151-155

*Chapter 151: The Advantage is Ours (Requesting Monthly Votes)*

Century City, Beverly Business Club.

Hawk and Caroline arrived at the reception room. After waiting for less than five minutes, Sarah Parker and her father, Stephen Parker, entered one after the other.

Sarah walked briskly toward Hawk, arms open for a hug.

Hawk stepped back and pointed to her slightly rounded belly. “Be careful.”

Sarah smiled and lightly patted her abdomen. “Give it a little more time, and I might accidentally take a fall.”

Stephen Parker had a different opinion. He approached Hawk and said, “She always listens to you. Convince her to have the baby.”

This was not something Hawk wanted to get involved in. He replied, “That’s best decided behind closed doors.”

Caroline stayed silent altogether.

Hawk had agreed to meet with Sarah for a single purpose. He got straight to the point, saying, “Congratulations on winning the Golden Globe.”

Sarah immediately understood. “I’ve already instructed someone to transfer the final $800,000 of the prize money to your company’s account.”

She was ambitious. “When I go for the Oscars in the future, I’ll definitely seek your help again.”

Hawk said, “Wishing you all the best in achieving your dreams.”

After some small talk, Sarah turned to Caroline. “I heard you had a falling-out with Ruane Chasen?”

“I’m now Hawk’s assistant,” Caroline replied. “The work here is easier, and I’m learning new things.”

Sarah sighed. “It’s a pity you can’t be my PR manager anymore.”

Caroline had had enough of her. “Good luck to you.”

Meanwhile, Hawk exchanged a few words with Stephen Parker. He asked, “How are things going at the prison?”

“Bro Derek is enjoying the double pleasure of menthol oil and pepper spray,” Stephen said, feeling a sense of satisfaction for his daughter. “But a few of the old black guys were too rough with the beatings. After the New Year, Bro Derek had to be transferred to the hospital for treatment. Someone from Ackman Pictures even called me about it.”

Hawk followed up. “What did they say?”

Stephen replied, “They told me not to go too far.” He shook his head. “For now, we’ll let it be. Bro Derek’s sentence is long. There’s plenty of time and opportunity.”

Hawk said no more and soon left the reception room with Caroline.

Caroline caught up from behind, her small face filled with anticipation. Several times, she opened her mouth to speak, but the words never left her lips.

Hawk knew what she wanted to say but pretended not to notice, leaving her hanging.

Caroline, out of options, sidled closer and whispered, “Boss, I ordered a new car.”

“What car?” Hawk asked.

“A new Bentley Continental,” Caroline said.

Hawk turned to look at her. “You’ve made about $200,000 in commissions from me over the past few months, haven’t you?”

Caroline swung her handbag and extended her left arm slightly, showing the watch under her sleeve. “I’m a fashionista. I can’t fall behind the trends.”

Hawk couldn’t be bothered to scold her. “I’ll transfer your commission soon.”

Caroline’s face lit up with a smile. “Boss, which kind of voice do you like to hear? I can call out for you.”

Hawk, stepping out of the business club, hurried her. “Get on with the task I gave you yesterday.”

“I’m on it right away,” Caroline replied enthusiastically.

---

At noon, Hawk met Megan Taylor for lunch.

They sat in a private room at a Chinese restaurant.

Megan put down her chopsticks and switched back to a knife and fork. “I’ve been following the Wagler news for several issues now, always on the frontlines. Now, I’ve been marked with a red flag.”

Hawk replied, “You’re focused on social and political news. It’s almost impossible to remain neutral if you want to advance.”

Megan forced a smile. “I didn’t think this day would come so soon.”

“Didn’t you notice?” Hawk asked. “Society is being divided step by step.” He paused, then added, “If you’re not on my side, then you’re on the enemy’s side. This aligns more and more with the changes in societal trends.”

Megan commented, “I don’t like the pig in the Oval Office. That statement is too extreme.”

Hawk smiled. “But that’s how America operates—both internationally and between its two parties domestically.”

Megan speculated, “This time, it’s not just about employment. Have you made a choice as well?”

“Not exactly a choice,” Hawk admitted bluntly. “Politics and business—an age-old tradition.”

He extended an invitation. “I’m planning to start an online media outlet. Are you interested in joining? You’d be perfect as the editor-in-chief.”

With Megan’s skills, she could turn celebrity scandals into captivating stories.

Instead of answering, Megan said, “After wrapping up the Wagler news, I’ve been appointed as an assistant director at Channel 11.”

Hawk understood and raised his glass. “Congratulations on your promotion. Wishing you a swift rise to director.”

Megan clinked glasses with him. “Thank you.”

Hawk dropped the earlier topic and instead discussed some recent happenings in Los Angeles.

---

After lunch, Hawk drove Megan to the Fox Television Center.

Then, he went to the supermarket to buy some daily necessities, which he took to the Silver Lake neighborhood.

He had an appointment with Erica that evening.

At Silver Lake, Hawk drove up to the house gate, took out the electronic key, and pressed the shutoff button.

The standalone security system powered down.

Hawk remotely opened the gate. With anticipation, he drove into the yard, only to find it empty. No intruders—slightly disappointing.

He parked his car in the garage.

---

The community management here can't compare to renowned luxury neighborhoods like the northern section of Sunset Boulevard. It's a typical semi-gated luxury residential area common in the U.S.

There are security personnel stationed, but not many.

At this moment, near the main road running west to east, a Mexican man entered the security booth at the community entrance.

Thanks to his ability to make anyone friendly with the power of money, Ayala quickly struck up a rapport with the two security guards.

Drug dealers are known for being flush with cash and generous with tips.

Ayala pulled out several stacks of dollar bills, handing them to the two guards individually, then took out his prepared credentials. "I'm a journalist from American Weekly. I need a little help from you."

In these days of sparse surveillance, security personnel would only let someone in if they were confident about it.

The two guards pocketed the money. The older, white guard said, "Go ahead, what do you need?"

