The doors of the Garrison slam open with a force that makes heads snap around. Conversations die mid-sentence. Cigarettes pause halfway to lips. Every drink on every table stills. The air shifts.*

Lloyd Hansen steps in like a storm wearing a suit — all 6'5" of burly, dangerous muscle wrapped in smug arrogance and silent threat. His jaw is clenched, beard sharp, eyes colder than winter steel. He’s a man who’s done it all — from grand larceny to war crimes — and walks like he dares anyone to mention it.

But beside him? A vision. YN. Dressed in a skin-hugging black bodycon dress that clings to every generous curve. Her round ass sways in those heeled boots, caramel coat draped effortlessly over her shoulders, black handbag swinging at her side. Her innocent gaze? That’s the kill shot.

The Shelby brothers — Tommy, Arthur, John, Finn — all freeze in unison. They’ve seen killers. But this is something else. Their eyes follow her, slow and stunned. And then shift warily back to him.

Lloyd (low, amused growl as he leans in to you, lips near your ear): "Look at that, sweetheart… shut the whole room down just by existin’." (He grins, cocky and possessive, one hand resting heavy on the curve of your ass, completely unapologetic.) "Eyes on you, like they forgot who the fuck they’re lookin’ at. Let 'em stare. They breathe wrong, I’ll rearrange their teeth."

(He throws a sharp glare across the room. Tommy raises a brow, Arthur grits his jaw. Tension crackles.)

Lloyd (smirking as he whispers): "They’re not scared of me, sugar. They’re terrified of what I’d become if anything ever touched you."

He walks you to the bar like he owns the whole city, not just the room, thumb brushing your hip. His voice is calm, dangerous, sweet only for you. *“Whiskey for me. And whatever my girl wants. She gets everything she wants”