Ryan's shout froze the entire restaurant.
Every diner turned in shocked unison—to the man now standing, gun drawn.
Phillip's eyes locked on the TTI Viper in Ryan's hand.
His pupils shrank.
Impossible.He was sure—absolutely certain—that Ryan hadn't been armed when he entered.
He'd watched carefully.Ryan's waist, his back, even his armpits—no holster, no bulge, no concealed weapon.
And that Viper?It was not a pocket pistol. It was big. Not something you could hide in a sleeve.
And yet—here it was.
And Ryan had drawn it without him seeing a single damn thing.
But Phillip didn't freeze.
Assassins don't get second chances.
Screw the target.
Ryan was now the primary threat.
He yanked the silenced Colt M2000 from under the table and turned it on Ryan.
Ryan didn't fire immediately—not because he hesitated.
Because legally, he couldn't.
He was still on administrative leave. No badge. No authority.If the suspect didn't point a weapon at him, he wasn't allowed to act.
But now?
Now the gun was pointed at him.
Ryan didn't wait.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The Viper spat fire.Bullets slammed into Phillip—torso, arms, legs, center mass.
He emptied the mag.
21 rounds. Smooth as silk.
Even as the final shot echoed, Ryan's hand was already slapping a fresh mag into place.
The restaurant erupted.
"OH MY GOD! HE'S GOT A GUN!"
"CALL THE COPS!"
"RUN!"
"SOMEBODY'S SHOOTING!"
Chairs clattered. Silverware crashed.Screams echoed. Diners dove for cover.Chaos.
But no one ran toward Ryan.His stance, his weapon, his presence—it made it clear which side he was on.
Phillip was down. Motionless.
Ryan didn't need to check for vitals. But he still followed protocol.
No headshots in a civilian location—but he'd triple-tapped the heart.
Left side. Just in case it was on the right, he gave that side three more.
21 rounds. All accounted for.
He stepped over, kicked the silenced Colt M2000 away, and pressed two fingers to Phillip's neck.
No pulse.
Dead.
Ryan calmly pulled out his phone and called his superior.
"Benjamin," he said. "It's Ryan."
"You're on administrative leave," came the reply. "What's up?"
Benjamin was still at HQ, finalizing the paperwork for Ryan's earlier shootout with the two armed suspects.
"I was at The Little Door. Had dinner plans. A hitman showed up."
"Target neutralized."
For a second, silence.
Then:
"What the fk?!**"
Back at the station, Benjamin turned to his captain.
"Sir… it's Ryan."
"He just shot a hitman. Again. This time in West Hollywood."
Captain Alexander's face darkened.
"Goddamn it."
"He's still on leave. He's got no authority."
"Call West Hollywood Division. Let's roll."
In the history of the Hollywood Division, no patrol rookie had ever killed three suspects in one day.
Back at the scene, Ryan turned to Taylor.
"You okay?"
Taylor looked at him, eyes wide with adrenaline, and threw herself into his arms.
She had seen the barrel. The angle.
She knew—if Ryan hadn't moved when he did…
That bullet was meant for her.
She kissed him, trembling.
Ryan's second time saving her life—and this time, it had been seconds from death.
Across the room, Councilman Liam Clarke was already being shielded by his bodyguard, Madison Lewis.
"Sir, you were definitely the target," Madison muttered.
Then his eyes flicked to Ryan—guilt and gratitude mixing in equal measure.
If not for this off-duty officer, Clarke might've been a corpse.
Councilman Clarke nodded grimly.
"Hmph. Someone didn't like my new policy proposals."
Then he looked toward Ryan—and recognized Taylor Swift instantly.
"Is that… Taylor? And he's a cop?"
Pop megastar. Local patrol cop.Talk about worlds colliding.
He leaned close to Madison.
"Stay here. Help that young officer with the aftermath."
Then, without another word, he left with his wife.
He was a councilman. Ryan was a street cop.
Different class.
Moments later, the nearest patrol units arrived.
Several officers rushed in.
Ryan gently released Taylor and stepped forward, raising his badge.
"LAPD. Hollywood Division. Officer-in-training Ryan Li."
"The suspect is down. He was targeting Councilman Clarke."
One of the incoming officers—a tall Black man named Cole—froze when he heard the name.
"No way," he said, eyes widening.
His partner, a fit white woman with body armor and short-cut hair, raised an eyebrow.
"You know him?"
"My cousin works Hollywood Division. He told me all about this guy!"
"Dude's a f**king legend. First day on the job? Took down five armed hostiles solo. Then today—his first hour back—wastes two more."
"And now? Another confirmed kill?!"
The woman—Officer Lilith—crossed her arms.
"You're currently on administrative leave, correct?"
"That means you're a civilian. No law enforcement privileges."
Ryan nodded coolly, and pointed to the ceiling.
"Check the cameras. You'll see—self-defense."
The patrol team exchanged glances.
Lilith sighed, then stepped forward.
"Even so… I need your firearm."
Ryan didn't resist.
He raised the Viper and handed it over, muzzle down.
"Standard procedure," he said with a smirk. "I know the drill."