Arthur twisted the handle again. Then harder. The metallic clunk of resistance only made his frustration worse. His breathing was shallow, rage still curling inside his ribs like a storm refusing to settle.
No. No, no, no. His fingers tightened around the handle, his entire body tense with disbelief. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t be trapped here. Not with him. Cassidy took another slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke in a lazy swirl before tilting his head at Arthur, utterly unfazed. “Did that help?” Arthur shot him a murderous glare. “Shut the fuck up.” Cassidy chuckled under his breath, leaning back against the wall like this was some minor inconvenience rather than an absolute nightmare. Like he wasn’t the reason Arthur’s entire world had just imploded. Arthur pulled harder, then slammed a fist against the door. Nothing. He glanced around, scanning the room for anything thatMasahiro was deep in sleep when his phone vibrated against the nightstand. He groggily opened his eyes, blinking against the dim light of his bedroom. 2 AM.He frowned. Who the hell was messaging him at this hour?Reaching for the phone, he unlocked the screen and read the message.Arthur: Sorry, sir. I got stuck in a casino called The Ivory Ace. 5th floor, maintenance room. Help, sir.Masahiro’s brow furrowed. He sat up, rubbing his temple as he processed what he had just read.`What the hell? ´He had left Arthur at the station at 5 PM. Now, hours later—at midnight, the kid was suddenly trapped in a casino?`Was he gambling? ´Masahiro exhaled slowly, already irritated. He muttered under his breath, “This kid.”Dragging himself out of bed, he pulled on a long-sleeved turtleneck, jeans, and sneakers. With a sigh, he grabbed his wallet and car
Masahiro and Matthew moved toward the maintenance room in silence, each step heavy with questions neither wanted to voice.Matthew wasn’t even sure why he was here anymore. Cassidy? Sure. But why the hell was Masahiro here?Masahiro, on the other hand, already had a bad feeling about whatever was behind that door.Matthew reached the handle first, pushed it open—And froze.Both men stared inside, equally dumbfounded.Cassidy was asleep on one side of the room, sprawled out against the wall like this was a damn vacation.On the other side, distant and separate, was someone else. A guy—young, barely mid-twenties, brown hair tousled, posture slumped as if he’d passed out sitting upright.Matthew narrowed his eyes, a flicker of recognition sparking.Where had he seen this kid before?Then, Masahiro moved.Without hesitation, he strode past Cassidy without even sparing him a glance, his
Matthew stretched lazily, rolling his shoulders as the cold air wrapped around him. Cassidy, standing beside him, shot him a look. “I hope you didn’t come here by bike.” Matthew smirked, popping his neck. “Nah. Came by car this time.” He tilted his head toward the lot. “There it is.” Cassidy hummed in approval. Meanwhile, a few steps behind them, Masahiro and Arthur emerged from The Ivory Ace. Arthur let out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sir, thank you for coming to pick me up… But I actually came by car. Sorry for the inconvenience.” Masahiro wasn’t really listening. His eyes were locked ahead—on Matthew, walking with Cassidy. Arthur shifted uncomfortably, watching Masahiro’s gaze linger too long. Then Masahiro spoke, his voice low and firm. “I’m taking you home.”  
Arthurs POVArthur frowned, gripping the car door handle but not getting in.He saw Masahiro getting close to Matthew and sighed. `Whatever. ´ If his boss wanted to talk to that mobster, that was his problem.Arthur had bigger things to think about.Like how his entire night had spiraled into chaos. Like how the man he’d been hunting for years—the man who killed his sister—turned out to be his own damn boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend.Arthur clenched his jaw, forcing himself to breathe. `Focus. ´Arthur exhaled sharply, shaking his head. `Not my problem. ´He finally slid into the passenger seat, shutting the door with a little more force than necessary.Arthur exhaled through his nose, feeling the beginning of a headache pounding behind his eyes."What else could possibly happen tonight?" he muttered bitterly, rubbing his temple.
