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Chapter 157
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2025-02-11 10:30:49Cassidy guided the car smoothly through the dimly lit streets, the low hum of the engine filling the silence of the night. His fingers drummed idly against the steering wheel, his mind half on the road, half on the weight of the past few hours.
Arthur had asked him to pick him up from work. A simple request. Something normal couples did. But there was nothing normal about them. Arthur was a cop, and Cassidy was a capo.
The contradiction burned in his chest like a cigarette ember.
He pulled up near the police station, parking in a shadowed spot across the street. He didn't need the wrong set of eyes spotting him and asking questions. If anyone recognized his car sitting outside a precinct for too long, rumors would spread like wildfire. He couldn't afford that kind of attention.
His phone buzzed in the cupholder. The screen lit up with a name that had been at his side for years… Nate.
Cassidy picked up, keeping his voice low. "Talk to me."
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Gold & Sand Chapter 158
Arthur reached the door to Cassidy’s car and slid inside.“Hey,” Arthur greeted, his voice warm as he leaned in to kiss Cassidy on the lips. The kiss was soft, but Cassidy’s response was lackluster, a little dry.Arthur pulled back slightly, studying Cassidy’s face. “Is everything okay?”Cassidy gave a quick, shallow nod, but his tone was flat, the word hanging in the air with a certain detachment. “Yes.”He started the car with a practiced ease, gripping the wheel tightly as he shifted into gear. The engine hummed beneath them, but the silence was thick, lingering like an unspoken weight between them.“So, how was your day?” Cassidy finally asked, breaking the stillness. His voice was casual, but the question felt more like an afterthought.Arthur shifted in his seat, the tension in the car unnoticed by him. “It was good.” He gave a quick rundown, nothing too deta
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Cassidy pulled up to Arthur’s apartment, his grip firm on the steering wheel. His face was unreadable, smooth, almost indifferent… like the conversation they’d had earlier meant nothing.Arthur, oblivious to the hurricane brewing beneath Cassidy’s exterior, unbuckled his seatbelt with a soft click. He turned, flashing that easy smile of his, the one Cassidy once found annoying but had somehow grown used to."Thanks for the ride," Arthur said, then leaned in, pressing another kiss to Cassidy’s lips.Cassidy forced himself to kiss back. Not too eager, not too cold. Just enough to keep Arthur from asking questions."Goodnight," Arthur said, slipping out of the car.Cassidy waited, watching as Arthur walked toward his apartment building. He saw the way Arthur’s posture was relaxed, the way he had no idea that the man he’d been sleeping with for two months was barely keeping his ra
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The sleek black car pulled up outside the police station just as officers and staff were spilling out for their lunch breaks. Cassidy sat behind the wheel, sunglasses shielding his expression as he drummed his fingers lightly against the steering wheel.Arthur emerged from the station, practically bouncing down the steps. The moment he spotted Cassidy, a grin spread across his face, bright and boyish as ever.Cassidy rolled down the window, smirking. “You waiting for a prince, sweetheart?”Arthur laughed, already reaching for the car door. “Nope, just my very shady, very rich boyfriend.” He slid in and leaned over, pressing a kiss to Cassidy’s lips without hesitation. It was quick, affectionate… too easy.Cassidy kissed him back, but something about it twisted in his chest. Arthur had no idea who he was really kissing. No idea that the man sitting beside him had already started planning ways to
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Arthur was hunched over his desk, scanning through intelligence reports on his latest case. He scribbled notes in the margins, his focus narrowed on the lines of text when the phone rang. He answered quickly, hoping to get this call over with so he could dig deeper into his investigation."Detective Cooper," Arthur said, his voice sharp and professional."Cooper, it’s William from the narcotics task force," came the voice from the other end. "We’ve got a new lead on the shipment coming in tonight. You with me?"Arthur sat up straighter, his mind immediately snapping to attention. "Go ahead. What’s the latest?""We’ve traced the route—it’s coming from one of the ports downtown. Our intel suggests it’s a large load this time. We're talking at least three, maybe four times the usual volume. But the kicker is, the delivery is being made under the cover of a front business—someone’s using one of the nightcl
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Arthur stepped into Mirage, his eyes scanning the dimly lit interior as he made his way inside. From a distance, Nathaniel caught sight of him, his sharp gaze narrowing.That’s boss’ boy.He kept watching. Arthur didn’t move like the usual crowd… no relaxed swagger, no easy charm. Instead, he was observant, his head tilting slightly as he listened to conversations around him. He wasn’t here for fun.He was here to see. To hear. To dig.Nathaniel’s expression hardened. Without hesitation, he turned and headed upstairs.When he entered Cassidy’s office, the sound of pen against paper filled the room. Cassidy, not looking up, exhaled in irritation.“I told you I’m busy.”“I apologize, sir,” Nathaniel said smoothly. “But you’re gonna want to see this.”Cassidy still didn’t glance up. &ldqu