In a place like Los Angeles, there are tens of thousands of freelance news informants. This particular guard likely had business cards from at least a dozen journalists in his desk drawer.

Knowing he wouldn’t be staying in Los Angeles after this, Ayala got straight to the point: "I’ve got a lead—LAPD's star officer, Erica Ferguson, has a villa here where she often meets up with her boyfriend. I’m looking to dig up some news about her."

The younger guard replied, "I saw her here just a few days ago. Seemed like she had something delivered."

That bright FedEx truck stood out too much. The guard had logged it in before letting it into the community.

Ayala handed over his business card. "Do me a favor. If they come here, give me a call. I'll make it worth your while."

"No problem," the older guard replied without hesitation, mindful of his family to support. He added, "But you can’t mention us."

"Of course! This is a wealthy neighborhood—celebrities are bound to move in here in the future. I’d like to keep working with you."

Ayala gestured toward the community. "I’ll take a quick look around."

The older guard waved him in. "Go ahead. Just don’t disturb the residents."

Ayala got back into his car and drove into the community, keeping an eye out. It didn’t take long for him to find the target.

It was a large, standalone villa near Silver Lake, surrounded by yards both front and back. The three-and-a-half-meter-high walls and tightly shut metal gates ensured privacy from prying eyes.

The main building was a two-story structure with an attic.

Each villa in the neighborhood was spaced far apart from the others.

Slowing down slightly, Ayala observed that the neighboring villas on either side had external locks and appeared unoccupied.

Not wanting to arouse suspicion among other residents, he didn’t stop for a closer look and left the area at a normal pace.

Exiting from the northeast side of the community, Ayala returned to Santa Monica Boulevard and drove west toward West Los Angeles.

---

By the time the sky had fully darkened, Erica wrapped up her day’s work and drove her always-running Jeep Cherokee to the Silver Lake community.

The main road was brightly lit. Passing the security booth, the younger guard remarked, "That looks like Erica Ferguson's Cherokee."

The older guard stepped out for a better view, catching a glimpse of the Cherokee’s tail lights.

The younger guard followed. "I remember—there aren’t many Cherokees in the community. It’s probably hers."

"Call him, quickly," the older guard urged. "That journalist is generous—we could make a few hundred bucks more."

The younger guard hurried to make the call.

Meanwhile, Erica entered the villa’s yard, parked her car in front of the house, and walked quickly inside.

A delicious aroma greeted her. She headed straight to the dining room.

On the dining table were dishes like tomato-braised beef brisket and grilled lamb chops.

Hearing movement from the kitchen, Erica rushed over and poked her head inside, only to be caught off guard by an arm suddenly wrapping around her neck.

Hawk pulled her into a tight embrace, and the two kissed passionately.

Moments later, Erica broke free. "Not now—I need to eat first. I’ve been running around all afternoon. I’m starving."

"First, we fill up from the top, then we’ll fill up from the bottom," Hawk joked, dragging her toward the dining table.

They sat down to eat. Erica had barely eaten half her fill when Hawk’s foot reached across the table, resting on her toned leg.

Dinner quickly turned into a different kind of "meal."

---

In Westwood, an old-money neighborhood, Camila had just finished dinner in a villa and was considering dragging Ayala upstairs to relieve some stress when Ayala’s phone rang.

Glancing at the number, Ayala answered. After a few words, he hung up and said to Camila, "Confirmed. Erica Ferguson and Hawk Osmond are at the Silver Lake villa."

Camila asked, "You said it’s an easy place to make a move?"

"Low occupancy in the neighborhood, not much patrolling," Ayala reiterated. "Their villa has no neighbors on either side. For now, it’s just the two of them. We have the advantage!"

Camila, having waited so long for this opportunity, finally saw her chance. "Get the guys. We’re moving tonight!"

Ayala made several calls. From West Los Angeles to North Hollywood, cars began to move.

They rendezvoused in a warehouse in the Hollywood area.

In the basement of that warehouse, the Mule Gang had stashed a cache of weapons.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter 152: Highly Insulting

The night was deep, yet the warehouse was brightly lit.

Racks were lined with AKs, ARs, and shotguns, and everyone was busy picking their weapon of choice.

Ayala stood by a whiteboard, sketching out a simple building layout based on the intel provided by Ramirez.

Dressed in black combat gear, Camila unsheathed a combat knife from her belt and pointed at the floor plan. Addressing her crew, she said, “Listen up, people. The targets are just two individuals—a man and a woman. But don’t underestimate them. These two are exceptional marksmen.”

Unable to find a picture of Hawk Osmond, she pinned a poster of Erica Ferguson, clipped from a newspaper, to the whiteboard. “This is one of the targets. I don’t need her alive. Shoot to kill.”

A bearded man remarked, “She’s quite the hottie.”

“Her shooting skills are hotter than her looks,” Camila retorted before boosting morale. “Take down Erica Ferguson or Hawk Osmond—either one—and you’ll receive a $2 million bonus on top of your regular pay.”

The promise of such a hefty reward caused the group of mercenaries to breathe heavily.

In a place like Mexico, a few thousand dollars were enough to risk one’s life.

Camila pointed her combat knife at the rear entrance marked on the plan and said to the bearded man, “Cuevas, take seven people and attack from the back to cut off their escape. The rest will follow me through the front door.”

Turning to a bald man, she ordered, “Sesco, lead your team to assault the garage. The others will storm the villa’s main entrance with me.”

“Yes, ma’am!” came the well-disciplined response.

Camila had brought only the elite this time. Before joining the Mule Gang, these individuals shared a common background—they had all been part of Mexico’s anti-narcotics police force.

As Campos had once told Hawk, many people got into this line of work in Mexico to save enough money to switch sides and become traffickers.

The team finished selecting their weapons. Camila picked up her AR and reminded them once more, “Don’t get complacent!”

Ayala added, “Once it’s done, follow Plan B for dispersal and retreat. If anyone gets caught by the LAPD, remember what to say. Your families will live comfortably.”

