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Chapter 35
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2024-12-13 10:30:29Masahiro and Matthew took their seats alongside the team. Ethan was sitting hunched over his laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard. Evelyn, glanced at David, both waiting for the briefing to start, meanwhile Hawthorne leaned against the wall, arms crossed, her expression serious.
"Alright, let's get down to business," Masahiro said after clearing his throat. "What we found at the Spiced Cherry confirms it: they're hosting a carnival in few days. Tickets are 50 grand each."
Evelyn raised an eyebrow. "A carnival? Really? That's their big plan?"
Matthew snorted, falling back in his chair. "You'd be surprised what kind of 'entertainment' draws in the crowd. But yeah, it's real."
Ethan added, eyes stuck on the screen, "I dug on the dark web. The Eclipse Carnival is real. They are limiting the tickets sold to only a few spots. We have only two days left to buy the tickets."
Ms. Hawthorne pushed off the wall, intrigued. "What's the date of the eclips
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Gold & Sand Chapter 36
Masahiro moved noiselessly, his black shoes making no sound on the polished floor. He checked each stall methodically, pushing open the doors one by one. Empty.Satisfied, he stepped back to the entrance, pressing his back against the cold metal door to keep it secure. His hand moved to his watch, tapping a discreet button to activate the communicator. A faint buzz confirmed the connection.“Team, this is Payne,” he said in a low, controlled tone, his voice steady despite the adrenaline pumping through him. “We’re inside. No sign of Mr. K, but we’ve confirmed Rocco is here.”There was a beat of silence before David’s voice crackled over the line. “Rocco?”"Yes," Masahiro confirmed, his tone clipped. "Looks like he's the one running the show tonight. No sign of Mr. K at this time."A sharp exhale came through the line, followed by a muttered curse. "Damn it." David's voice steadied as he ad
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Hours later, Masahiro slowly regained consciousness. The beeping of machines and the dim light filtering through the drawn curtains pulled him from the depths of sleep. As his eyes adjusted, he caught sight of Matthew slumped in a chair beside his bed, his blond hair tousled and tattooed arms heavy on the table.The sight brought a wave of irritation mingled with relief. They were in this together, whether they liked it or not. Masahiro shifted slightly, the movement causing a sharp sting in his side.Matthew stirred, blinking rapidly as he focused on Masahiro. Relief washed over his features. “You’re awake! Thank God,” he said, standing up and moving closer to the bed.Masahiro's eyes flickered over him, and something silent, some understanding, passed between them. The air was thick, charged with emotion neither wanted to acknowledge. Matthew, for once, was visibly relieved."What happened?" Masahiro asked, trying to piece together the
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The sterile smell of the hospital mingled with the comforting aroma of home-cooked food as Matthew stepped into Masahiro's hospital room, balancing a tray laden with lunch. He had gone to the trouble of preparing something decent at home, determined to take care of his reluctant partner. Dull and insipid options from the cafeteria, Matthew had hoped the meal he'd lovingly cooked would lift Masahiro's spirits."Hey, I brought you lunch," Matthew said as he set the tray on a small table beside Masahiro's bed. He beamed with pride at his handiwork: the plate set out in fine fashion, grilled chicken, steamed vegetables, rice.Masahiro turned away, and there was cynicism written into his eyes. "I'm not eating that.""Come on, it's good for you," Matthew implored, crossing his arms, "you need to gain your strength.”"I said no." Masahiro's voice was firm, but the defiance didn't quite rule out curiosity. "You could have poisoned it."Matthew raised
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The apartment was in semi-darkness, the soft glow of a lamp dancing across the walls in small curves. Masahiro was sitting on the couch with his cast resting on a pillow as he watched Matthew rummage through the first aid supplies, they had bought. The dancing light brought into prominence the focus of the blue eyes when he readied to change the bandages on Masahiro's arm.“You know, you're pretty good at this," Masahiro said, a hint of admiration in his voice. "I didn't really think you'd be so… capable."Matthew looked up, a smirk playing on his lips. "Surprised? You think just because I've spent time in a prison cell, I don't know how to take care of myself?”"No, it's just that most people wouldn't connect 'ex-capo' with 'first aid expert,'" Masahiro replied, his eyes fixed keenly on Matthew as he carefully unwrapped the old bandage.Matthew chuckled low and warm. "Well, you'd be surprised how much you can learn when you're on your
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The precinct was bustling with activity as Matthew stepped inside, the scent of coffee and ink mingling with the hum of ringing phones and hurried conversations.He made his way to the reception desk, where a middle-aged woman with sharp eyes and a weary smile was typing away at her computer. She glanced up as he approached.“Can I help you?”“I’m here to see the new detective assigned for the Mr. K´s case,” Matthew said, keeping his tone neutral.The woman nodded, clicking through her screen. “Ah, the interim partner for the Mr. K case.” She gestured toward the second floor. “His office is upstairs, second door on the right. Can’t miss it… he’s probably got his feet up on the desk.”Matthew raised an eyebrow at that but said nothing, simply nodding his thanks before heading toward the staircase.As he reached the second floor, he found the door slightly ajar. Pus
