章 66: Chapter 66: Guardian of the Angel

The morning light filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. You slowly awaken, the events of the previous night still vivid in your mind. As you stir, you feel the warmth of Emily's body pressed against yours, her arm draped casually across your chest. You can't help but smile, the memory of your wild lovemaking flashing through your thoughts.

Last night was nothing short of electric. The adrenaline from the chaos had only intensified your passion, leading to a night of raw, unrestrained pleasure. You recall the feel of her skin beneath your fingertips, the way her breath hitched with each kiss, and the fire in her eyes that matched your own.

You gently brush a strand of hair from her face, taking a moment to admire her. The previous night's intensity had left you both spent, but there's a certain tranquility in the aftermath. As you lie there, tangled together in the sheets, you can't help but reflect on how quickly things have escalated since your release from prison.

Emily stirs beside you, her eyes fluttering open. She gives you a lazy smile, her fingers tracing patterns on your chest. "Morning," she murmurs, her voice husky from sleep.

"Morning," you reply, your voice equally soft. You lean in to kiss her forehead, savoring the quiet moment.

She snuggles closer, her fingers lazily tracing circles on your chest. "Last night was... something else," she whispers, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

You chuckle softly, your hand trailing down her back. "Yeah, it was wild," you agree, your fingers playing with the ends of her hair. "I can't remember the last time I felt so alive."

Emily lifts her head to look at you, her eyes filled with affection. "You know, I never expected to find someone like you in this crazy city," she admits, her voice tender. "You make all this chaos feel like an adventure."

You feel a warmth spread through your chest at her words. "I feel the same way," you confess, brushing your thumb over her cheek. "With you, everything seems... different. Better."

She smiles, leaning in to capture your lips in a slow, sweet kiss. The world outside may be filled with danger and uncertainty, but in this moment, all that matters is the connection you share. The kiss deepens, filled with the promise of many more mornings like this, tangled in each other's arms, ready to face whatever comes next together.

Your phone rings, cutting through the intimate silence. Emily groans softly, burying her face in your chest as you reach for it. The caller ID reads "Mitch Baker," and you can't help but feel a pang of apprehension. You answer, your voice slightly husky from sleep. "Yeah, Mitch, what's up?"

"Where the hell are you? And where is Emily?" Mitch's voice is gruff, a mix of concern and irritation. "We got some business to handle, and you're nowhere to be found."

You glance at Emily, who is watching you with a curious expression. "I'm at my place," you reply, keeping your tone calm. "She's here too."

There's a brief pause on the other end of the line before Mitch responds. "Well, get your ass back to the Greasy Chopper. We got some shit to sort out, and it can't wait."

You nod, even though he can't see you. "Alright, we're on our way." You hang up the phone, letting out a sigh.

Emily looks up at you, her eyes filled with questions. "Everything okay?" she asks, her voice soft.

You stroke her hair, offering a reassuring smile. "Yeah, everything's fine. Just Mitch being Mitch. We need to head back to the Greasy Chopper."

She nods, understanding. "Guess the quiet morning is over, huh?"

You chuckle, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Seems like it. But hey, we can handle whatever comes our way, right?"

Emily grins, a spark of determination in her eyes. "Damn right we can."

You both take a moment to disentangle yourselves from the sheets, the remnants of last night's passion still evident in the way you move together. As you get dressed, you steal glances at each other, the connection between you growing stronger with each passing second.

Once you're both ready, you head to the garage. The roar of your bike echoes through the quiet morning air as you and Emily ride through the city streets, the thrill of the journey ahead buzzing between you.

Arriving at The Greasy Chopper, you spot Mitch engrossed in a pinball game. The flashing lights and clinking sounds create a chaotic symphony around him. His eyes are glued to the machine, fingers tapping furiously on the flippers. You stand back for a moment, watching as he battles the silver ball with intense concentration.

"Mornin'," you call out, making your presence known.

He grunts in acknowledgment, not taking his eyes off the game. "Tommy," he mutters, the clatter of the pinball echoing through the bar. "Before I agree to handle security for Love Fist, there's one more thing. Some punks stole my bike, and I need it back. It's at a compound behind the Downtown Ammu-Nation."

