Lies
The absolute instant Arthur pulled off his dark motorcycle helmet, Stella Bridger froze completely in her tracks.
Standing directly before her under the flickering, buzzing neon lights of the desolate motel parking lot was a man vastly younger than she had ever imagined in her wildest tactical assumptions.
No ,calling him a "big boy" might almost be more visually accurate, despite his terrifying, lethal capabilities.
He possessed a rugged, undeniably handsome face, but it lacked the deep, weathered lines of a seasoned, middle-aged mercenary. There was a glaringly clear, lingering youthfulness to his striking features and smooth skin that completely contradicted the ruthless, cold-blooded killer she had just witnessed in action.
When this mysterious man who had violently saved her life had held her securely on the speeding bike, Stella had naturally assumed he was a heavily built, highly experienced veteran of the dangerous underworld.
Now, seeing that unexpectedly youthful face fully illuminated by the harsh neon glow, she caught a profound hint of an age that simply didn't match his terrifying skills.
He can't even be twenty years old yet, can he? Stella thought, her blue eyes widening in genuine, unfiltered shock.
The jarring realization absolutely horrified her for a brief second ,and made the entire, bloody nightmare of her violent rescue feel even more profoundly surreal and impossible.
"Let's get inside quickly," Arthur stated smoothly, his low, commanding voice breaking through her stunned daze. "I will explicitly explain exactly who I am in a minute."
Arthur had naturally noticed Stella's startled, wide-eyed stare, but his highly intelligent mind paid it absolutely no mind. He knew his biological age often disarmed people.
She had absolutely only just been violently rescued from a brutal hostage situation, so, despite being completely full of burning questions, she simply offered a exhausted, heavy nod.
"All right," Stella whispered, shivering slightly in the cool night air.
They walked cautiously into the dingy, dimly lit motel lobby. The air inside smelled faintly of stale cigarette smoke and cheap industrial cleaner.
Arthur walked confidently up to the scratched plexiglass counter and aggressively asked the sketchy, bleary-eyed clerk for exactly one single room, dropping a wad of untraceable cash onto the surface.
"Why exactly just one room?" Stella whispered nervously, leaning in incredibly close to his broad shoulder as they walked down the exterior corridor.
Arthur glanced down at her, his dark eyes entirely serious as he explained the grim reality of the streets. "These isolated, cheap motels usually have incredibly deep, violent gang ties."
"A young, stunningly pretty woman staying completely alone in a room next door, " Arthur trailed off, letting the heavy implication hang in the dark air.
"You absolutely wouldn't want to wake up in the middle of the night with a couple of armed strangers forcing their way into your bed, would you? Or step flawlessly out of Steve's fortified wolf's den just to be violently snatched off the asphalt and sold to some ruthless black-market human trafficking auction?"
Stella opened her mouth to argue, but in the bitter end, she said absolutely nothing more.
She had received an excellent, highly expensive education, but she was definitely no naive fool. Though her beloved father had been a notorious, international thief, it was exactly Old John Bridger's massive, illicit gains that, for more than twenty comfortable years, had safely let Stella live in absolute luxury and attend the very best private schools.
She had even been able to organically open her own highly successful Bridger Locksmith Company in land-poor, highly expensive downtown Los Angeles ,all quietly bankrolled by her father's legendary burglaries.
Exactly because of that undeniable fact, her personal feelings toward her deceased father had absolutely always been incredibly complicated and emotionally heavy.
On one hand, she had grown up completely shielded, with absolutely every single privilege and comfort massive amounts of stolen money could ever buy.
On the other hand, her strict moral education had taught her perfectly well that exactly what he did in the dark was fundamentally, legally wrong.
However, she had actively heard plenty of terrifying, true stories about America's darker, unforgiving criminal underworld. Her legitimate company often worked directly with the local police, and over time, she had personally met senior detectives inside the Los Angeles Police Department and learned grim, violent things most ordinary citizens never would.
Seeing her fall perfectly quiet in understanding, Arthur flawlessly unlocked the heavy wooden door and led her safely into a cramped suite, completely ignoring the motel owner's odd, lingering look.
The motel room was incredibly tiny and suffocatingly plain ,barely four hundred square feet of faded carpet, a single double bed, and a small, flickering lamp.
The absolute second Arthur firmly locked the heavy deadbolt behind them, Stella's exhausted patience violently broke. She burst out, her voice trembling with raw adrenaline, "Who exactly are you?!"
"How did you possibly know that the treacherous Steve had violently kidnapped me ,and exactly why on earth did you risk your life to save me?"
Arthur walked calmly over and sat comfortably on the edge of the small parlor sofa, gesturing smoothly for her to take the worn armchair sitting opposite him.
Stella, who was absolutely itching to aggressively scrub the grime, sweat, and foul stench of captivity away in a scalding shower, could barely stand the physical discomfort.
But deeply not knowing exactly who this highly capable, imposing young man was made her suffocatingly uneasy.
He had just violently, miraculously rescued her from certain death, yet he remained an absolute, terrifying mystery. She knew absolutely nothing about him, while he seemingly knew absolutely everything about her ,and that massive tactical imbalance terrified her.
