The Tyrant Billionaire

Chapter 13: Shoot Out

December marked the beginning of the rainy season in Los Angeles.

A light drizzle had just passed as Marissa and Hardy stepped out of the bustling nightclub. The night air was damp and had a chilly edge to it. Marissa instinctively pulled her arms around herself, shivering slightly. Just then, Hardy draped his suit jacket over her shoulders, a comforting warmth radiating from the fabric.

The jacket still carried the lingering heat from his body.

Marissa glanced up at Hardy.

He had a rugged face, a strong nose, sharp, chiseled features, and eyes that were deep and intense. He wasn't what one would call traditionally handsome, but there was a rugged allure to him, a kind of masculine charm that was hard to ignore.

They got into the car, and Hardy drove out of the parking lot. As they cruised down the street, Marissa rummaged through her handbag and pulled out a silver cigarette case. She took a cigarette from it, placed it between her lips, and lit it with a flick of her lighter.

She took a drag and then offered the cigarette to Hardy.

Hardy glanced at her and accepted it without hesitation, taking a puff.

"Does your face still hurt?" Marissa asked, her eyes flicking to the fresh bruises and cuts on his cheek.

Hardy had taken a few punches to the face during his brawl with Big Ivan earlier, resulting in the visible scratches and swelling.

"It's not a big deal. I'll be fine by tomorrow," he replied casually.

"You're quite the fighter," Marissa remarked, a hint of admiration in her tone.

"And you have a beautiful singing voice. Have you ever taken lessons?"

Her face lit up at the question, her interest piqued. She turned slightly to look at Hardy, her expression thoughtful. "I've always dreamed of making it in Hollywood, becoming a star. I joined a modeling agency, took acting classes, and trained in vocal music. Unfortunately, my acting teacher told me I didn't have much natural talent for it, but they did say I had potential in singing."

"I've been taking vocal lessons now, four times a week. It costs a lot, but I think it's worth it," she added with a small smile.

Their conversation carried on until Hardy pulled up in front of Marissa's home, a modest two-story building.

Marissa stepped out and approached the driver's side window.

"Good night," Hardy said with a nod.

But Marissa didn't say good night. She looked at the cuts on his cheek, her expression softening. "Would you like to come inside? I can help you clean up those wounds."

"I don't want to impose," he replied.

"It's no trouble. I live alone," she reassured him.

Hardy parked the car by the side of the road, and they went upstairs together.

Inside, the light from the second-floor window cast a faint glow on the street below. Through the thin curtains, their silhouettes could be seen, the woman carefully tending to the man's wounds. A flicker of warmth passed between them.

Not long after, soft sounds began to emanate from the upstairs.

The next morning, the first rays of sunlight filtered into the room, casting a warm glow on Marissa's golden hair. She awoke to find the other side of the bed empty. A slight pang of disappointment tugged at her.

As she sat up, the sheets slipped off, revealing her graceful curves. At 23, she was in her prime, the peak of her youth and beauty.

She walked barefoot to the bathroom, catching sight of her reflection in the mirror. Her gaze fell on the pair of pants draped over a chair, and memories of the previous night's intensity came rushing back.

A faint smile curved her lips.

Hardy had been surprisingly gentle yet incredibly strong, giving her an experience that left her both satisfied and craving more. There had been something raw and honest in their connection, something uncomplicated by deeper emotions—a mutual desire that they had both surrendered to.

It was a feeling she found herself wanting more of.

Later that morning, Hardy left Marissa's house and drove to meet Sean and Reid. As soon as they spotted him, they hurried over with knowing grins.

"Boss, did you spend the night at Marissa's?" Sean asked with a teasing glint in his eye.

Reid, too, watched him eagerly, looking for signs of the gossip.

Hardy nodded, nonchalantly. "Yeah."

"Wow!" the two exclaimed in unison.

"That's impressive, boss! The way you saved her last night definitely made an impression," Sean said with a grin.

"Yeah, she's a real beauty. Just thinking about it is something else," Reid added, a dreamy expression crossing his face.

Hardy rolled his eyes and swatted them both on the head. "Cut the nonsense. We're wasting time. Let's get to the warehouse and pick up the goods. Did you get all the paperwork sorted?"