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The small interrogation room was heavy with the scent of stale coffee and tension. The harsh fluorescent lights buzzed above as Matthew sat across from Rocco, his hands folded on the table. Lewis stood beside him, arms crossed, his gaze unwavering. Rocco, slouched in his chair, refused to meet their eyes, his defiance clear in the tight set of his jaw.Lewis leaned in; his voice cool but firm. "This is your last chance, Rocco. If you don't give us something, if you don’t tell us who’s behind all of this, you’re done. You’ll spend the rest of your life in prison, and we both know you won’t last in there. Not with that kind of reputation."Rocco’s lips twisted into a smirk. "You think I’m scared of prison?" he sneered. "You really think I care about your threats?"Matthew’s eyes flicked to Lewis for a split second before returning to Rocco. "It’s not about scaring you," Matthew said, his voice sharp. "It’
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Matthew entered Masahiro’s room, carrying a tray of food with deliberate care. He placed it on the nightstand, his gaze flickering to Masahiro, who was lounging in his chair, staring blankly out the window.“Dinner’s here,” Matthew said, trying to keep his tone neutral.Masahiro didn’t even glance at him. “I’m not eating that,” he muttered.Matthew blinked, his jaw tightening. “What do you mean? It’s what you asked for.”“I don’t want it.” Masahiro’s voice was clipped, dismissive.Matthew’s patience was already running thin. “You need to eat,” he said firmly. “The doctor said—”Masahiro cut him off with a sharp laugh, humorless and bitter. “I don’t care what the doctor said. I’m tired of being treated like some invalid. I’m not helpless, Smith.”The words struck a nerve. Matthew folded his arms, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “You think I want to be here, catering to you?” he shot ba
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Matthew lounged on the couch in the living room, the flickering glow of the television illuminating his face as he scrolled through channels mindlessly.The sound of Masahiro´s door´s room creaking open drew his attention. Masahiro stepped out of his bedroom, and despite the cast encasing his right arm, he looked stunning. He wore a fitted black shirt that accentuated his broad shoulders and trim waist, the fabric hugging his toned physique perfectly. The dark shirt was paired with dark blue slim-fit jeans that showcased his long legs and made him look effortlessly stylish. His black boots added an edge to the outfit, while a minimalist silver watch on his left wrist gleamed subtly against his skin. The overall effect was striking; he exuded an air of confidence that was impossible to ignore.Matthew raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “Where do you think you’re going?”Masahiro paused, casting a glance over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. “That’s n
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The knock on Masahiro’s office door was sharp, impatient.Masahiro barely looked up from his paperwork. “Come in.”The door swung open, and Clark walked in with his usual air of barely restrained irritation. Adam followed, stepping in behind him—bigger, heavier, carrying the kind of presence that filled the room before he even said a word.Arthur looked up from his desk. His brows furrowed—not at Clark, but at the man behind him.`Who the hell is that? ´Masahiro set his pen down and leaned back in his chair, finally glancing up. “Clark.”Clark’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Masahiro.”Masahiro’s eyes flicked to Adam. Didn’t know him. But it didn’t take much to put the pieces together. Matthew had arranged for Clark to have a bodyguard. And judging by the way this guy stood like he’d break a man’s spine for fun, this had to be him.Adam met Masahiro’s stare, just as assessing. Neither of them spoke. Sizing each other up.Clark exhaled sharply, clearly over it before it even began.
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Clark strode through the Police Station, his expression unreadable, his patience already wearing thin.The place reeked of sweat and coffee. The low murmur of officers shuffling papers and tapping on keyboards filled the space, a dull, monotonous noise that grated against his already strained nerves.He had a job to do—defend Cassidy Hills.That alone was enough to make his stomach turn. But what made it worse? Adam was here.Clark could feel him before he even saw him. The weight of his presence, the air shifting with that unmistakable sense of imposing brutality. Adam was big, heavy, and carried trouble like it was stitched into his skin.Clark ignored it. For now.He pushed open the door to Interrogation Room 2.Cassidy was waiting.Not tense. Not restless. Not even remotely concerned.Relaxed.Slouched back in his chair, emerald eyes bright with
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The moment Adam stepped inside Clark’s apartment, he knew something was off.At a glance, it was the kind of place you’d expect a high-end lawyer to own—modern, sleek, expensive. But underneath the surface, there was something else. Something… wrong.Boxes. Unpacked, shoved haphazardly against the walls. Some stacked near the hallway, some left forgotten by the bookshelf.There was an expensive bottle of whiskey sitting on the coffee table—half empty. Another on the kitchen counter. Glasses left behind, like someone had drunk just enough to forget whatever the hell was bothering them, but not enough to pass out.The air had that lingering scent of cologne and something else. Something faintly human, like the remnants of someone who had been here and left in a hurry.Clark’s place was polished, sure. But it wasn’t lived in. It was a man’s house, not a man’s home.&nb
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Masahiro’s grip was firm on Matthew’s waist, his pace slow but deep, deliberate. Possessive.Matthew, on his knees, braced against the mattress, let out a breathy groan, his fingers curling into the sheets. His body was already wrecked, his muscles weak from the second round—but Masahiro?Masahiro wasn’t done.“Masahiro,” Matthew exhaled, half-laughing, half-dazed. “You tryna kill me?”Masahiro hummed, dragging his lips along the back of Matthew’s neck, pressing a lazy, open-mouthed kiss to his sweat-slicked skin. “You can take it.”Matthew groaned. “I dunno, man, I think my soul left my body two rounds ago.”Masahiro didn’t give a damn.Then—the phone rang.Masahiro barely acknowledged it.Matthew, however, seized the moment. “Oh, thank God. Answer it.”
