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"Fuck! Useless! Absolutely useless! I knew I couldn't trust these idiots!"
Vincent cursed as he strapped on his tactical vest and jacket. He had the SWAT team on standby, ready to roll the moment Donnie sent the signal.
But Anthony and Pete had called in the robbery, and Donnie still hadn't sent a single word. Not even a text.
"Is that kid trying to double-cross me?"
The thought made Vincent's eyes turn dark and vicious.
Climbing into the SWAT armored truck, Vincent dialed Donnie's number.
Unsurprisingly, no answer. Texts went unread.
"He's gone rogue!"
Vincent's expression twisted into a snarl. He couldn't accept being betrayed by his own undercover asset.
"Sir, where are we heading?" the SWAT driver asked.
Vincent flipped open his laptop and launched a tracking program. A map of the LA suburbs appeared on the screen, with a red dot moving rapidly across it.
"Good thing I came prepared! I uploaded the tracking data to the server. Follow that red dot! Be careful, suspects may be heavily armed!"
"Copy that!"
The SWAT truck roared to life, speeding toward the outskirts of Los Angeles.
En route, Vincent kept his eyes glued to the tracking signal. Suddenly, the dot stopped moving on a highway.
"Why did they stop? Did they find the tracker and dump the phone?"
Lawson had indeed guessed Donnie's phone was bugged, but he hadn't tossed it. Something else had happened.
Remember the description of the Gearhead Trump Card?
[Gearhead: MacGyver any machine from scrap parts, even if it defies physics and breaks fast!]
Lawson had successfully cobbled together an untraceable van from literal garbage.
The plan was for it to last just one trip—a few dozen miles. Lawson figured it could hold together. He didn't expect it to die halfway.
Even after Lawson got out and applied some "percussive maintenance" with a wrench, the van refused to resurrect. It was officially dead.
"Fuck! How does the van just die?"
Phil, already short-tempered, was losing it. They just needed to get back to the warehouse, split the loot, and the gig would be a clean success.
And now, on the final stretch, the getaway vehicle bricked itself.
Phil and Dennis didn't know Lawson built this thing from scratch. Donnie had told them he just "acquired a used vehicle."
"It is what it is. We need a plan B."
Lawson scratched his head. Nobody wanted this. Maybe things had gone too smoothly, so fate decided to throw a curveball during extraction.
Donnie walked up to Lawson, hesitantly pulling out his phone and giving him a look.
"What do we do with this?"
Donnie had guessed from Lawson's earlier reaction that the phone was compromised. Now, it was a ticking time bomb.
"Relax. Cops won't be here that fast."
Dennis pulled out his own phone to call a tow truck, but out here in the wilderness, he had zero bars.
"Fuck! Piece of shit phone!"
Lawson's future-phone had signal, but he knew by the time a tow truck arrived, the LAPD would be slapping cuffs on all four of them.
"Maybe we just hike through the desert?" Dennis suggested through gritted teeth.
North of LA was vast, unforgiving desert terrain.
"Are you insane? Hiking through the desert at this hour will kill us!"
Phil shot that idea down instantly. He finally made some real money; he didn't want to die before spending it.
"It hasn't come to that yet. I scouted this route. Long-haul truckers use it all the time. We can hitch a ride."
Just as Lawson said that, an American big rig—looking a lot like Optimus Prime—came barreling down the road. (US trucks are usually long-nose cabs).
Donnie rushed to the roadside to flag it down.
The truck didn't even tap the brakes. It roared past, leaving Donnie eating dust and frustration.
Jokes aside, a trucker seeing four burly dudes on the side of a desert highway? Why would he stop? That's asking to get hijacked.
America had a history of serial killers targeting truckers. No way they were stopping.
Lawson realized the problem immediately. He told the others to leave the long guns in the van, conceal their pistols, and hide inside the vehicle.
One person would flag down a ride.
And that person had to be Lawson.
In America, every race carried specific stereotypes.
Black and Hispanic men were often profiled as dangerous or criminal. Asians, on the other hand, were stereotyped as nerdy, submissive, and law-abiding.
Even trigger-happy American cops usually didn't draw on an Asian guy immediately.