"Yeah, we got everything," Sean replied.

The three of them headed to the warehouse where the tobacco and alcohol were stored. After half a month of doing this, Hardy had become adept at managing the inventory, checking the accounts, and handling the paperwork. He exchanged nods with familiar faces from the gang as they went about their business.

Hardy had also gotten to know quite a few people from the organization over the past few weeks. Alessandro, who managed the area next to Hardy's, approached with a cigarette in hand.

"Hey Hardy, I heard there was some trouble at the Bunny Bar last night."

Word travels fast in their circles.

"Yeah, it was the Russians," Hardy replied, taking the offered cigarette.

"Those Russians are a small-time group, but they're bold enough to cause trouble on our turf. So, how'd you handle them?" Alessandro inquired.

"Locked them in the cellar, no food or water for three days," Hardy said with a smirk.

Alessandro chuckled heartily. "Good call. Teach them a lesson they won't forget."

Alessandro had already loaded his goods and waved goodbye as he and his men drove away. But just as they were leaving the rough neighborhood, two trucks suddenly appeared, blocking the narrow street ahead.

"What the hell? Who the hell parks like that?" Alessandro barked, irritated. "Amor, go check what's going on."

Amor got out of the car to investigate, but as he approached the trucks, the tarpaulins suddenly flipped open, revealing men armed with machine guns.

Amor froze, panic setting in, but before he could react, a hail of bullets erupted, cutting him down where he stood.

Alessandro and his driver barely had time to reach for their guns before the attackers unleashed a barrage of gunfire, shattering the truck's windows and riddling the vehicle with bullets. Blood pooled on the pavement.

Within minutes, the attackers had stolen the alcohol and cigarettes from Alessandro's truck, tossed a lit stick of dynamite into the cab, and fled.

Moments later, a deafening explosion rocked the street, and Alessandro's truck went up in flames.

...

Meanwhile, Hardy had just finished loading their supplies into their truck. The total came to $3,620—a good sign that business was picking up.

As they pulled out of the warehouse, Reid drove at a leisurely pace, about twenty or thirty miles per hour. Before long, they found themselves on a deserted stretch of road lined with abandoned factories. Suddenly, they noticed a truck parked across the road up ahead, blocking their path.

"Damn, who's the idiot that parked there?" Reid muttered, leaning on the horn in frustration.

But the truck didn't budge. No movement at all.

"Forget it. I'll go make them move," Reid said, opening the door.

But just then, Hardy felt a sudden jolt of fear. An instinctual alarm bell rang in his mind, a sharp sense of danger.

"Wait!" Hardy grabbed Reid's arm. "Don't get out. Reverse. Now!"

"What's going on, boss?" Reid asked, confused.

"Just do it! Reverse!" Hardy ordered.

Reid saw the intensity in Hardy's eyes and didn't argue. He put the truck in reverse and started backing away.

At that moment, the men in the truck ahead realized they had been spotted. They jumped out, guns at the ready—every one of them wielding a Tommy gun.

"Get down!" Hardy shouted.

Bullets flew, shattering the windshield and peppering the truck with holes. Reid kept reversing, trying to put distance between them and the attackers.

"Reid , swing the truck sideways!" Hardy shouted.

Reid turned the wheel sharply, skidding the truck sideways across the road to create a makeshift barrier.

Hardy was the first out, rolling to the ground and pulling his pistol. He took quick aim and fired at the advancing gunmen.

A single shot rang out, and one of the attackers went down.

The gunmen hesitated, realizing they were facing a sharpshooter. They dropped to the ground, continuing to fire but with less reckless abandon.

Sean and Reid jumped out, firing back, but their aim was wild. The distance was too great for their pistols to be effective.

"Sean, get my rifle!" Hardy shouted.

"On it, boss!"

Sean scrambled into the truck, grabbing Hardy's rifle from under the seat and tossing it to him.

With the rifle in hand, Hardy felt a familiar rush, like he was back on the battlefield. He chambered a round, took aim, and squeezed the trigger.

Another gunman went down.

The attackers realized they were outmatched, hesitating in their advance. Hardy's precise shots had turned the tide.