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Chapter 40
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2024-12-15 20:30:32The 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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Gold & Sand Chapter 41
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’
Last Updated : 2024-12-16Gold & Sand Chapter 42
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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Matthew stood frozen in place, his heart hammering in his chest as he stared down at Masahiro’s crumpled form. The man who always had his cool, who could outsmart and outmaneuver anyone, was now lying motionless, unconscious on the floor. His mind raced, thoughts tumbling over each other in frantic chaos.´What the hell am I doing? ´His stomach churned as he tried to suppress the rising tide of panic, but it surged anyway. Every time he tried to convince himself that it was nothing more than a drunken stumble, his eyes betrayed him… Masahiro’s pallor, his stillness, the way he hadn’t even made a sound when he collapsed, rattled him.´Focus, ´ Matthew ordered himself, gripping Masahiro’s body and lifting him up, adrenaline surging through him, making the task seem easier than it should have been. It was a strange contrast, the sharpness in his limbs despite the dizziness threatening to overpower him.
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Yumi pushed open the bedroom door and immediately went to Masahiro’s side. Matthew watched her with a quiet unease as she knelt down beside him, her eyes scanning his body with practiced precision.There was a tenderness in the way she touched him… checking his pulse, brushing his hair away from his face. Her hands moved with an efficiency and familiarity that Matthew could not ignore.“Is he...?” Matthew started, his voice almost a whisper.Yumi didn’t look at him as she worked. She didn’t need to. She knew what she was doing.“He’ll be fine,” she replied curtly, but her gaze lingered on Masahiro’s face, and there was something more there… something that Matthew couldn’t quite place. Was it concern? Or something deeper?She finally turned to him, her eyes narrowing. “Why are you here?”Matthew blinked, thrown off by the directness of the question. “I
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Masahiro blinked awake, his vision hazy and unfocused. A dull ache pulsed through his body, especially his side where the gunshot wound still lingered. His surroundings slowly came into view, and the first thing he saw was Matthew, sitting beside the bed, arms crossed, staring at him with his usual mix of irritation and worry. But then, as his eyes adjusted more, Masahiro noticed a second figure… a familiar one. Standing just behind Matthew, with wide, worried eyes, was his cousin Yumi. "Yumi…?" he croaked, his throat dry and raspy. He felt sluggish, like he’d been run over by a freight train. Before he could say anything more, Yumi sprang forward, throwing her arms around him with such force that he winced. "Masahiro! You idiot!" she exclaimed; her voice high-pitched with panic. "Why didn’t you tell me you got shot?! Are you crazy?! I’ve been working all day and I get a call saying you’ve passed out in your apartment?!" Her words hit him in a rap
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The next morning, the sunlight filtered through the blinds as Matthew made his way to Masahiro’s room, the routine already becoming familiar. He didn’t bother knocking this time, simply opened the door and entered."Time for your meds—"His voice trailed off as his eyes landed on Masahiro, sprawled on the bed with the sheets tangled around his legs. His face was twisted in concentration, and there was no mistaking what he was trying to do.For a moment, neither of them moved. Masahiro froze, his face flushing in both anger and embarrassment as he struggled to pull his hand away. But with one arm in a cast, he was clearly having difficulty.“What the hell, Smith?” Masahiro snapped, his voice echoing with a mix of shame and fury. He glanced down, humiliated, and tried to pull himself together, frantically covering himself with a pillow.Matthew smirked, leaning casually against the doorframe. "Hey, you could’ve ask
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The apartment was quiet except for the sound of Matthew returning from the market, the soft rustling of bags as he set them down on the kitchen counter. He glanced at the clock—late afternoon already. It had been a few days since Masahiro’s injury, and although things had returned to a fragile sense of normalcy, there was still an unspoken tension in the air. That strange, unnamable thing that now seemed to hang between them after their last encounter.Matthew sighed, grabbing the bottle of pills from the counter and filling a glass of water. It was time for Masahiro’s medication again, a task he had taken on without much fuss, but with a growing sense of awkwardness. The last time he’d walked into Masahiro’s room, things had taken an unexpected turn, and though neither of them had spoken about it since, the weight of that moment still lingered.He walked down the hall, knocking briefly before pushing open the door."Time for your meds," he said, his voice carry
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Gold & Sand Chapter 243
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
Gold & Sand Chapter 242
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
Gold & Sand Chapter 240
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
Gold & Sand Chapter 239
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
Gold & Sand Chapter 238
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
Gold & Sand Chapter 237
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
Gold & Sand Chapter 236
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
Gold & Sand Chapter 235
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,
