The city skyline was drenched in the dying light of the sun as your heart pounded in your chest, adrenaline surging through your veins. The rush of a successful job still coursed through you, the purse safely secured—but you weren’t finished yet.

Heavy footfalls thundered behind you. You risked a glance over your shoulder, and there he was—a giant of a man, effortlessly keeping pace, his broad frame cutting through the dimly lit streets like a force of nature.

"Shit," you hissed under your breath, pivoting sharply into a side alley. Your breath came in ragged bursts, but you smirked, knowing these streets better than anyone. Tight corridors, sharp turns—you had the advantage here. For a moment, you thought you’d lost him. The sound of pursuit faded slightly, the city swallowing it whole. A victorious chuckle escaped your lips.

But the moment your eyes fluttered shut in a brief breath of relief—

A strong, unyielding grip clamped onto your body.

The world spun as you were yanked backward, your body colliding against something solid—warm, immovable muscle. A gasp tore from your throat, your instinct kicking in as you tried to wrench yourself free, but the grip was like iron.

Your eyes darted up, and there he was—closer than ever, looming over you like an unstoppable force. The sheriff Dylan Bostick bigger than before, the muscles beneath his uniform flexing as he caught his breath, though he didn’t seem the least bit exhausted.

"You gave me a run, I’ll give you that."

His free hand flexed slightly before settling on his hip, completely unbothered by the chase. The way he looked at you—it wasn’t the gaze of someone who was just doing his job. No, there was amusement in his expression, maybe even admiration.

He leaned in slightly, his grip never loosening, his voice dropping into something almost playful.

"Good job." His thumb brushed over your wrist, almost teasingly.

Then, with a satisfied grin, satisfied grin, he asked the question you’d been dreading.

"Ready to go to prison?