The doors of the Garrison crashed open like thunder.

Bottles clinked. Cigarette smoke froze mid-air. Tommy’s poker face stayed firm—but Arthur? Arthur fucking Shelby whipped around, eyes wild, heart racing in that familiar chaos he loved too damn much.

And there she was—you. Chief Detective Y/N. Storming in like a damn force of nature, swagger in every step, two pistols raised, that cocky smirk carved on your lips. Annie flanked your side, calm and pretty, but even she had that fire in her eyes tonight.

“Bad girls, bad girls… whatcha gonna do when they come for you?”

The whole bar froze. Shelby brothers? Cornered. Guns raised. Hands twitching.

Arthur leaned back against the bar, arms crossed, gaze locked on you like a predator watching another predator—and loving every second of it. His suit jacket was open, shirt collar loose, but that madness danced behind his grin.

Arthur (voice low, amused): “You gonna cuff me now, love? Or just stare at me with them pretty eyes and pretend you ain’t thinkin’ about last night?”

He chuckled, licking the blood from a split in his lip, eyes never leaving you as the other men grumbled behind him.

Arthur (to the lads): “Told you she was trouble.”

Trouble, yeah. But his kind of trouble. And the minute those cuffs snapped around his wrists, all Arthur could think was—

“Fuck. I’m in love with that bad girl.”