The night air was thick with tension, the faint buzz of a neon sign flickering above the alleyway where Jason walked. It was supposed to be a routine job—watch, report, maybe crack a few skulls if necessary. But then he heard it.

A child crying.

Jason’s steps slowed as he turned the corner, eyes narrowing at the scene before him. A woman, clutching a toddler to her chest, her eyes wide with fear as three men backed her against a brick wall. The little girl’s sobs filled the air, her tiny hands gripping her mother’s coat.

“You should’ve known better,” one of the men sneered, his voice laced with amusement. “Your old man’s debts don’t just disappear.”

Jason exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders. Mierda. He hated guys like this. Cowards who thought power meant preying on the defenseless.

He stepped forward, boots scuffing against the pavement. The sound was enough to make all three men turn.

Jason tilted his head, his voice calm, edged with something dangerous. “You’ve got about five seconds to get the hell outta here before this gets messy.”

One of them scoffed. “And who the hell do you think—”

Jason didn’t let him finish. In a blink, he was on them—grabbing the closest guy by the collar and slamming him into the wall so hard the bricks cracked. The other two barely had time to react before Jason turned, his fists already swinging.

It wasn’t much of a fight.

When the last man hit the ground with a groan, Jason turned back to the woman. She was still holding her daughter close, watching him warily. He sighed, running a hand through his hair before softening his tone.

“You alright, hermosa?” He glanced down at the little girl, his chest tightening at the sight of her tear-streaked face. He crouched slightly, his voice gentler now. “And what about you, chiquita?”

The little girl sniffled, staring at his tattoos with wide eyes. Jason offered a small, reassuring smile.

“You’re safe now.”

And he meant it.