Emily, standing beside you, overhears and steps closer, a grin spreading across her face. "Interesting, who are they?" she says, her eyes glinting with excitement.

Mitch's gaze shifts briefly to Emily before snapping back to the game. "Don't know, probably some new punks think they can sit on my head. Anyway, the place is heavily guarded," he continues, still focused on the machine. "You up for it?"

You nod, feeling the weight of the challenge. "Consider it done."

Just as you're about to head out, Emily's phone buzzes. She glances at the screen, her expression shifting to one of concern. She says, looking at you with a mixture of apology and frustration. "I gotta handle something urgent."

You nod, understanding the sudden change. "Take care of it, Em. I'll do this."

Emily gives you a quick kiss on the lips before hurrying off to deal with her own matters. Meanwhile, Mitch's game takes a turn for the worse. The pinball slips past his flippers, and the machine blares a harsh, taunting sound. "Goddamn it!" Mitch curses, slamming his fists on the sides of the machine. "Son of a bitch!"

You suppress a chuckle and head out, leaving Mitch to vent his frustration. The roar of your bike echoes through the air as you ride off, ready to take on the mission ahead.

The roar of your bike fills the air as you speed through the bustling streets of Vice City. The sun is climbing higher in the sky, casting sharp shadows across the pavement. Your destination is clear: the stairs across from the Downtown Ammu-Nation. The compound where Mitch's bike is kept is heavily guarded, and the only way in is through a daring stunt.

As you weave through traffic, you can't help but notice the city's early morning activity. Shops are opening, street vendors are setting up their stalls, and pedestrians are starting their daily routines. Snippets of conversation float by.

"Did you hear about the serial chainsaw killer last night?" one woman says to her friend.

"Yeah, some crazy bastard hacked up a couple of people. This city is a fucking madhouse," the friend replies.

Arriving at the target location, you take a moment to survey the scene. The stairway you need to jump from is steep, leading up to a narrow landing. Beyond that is the roof of the Ammu-Nation building, the perfect vantage point to launch your assault on the compound.

You park your bike in a secluded alleyway and proceed on foot, blending into the crowd as you make your way toward the compound. You need to gather information before making your move. The streets around Ammu-Nation are busy, but you remain focused, scanning for anything unusual.

As you approach the compound, you notice the high walls and a single gate guarded by several tough-looking thugs. They appear well-armed and alert, clearly not your average street punks. You count at least six guards at various points, their eyes constantly scanning for threats.

"Keep your eyes peeled," one thug mutters to another. "Boss ain't want any screw-ups today."

"Damn straight," his partner replies. "Last time someone tried to mess with us, they got a bullet to the head."

You find a spot across the street, behind a vendor's stall, and pull out a pair of binoculars for a closer look. The compound is bustling with activity. You spot more gang members inside, moving crates and talking in small groups.

"Hey, hurry up with those boxes," one barks. "We need to get this shipment ready."

The bike you need to retrieve is parked near the back, partially obscured by a stack of crates. It's an Angel chopper, with a sleek black paint job and chrome accents. The handlebars gleam in the sunlight, and the leather seat looks well-worn but comfortable.

You take note of the surrounding buildings. There are several potential escape routes, including a narrow alley that leads to a back street. A fire escape on a nearby building could offer a quick way to gain a higher vantage point or an emergency exit if things go south.

Satisfied with your reconnaissance, you head back to your bike. The plan is risky, but it's the only way to get Mitch's bike back. You rev the engine, feeling the powerful machine vibrating beneath you. Adrenaline courses through your veins as you line up the approach. The traffic has thinned, but you still need to time this perfectly to avoid any potential collisions.

"Alright, you got this," you mutter to yourself, gripping the handlebars tighter.

With a deep breath, you accelerate, the bike's tires gripping the asphalt as you gain speed. The wind whips past your face, and the sound of the engine roars in your ears. As you near the stairway, you stand up slightly, preparing for the jump. The stairs rush toward you, and with a final surge of speed, you hit the incline.

The bike launches into the air, the ground dropping away beneath you. Time seems to slow as you soar over the street, the gap between the buildings yawning below. You can see the surprised faces of pedestrians and drivers as they look up, jaws dropping at the sight of your audacious stunt.