When she finally, reluctantly sat down, Arthur smiled a faint, highly calculated smile and answered.
"Allow me to properly introduce myself, Miss Stella Bridger."
"My name is Arthur Sterling, I am an independent operative, and I am a professional thief."
"A thief?" Stella stared at him, her blue eyes ruthlessly scrutinizing his rugged face; she had genuinely never imagined that specific, blunt answer.
Arthur's confident grin widened just a fraction.
Long before tonight, when he had first meticulously planned to violently steal the mountain of gold from Steve's fortified villa, his highly intelligent mind had already begun flawlessly crafting a massive, airtight new identity and cover story for himself.
After learning through the nervous receptionist that Stella had completely vanished from the streets, and logically guessing the paranoid Steve had taken her, he had lurked patiently in the dark oak tree outside Steve's villa, preparing the lethal rescue.
During those long, quiet hours, he had flawlessly rehearsed absolutely every single line he would desperately need to sell this lie once he had freed her.
"Exactly," Arthur said with a slow, heavy nod. "Much like your legendary father, John Bridger, I make my lucrative living as a highly skilled thief."
"I simply absolutely do not possess your brilliant father's exquisite [Lockpicking] skills or his massive, international reputation."
Stella's delicate brows knitted slightly together in a wince of emotional pain; she clearly hadn't completely moved past the heavy trauma of her father's violent death ,exactly how Charlie Croker's desperate invitation had foolishly drawn him into the botched job that got him executed in the freezing Alps.
Arthur instantly, perfectly realized he had accidentally stepped on a massive emotional landmine, so he organically softened his low tone and offered a highly sincere, deeply apologetic look.
"To my profound shame, Miss Bridger, your present, terrifying trouble with Steve is entirely something I violently brought upon you."
Exactly as his calculating mind had hoped, the shocking remark completely, violently diverted Stella's intense emotional attention. She stared at Arthur in profound surprise. "What exactly do you mean by that?"
She was absolutely no decorative, empty vase; her highly intelligent inspiration struck in a sudden, brilliant flash.
She looked intensely at Arthur, leaning forward in the worn chair, and asked urgently, "Was it absolutely you who miraculously stole Steve's massive gold bricks?"
Incredibly clever! Arthur thought with predatory approval.
Arthur smiled warmly and nodded heavily, admitting the massive heist readily without a single moment of hesitation.
"Steve has been aggressively selling heavy gold bricks meticulously stamped with the Balinese dancer logo on the underground black market for a long while now," Arthur lied flawlessly, spinning his web of deceit.
"Quite a few dangerous people on the streets ,myself directly included ,had our greedy eyes firmly fixed on his massive fortune. Some time ago, my extensive surveillance noticed that you and your people were also actively moving after Steve's hidden bricks, Miss Bridger."
"I just genuinely never imagined that exactly after I flawlessly lifted those heavy safes from his compound under the cover of a storm, Steve's blinding paranoia would immediately, violently trace the impossible theft directly back to you, and that he would aggressively abduct you off the streets."
Arthur leaned forward, his dark eyes locking onto hers with a profound, convincing sincerity. "When I heard you had vanished, I felt deeply, undeniably responsible for the catastrophic fallout."
"Since Miss Bridger violently suffered entirely on my tactical account, I actively tracked you down, slipped back into Steve's heavily armed villa, and got you out alive to settle my debt."
Stella's dry throat moved, but absolutely no words came out.
She genuinely hadn't expected the chaotic situation to turn out to be so incredibly, densely convoluted.
Charlie Croker had specifically mentioned to the crew that he had aggressively used his deep underworld contacts to learn someone was quietly selling Balinese dancer gold bricks on the Los Angeles black market, which was exactly what had led him to miraculously find Steve's hiding place.
That was the exact, undeniable reason he had desperately asked Stella to move against Steve together in the first place.
They had absolutely never realized exactly how many other lethal, highly capable predators were also actively watching Steve from the dark shadows.
And this surprisingly young, imposing man sitting right in front of her had actually managed to flawlessly hide the terrifying truth from the internationally notorious mastermind, Charlie Croker.
Not only had Arthur violently, aggressively stolen the mountain of gold with superb, impossible skill right out from under all their noses,
He had also bravely, lethally come back into the hornet's nest to physically rescue her after Steve had violently discovered the theft and kidnapped her.
Caught perfectly between Arthur's brilliant truths and flawless half-truths, Stella ,completely ignorant of the actual, physics-defying facts regarding his private space ,drew a massive, completely mistaken conclusion!
That arrogant idiot Charlie keeps aggressively telling me he and his elite crew are world-class professionals, Stella thought bitterly, her hands clenching into tight fists on her lap.
Turns out they are absolutely nothing special at all.
If it absolutely wasn't for his sloppy, incompetent planning, my father John absolutely wouldn't have died violently at Steve's hands in the first place!
In that single, terrifying instant, her already-shaky, heavily resentful opinion of Charlie Croker sank even vastly lower into the bitter dirt.