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The shower ran hot.Steam curled along the edges of the mirror, clinging to the tiled walls as Adam dragged a hand over his face, water rolling down his broad shoulders. His body bore the kind of scars that told a history without words—faint reminders of a life lived in violence, of battles won and wars survived.He didn’t stay under long. He never did. A quick rinse, then he shut the water off, stepping out into the thick heat of the small bathroom.With practiced efficiency, he dried off, rolling his neck until it cracked, the tension leaving his muscles in slow waves. Then, moving without hesitation, he dressed.A crisp, open-collared black shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms—just enough to show the sharp lines of muscle beneath dark skin. Polished trousers, pressed and fitted, clean against his frame. He stepped into his shined black leather shoes, the weight of them familiar, grounding.
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The air inside the car was quiet.Masahiro drove with his usual control, hands steady on the wheel, eyes fixed on the road.Matthew sat in the passenger seat, one hand resting lazily on the window, lost in thought.Clark and Arthur were in the back.Arthur sat stiffly, still processing everything that had just happened.Clark, on the other hand?Clark felt sick.The weight of the case—the weight of who Cassidy Hills was, who his enemies were, and what this could mean—It was too much.He inhaled deeply, fingers tapping against his knee.Then, voice quieter than usual—"I should drop the case."Arthur’s head snapped toward him.Matthew blinked, then frowned. "Come again?"Clark exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I’m not just dealing with a criminal here. I’m dealing with a mafia boss with powerful enemies. People who would rather see him dead t
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Arthur sat at his desk, fingers poised over his keyboard, but his mind was elsewhere.He was supposed to be working—supposed to be focusing on the backlog of reports Masahiro had handed him that morning.But he couldn’t.Because in a few minutes, the lawyer would arrive.Clark Brown.Arthur knew of him, of course. The name had been whispered around the city. A sharp, calculated legal mind. One of the best defense lawyers in the city.And now?Now, Cassidy’s fate was in his hands.Arthur exhaled slowly, trying to push down the uneasy weight in his chest.At the other desk, Masahiro was deeply focused, working without distraction, as if the case of the century wasn’t about to walk through the door.And then there was Matthew.Sprawled lazily in a random chair, legs stretched out, hunched slightly over his phone.Focused.But not on work.Arthur didn’t even ha
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The bedroom was quiet, except for the soft, steady breathing of Matthew curled up under the blankets.Masahiro lay behind him, one arm draped over his waist, his body pressed against Matthew’s back.Warm. Familiar. His favorite way to wake up.He leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to the back of Matthew’s shoulder.A sleepy mumble.Then—"If you're gonna start something, Masahiro, you better commit."Masahiro huffed a quiet laugh. Of course. Even in sleep, Matthew was a menace.He pressed another kiss, just to be difficult, before pulling away and reaching for his phone on the nightstand.The sheets rustled as Matthew shifted behind him, probably sinking further into sleep, while Masahiro scrolled through his contacts.Then—he called.A click. A familiar voice.“Brown here.”Masahiro ran a hand through his hair, leaning back against the pillows. “Clark! H
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The car was silent, save for the rhythmic sound of tires gliding over asphalt.Masahiro drove with his usual precision—steady hands, unwavering focus, the kind of control that never wavered.Matthew, on the other hand, was slouched in the passenger seat, one leg bouncing idly, tapping his fingers against the window like he was thinking of something deeply unimportant.Arthur sat in the back, lost in his own thoughts, staring blankly at the blurred city lights streaking past.Then—“I need to get a lawyer for Cassidy.”Both Masahiro and Matthew turned their heads slightly.There was a pause.Then, ever so slowly, Matthew exhaled and let his head fall back against the seat. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”Masahiro, as usual, said nothing—just tightened his grip on the wheel.Matthew turned his head, looking at Arthur o