The band of outlaws boarded multiple vehicles, including two high-bodied trucks.

Ayala, along with another man, drove ahead to the security checkpoint at the entrance. With a wad of cash and fake journalist badges, they managed to get inside.

As the guards counted the money, the pair sprang into action, sending the guards to count cash in heaven.

Several vehicles rolled into the Silver Lake neighborhood, sneaking up to their target villa under the cover of darkness. The two trucks parked against the perimeter wall.

Upstairs in the villa, the master bedroom was lit.

Hawk, fresh from practicing his shooting, had just showered and changed into shorts. Walking over to Erica, who was blow-drying her hair, he said, “Your mom stopped by to see me the other day.”

Erica glanced back. “She told me. Sounds like she’s planning to invest in your new company.”

A sudden vibration interrupted their conversation—it was the security system’s alert. The villa was under attack.

Hawk tapped on the computer keyboard in the room, and the surveillance footage popped up on the screen.

The hidden cameras revealed several vehicles parked around the villa’s walls. Armed men were climbing into the yard from two trucks stationed at the perimeter.

In the brief pause, Erica switched off her hairdryer, tied up her hair with the elastic band on her wrist, and prepared herself.

Hawk opened a cabinet near the computer and pulled out two tactical vests, tossing one to Erica. He quickly donned the other and retrieved two AR-15 rifles, handing one to Erica and keeping the other for himself.

Each vest had three AR magazines, a Glock handgun, an earpiece, a combat knife, and a basic gas mask attached.

In mere moments, both Hawk and Erica were fully geared up, complete with flash suppressors on their rifles.

“Over twenty of them. They’re attacking from both the front and rear,” Hawk informed. “You cover the rear; I’ll take the front.”

Without wasting a word, Erica grabbed her rifle and left the room.

As she moved swiftly, she dialed 911: “This is Sheriff Erica Ferguson, badge number… My residence at 10 Silver Lake is under attack by over twenty heavily armed assailants. Requesting immediate backup! Deploy SWAT as fast as possible!”

The LAPD’s Parker Center was immediately alerted, and sirens wailed in the Air Support Division and SWAT (D).

However, help would take time to arrive. Hawk and Erica had to hold their ground.

Erica entered a north-facing room with multiple windows. She hurried to a window, tapped a keyboard, and activated infrared thermal imaging on the computer. The screen showed eight heat signatures.

She put on her earpiece and said, “I’ve got eight on my side.”

Hawk responded, “Thirteen in the front yard.”

Near the front wall of the villa, two soft ladders were dropped. Camila, along with 13 armed men, climbed over.

Inside, the villa remained eerily quiet. The largest window on the second floor was still brightly lit.

Camila gestured to her team. Sesco and a few others moved quickly toward the side.

Leaning against a lamppost, Ayala signaled to a tall man. “Fernando, flashbangs!”

Knowing their targets were highly skilled marksmen and physically adept, they had prepared a surprise for them.

The towering man, Fernando, carried a large-caliber shotgun capable of breaching reinforced glass. Two others readied high-end flashbang grenades.

Upstairs, Hawk said, “Get ready. I’m turning on the lights.”

Erica responded, "Copy that."

Hawk pressed the remote control. The lights in the second-floor bedroom went out, and simultaneously, the front and back yards lit up with blinding lights, turning the darkness into midday brightness.

The security system was fully activated.

The sudden shift from night to daylight left those in the yard momentarily disoriented. Instinctively, they shut their eyes.

Some began firing blindly in self-defense.

Gunshots rang out, hitting the walls and bulletproof glass of the first and second floors. The glass absorbed the attack.

Hawk had already set up his AR-15 at the window. At a range of less than 50 meters, the armed men in black were no different from stationary targets on a shooting range.

He hardly needed to aim. Years of shooting practice gave him the instinct. He pointed the muzzle at the tallest, burliest man.

Bang, bang, bang!

The crisp sound of gunfire echoed. Blood spattered across Fernando’s broad chest and stomach as three crimson bursts blossomed.

Without even a scream, he collapsed to the ground.

The two men flanking him tried to duck. One stepped on something, and a faint electrical crackle was heard as smoke rose from his head.

In his final moments of consciousness, he saw a comrade’s head burst like a smashed watermelon not far away.

Hawk shifted his aim and fired again. The man with smoke rising from his head was shot in the chest and fell stiffly to the ground.

The rest scrambled for cover—some hid behind trees, others behind ornamental stone sculptures, and some lay flat on the ground.

After a brief adjustment, their eyes began to adapt to the light. One by one, they raised their guns and fired at the second-floor window and the lit-up third floor.

Bullets flew, striking the window with a series of sharp cracks.

Spiderweb-like cracks spread across the glass, but it didn’t shatter.

Hawk had already retreated behind the brick and concrete walls. He darted to another window.

"Take out those lights!" Camila shouted, firing her rifle. Bullets struck the top-floor light fixture, but the lights didn’t go out.

She cursed under her breath, “The maniacs living here must be insane!”

Ayala, hiding behind a large tree trunk, noticed the reinforced glass on the windows and cursed as well. “Those lunatics actually installed bulletproof glass!”

But something felt off. The gunfire was too sparse.

Some of their people weren’t shooting—not because they didn’t want to, but because they couldn’t.

From behind a stone sculpture, someone screamed.

This man was highly trained. Even though he was temporarily blinded by the sudden light, he had instinctively jumped behind cover. Lying flat on the ground, he raised his gun to shoot—only to feel a vibration beneath him.

A metal crown atop the sculpture wobbled slightly. A small sphere embedded in it fell and exploded mid-air.

The sound was faint, the damage minor, but the insult was profound.

The sphere contained a high-concentration mixture of capsaicin resin and pepper spray chemicals.

The liquid splattered onto the man’s body, hands, and face, seeping into his eyes.

