Nobody hates money, and Hunter Sun was no exception.
Sure, he had recently snatched two safes from Steve that likely contained nearly a ton of gold—worth at least twenty or thirty million dollars. That was enough to live like a king for decades.
But there was a catch: his [Lockpicking] skill wasn't high enough to crack them yet. And Hunter didn't want to brute-force them open, risking damage to the contents or leaving a mess.
So, for now, he was cash-poor and needed to find other revenue streams.
He hadn't touched Mia's bank card because Mia was his woman. Scamming his own girlfriend wasn't something Hunter could bring himself to do.
But Dom? He had no such qualms.
The cargo Dom was holding had been hijacked from Silicon Valley tech giants. It was ill-gotten gains through and through.
If Hunter didn't step in, Dom and his crew wouldn't be able to move it. The FBI would eventually seize it, or it would sit rotting in a container.
Now, Dom was asking him to transport it.
With his Personal Inventory, moving a shipping container was child's play.
Even if his inventory was currently cluttered with supplies, Hunter could simply spend the next few days grinding his skills. Leveling up would increase his stats, which in turn would expand his inventory capacity.
It was a zero-risk, high-reward job. Fast cash.
Hunter wished he could get more jobs like this. Six hundred thousand dollars for a simple delivery run? That would cover his expenses for quite a while.
Seeing Hunter agree, Dom's smile widened.
He didn't mind paying the Asian kid a hefty fee.
Being targeted by the FBI had awakened Dom to the real danger. He was already planning to leave Los Angeles temporarily. In fact, he was considering leaving the US altogether.
In the past, Dom had burned through most of his heist money on modifying cars and living fast. Now that trouble had come knocking, he realized his liquidity was dangerously low.
That was why he was willing to take the risk and ask Hunter to move the "hot" inventory he had been sitting on.
As Dom had said, he knew he was the FBI's primary target. Even though Hunter might attract some attention for posting bail, the heat on him would be negligible compared to the scrutiny on Dom.
After the events of the last few days, Dom no longer doubted Hunter's intelligence or capability.
He trusted Hunter's sharp wits.
Even if Hunter couldn't deliver the goods safely, Dom believed the kid was smart enough to escape if caught.
At worst, the shipment would be lost. Dom wouldn't be implicated. It was a calculated risk he was willing to take.
Having reached a preliminary agreement, Dom didn't immediately give Hunter the location of the container. He needed time to prepare—to contact the buyer and finalize the logistics.
Hunter wasn't in a rush either.
Although his inventory was technically large enough to hold a standard container, he didn't want to dump all his supplies to make room. He needed a few days to grind XP and expand his storage space.
Both men were satisfied with the deal. They walked back toward the house, chatting and laughing like old friends.
Hunter had no idea that at that very moment, in another corner of Los Angeles, chaos was unfolding.
Because of his intervention, Steve had lost the majority of his fortune. The traitor, facing imminent bankruptcy, had gone mad.
Misled by the clues Hunter had left (or lack thereof), Steve had erroneously concluded that Charlie Croker was the mastermind behind the theft of his safes.
Steve had activated every contact he had to hunt down Charlie's team.
And the first person Steve found was the locally famous, beautiful safecracker—Stella Bridger.
The butterfly wings Hunter flapped were causing a hurricane.
Los Angeles, an outdoor basketball court.
Handsome Rob, the team's playboy wheelman, watched Charlie Croker pace anxiously by the bench, constantly checking his phone.
Rob tossed the basketball toward the hoop without looking.
Swish!
The ball sailed through the net perfectly.
But Rob didn't even bother to gloat.
"Hey."
He grabbed a bottle of water and walked over to Charlie, handing it to him.
"Thanks."
Charlie took the water but didn't drink. He just stared at the screen.
Rob leaned over, glancing at the phone. "Charlie, you're not seriously thinking about chasing Old John's daughter, are you?"
"I admit, Stella is a stunner. She's got charm."
"But don't you think she's a little... cold?"
"And let's be real. We are thieves. Criminals."
"She works for the cops. She opens safes for banks and jewelry stores legally."
"She isn't John. She sits up in her ivory tower looking down on people like us."
For a smooth talker like Rob to be this dismissive, Charlie knew exactly what the issue was.
Stella was the daughter of his mentor, the master safecracker John Bridger.
Charlie had invited Stella to join their heist to steal back the gold from Steve partly to repay John—to give Stella the share that should have been her father's.
But while Charlie told everyone he needed her skills, he knew the real reason.
He had been in love with the icy blonde beauty since the first time he met her years ago.
Before the Venice heist, when John was ready to retire, Charlie had convinced him to do one last job. Charlie had wanted to use that score to prove himself—to impress Stella and show her he was worthy.
Unfortunately, it all went wrong.
He never expected Steve to betray them. Not only did Steve steal the gold, but he also murdered John Bridger.
Instead of impressing Stella, Charlie's invitation had led to her father's death.
That guilt had eaten at him for over a year.
Charlie had been hunting Steve relentlessly, but he hadn't dared to contact Stella until he had found the man who killed her father.
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