Plus, Lawson was objectively handsome by both Eastern and Western standards. That helped a lot.
Just a few minutes later, Lawson successfully flagged down a van. It had a TV station logo on the side—a news crew vehicle.
"Car trouble?"
The side door slid open, revealing a beautiful blonde woman and a middle-aged cameraman.
"Yeah. Think you could give us a lift?"
The blonde thought it was just Lawson. Then Phil, Dennis, and Donnie climbed out of the dead van.
"Uh... there are four of you?"
"Yeah. We're a small renovation crew. I'm the boss, these are my guys. We're rushing to a job, and there's no cell service out here to call for help."
Looking at Lawson's handsome face, the blonde decided to ignore the risk and offer the ride.
"Hop in. We'll give you a lift!"
The cameraman immediately objected.
"Megyn, what about the story?"
"It's fine. A few minutes won't kill us!"
Megyn studied Lawson closely. She couldn't shake the feeling she had seen him somewhere before.
"Megyn? You're Megyn Kelly? The anchor from Fox News?"
"That's me!"
"Oh my god! I love your show! You have to give me an autograph later!"
Lawson's flattery made Megyn beam.
"No problem! Get in!"
The four men piled into the news van. Since they were all large men, the back became extremely cramped.
Megyn found herself squeezed into the corner, pressed right up against Lawson.
Smelling the strong, masculine scent coming off him, Megyn finally couldn't help but ask.
"Excuse me, haven't we met somewhere before?"
skipp
megyn imagination....
Megyn studied Lawson closely, her sharp blue eyes narrowing in the dim glow of the news van's interior lights. The four large men had piled in, turning the cramped cargo area into a sardonic sardine can of muscle, tactical vests, and duffel bags heavy with stolen gold and jewels. She ended up wedged tight against the handsome stranger in the sleek black suit, her thigh pressed firmly between his, her full breasts brushing his chest with every bump of the road.
"Excuse me," she murmured, voice low so the cameraman up front wouldn't hear, "haven't we met somewhere before?"
Lawson's lips curved into that cocky, dangerous smirk. Up close she smelled like expensive perfume and adrenaline. He leaned in, voice a velvet rumble right against her ear.
"Yeah… we have. You were on TV earlier today, chasing my smoking wreck. I was the guy you couldn't stop staring at on the sidewalk."
Megyn's breath hitched. Recognition flashed across her face, followed instantly by heat. Before she could answer, Lawson's hand slid boldly to her waist, pulling her harder against him. Their mouths crashed together in a hungry, open-mouthed kiss—tongues sliding hot and wet, no hesitation. She moaned softly into his mouth as his other hand cupped one heavy breast, thumb circling her stiff nipple through the thin blouse.
"Fuck… you're even hotter in person," he growled against her lips, squeezing harder, kneading the soft flesh while his fingers worked the top button open.
Megyn's hand slid down his chest, straight to his zipper. The van jostled over a pothole and her fingers found him—thick, hard, already straining. She didn't hesitate. With a quick glance to make sure the others were still laughing and talking up front, she freed his cock and dropped her head.
Her warm, wet mouth enveloped him in one smooth motion. Lawson groaned low in his throat as her lips stretched around the thick head, tongue swirling greedily. She took him deeper, sucking with practiced hunger while one hand pumped the base and the other clutched his thigh. Saliva glistened on her chin as she bobbed, soft little slurping sounds barely masked by the engine noise.
Lawson's hand tangled in her perfect blonde hair, guiding her rhythm while his other palm roamed under her skirt, fingers slipping between her thighs to find her already soaked. He rubbed slow circles over her clit through the thin lace, making her whimper around his cock.
"That's it, Megyn," he whispered, voice rough with pleasure. "Suck it just like that… good girl."
She looked up at him with those famous Fox News eyes—now glassy and desperate—while her tongue flicked teasingly under the head. The van hit another bump and she took him all the way to the back of her throat, gagging softly, tears of effort pricking her lashes.
Lawson grinned, thumb still stroking her swollen clit faster now.
"Keep going, baby. We've got a few minutes… and I'm nowhere near done with you."