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Arthur sat in the passenger seat, his gaze fixed on the cityscape rushing past the window. The faint glow of streetlights cast a dim reflection on the glass, blending with the tension weighing down on him. William, in the driver’s seat, kept his hands steady on the wheel, his sharp eyes focused on the road ahead.“So,” William said, breaking the silence. “You checked the financial records yesterday?”Arthur let out a breath, nodding. “Yeah. I dug through everything I could, followed every lead, but nothing stuck out. No suspicious transactions, no offshore accounts, nothing concrete. It was clean—too clean.”William hummed thoughtfully. “That’s usually a bad sign.”“Exactly,” Arthur agreed. “So, I decided to check out the Mirage myself.” He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “But it got messy, and I had to leave.”William glanced at him, a
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William stepped out of the club, the pulse of music still lingering in the back of his mind. He squinted in the night air, seeing Arthur standing a few feet away, his gaze fixed on the horizon, distant and detached.William approached cautiously. "Hey... Cooper, you okay?"Arthur turned, his face unreadable. "Yeah. We can go back inside."William hesitated, studying him for a moment. Something in Arthur's posture told him it wasn’t just about the night out. He glanced toward the club and then back at Arthur. "I think we’re done for today. We can come another time."Arthur looked off again, the tension in his shoulders telling a different story, but he nodded. "I see."William frowned but didn’t press it. "Let’s go… I’ll drop you home."Arthur nodded once more, and they walked in silence to William’s car. As they drove, Arthur’s mind raced. `He could be high rank. A mobster, definitely. ´
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Morning light filtered through the room, casting a golden hue over the polished floors. The faint hum of the city outside blended with the controlled rhythm of Matthew’s breath as he worked through his sit-ups. Bare-chested, short shorts riding up his thighs, his muscles flexed with each movement. He didn’t rush… this wasn’t about fitness; it was about focus. About not thinking too hard about the man he’d made a deal with.Then the front door clicked open.Cassidy stepped in, his expression unreadable, but his presence carried a weight that instantly filled the space. He wasn’t tired… no, Cassidy never let himself look tired… but something in his eyes was off. He was irritated.Matthew didn’t stop. Didn’t even look at him at first. He just smirked. “Well, if it isn’t the man of the hour. Tell me, did she moan your name or just fake it to get you out faster?”Cassidy’s jaw tensed. His lips twitched… not in amusement, but in that way they did when he was debating whether to snap or play
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Clark stepped out of the bathroom, hair still damp, glasses fogging slightly as he adjusted them with one hand. A loose t-shirt clung to his frame, baggy pajama pants hanging low on his hips, flip flops slapping lightly against the hardwood as he moved.The scent hit him before he reached the living room—rosemary, garlic, a hint of something sweet. His stomach, traitorous as ever, growled on cue.Adam was at the stove, shirtless, a tea towel slung over his shoulder. The muscles in his back shifted with each movement, smooth and effortless as he stirred something in a pan.Clark hovered at the edge of the room. “You cook like that and still act surprised people want to fuck you.”Adam didn’t turn. “You flirt like that and still wonder why you end up bruised.”Clark smirked, stepping further in. “Touché.”Adam plated without a word, setting two dishes on the table like it was routine. Like they weren’t still bruised from each other in all the wrong ways.Clark raised an eyebrow. “Settin
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The low hum of the television filled the living room. Adam sat sprawled on the couch, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, remote balanced loosely in his hand. Some news anchor droned on about the latest scandal, but Adam barely glanced at the screen. The sunlight filtering through the windows cast a warm glow over the space, though the tension clinging to the room remained as cold as ever.Clark stood near the kitchen counter, arms crossed, his fingers drumming impatiently against his elbow. He was still in yesterday’s clothes—the wrinkled shirt barely buttoned, the trousers creased from hours spent tangled in bed. He’d rolled up the sleeves at some point, exposing pale forearms that still bore faint impressions of Adam’s grip. Every mark, every ache, gnawed at him."I need to go home," Clark said flatly.Adam didn’t even flinch. His eyes remained on the screen, the glow of the TV reflecting faintly against his dark skin. "No."Clark's jaw clenched. "I wasn’t as
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The clock crawled past noon.Clark slouched on the leather couch, whiskey in hand. The ice had melted. He didn’t care. His shirt stuck to his skin, wrinkled and loose from the night before. He hadn’t changed. Hadn’t showered. The bruises on his neck were impossible to ignore. Dark splotches, some shaped like teeth. Others like fingers. A goddamn masterpiece, signed in pain.Adam, though? He looked like he’d just stepped out of a cologne advertising.Shirtless. Loose sweatpants slung low. Muscles on full display, carved deep beneath dark skin. The light caught every scar, every ripple. And those hands — Clark’s gaze kept catching on them. Rough, wide-knuckled, capable of wrecking anything. He knew that better than anyone now.The worst part? Adam wasn’t even trying.He moved through the kitchen like he owned the air. Coffee in one hand, the other lazily resting on the counter. Like nothing happened. Like Clark’s body wasn’t still a battlefield."You act like n
