The young man munched on his popcorn, answering the old man like they were talking about the weather.
"Smooth as silk."
"Good. Colin, why the sudden call?"
"Mr. Castro, the department is pissed about the raid on the Bonanno estate yesterday, and the shooting at Mercy Hospital yesterday afternoon. They're probably gonna make a move on Long Beach."
The Bonanno estate hit was one thing—it happened at dawn in the isolated hills of Malibu. But Mercy Hospital? That was a shootout right in the middle of downtown, and the news had a field day.
The LAPD is drowning in bad PR right now. They have to put on a show for the public to prove those tax dollars aren't going to waste.
Those fifteen Irish mobsters they bagged are the perfect scapegoats. Next up, the LAPD is going to drop the hammer on the Irish sets in Long Beach.
Frank knew exactly how the game was played.
"I get it. I'll tell my guys to lay low. You want me to serve up a fall guy so you can close some files?"
It was Frank's signature move. Toss a bone to the cops to get them off his back, while simultaneously padding Colin's arrest record. The higher Colin climbed, the more useful he became.
"Yeah, but it has to be airtight. A lot of eyes are on these two cases right now. The media's got a magnifying glass on the LAPD."
Colin had no intention of ending up like Vincent Murphy.
"I know the drill. I'm a professional, you can relax."
Frank reached into his coat and slid a small gift box to Colin.
"What's this?"
"Just a Swiss watch. A little promotion gift. A man needs a good watch, right?"
Colin popped the box open. Inside sat a pristine mechanical watch.
"How much?"
"A few dozen grand, nothing crazy. Don't worry, it won't put a target on your back."
Colin exhaled. A watch in the tens of thousands was something he could plausibly afford if he saved up. He broke into a genuine smile.
"Thanks, Mr. Castro. I won't forget this."
Frank patted his shoulder. "Just keep climbing the ladder. That's all the payback I need."
---
After leaving the theater, Lawson found himself staring down a manpower shortage.
Since Brian was sidelined, Lawson needed a new tool for the box. He couldn't dump everything on Donnie—even if the guy was Captain Jack Sparrow, he'd crack under the workload.
Right as he was racking his brain, his phone buzzed. It was Megan Kelly.
Ever since Francis got bagged, Megan was a free woman. She'd almost been fired for no-showing at work for two weeks, but the second she slammed that raw footage of Francis murdering Little Martin onto the executives' desk, Fox News practically built a shrine for her.
That tape turned Fox into the undisputed king of local media, their market share in California skyrocketing overnight. As the MVPs, Megan and Franklin weren't just forgiven—they were promoted.
Megan reaped the lion's share of the rewards, naturally. Franklin was just the cameraman; there was a ceiling to his climb. They weren't exactly going to make a guy under thirty a full-blown producer.
Megan, on the other hand, was now officially a mid-tier anchor with the creative freedom to pitch her own segments. Sure, her budget wasn't primetime-level yet, but she had her foot in the door.
"Lawson? How are you holding up?"
"Megan? Didn't expect a call from LA's hottest anchor."
"Ha! Are you making fun of me?"
"Not at all. Just feeling a little starstruck. Every time I turn on the TV lately, a certain beautiful anchor is staring back at me."
With the Little Martin case sucking up all the city's oxygen, Megan's face was everywhere. Fox had even cooked up a dramatic backstory about how she "secured" the dangerous footage—making it sound like a Hollywood espionage thriller.
In reality, she'd spent half a month hiding in an apartment, stress-eating and putting on a few pounds because she couldn't leave.
Still, being called beautiful by Lawson definitely put a smile on her face.
"Lawson, do you have some free time? I want to see you."
Lawson thought about it. His schedule was clear for the moment, so why not?
"Sure. Where to?"
They settled on a coffee shop near Fox headquarters in Century City, right on the edge of Beverly Hills.
When Lawson walked in, he scanned the room but didn't spot her. Assuming she was running late, he was about to grab a random table when a voice called out from a secluded corner.
"Lawson! Over here!"
A woman wearing a wide-brimmed hat and massive sunglasses was waving at him. It took him a second to realize it was Megan.
"Megan? What's with the incognito mode?"