The agony was worse than any police pepper spray. Screaming, he reflexively rubbed his eyes, spreading the substance further.

Losing control of his body, he exposed his head from behind the statue.

Under Ayala’s horrified gaze, the man’s head was shot, ending his suffering.

At the same moment, another tried to rush to cover behind a platform. After just a few steps, he fell into a concealed pit.

At the bottom were sharp steel spikes glinting in the light.

He instantly gained over a dozen fatal wounds.

Ayala pressed himself against the tree trunk, trying to make sense of the chaos.

Above him, a package concealed in the branches opened. A weighted net embedded with metal wires and weighted balls fell, covering an area of over ten square meters.

Ayala heard the sound of air above him but couldn’t react in time. He crouched, covering his head.

The net touched his skin, and sparks of electricity crackled. Straining to turn his head, he looked toward Camila’s position but couldn’t see her. Then he collapsed with a thud.

Bang, bang, bang—

The deadly AR-15 fired three more times. Two rounds struck Ayala’s chest, and one hit his neck.

From behind the base of a lamp post, Camila watched helplessly as Ayala’s head hung on by just a sliver of his neck. Rage and despair filled her eyes.

She raised her rifle and fired repeatedly at the second-floor window.

But the shooter was concealed in the darkness, and the bulletproof glass made her attacks futile.

Gunfire and screams echoed from the backyard.

Her team was being slaughtered.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

The plan was to infiltrate stealthily and strike with overwhelming force. Even if discovered, their numbers and firepower should have ensured victory.

As this thought crossed her mind, Sesco emerged from the shadows, his left leg ablaze. He rolled on the ground, trying to extinguish the flames.

In the bright light, a flaming, writhing figure was an easy target for Hawk.

He quickly shifted his aim and fired three shots, putting the man out of his misery.

The remaining fighters in the front yard frantically sprayed bullets at the second floor.

But the house’s defenses held firm. Hawk, shrouded in darkness and perched above, had total control of the battlefield.

He repositioned and emptied his magazine at the muzzle flashes below.

One man, wielding an AR, dropped lifelessly to the ground.

As Hawk reloaded, he frowned slightly.

The traps he had rigged weren’t perfect. Some had failed to activate or didn’t function as intended.

There was still much to improve.

(End of Chapter)

*Chapter 153: Unleashing the Ultimate Move*

The flames roaring on the corpses echoed in Camilla’s ears, extinguishing the fire of vengeance in her heart.

This wasn’t a villa courtyard; it was a slaughterhouse!

The roles of butcher and prey had flipped the moment they stepped into the yard.

The enemy had the advantage of the terrain, hiding in the darkness, while her team fought on unfamiliar ground, fully exposed under the lights.

Camilla gritted her teeth, almost breaking them, and shouted, “Retreat! Get out of here now!”

The people she brought were her elite team—she couldn’t let them all die here.

She pulled out a smoke grenade and hurled it.

A cloud of white smoke rose in front of the villa.

The loud shouting reached Hawk, who pinpointed the sound’s direction and fired several shots. Then he moved to another window and asked through his earpiece, “What’s the status?”

Erica, brimming with excitement, replied cheerfully, “I’ve taken down five out of eight!”

Hawk said, “They’re trying to escape and have thrown smoke grenades. I’m preparing to use the ultimate move.”

“Don’t let a single one of them get out alive!” Erica growled. Anyone who dared to invade her home would leave only as corpses.

Hawk grabbed a remote control and pressed the button for the sprayer system.

In the backyard, someone yelled, “Boss, you go! We’ll hold them off!”

“Get moving!” two others responded from the front yard.

Camilla’s leadership inspired loyalty—her team was willing to sacrifice themselves for her.

Two young Mexican men, their adrenaline surging, leapt from cover, one wielding an AK and the other an AR. They fired wildly at the second floor.

Seizing the opportunity, Camilla and her remaining men ran toward the gate.

Amid the gunfire, a strange rumbling sound came from underground.

Dozens of sprinklers, like those used on sports fields, rose and began spinning, spraying liquid in all directions.

Inside the house, Hawk and Erica pulled gas masks from their tactical vests and strapped them on.

A sharp, peppery scent filled the air. Two gunmen in the yard, their nasal passages and eyes stinging from the irritant, sneezed uncontrollably.

The liquid landed on their exposed skin—faces, hands, necks—causing searing pain akin to burns. They couldn’t even hold their guns.

Camilla caught a whiff of the odor and immediately sneezed. She pulled her black jacket over her head to cover her nose and mouth.

Those bastards! They were using chemical weapons!

Camilla felt as if it were raining and heard her team’s screams. She dared not lift her jacket to look.

On the second floor, Hawk stood behind a window, aiming his AR-15 equipped with an infrared sight at the fastest runner.

It was clearly a woman, with a striking figure.

But to Hawk, she was only one thing—an enemy.

And enemies deserved the cold ruthlessness of winter.

Hawk showed no hesitation, pulling the trigger with the same ease and precision as target practice.

The AR fired three times.

All three bullets struck Camilla in the back. She fell headfirst to the ground.

She was an excellent marksman herself, but in this one-sided fight, she never had the chance to show her skills.

Hawk shifted his aim, picking off the other fleeing individuals one by one.

Bodies hit the ground, one after another.

Erica’s voice suddenly crackled in his earpiece, “Crap, I killed all eight on my side. Leave one alive!”

Hawk suspected she’d done it on purpose but couldn’t prove it.

Fortunately, there was one survivor in the yard, writhing in the pepper spray.

Hawk turned off the sprayer system, steadied his breathing, and took aim. He shot the man in both arms and legs, ensuring he would survive but be incapacitated for life.

The gunfire ceased, and silence blanketed the villa.

The sharp, peppery scent lingered in the air.

Under the glaring lights, the courtyard was in ruins—a scene of utter devastation.

This victory wasn’t due to Hawk and Erica’s shooting skills alone. It was the power of money that had won.

The modifications they’d made to the villa had cost them $100,000 and countless hours of effort.