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The air between them was suffocating.Clark’s eyes flashed, his bare chest still heaving as he jerked the sheets higher, though there was little point. The bruises were already visible—dark purple splotches along his neck, across his chest, down his sides. Some shaped like teeth. Others like fingers. He felt every mark. Every ache. And the soreness that ran deeper than his skin."You—" Clark’s voice cracked, still rough from sleep, from the night before. He swallowed. "You took advantage of me."Adam stood at the edge of the bed, already tugging his sweatpants back on. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t argue. Just pulled the waistband up with that same brute force that lingered in Clark’s bones."I'm just as horrified as you are," Adam muttered, his voice low, stripped of anything that resembled guilt. "I’m making breakfast.""Breakfast?" Clark's laugh was sharp. "You think I care about breakfast? You think eggs and coffee are going to make me forget that you—" His hand flew to the side of his
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Adam woke to the sound of his phone vibrating.The dull hum buzzed somewhere on the nightstand, insistent and unforgiving. He ignored it at first, the weight of exhaustion still heavy. His body ached. Not the usual ache—not from fights or workouts or even a bad mattress. This was different. Deep. Lingering. And the sheets tangled around his legs, damp with sweat and something else —something worse. Then it hit him.Clark.Barely covered. Skin marred with darkened bruises and red marks that Adam’s hands—his hands—had left behind. The bite marks at the base of Clark’s neck. The faint outline of teeth against pale skin. The way his chest rose and fell, lips parted, a mess of tangled blond hair sprawled over the pillow. He looked ruined.Adam swallowed hard.`What the fuck did I do?’The memories clawed back like a slow burn. The rough kisses. The bruising grip. Clark’s gasping, stuttering pleas. The bed creaking beneath the relentle
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The second bottle was already half empty.Clark’s glass dangled loosely between his fingers, half-forgotten. The amber burn had long since softened to something gentler. Warmer. It dulled the edges, smoothed out the cracks. But the fire inside him? That wasn’t from the scotch.It was from Adam.Barefoot, loose sweatpants slung low... he sprawled across the couch, the muscles in his chest and arms carved deep beneath dark skin. The light brown of his eyes gleamed under the dim lamplight, their sharpness dulled only slightly by the alcohol. Every now and then, Adam’s hand curled lazily around his glass, swirling the drink, his fingers broad and rough. Unbothered. Unapologetically masculine.And Clark? Clark was eating him alive.He wasn’t hiding it anymore.Why should he? The flush on his cheeks wasn’t just from the alcohol. The way his eyes lingered a second too long, traced the line of Adam’s collarbone, the slope of his shoulders—none of it was subtle. And A
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Clark’s phone buzzed on the coffee table, vibrating against the glass. He glanced at the screen, Masahiro flashing in bold letters.He sighed, snatching it up. “Masahiro.”“Clark.” Masahiro’s voice was clipped, but not tense. “Good. You’re alive.”“Is that disappointment I hear?” Clark’s tone was effortlessly dry. “Or were you hoping I’d leave you with one less headache?”“We went to your place. It was empty.”“Yes, I’m aware. That’s generally the goal when one isn’t home.”“We heard about the gunfire.” Masahiro ignored the jab. “You alright?”Clark adjusted his glasses with precise, deliberate finesse. “Charmed, as always.”“And where are you?”Clark hesitated. He could practically hear the judgment loading.“Adam’s.”A pause. Just long enough to register the surprise without voicing it.“Of course you are.” Masahiro’s voice was too level. “And this decision was made with the full clarity of your legal genius?”“Obviously. Nothing
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Smoke still clung to Clark’s jacket like a ghost he couldn’t shake. He’d barely had time to process the ambush—just flashes of gunfire, Adam shoving him down, the brutal jolt of the car door slamming shut. Now they were speeding down a back road, the city lights thinning behind them.Clark stared out the window, heart still jackhammering under his ribs. Asphalt blurred under the tires. The direction felt wrong.“This isn’t the hotel district,” he said, adjusting his glasses with clipped precision. “Where are we going?”Adam didn’t look at him. His grip on the wheel was tight, jaw clenched. “My place.”Clark blinked. “Your what?”“My place,” Adam repeated. “We’re layin’ low.”Clark snapped his head toward him. “Since when is your house suddenly the panic room? Take me to a hotel.”Adam exhaled, sharp and irritated. “A hotel ain’t safe.”“And your place is?”“Yeah.”Clark scoffed. “That a joke? What’s next, you gonna tuck me in with a loaded Glo
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The door clicked shut behind them, soft but final.Clark was the first to move, striding across the room and dropping his file folder onto the table like it had offended him. He didn’t take off his coat. Didn’t loosen his tie. Just leaned forward, both palms on the table, head low.The air felt like it hadn’t been breathed in properly for hours.Masahiro stood near the wall, arms folded, expression unreadable as always. His coat was still buttoned, not a hair out of place, voice low and clipped.“You did well,” he said.Clark didn’t lift his head. “They were the ones who did well.”“Don’t be modest. You controlled the tempo from the moment you stood up,” Masahiro added, voice firm. “Even she couldn’t shake the narrative.”Clark finally straightened. Adjusted his glasses. “She’ll try harder on monday.”“And you’ll handle it,” Masahiro replied simply. “You’re still one of the best in Middlesbrough, whether you’re spiraling or not.”From the corner,