He slid into the booth, amused by the disguise. Megan sighed.
"Because of the broadcast. I keep getting recognized on the street. I figured you wouldn't want fans interrupting our conversation for autographs."
Lawson flashed a faint smile. "That's a good thing. Means you've officially made it."
Megan couldn't help but laugh. Despite the loss of privacy, the perks of fame heavily outweighed the downsides.
The biggest perk? Endorsement deals. She had crossed the invisible line separating standard news anchors from actual celebrities.
TV news and Hollywood were neighbors, but crossing the fence was notoriously hard. Most viewers couldn't care less who was reading the teleprompter. Making that jump from 'zero' to 'one' was a monumental hurdle, and Megan had successfully vaulted it.
"So, what have you been up to?"
Megan rested her chin on her hand. Shielded by her oversized shades, she freely let her eyes roam over Lawson's sharp features.
"Me? Just handling small-time business. Nothing crazy. What about you? How's the grind?"
Her smile instantly folded into a frown.
"The network wants to capitalize on the hype and give me my own show. But I have no idea what format to pitch. It's driving me crazy."
So that was the real reason for the coffee date—she needed a sounding board. Lawson didn't mind. Having a rising media star in his corner could be extremely useful.
Armed with decades of future media trends, Lawson figured he could point her in the right direction.
"What kind of show do you want to do? Maybe I can throw some ideas your way."
"My gut says hard-hitting, serious journalism. But I'm terrified the ratings will tank."
Her fear was valid. Hard news naturally repelled casual viewers. After a grueling nine-to-five, the average American just wanted to switch their brain off and be entertained—it's why soap operas had survived for decades.
Local scandals like Little Martin's murder hooked viewers because it was in their backyard. But outside of California? Ask someone in Arizona, Oregon, or Nevada, and they wouldn't give a damn.
"Megan, have you ever considered delivering current events... but with a comedic spin?"
"A comedic spin? Wouldn't that destroy the journalistic integrity? What's the point of that?"
"Look at it this way," Lawson leaned in. "People don't hate the news. They just hate feeling miserable. Their daily lives are a grind; they don't want to turn on the TV just to be lectured or depressed by reality. They want a breather."
"If you take the news and inject entertainment, satire, and humor into it, you'll grab a massive demographic. Especially the younger crowd. But hey, I'm not in the business. Just throwing it out there."
Lawson made sure to add a disclaimer, just in case her pilot bombed.
Megan looked thoughtful, the gears clearly turning in her head.
"Lawson... that actually makes a lot of sense. I'm really going to look into this."
"I'll be watching."
She giggled softly. "Well, you won't be seeing it anytime soon. I still have to clear my plate of a few mandatory network assignments first."
"Like what?"
Megan let out a heavy sigh. "The network is making me do a piece interviewing the city's legacy corporations and banks. It's basically an extended infomercial. It's so boring."
The word banks tripped an immediate wire in Lawson's head. The pieces started falling into place.
"Megan... is St. Martin's Bank on that list?"
"St. Martin's? I think so. I skimmed the packet and tossed it aside. Wait... Lawson, you're not planning to—"
Megan tensed up, her voice dropping. Lawson caught the sudden shift. He played it cool, maintaining eye contact.
"Megan, what are you talking about?"
She bit her lip, then decided to just rip off the band-aid.
"Pacific Standard Bank. That was you, wasn't it?"
Lawson's face went completely deadpan.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"That burner phone you gave me. The contacts were full of Pacific Standard Bank employees. I did some digging. That phone belonged to David Abbott, the branch manager. And then I found out David Abbott was arrested for commercial fraud!"
"And?"
"And so I put the pieces together! But I swear, Lawson, I haven't breathed a word of this to anyone. Not even Franklin!"
She had clearly been holding onto this secret for a while, and confessing it visibly took a weight off her shoulders.
But a second later, she felt something hard and cylindrical press against her stomach under the table.
In America, you didn't have to guess what that was.
"Megan. You know too much."
Her eyes went wide. She slowly pulled off her oversized sunglasses. Her eyes were already turning red, flashing a mix of shock and genuine hurt.