Now, restoring it would take no less than hundreds of thousands.

Hawk closed the windows tightly and removed his gas mask. The smell inside the house was still bearable.

Erica entered through the door, holding her rifle and mask.

Seeing she was unscathed, Hawk relaxed and said, “I left a survivor.”

“There were eight people in the backyard. I took them all out,” said the ruthless goddess of investigation, her gun leaving no survivors.

Hawk kept his eyes glued to the surveillance feed on the computer screen. “I left one alive. He’s not going anywhere.”

The car parked outside the villa remained motionless.

Erica remarked, “They’re very confident—all of them came in. They’re sure they can take the two of us down.”

Hawk scrutinized the surveillance footage for a while, then picked up a pair of binoculars and examined the bodies in the yard. “Looks like they’re all of Mexican descent.”

A thought struck him. “Could this be a revenge attack from the Mule Gang?”

“Could be.” Erica suddenly heard the sound of engines in the sky. She quickly pulled out her phone, made a call, and began speaking to someone on the other end.

Moments later, Hawk noticed two helicopters approaching in the distance, their bright lights cutting through the night.

Soon, the helicopters hovered over the villa, and a SWAT team descended via ropes.

Erica, still on her phone, glanced over and said, “They’re ours.”

Only then did Hawk lower his AR rifle and drop back into his chair in front of the computer.

The medics accompanying SWAT began treating the sole surviving gunman.

That guy lay unconscious in a pool of blood and pepper spray, his pain rendering him unresponsive.

Erica went to negotiate with the arriving LAPD officers, handing over responsibility for the area outside the villa.

Within two minutes, the sound of wailing sirens filled the air as a convoy of police cars arrived.

From the time Erica made the emergency call to the arrival of the helicopters, only six minutes had passed.

But Hawk and Erica had been far too formidable, and the villa grounds were far too treacherous. Camila and her crew hadn’t lasted even five minutes.

With LAPD taking full control of the scene, the number of attackers was quickly confirmed: 21 in total—one woman and twenty men—all of Mexican descent.

Among them were several members of the Mule Gang listed on the LAPD’s most-wanted roster.

In this short but intense firefight, 20 attackers were killed, and one was critically injured.

The deceased woman was identified as Camila Fernández, one of the Mule Gang’s three leaders and reportedly closely tied to Mexico’s infamous “Shorty” Guzmán.

Her lieutenant, Ayala—a former Mexican special forces operative turned drug trafficker—was also killed on the spot.

News soon came in that two security guards in the Silver Lake community had been killed on duty.

Twenty minutes later, reporters began arriving, swarming outside the villa walls and snapping photos in a frenzy, eager for a scoop.

LAPD set up a perimeter around the villa, marking it off with crime scene tape.

Earlier, Hawk had installed concealed surveillance cameras outside the villa. He retrieved the footage from the server and handed it over to the LAPD detective in charge on-site.

The footage from the beginning wasn’t very clear but still showed the attackers climbing over the villa walls with automatic and semi-automatic weapons.

Once the lights came on, the footage became clearer, revealing the Mule Gang members carrying AKs, ARs, shotguns, and other weapons.

Susie, from LAPD’s media and public relations team, arrived on the scene.

Covering her nose to block out the stench, she made her way through the yard littered with shell casings and bullet holes, entering the villa.

Seeing Erica unharmed, Susie let out a visible sigh of relief.

If LAPD’s star officer had died in a Mule Gang retaliation, it would’ve sparked a massive media storm.

Then Susie spotted Hawk.

She glanced at Hawk, then at Erica, feeling inexplicably uneasy.

Suddenly, it hit her. This wasn’t the first time these two had teamed up in a firefight. Including LAPD’s staged arrests, how many times had this happened now?

Her gaze shifted to the scene outside—bodies, blood, and weapons strewn everywhere.

One thing was clear: this duo was ten times more ruthless than the criminals.

After reviewing the surveillance footage, Susie thought to herself, These two are brutal. They’ve turned their home into a fortress.  

And thank goodness for that. Otherwise, tonight’s outcome might’ve been very different.

Susie had a brief conversation with the LAPD detective in charge before discreetly approaching Hawk.

“This incident tonight would make excellent PR material,” she suggested.

Hawk understood her implication. “Let’s not rush. Let’s see what Erica wants to do first.”

Susie nodded slightly.

Hawk’s phone rang. He answered it.

Megan Taylor’s voice came through. “I just got a news tip. Heard your girlfriend was attacked by multiple gunmen at home tonight?”

“I’m right here,” Hawk replied.

Megan spoke softly, “Give me something—just a little. I’ve never pried into your personal life, have I?”

“Wasn’t that our agreement?” Hawk thought for a moment before conceding. “Over 20 gunmen armed with automatic weapons launched the attack. Erica and I took most of them down.”

Megan knew Hawk well. “You’ve got video, don’t you?”

“I can’t give it to you,” Hawk said bluntly. “We’ll talk about this later.”

“If you decide to share the footage with a network, come to me. Fox can outbid any other station,” Megan insisted.

“We’ll see,” Hawk replied before ending the call.

He glanced over at Erica, who was handing their weapons and collected shell casings to the tech team for analysis.

Certain procedures had to be followed.

At that moment, Brian Ferguson entered the villa under the guise of being Erica’s relative.

He was stunned by the scene. “What happened here? Did a world war break out?”

Hawk recalled Brian’s earlier remarks and pinned the blame squarely on him. “You’re a jinx! You said Erica and I would face more gunmen, and now over 20 attacked us tonight!”

“You should change your name to Brian Jinx!” Hawk declared.

Brian was speechless and refused to take the blame. “Me? Really? Was I involved when you ran into trouble with Robert Downey Jr.? Or that yacht ambush? Or your attack on the Mule Gang’s base? Or what happened in Wyoming?”

Hawk wasn’t about to let him off the hook. “Didn’t you jinx us this time? Didn’t you curse—no, bless—us?”