Cassidy´s POVCassidy and Matthew strode across the parking lot, the cool night air wrapping around them like a lingering whisper of unfinished business. Matthew rolled his shoulders, stretching lazily as he reached into his jacket for his cigarettes.“I’ll be right back,” Cassidy muttered, his tone detached as his gaze locked onto a figure waiting near the shadows.Matthew barely spared him a glance. “Cool,” he replied, lighting up. “Gonna take a moment to smoke a bit.”Cassidy didn’t respond. He was already moving, his mind shifting from the personal entanglements of the night to business—the one thing that always demanded his focus.As he approached, the associate, a broad-shouldered man in a dark gray suit, nodded in acknowledgment. His name was Luca, one of the mid-tier enforcers who handled logistics between Cassidy’s clubs and the more illicit businesses they qui
Matthew walked into the apartment, tossing the car keys onto the coffee table without a second thought. The familiar clatter filled the room, but he barely registered it. Behind him, Cassidy stepped in and, without a hint of grace, threw himself onto the couch, exhaling loudly. Matthew barely spared him a glance before shaking his head, a smirk curling on his lips. “Damn, Cassidy… you were fucking a cop.” Cassidy didn’t react. Matthew chuckled, crossing his arms. “A cop, Cassidy.” He shook his head in mock disbelief. “You’re really a fucking psycho.” Cassidy still didn’t react, just let his head rest against the back of the couch, his fingers absently tapping against his knee. But Matthew wasn’t done. “Didn’t you say people like us couldn’t get cozy with the police?” That finally got a reaction. Cassidy held back a laugh, eyes flickering with amusement. "Are you jealous, sweetheart?" Matthew threw his head back and laughed, clapping his hands. “Me? Jealous of you?” He scof
The night air hit Matthew as he descended the stairs, his boots echoing against the pavement. He reached his motorbike, throwing a leg over it and adjusting his gloves. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel trapped. Cassidy had set him free. And there was only one place he wanted to be. With Masahiro. Revving the engine, Matthew sped off into the night—straight toward Masahiro’s house. The night air was cold, but Matthew barely felt it as he sped through the streets, the wind cutting against his skin. Fifteen minutes. That’s how long it took before he pulled up in front of Masahiro’s building. He passed through the gate, his mind laser-focused on one thing. He wasn’t thinking about Cassidy. He wasn’t thinking about the past. He was only thinking about Masahiro. And when Masahiro opened that door? Matthew knew. He had made the right choice. Yet, as he swung his leg off the bike, something unexpected settled in his chest. It wasn’t doubt. It wasn’t regret. I
Arthur woke up to the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him. For a moment, he thought maybe—just maybe—last night had been a bad dream. But as his eyes adjusted to the dim morning light filtering through his blinds, the truth settled in.It hadn’t been a nightmare. It had been real.Cassidy.Arthur dragged a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. His mind was still struggling to process everything. The man he had fallen for, the one who had introduced him to his family, who had held him at night and whispered things that made him believe—was the same man he had spent years chasing. The same man he had seen that night. The Black Rose.And Cassidy had known.That part hurt the most. Arthur could handle being lied to, he could handle betrayal—but this? Cassidy had known from the start. He had known Arthur was looking for him. Known that Arthur was chasing the man with the black rose tattoo
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
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
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
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
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
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
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,
The courtroom resumed with the same weight it had carried before the recess—but now the air felt thicker. Tighter. Every word from the judge landed heavier than before.“All rise,” the bailiff intoned.Clark didn’t bother looking at the prosecutor. He didn’t need to.He had work to do.Witness One: ArthurArthur sat rigid in the stand, hands folded tightly iin his lap. He wore a pale blue shirt that made him look even younger than usual, and his eyes kept flicking toward Cassidy—never quite meeting his gaze.Clark approached slowly, with no notes in hand. He didn’t need them.“State your name for the record.”“Arthur Cooper.”“Arthur, can you tell the court how you came to know the defendant?”Arthur hesitated. “He… he saved me.”Soft murmurs rippled through the gallery.Clark’s tone didn’t change. “Saved you from what?”“I was taken,” Arthur said, voice cracking only once. “Held in a warehouse with other victims. I don’t know how long. We were moved often. Kept in darkness.”“Did Ca
The courtroom was a theater, and Clark knew it.Not the overblown, high-drama kind. Not screaming matches or grandstanding.This was colder.Sharper.This was where reputation meant leverage. Where presence was its own kind of weapon. And today, Clark stood center stage with every light on him.He adjusted his cuffs with slow precision, stepped into place before the jury, and met each face without flinching.“Good morning,” he began. Calm. Even. Clean.“This trial will present you with blood, with violence, and with the kind of fear most people are lucky to never know.”The jurors stilled.“You will hear about what Cassidy did. About what Cassidy stopped. And about the lines he crossed to do it.”He let the silence land.“I will not stand here and pretend he’s a saint. That’s not what this is.”Eyes narrowed. Attention sharpened.“But you’ll learn—very quickly—that th