stepped into the hallway, she bumped into Lopez, who was carrying his briefcase.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Lopez!"
"Ah, Mia! Getting some coffee?"
Lopez looked her up and down, his eyes lingering inappropriately on her figure. A greasy, familiar smile spread across his face.
"Yes, sir." Mia instinctively took a half-step back, her skin crawling.
"It's nasty out there today. How about we go for a drive later?"
Mia stared at him. It was literally storming outside. What kind of psychopath wanted to go for a romantic drive in a hurricane?
"I'm sorry, Mr. Lopez, but I have to finish my shift."
"Oh, right! Your shift. Actually, do me a favor. Tell the front desk staff they can close out their drawers and leave an hour early today."
Lopez wasn't bothered by the rejection. He was just shooting his shot on the way out the door. He actually had a prior engagement anyway.
"I'll let them know, sir."
Mia watched Lopez walk toward the exit, his sheer sleaziness radiating off him with every step.
God, I wanted to throw this boiling coffee right in his face.
She waited until Lopez got into his car and drove off before heading back to her station.
At exactly 3:00 PM, the tropical storm slammed into the Los Angeles coastline. Long Beach took the brunt of the impact.
St. Martin's Bank, located less than fifteen miles inland, was immediately hammered by torrential rain and howling winds.
And directly beneath the bank, deep inside the city's storm drain system, five figures were wading through the rushing water.
"Mr. Brasco. Are you absolutely sure this is the spot?"
A man wearing a terrifying Joker mask asked the question, his voice echoing in the concrete tunnel. He was standing next to a man wearing a Two-Face mask.
All five men were wearing high-end tailored suits, covered by heavy-duty yellow raincoats.
"I'm positive, Jack," Two-Face replied. "I cross-referenced the city blueprints and verified it with an ultrasonic thickness gauge. This is the exact wall."
An ultrasonic thickness gauge uses sound wave pulses to measure the exact depth of solid objects. It's standard equipment in heavy construction and structural engineering. It could easily penetrate and measure the thickness of a solid concrete wall.
"What's the reading?" Joker asked.
"Three meters. This concrete barrier is roughly ten feet thick."
"Alright. Let's prep charges for a four-meter breach just to be safe. Let's get to work!"
Standing beside Joker and Two-Face were three other men, wearing masks of Bane (Dom), Scarecrow (Jesse), and Killer Croc (Vince).
It was basically a Gotham City Boy Band.
(Author's Note: The crew is actually calling each other by their mask names down here to maintain operational security, but I'm using their real names in the text so it's easier to read.)
The five men pulled heavy, specialized tools from their duffel bags. They weren't going to swing sledgehammers at a ten-foot concrete wall. They'd be down there until Christmas.
Instead, they used heavy-duty rotary hammer drills to bore deep, precise holes directly into the concrete foundation.
"That's deep enough. Pack the C4. Push it as far back into the boreholes as you can!"
They had run this exact sequence in a dry-run simulation, but this was the first time they were doing it live. Lawson noticed that both Jesse and Vince were visibly shaking.
Jesse was shaking so badly he fumbled a brick of C4, dropping it straight into the rushing water.
Because of the massive storm above, the storm drains were rapidly flooding. The water was already cresting over the maintenance walkways, soaking their boots up to the ankles.
Dom cursed loudly over the roar of the water.
"Fuck! Watch what you're doing!"
"It's fine. Just grab it," Lawson said calmly, keeping his voice perfectly level. "C4 is completely waterproof. Just don't let the current sweep it away."
Lawson's unnatural calm instantly anchored the crew. Panicking during the explosive-rigging phase was how people ended up as red mist.
Taking a deep breath, Jesse reached into the freezing water, retrieved the brick of C4, and shoved it deep into the drilled hole.
"Everyone fall back to a safe distance! I'm linking the detonator!"
Donnie was running the demolition. Lawson had bigger things to worry about.
"Three!"
"Two!"
"One. Fire in the hole!"
BOOM!
A massive, muffled shockwave violently shook the ground.
Up inside St. Martin's Bank, the floor visibly vibrated. The few remaining employees gasped, looking around the lobby in panic.
Mia knew exactly what the vibration was. She instantly stood up from her desk and started controlling the narrative.
"What was that?! Was that an earthquake?!"
The thunder outside could explain the boom, but thunder didn't make the foundation roll.
Fortunately, Los Angeles sits directly on the San Andreas Fault. Earthquakes are a fact of life. St. Martin's Bank had actually sustained damage from a major quake just a few years prior.
Taking Mia's cue, another teller immediately chimed in.
"It definitely felt like a quake! That was a big one. You don't think it damaged the vault foundation again, do you?"
The Head of Security, looking pale, jumped out of his chair.
"I need to check the camera feeds right now."
He sprinted into the security room, only to find every single monitor displaying dead static.
"What the hell? We lost the feeds!"
Mia and several other employees had followed him to the door. Mia immediately threw out another theory to keep them off the scent. In moments of chaos, people instinctively latch onto the first plausible explanation they hear.
"Do you think the lightning storm fried the external receivers?"