Night had fallen, and Los Angeles, the City of Angels, was ablaze with neon lights that turned the streets into a pulsing, electric circus. For a global tropolis like L.A., the nightlife was a chaotic beast, far wilder than the ta daylight hours. In a quiet residential pocket on the west side, a row of modest townhouses lined a sleepy street, each with its own manicured lawn and sparkling pool—ho to Arica’s smug middle class.
Three streets away, a chic, dimly lit café with an air of understated elegance sat nestled among the urban sprawl. Christine perched alone in a shadowy corner, a hardcover copy of *Hamlet* open on the table, her slender fingers lazily stirring a steaming coffee with a spoon, her eyes sharp despite the relaxed facade.
Half an hour later, Jason, David, and Harley rolled up in a blacked-out car, its engine growling low. They slipped into the café, ordered drinks to blend in, and huddled close. While the waiter jotted down their order, Jason leaned in, his voice a hushed rasp. "Her fiancé’s really one of Stark’s elite security goons?"
Christine nodded, her expression cool as ice. "His na’s Kevin. He got ho an hour ago. I overheard their pillow talk—confirms he’s in deep."
Before Jason could press for more, a faint blush crept across Christine’s flawless face. She yanked out her hidden earpiece and shoved it toward him.
Jason plugged it in, and a stream of heated, intimate murmurs filled his ear. "Baby, we’re about to hit the fucking jackpot!" Kevin’s voice crowed. "After this job, I’m getting my ten-grand company pay, plus another ten grand from Stark himself."
"Oh... that’s amazing..." His fiancée purred, her voice breathy with worry. "But... I’m scared you’re gonna get hurt."
"No way, babe. Stark’s hooked us up with so next-level gear. If that bastard Jason shows his face, we’ll fuck him up good."
"Okay... I feel better now," She sighed. "With that cash, I want a new ride. That shitty old Ford of yours is a fucking embarrassnt—people laugh at us."
"Done. Soon as the money hits, I’m buying you a fucking Porsche."
"Oh, honey, you’re the best!"
"Then how about you let try the back door tonight, huh?"
Jason’s face stayed stone-cold, unfazed by the raunchy chatter. But Kevin’s ntion of "next-level gear" sent a prickle of unease up his spine. Of course Stark had an ace up his sleeve—nobody that rich and cocky would throw down a challenge this loud without so serious firepower to back it up.
He pulled out the earpiece and tossed it back to Christine. "Ti to move," He said, his voice low and hard. He chugged his scalding coffee, slapped two hundred bucks on the table, and the four of them slipped out into the night.
They cruised the neighborhood, scoping the periter, then parked in a dead zone out of reach of any caras. The crew piled out, gripping silenced pistols, and lted into the shadows, darting toward Kevin’s townhouse under the cover of darkness.
The earpiece crackled with the sounds of Kevin and his fiancée in the process of fucking, their moans signaling they were deep in the final stretch. Perfect. Their guard would be down, all their focus on each other—pri ti for Jason’s crew to strike.
The back door was a solid maple slab. Jason pulled his silenced pistol and unloaded the entire clip into the lock, the muffled *thwip-thwip-thwip* tearing through the wood. Splinters flew, leaving a fist-sized hole where the lock used to be. He reached in, twisted the deadbolt, and the door swung open.
The four slipped inside, locking the door behind them. They swept the first floor, confirming it was clear, then crept upstairs, their boots silent on the plush carpet. The master bedroom door was shut tight, but the sounds leaking through—raw, primal moans—told them the couple was fully distracted. The rocket was seconds from liftoff.
Jason flashed a wicked grin, strode forward, and kicked the door open with a thunderous *BANG*. The couple froze mid-thrust, their eyes wide with shock as the mood shattered like glass. Four black-clad strangers stood in a line, staring down at their private show.
The woman went pale, her breath catching in her throat, too stunned to cover herself as she gaped at the intruders. Kevin, true to his SEAL roots, snapped out of it in a heartbeat. He lunged for a pistol on the nightstand, rolled off the bed, and hit the floor in a crouch.
*Click.* An M1911 locked onto Jason, its barrel steady.
Kevin was fast—damn fast—but he was outclassed. Jason leaned against the wall, arms crossed, not even bothering to draw. David, Harley, and Christine moved like lightning, their pistols out in a flash. *Bang! Bang! Bang!* A hail of bullets tore into Kevin’s exposed arm, shredding flesh and bone into a bloody ss.
"Argh!" Kevin collapsed, writhing on the floor, his screams muffled by agony.
Jason darted forward, clamping a hand over Kevin’s mouth to shut him up. The woman finally snapped out of her daze, her mouth opening to scream, but Christine was on her in an instant, pinning her down and stifling her cries to a pathetic "Mmmph!"
---
Five minutes later, Kevin sat on the living room couch, his mangled arm hastily bandaged, his face white from pain and blood loss. "Who the fuck are you people?" He rasped. "If it’s money you want, take everything I’ve got—just don’t hurt us!"
Jason dragged a chair across the room and sat across from him, smirking. "You’re just a small-ti security grunt. What, you pulling a few grand a year? Pocket change ain’t worth my ti."
Kevin’s eyes widened. "You’ve been digging into ?"
"Obviously," Jason said, leaning forward. "We didn’t co here at this hour for your piggy bank. I’ve got questions, and you’re gonna answer them."
Kevin exhaled, so of the tension easing. "Fine. Ask away. I’ll tell you whatever you want."
Jason’s grin widened, but his eyes were cold. "Smart man. Word is, Tony Stark’s put together an elite security squad to fuck up, and you’re on it, right?"
Kevin’s face went slack, realization hitting like a freight train. "You... you’re Jason fucking Walter!"
"Bingo," Jason said, his voice dripping with nace. "You know my na, so you know what I’m capable of. Spill it, Kevin. What’s Stark’s big plan? What’s this ’special gear’ you were bragging about?"
Kevin hesitated, his jaw tightening. If he spilled the beans about Stark’s iron suits, Jason might back off, bide his ti, and strike later, leaving a trail of dead cops and civilians. But if he kept quiet, he was staring down a death sentence right now.
Jason leaned closer, his voice low and dangerous. "You’re just a grunt, Kevin. Don’t go dying for a rich asshole like Stark. Think about your girl, your family. You really wanna leave them high and dry?"
Kevin’s eyes flickered with doubt, but then they hardened, his resolve locking into place. He was a retired SEAL, a man who’d sworn an oath under the flag to protect Arica, to fight for freedom. No way he was breaking that now.
"Fuck you!" He spat, his lips curling. "You can kill , but I’m not telling you shit."
Jason sighed, shaking his head. "Goddamn it, you people and your empty promises. Swearing you’d talk, then flipping the script the second it gets real." He stood, strolling to the bathroom and grabbing a water bottle and a towel.
Kevin’s breathing quickened, his eyes widening. As an ex-SEAL, he knew exactly what was coming—a world of pain.
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You can read advance Chapters and view R-18 images of the characters on pat reon page.
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500 powerstones.
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