"Lawson, I swear I'd never expose you! I would never betray you like that!"
Her raw, terrified sincerity cracked Lawson's poker face. He let out a laugh.
"Okay, okay, relax. Don't actually start crying in here."
Realizing she'd been played, Megan quickly glanced under the table. It wasn't a gun. It was just an expensive fountain pen—Lawson's spy pen.
Her fear instantly dissolved into embarrassed anger.
"Lawson! You asshole! I was legitimately about to cry!"
Lawson threw his hands up innocently. "Just giving you a friendly reminder. Curiosity kills the cat. Didn't the Little Martin case teach you that?"
If she hadn't bumped into Lawson during that fiasco, Megan and Franklin likely would have ended up "committing suicide" by shooting themselves in the back of the head a dozen times.
In this town, snooping was fatal.
Megan pressed her lips together, staring directly at him. Without the sunglasses hiding her face, the intensity in her eyes was unmistakable.
"Lawson... so you really are going after St. Martin's Bank—"
"Shh." Lawson cut her off. "It's a long, complicated story. Do you want to hear it?"
Megan nodded vigorously. Even if he fed her a line of bullshit, she wanted to hear it. At least he was taking the time to lie to her, right?
Lawson gave her the rundown—how Francis Ricci had drained the Bonanno family accounts, transferred everything to his name, and locked it inside St. Martin's.
"...And now Francis is dead. He has no heirs. If someone doesn't crack that vault, all that money just vanishes into the ether."
"I had no idea it went that deep." Megan's eyes sparkled.
"Megan, I need your help. Are you in?"
Lawson looked at her with total sincerity. The blonde anchor didn't hesitate for a second.
"Of course I'm in! What do you need me to do?"
"It's simple. Confirm that St. Martin's Bank is on your interview schedule. If it is, I'm going to slip one of my people onto your crew. They'll handle the rest."
Megan bit her lip and nodded. "I trust you, Lawson. I'll do it. Just... promise me you aren't playing me."
"I would never play you. We're friends."
Friends. It was obvious Megan wanted to be a lot more than that.
But then, the memory of that tall, lethal woman—Svafa—flashed in her mind. Megan was tall for a woman, pushing 5'10" barefoot, easily clearing six feet in heels. But she still felt small next to Svafa. And Svafa's connection to Lawson was painfully obvious.
It bothered her.
"Lawson, I—"
Lawson saw right through her, reading the jealousy written on her face. But he didn't have time for romance right now.
"Megan, this is highly time-sensitive. I need answers as fast as possible."
She swallowed whatever she was about to say and gave him a firm nod.
"I'm heading back to the office to check right now. I'll call you the second I know."
"I owe you one."
Megan slid her oversized shades back on, grabbed her purse, and stood up. But before she left, she decided to make a bold move—she leaned in to give him a quick peck on the cheek.
Exactly at that second, Lawson stood up and turned.
The cheek kiss instantly collided into a direct kiss on the lips.
"Mmph—"
----------------------------------------------------
lemon
------------------------------------------------------------------
The accidental collision of lips sent a lightning bolt straight through Lawson's spine. Megan's intended innocent peck had turned into a full, hot, open-mouthed collision the second he turned. Her soft, glossy lips crushed against his, the faint taste of vanilla latte exploding across his tongue. For one frozen heartbeat she stiffened in shock, eyes wide behind the crooked sunglasses, but then her body melted like warm wax.
"Mmph—!" The muffled sound vibrated straight into Lawson's mouth as Megan's hands flew up and fisted the front of his shirt, yanking him closer instead of pushing him away.
He didn't hesitate. His right hand slid behind her head, fingers threading into the silky blonde hair beneath the wide-brimmed hat, tilting her face exactly how he wanted. His tongue pushed past her lips, claiming her mouth in one deep, filthy stroke. Megan whimpered and opened wider, her own tongue meeting his in a hot, wet, desperate tangle. The kiss turned sloppy fast—teeth clicking, saliva mixing, the wet sounds loud in the quiet corner booth.
