The door to Masahiro's apartment shut with a finality that echoed through the space that was immaculately clean.Clyde sprang from Matthew´s arms to the couch, stretched out in languid fashion, and promptly made residence with a soft purring noise.“Tsk!” Masahiro saw Clyde sprang onto his spotless couch, fur scattered about like some sort of invading army.The soft purring grated on his nerves, each sound an affront to the spotless sanctuary he called home. His sharp gaze fell to Matthew slouched on the couch, lazily scratching behind the cat's ears as if nothing mattered.´Typical" Masahiro thought, ´…he can't even control his own pet, let alone his life. ´Matthew caught the look and grinned, unaffected. "Relax," he said, his tone oozing false nonchalance. "He won't ruin your shrine to boredom."Masahiro didn't dignify that with a response. His eyes lingered on Clyde a moment longer, as if the cat were a stain on his otherwise pristine world, then he turned on his heel and disappea
Masahiro turned his desktop on, the monitor flickered, sending a soft glow around the place. Booming on, Masahiro leaned over and started to go through the stack of papers.Reed's notes were complete: the profile of Damon Callahan, bank transactions, possible crypto angle, all there, methodically laid out. Masahiro's eyes settled on repeated cash withdrawals, irregular amounts, lack of corresponding expenditures. It screamed secrecy, yet the missing pieces gnawed at him.He cast the papers aside and logged in. The screen popped open almost in an instant, and his fingers flew to type the name "Ridley" on the internal police database.The results populated fast, but as Masahiro tried to click into the file, a bright red banner flashed across the top: CONFIDENTIAL. ACCESS RESTRICTED. HUMAN TRAFFICKING DEPARTMENT.Masahiro's brows knitted. "Great," he muttered, leaning back in his chair, and running a hand through his hair. His fingers pressed against his tem
Masahiro was sitting at his desk, a sea of papers and case files surrounding him.The door creaked open, and a woman stepped inside.“Excuse me,” she said.Masahiro who was lost reading a file, looked up, seeing the woman getting close.There was something commanding about her presence-the long auburn hair cascading over her shoulders in soft waves, the green eyes alight with intelligence and determination framed by delicate lashes. She was clad in a fitted navy-blue blazer over crisp white blouse and dark trousers that outlined her slender figure. Subdued makeup highlighted her sharp features."You must be Ms. Hawthorne," Masahiro said in surprise. "I didn't expect you so soon."She nodded, "Yes, I was informed you needed assistance with the Ridley case," she replied, her British accent clear and confident. "I'm here to help."Masahiro nodded, intrigued by her swift arrival. "Let's get to it, then. The sooner we fin
The car rumbled along the deserted road, heavy hum of the engine filling the silence. The driver, an older officer with gray hair and a calm demeanor, kept his focus on the road ahead. Masahiro sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed, eyes scanning the dark horizon with quiet intensity.Ms. Hawthorne sat in the back, her laptop balanced on her knees, scrolling through notes on Ridley's file, while Matthew sat beside her, fidgeting with the cuffs of his jacket. The silence between them was thick, with the only breaks the occasional tapping of Ms. Hawthorne's keys and the soft hiss of tires against asphalt."How much longer?" Matthew finally asked, his voice strained."Not far now," replied the driver, his tone professional, yet indifferent.Masahiro glanced back over his shoulder. "You okay back there?"Matthew gave a wry smile, but his eyes betrayed how nervous he was. "Define 'okay.'"Ms. Hawthorne lifted her gaze from her opened laptop, he
The police briefing room was dimly lit, thick with tension as Masahiro, Matthew, Ms. Hawthorne, Evelyn Carter-head of Human Trafficking Unit, and officer Reed, all sat around a big table. Laid in the middle was the picture of Ridley's back. Under the fluorescent lights, the tattoo shone-an inked jumble of lines, symbols, and jagged shapes that seemed impossible to decipher.Masahiro leaned forward, his finger tracing the contours of the image. "We have to figure this out; if Ridley's back is a message, it's the key to finding the Spiced Cherry or the people behind it.”Evelyn peered closely at the photograph; her brows furrowed in concentration. "Would this really lead us to the Spiced Cherry? This doesn't even look like a map," she questioned, doubt beginning to seep into her tone.Ms. Hawthorne, arms crossed, leaned closer. "Boss, I think you might be right. It's too messy. Why would his friend etch something so crucial on his back? It doesn't make sense.”Matthew had been leaning si
Ethan knocked lightly before entering Masahiro's office, a stack of printed documents in his hands. A serious expression clouded his face, with a flicker of excitement in his eyes."Got something for you, Payne," he said, taking a seat as he set the papers down on the desk. "The dark web's abuzz about something they're calling the 'Full Moon Parties'."Masahiro leaned forward, intrigued. "Guess that's the thing we are looking for. What's the deal?”Ethan rummaged through the papers, pulling out a detailed description. "It's an invitation-only event. They are selling it as a night of 'unforgettable encounters and unrestrained pleasures under the full moon's glow.'""What kind of activities are we talking about?"“Each full moon has a different theme… masquerades, provocative gatherings, even mentions of dark rituals," Ethan said, furrowing his brow. "It's deliberately vague, which makes it even more sinister. They're drawing peopl
Days laterMasahiro was lounging at home, flipping through a book, when his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen-it was Ethan. With a sigh, he answered."Hey, what's up?" Masahiro tried to sound relaxed."Payne, I need you at the station. It's about the dark web profile for the Spiced Cherry."Masahiro's curiosity piqued. "What's going on?”"I need you to bring Matthew. I can't go into all the details by phone, it’s for the couple's profile we got some questions that need to be answered."Masahiro frowned. "It's my day off, Ethan.""I know… and hey… don’t forget you are the one who asked for this.""Fine. I'll get Matthew."He hung up and headed into the living room, where he found Matthew sprawled across the couch, flipping on his phone. "Get up," Masahiro said, sharper than he had meant to.Matthew looked up, startled. "What's the hurry?""We have t
Ethan sat in his office, the soft hum of the computer filling the otherwise quiet space. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but the data on the screen didn't seem to hold his attention. The phone against his ear, however, had his full focus."So, what's the deal?" Ethan asked, his voice casual but laced with a hint of concern as he leaned back in his chair.Noah's voice came through the speaker with its usual easy-going tone. "I'm just saying, uncle Nick's been asking about you. He misses us, man. Been a while since you've come around. You don't think he's getting a little… lonely?”Ethan shifted in his chair, looking over at the dark web program open on the second computer, the faint glow reflecting off his face. "I know, I know," he said, rubbing a hand across his face. "It's just been hectic, you know? The case has been dragging me in deeper than I thought.”Noah chuckled quietly. "Yeah, yeah, I get it; you're always busy. But un
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