Brian was momentarily at a loss for words.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter 154: Stay Away from Erica

In the study of the villa, Mary Ferguson hugged Erica tightly as soon as she arrived, only relaxing after feeling the warmth of her daughter's body.

As a mother, she couldn't help but complain a bit:

"I wanted you to go to business school, but you insisted on becoming a police officer."

"I'm not hurt. Those who dared attack me were all taken out by Hawk and me," Erica reassured her mother in her own way. She added, "I don’t know anything about finance or business. I grew up around guns, and being a cop lets me use them legally."

She then said something characteristic of her situation:

"Someone has to inherit Dad's career."

Mary shook her head and said no more. Instead, she turned to Hawk:

"Are you hurt?"

"No," Hawk replied, deliberately lightening the mood. "Erica protected me well."

Erica shot him a glare and corrected him honestly:

"It was Hawk who protected me. He took out 13 scumbags, and I only got 8."

Brian, standing nearby, couldn’t help but interject:

"Why does this sound like you're bragging?"

He gestured toward the house.

"You two brought in so much stuff—does this still look like a house?"

Hawk explained,

"Most of it was custom-ordered and installed by professionals. There’s no way we could’ve done it all ourselves."

The villa, initially renovated under Mary’s direction, already featured bulletproof glass. The additional gadgets, like spotlights and traps, were items Erica ordered from various manufacturers. Over the past few weeks, Hawk and Erica had mainly dug a few pits, strung some wires, and installed devices on trees and poles. Even the largest pit was dug by hired labor.

As for the underground sprinkler system that sprayed pepper spray, it was part of the villa’s original irrigation system—modifications were made to the water supply to accommodate its new purpose.

Mary's expression turned stern.

"There's a management problem in Silver Lake Community. So many intruders, and there was no warning? I'll talk to the development company and demand an explanation."

Most of the intruders were dealt with, but someone had to take responsibility.

At this moment, Susie entered from the doorway and said,

"There are a lot of media reporters gathered outside. We need to issue an initial response. Hawk, Erica—what are your thoughts?"

Hawk responded immediately,

"The surveillance cameras only recorded the exterior. Pretend I don’t exist."

He turned to Erica.

"You decide."

Mary interjected:

"It's better to let the spokesperson handle it..."

Erica understood her mother’s concerns and said,

"Even if I don’t come forward, the grudge with the Mule Gang won’t disappear. I'm already their target, so one more grudge doesn’t matter."

Mary thought for a moment and realized this was true.

Susie quickly left to handle the media. Hawk had a brief conversation with her.

Since the surveillance footage was shot by Hawk and Erica, and they’d worked with Fox 11 before, Susie had no objections to using it.

Unable to leave the villa for now, Hawk called Megan Taylor and arranged a meeting for the next day.

Erica helped her mother settle in to rest and made calls to a few relatives. Hawk, meanwhile, went upstairs and handed her the keys to a Mercedes.

"Use this bulletproof car for now. I’ll order a new one for you."

The Cherokee parked in front of the villa, also bulletproof, had sustained significant damage under the intense firepower of the Mule Gang. Its protective capability was now severely compromised.

Erica declined:

"No need. Mom will have a new one sent over soon."

Hawk didn’t argue and pocketed the keys.

"Tomorrow, I’ll sell the surveillance footage. That money can go toward repairing the villa."

Leaning against him, Erica suddenly thought of something:

"Aren’t you planning to start a new online media company? Could this footage be used to attract users?"

Hawk replied,

"My media platform is still in the planning stages. It won’t be online anytime soon. This kind of social news isn’t like exclusive celebrity scandals—it’s highly time-sensitive. With so many reporters outside, its relevance won’t last long."

Erica nodded.

"You know more about this than I do. I’ll follow your lead."

As for explosive news to launch his media platform, Hawk already had a few ideas in mind. He would choose based on the situation at the time.

In North America, celebrity scandals were never in short supply.

Hawk had already brought the Ferguson family’s investment company on board as a shareholder.

If he wanted to rival the Ackerman family, he first had to grow strong enough himself.

That night, the media camped outside the villa finally got an official police report from the LAPD.

They learned that star officer Erica Ferguson had been targeted by 21 Mule Gang members in a retaliatory home invasion. Not only was she unharmed, but she had achieved the astonishing feat of killing 20 intruders and critically injuring one. The reporters were stunned.

Many couldn’t believe it and pressed Susie for clarification during the briefing. Susie confirmed the details and added that the LAPD would hold a formal press conference after completing preliminary investigations.

The next morning, Erica became the headline story for major Los Angeles-based publications and TV stations, including the Los Angeles Times.

Erica’s father, Carter Ferguson, one of the five members of the Police Commission, convened a meeting to discuss follow-up measures.

Since the LAPD’s jurisdiction was limited to Los Angeles, the commission decided to collaborate with the DEA for a major crackdown on the Mule Gang.

This was now about both LAPD’s safety and reputation.

However, Paul Ferguson moved even faster. The only grandson in the third generation of the Ferguson family—and Paul’s favorite—had been threatened in such a way that the patriarch was furious.

That morning, Paul gave instructions to his butler, who then visited the family’s security company.

By noon, a manager from the company was overseas, contacting mercenaries.

Paul Ferguson had originally left the Mule Gang alone, using them as a way for Erica to gain experience and achievements.

Now, that was no longer necessary.

Later that morning, Mary also met with the Silver Lake Community’s development and management company.

Though two of their security guards had died, they still had to answer for their failure to act effectively.

The real estate company's sales were already poor, and now this incident has made things worse. It’s clear that if Erica Ferguson publicly puts up the Silver Lake community homes for sale, it would be a fatal blow to them.

The houses in this community would become highly undesirable.

What’s more critical is that the company has already acquired another piece of land near Silver Lake, planning to develop Phase Two.

If Phase One collapses, there’s no hope for Phase Two.

