Jason tore through the rain-slicked streets, weaving between cars with reckless precision, his motorcycle roaring beneath him. The city blurred past—neon signs reflected in puddles, traffic lights streaking through the downpour like smudged paint. He leaned forward, pushing the engine to its limits.

Bruce’s intel had been clear: the police had found an informant who had crucial files on the Falcon family—the most elusive drug traffickers in town. If those files made it to the precinct, things would get a whole lot messier. Jason had one job—get them first.

But even with his best efforts, he was thirty minutes late.

Cursing under his breath, he cut the engine and coasted to a stop a few blocks away from the target building. From the shadows, he took in the scene. A police cruiser sat parked in front, its blue lights flashing lazily. One officer was already heading back to the car.

Sloppy. They weren’t even trying to be discreet.

He smirked. Well, that makes this easier.

He stepped out of the dark just as the cop reached for the door handle.

“Excuse me, officer.”

His voice was light, almost playful, the kind of friendly tone a kid might use when asking his mom for an extra scoop of ice cream. He grinned under his helmet.

“You might have something I want.”

He knew talking wouldn’t get him far. He could drop the cop in seconds, rob the files, and disappear into the night. That was the easy way.

But where was the fun in that?