Under the table, hidden by the long tablecloth and the low lighting, Lawson's left hand was already moving. He shoved her skirt higher, rough palm gliding up the smooth, warm skin of her thigh until his fingers brushed the damp lace of her panties. Megan's hips jerked. He didn't tease. Two thick fingers pushed the soaked fabric aside and slid straight into her tight, slick heat.
"Fuck, you're dripping," he growled against her mouth, voice low and rough.
Megan broke the kiss just long enough to gasp, "Lawson—oh my God—" then crashed back into him, kissing him like she was starving. Her tongue fucked into his mouth in time with the two fingers now pumping steadily in and out of her pussy. Her walls fluttered and clenched, already close from weeks of pent-up tension and the dangerous thrill of doing this in public.
She reached under the table too, small hand finding the thick bulge in his pants. She rubbed him hard through the fabric, feeling him throb and swell under her palm. A low moan vibrated in her throat when she realized how big he was.
Lawson curled his fingers, rubbing that spongy spot inside her while his thumb circled her swollen clit. Megan's thighs started shaking. She broke the kiss again, forehead pressed to his, breathing in short, desperate pants.
"I'm—fuck—I'm gonna cum already," she whispered, voice cracking. Her blue eyes were glassy, pupils blown wide. "Right here… in the fucking coffee shop…"
"Do it," Lawson ordered, voice dark and commanding. He thrust his fingers harder, faster, the wet squelch of her pussy barely audible over the low hum of the espresso machine. "Cum on my hand like the dirty little anchor you are. Been thinking about this cock since the hospital, haven't you?"
"Yes—yes—God, yes—" Megan's head dropped to his shoulder, teeth sinking into his collar to muffle the cry as her orgasm slammed into her. Her pussy clamped down like a vice, pulsing and gushing around his fingers. Hot slick flooded his hand, dripping down her thighs onto the seat. Her whole body trembled violently, one hand white-knuckled on the table edge, the other still gripping his throbbing cock through his pants.
Lawson kept fingering her through it, slow and deep, dragging every last spasm out of her until she was whimpering and oversensitive. Only then did he ease his fingers free, bringing them up between them. They glistened with her cream. He licked them clean right in front of her, eyes locked on hers.
Megan's cheeks burned crimson, but the lust in her gaze was feral. "Bathroom. Now."
They moved fast. Lawson tossed a twenty on the table while Megan slipped out of the booth on shaky legs, skirt smoothed down but panties still twisted and soaked. The single-occupancy restroom at the back was empty. The second the door clicked shut and the lock turned, Lawson spun her around and shoved her against it.
Their mouths crashed together again, even hungrier. Lawson ripped her blouse open, buttons flying. He yanked her bra down, full perky tits spilling out, pink nipples already rock-hard. He sucked one into his mouth, biting just hard enough to make her cry out, while his hands shoved her skirt up to her waist and tore the ruined panties down her thighs.
Megan's fingers were frantic on his belt. She freed his cock—thick, veined, already leaking—and stroked it with both hands, smearing pre-cum down the shaft. "So fucking big," she moaned. "I knew it would be."
Lawson hooked one of her long legs over his arm, lined up, and thrust in to the hilt in one brutal stroke.
Megan's head slammed back against the door, a broken scream tearing from her throat. "Fuuuuck—yes! Stretch me—ruin me—"
He didn't hold back. This was a quickie—hard, fast, filthy. The door rattled with every powerful thrust. Her tight, wet cunt gripped him like a fist, creamy walls fluttering around his cock as he pounded her. One hand mauled her tits, pinching and rolling her nipples while the other gripped her ass hard enough to leave bruises.
"Been wanting to fuck this tight little anchor pussy since I met you," Lawson snarled against her neck, biting the tendon there. "Watched you on TV every night, cock in my hand, imagining bending you over the news desk."
Megan's eyes rolled back. "Yes—fuck—harder—use me like a whore—" She clawed at his back, legs locked around him. Every thrust forced a wet, obscene sound from her dripping cunt. Her juices ran down his balls, splattering on the tile floor.
He shifted, lifting her other leg so both were wrapped around him, completely impaled. The new angle let him grind against her clit with every stroke. Megan came again in seconds, pussy spasming wildly, squirting around his cock as she bit his shoulder to stay quiet. Her whole body shook, tits bouncing with every brutal thrust.