The company promised to cover all repair costs for the villa, install a security system free of charge as requested by the owner, and provide $1 million as emotional compensation to Hawk and Erica.

Hawk consulted Erica about this, and they decided to use the old method: signing a business strategy consulting agreement worth $1 million with the real estate company under the name of West Coast Studios.

Hawk had no expertise in real estate, so he handed over the so-called strategic plan to Carolyn, asking her to draft a report that was logically coherent in writing but casually handled in terms of business content.

The other party likely wouldn’t use it anyway.

Inside the villa, Brian reviewed the consulting agreement, confirmed it was fine, and had Hawk and Erica sign it.

The real estate company’s general manager left shortly after.

Brian came over and threw his arm around Hawk’s shoulder. “Buddy, with such a big windfall, how about treating us?”

Hawk readily offered, “I’ll take you to the Atterhill Shooting Range. The guns and training fees are on me and Erica.”

“Forget it,” Brian waved him off nervously. “Hanging out with you two at the range feels like testing my luck.”

Erica quipped, “With all the drama you’ve been stirring up lately, you’d better watch out for someone coming after you with a stray bullet.”

Brian glanced at Hawk and said, “Don’t worry, Hawk will protect me.”

Ignoring his nonsense, Hawk turned to Erica and said, “I’ll set up a separate account for the money we make together. We’ll use it for trips, buying guns, and hunting training expenses.”

“Sure,” Erica agreed but made one point clear. “The video earnings are all yours. We’ve already agreed—I get the name, and you get the profit.”

“No problem,” Hawk responded without hesitation.

Brian interjected, “Wait a second. A joint account? What’s the plan here? Are you two planning to—”

“Shut up!” Hawk pulled out his Glock from his waistband and slammed it onto the table. “Do you want to bless us or curse us? Speak up.”

Brian swallowed his words and stormed out of the room.

Outside, he muttered to himself, “Did my words really have that much weight?”

Unwilling to give up, he quietly said, “Fine, I’ll wish you two a hundred-person shootout next time!”

Hawk grabbed the Mercedes keys and a storage drive. “I’m heading to the Fox Television Center.”

Erica said, “I’m heading home too. My family won’t rest easy until they see me.”

They each drove off in their bulletproof vehicles.

Two other cars followed Erica’s vehicle.

After tomorrow’s press conference, she would still need to handle the necessary paperwork at the police station before starting her administrative leave.

Hawk arrived at the Fox Television Center and went straight to Channel 11, finding Megan’s office.

Megan, unable to wait any longer, immediately watched the video.

The number of criminals and the firepower displayed in the footage made her heart race.

For most people, surviving such an attack until the police arrived would already be commendable.

But these two practically wiped out the Mule Gang’s armed thugs.

After watching the video, Megan didn’t say anything at first. Instead, she pondered for a moment before turning to Hawk.

“Some things shouldn’t be said, but we’ve known each other long enough. Here’s my sincere advice—stay away from Erica Ferguson.”

Hawk was puzzled. “Why?”

Megan replied seriously, “How long has it been? Less than a year, right? How many attacks have you faced while being with her?”

(End of Chapter)

*Chapter 155: Hollywood's Model Couple and the Gang War*

Facing Megan’s question, Hawk placed the blame squarely on someone else. “Someone’s cursed us,” he said.

Megan was baffled. “Cursed? Are we talking about mysticism now? You’ve tangled with Mexican cartels and voodoo practitioners?”

Hawk replied calmly, “In the face of overwhelming firepower, these are minor issues.”

Megan didn’t press further and mentally calculated a top-dollar offer. “$300,000 for the copyright transfer. Any higher, and I’ll be in trouble.”

“Deal,” Hawk agreed. “Let’s finalize the paperwork.”

He emphasized again, “Don’t forget where you stand.”

Megan nodded. “It’s not my first time working with LAPD. I’ll call Suzy shortly.”

Assistant Aisha entered the office to handle the copyright transfer. After Hawk signed the agreement, $300,000 was promptly transferred into West Coast Studios’ account.

Megan then contacted Suzy. There wasn’t anything particularly special about the task—just a straightforward broadcast of the surveillance footage, with voiceovers highlighting key moments.

The footage was brief, lasting only five minutes.

With the storage drive in hand, Megan gathered her team for a meeting.

Hawk didn’t linger, exiting the studio and taking the elevator down.

As he stepped out, another elevator opened, and a woman emerged—Gretchen.

Hawk had heard from Megan that Gretchen had moved to Fox News as the host of the morning show Fox & Friends.

Gretchen glanced at Hawk but showed no intention of speaking. She briskly walked past him toward the main entrance of the Fox building.

A Rolls-Royce Phantom pulled up at the entrance.

Gretchen opened the door, and a Black man in a white baseball cap stepped out of the car.

After a brief handshake with Gretchen, he entered the building.

Hawk paused, taking a closer look at the man. He had a naturally comedic face and prominent ears.

It was none other than Hollywood’s sole Black superstar—Will Smith.

Hawk got into his Mercedes and drove off, leaving the Fox building behind.

Inside, Gretchen accompanied Will Smith into the elevator, along with his manager.

The purpose of their visit was to discuss an upcoming interview on Gretchen’s show in three days.

Once upstairs, they entered a conference room.

Will’s manager made one thing clear: “The interview must stick to entertainment and movies. No political topics. Will’s political views don’t align with Fox’s.”

This was part of the promotion for Bad Boys II.

Gretchen, knowing how hard it was to book Will Smith, quickly agreed. “All questions will focus on Will’s career and Bad Boys II.”

She asked cautiously, “Can we touch on Will’s family life? Maybe your dynamic with Jada?”

Will flashed his charming smile. “Sure, but nothing too intrusive.”

“Just a few lighthearted questions about your loving relationship,” Gretchen said with a smile. “You two are Hollywood’s most famous model couple, after all.”

The term “model couple” felt ironic to Will, but he chose not to comment.

The conversation proceeded smoothly after Gretchen’s reassurances.

Once the manager left to review the script with the production team, only Gretchen and Will remained in the room.

Will patted the seat next to him. “Come sit.”

To secure Will’s appearance, Gretchen had made more than just concessions—she’d made promises. She stood, adjusted her skirt slightly, and sat beside him.

Will placed his hand on her thigh. “May I?”

“Of course,” Gretchen replied with a smile.

Will’s hand moved slightly. “You know, I was in the audience when you won Miss America. You were stunning. I’ve never forgotten the sight of you wearing that crown.”

Gretchen asked, “Am I not stunning now?”

“Absolutely,” Will laughed. “That’s why I accepted your invitation.”

He didn’t beat around the bush. “When will you fulfill your promise?”

“Tonight,” Gretchen replied. She had already crossed boundaries with Fox’s kingpin, Roger Ailes, and others at his behest.

Once a line is crossed, it often becomes easier to justify subsequent actions.

Spending one night to secure Will Smith’s morning show appearance seemed a fair trade to Gretchen.

After finalizing details with the producer, Will left the Fox building and texted Gretchen the address of a private property he owned in Los Angeles.

Will and Jada Smith had separate secret properties, allowing them to live independently.

On the drive home, Will called Jada. “I’m not coming home tonight.”

Jada laughed. “Perfect. I’m not coming home either.”

In certain respects, the couple had long reached an understanding.

---

*Mexicali, Capital of Baja California*

In a seemingly ordinary estate in Mexicali, a convoy of cars arrived one after another.

The top brass of the Mule Cartel had gathered in response to breaking news from Los Angeles media: their enforcers had been wiped out.

They needed a strategy—fast.

Though unremarkable on the outside, the estate was heavily guarded, with armed men patrolling its grounds.

As night fell, the lights suddenly went out. Explosions followed, targeting the power room and generator, lighting up the sky with flames.

Shouts of “enemy attack!” echoed in Spanish as gunfire erupted without warning.

Snipers picked off guards from afar, blood spraying into the air.

Three gates were breached simultaneously, with pickup trucks and SUVs mounted with machine guns storming in.

Despite having ex-police officers among their ranks, the cartel’s forces were corrupt and far from elite. Their best men had already perished in Los Angeles.

Against a team of elite mercenaries, the battle was one-sided from the start.

The mercenaries left no survivors, ruthlessly executing everyone in sight.

Inside the estate, cartel leader Geraldo desperately called a Mexicali police official for help, but the call was abruptly cut off.

He then tried reaching a high-ranking military officer, only to find that line dead as well.

Meanwhile, at the police official’s office, the man sat calmly as his armed subordinates guarded the premises.

On his desk was an open briefcase filled with cash.

Faced with the choice between money and angering powerful Americans, he made the obvious decision.

Cartel bosses came and went, but the true overlords—the Americans—always remained.

Back at the estate, the gunfire ceased, but the fire spread rapidly, engulfing the entire property.

The scent of burning bodies mixed with the lingering smoke.

The mercenaries vanished into the night as swiftly as they had appeared.

By dawn, local police declared the event a gang war, reporting multiple casualties and a fire as its aftermath.

Gang wars were so common along the border that some Americans even climbed rooftops at night to watch the “fireworks” across the border.

---

*LAPD Headquarters, Parker Center, Los Angeles*

The LAPD Media and Public Relations Office held a press conference in the newsroom regarding the Silver Lake community shooting.

Since Ace News aired the surveillance footage last night, the anticipation for today’s press conference had noticeably diminished.

It wasn’t until the LAPD’s top star, Erica Ferguson, appeared that the atmosphere in the room livened up.

Erica gave a standard account of the events that night, answered a few questions from reporters, and then excused herself, citing fatigue.

After the press conference ended, Erica followed routine protocol by attending a counseling session and then filing for administrative leave.

She left the office building, got into a Mercedes in the parking lot, and said to Hawke, who was in the driver’s seat, “Let’s go.”

Hawke started the car, exited Parker Center, and asked, “Got any plans for your leave?”

Erica replied, “I can’t leave Los Angeles—I need to be available to assist with the investigation. Today, I’ll head to your place. Tomorrow, I’m going to Woodland Hills; my grandparents want me to spend some time with them.”

Hawke drove westward, heading toward East Hollywood.

Erica said, “I got word from the department that there was a gang shootout in Mexicali last night. Most of the Mule Gang’s key members were killed in the crossfire.”

Hawke wasn’t surprised by the news, but he didn’t entirely buy the story. “Was it really a gang shootout?”

Erica shrugged. “That’s the information I received.”

She teased him, saying, “Don’t tell me you made a midnight trip to Mexicali and took all the glory for yourself?”

“I’m not that hungry for action,” Hawke played along with her banter. “If I were to take on the Mules, I’d need your remote support to pull it off.”

He continued, “When we’ve got enough money, we’ll assemble an elite team of our own. Anyone who messes with us will get a welcoming committee of guns and firepower.”

Erica laughed crisply. “I like that style.”

Though Hawke made it sound like a joke, he was seriously considering it. America might seem idyllic, but some things required extra vigilance.

When you reach a certain level, you can’t afford to hesitate when action is needed.

The two arrived at Fountain Avenue and entered the studio. Caroline and Edward were on the first floor.

Erica greeted them, grabbed a laptop, and headed straight to the second floor to avoid disturbing Hawke’s work.

Sitting at his desk, Hawke asked, “How’s the progress on your tasks?”

Edward spoke up first. “I’ve mobilized several people, including the Freaky Trio. As soon as the website launches, we can get them spreading the word among the paparazzi, letting them know Los Angeles has a new news sales channel.”

Caroline placed a document in front of Hawke. “Here’s the consultation draft for the real estate company.”

Hawke waved it off. “Send it over later.”

Caroline then handed him another file. “As for the website, I’ve found a suitable acquisition target.”

(End of Chapter)