Lawson didn't stop. He fucked her straight through the orgasm, pounding her into the door until her moans turned into broken sobs of pleasure. Only when her legs started to give out did he pull out, spin her around, and bend her over the sink.
She braced on the counter, staring at her wrecked reflection—flushed face, smeared lipstick, tits hanging out, skirt bunched at her waist, pussy glistening and gaping from his cock. Lawson grabbed her hips and slammed back in, fucking her even deeper in this position. The mirror fogged from their panting breaths.
"Watch yourself get fucked," he ordered, one hand fisting her blonde hair, pulling her head back so she had no choice but to see. "Watch that pretty news-anchor face while I wreck your cunt."
Megan moaned like a slut, pushing back to meet every thrust. "I'm your slut—your dirty little secret—fuck, Lawson, I'm gonna cum again—"
Her third orgasm hit even harder. She squirted all over his cock and the floor, legs buckling, only his grip on her hair and hip keeping her upright. Lawson groaned at how tight she got, pounding her through it until she was a trembling, babbling mess.
He pulled out just as he felt his own orgasm building. "On your knees. Now."
Megan dropped instantly, knees hitting the cold tile. She didn't hesitate—grabbed his slick, throbbing cock and swallowed him to the root in one smooth motion. Her throat bulged around his girth. She gagged once, eyes watering, mascara running, but she didn't pull back. She bobbed fast and sloppy, hollowing her cheeks, tongue swirling around the head every time she pulled up, then plunging down until her nose pressed into his pubic hair.
Lawson's hand tangled in her hair, guiding her into a rhythm that made his balls tighten. "That's it—suck that cock like you mean it—fuck, your mouth is perfect—"
Megan moaned around him, the vibration shooting straight up his spine. One hand stroked the base while the other gently squeezed his balls, rolling them. Saliva poured down her chin in thick strings, dripping onto her exposed tits. She looked up at him the whole time—big blue eyes glassy, lips stretched obscenely wide, pure worship in her gaze.
He fucked her face in short, controlled thrusts, watching his cock disappear into her throat over and over. When he felt the telltale tightening in his gut, he warned her. "Gonna cum—swallow every drop, Megan."
She pulled back just enough to speak, voice hoarse and wrecked. "Give it to me—cum down my throat—please—"
Lawson held her head and thrust deep one last time, cock pulsing as thick ropes of hot cum flooded her mouth. Megan swallowed greedily, throat working, not spilling a single drop. She kept sucking softly through his orgasm, milking him until he was twitching and oversensitive, then licked him clean from root to tip, tongue collecting every last trace.
When she finally let his cock slip from her lips with a wet pop, she opened her mouth and showed him—empty, tongue clean—before swallowing the last bit with a satisfied moan.
Lawson hauled her up and kissed her deeply, tasting himself on her tongue. They stayed like that for a long minute, breathing hard, bodies pressed together.
Megan's voice was shaky but happy when she finally spoke. "Best goodbye fuck I've ever had."
Lawson smirked, tucking himself away and zipping up while she fixed her bra, buttoned her blouse with trembling fingers, and smoothed her skirt. Her panties were a lost cause—she balled them up and stuffed them in her purse.
"I'll check the interview schedule the second I get back to the office," she promised, voice still husky. "St. Martin's Bank is on the list. I'll make sure your person gets on the crew."
"Good girl." He gave her ass a firm squeeze. "And Megan… this doesn't change the plan. We keep it professional outside the bedroom."
She bit her lip, eyes sparkling with mischief and lingering lust. "Professional… right. Just don't expect me to forget how your cock feels inside me when we're planning the heist."
They shared one more slow, filthy kiss—tongues lazy, hands roaming—before Megan slipped out first. Lawson waited two minutes, then followed.
By the time he returned to the booth, she was already gone, but her scent clung to his fingers and his collar. His phone buzzed thirty minutes later.
Megan: St. Martin's is confirmed. Crew call is tomorrow 9am. I'll text you the details. And Lawson… I'm still tasting you. Can't wait for round two after we crack that vault.
Lawson smiled, already planning the next move. The bank job was in motion. Megan was in.