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Chapter 46
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2024-12-18 20:30:13Masahiro 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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Gold & Sand Chapter 47
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
Last Updated : 2024-12-19Gold & Sand Chapter 48
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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The office of the police station was dimly lit, with papers and photographs scattered across the desk. Lewis leaned over a large map pinned to a corkboard while Matthew sat back in a chair, the tattoo map from Ridley’s back spread out in his hands.“Something’s not adding up,” Lewis muttered, squinting at the intricate details of the tattoo.“What do you mean?”Lewis tapped the edge of the map. “Look at this… this doesn’t match the area around Spiced Cherry at all.”Matthew was speechless, just staring at the map in front of him.Lewis grabbed a marker, circling a few points on the official map. “The coordinates we pulled don’t line up with the ghost brothel’s location. The Spiced Cherry and Ridley’s map lead to completely different places.” Matthew frowned, leaning forward. His fingers traced the inked lines on the image of Ridley’s
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The next morning, the memory of Matthew’s indifference clung to Masahiro like a weight, sour and unresolved. He tried to drown it out by burying himself in paperwork, but every time the door creaked, or footsteps echoed in the hall, he stiffened, half-expecting Matthew to appear again.Sure enough, the door creaked open, and Matthew stepped inside, carrying a first-aid kit. He didn’t ask for permission or exchange pleasantries… just strode over to the bed and sat down, casually nodding for Masahiro to join him."Time to change the bandages," Matthew said, his voice even, flipping open the kit without looking up.Masahiro’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t argue. His injured arm still needed attention, and as much as he hated it, Matthew was the one who had been helping him with the dressings. Without a word, Masahiro sat down beside him, feeling the tension thickening the air.Matthew started unwrapping the bandage, his fingers brushing against Masahiro’s skin. The contact sent an uncomfor
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Masahiro stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his collar with his left hand. The fitted white shirt he wore accentuated his athletic build, hugging his body in just the right way. His trousers, cut with precision, fell perfectly over his polished shoes. The black fabric contrasted sharply with the cast on his right arm, but there was nothing he could do about that. He’d learned to live with the cast, much like he’d learned to live with the tension in his life.Tonight, though, he wanted to forget. The weight of Matthew’s presence in the apartment, the constant push and pull between them… it was suffocating. He needed a break, just a few hours away to clear his head. He slung his jacket over his left shoulder, his mind already drifting to the loud, pulsating escape the club would offer.As he stepped out of his room, he found Matthew sitting on the couch, casually flipping through some papers. Masahiro paused, half expecting a comment. He could feel Matthew’s eyes on
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Matthew paced nervously in the small apartment.Time was crawling forward, and he knew that as the clock inched towards eight, it would soon be time for Masahiro to take his medication. Matthew had seen to it before, but tonight, something felt off. He reached for his phone, dialed Masahiro’s number, and listened to the ringing tone. After four rings, it went to voicemail.“Damn it, Payne,” he muttered, an involuntary frown etching his handsome features.He left a message, his voice dripping with irritation.`Get your ass back here; you need to take your pills. ´With a sigh, he hung up, wondering if he should wait or do something about it.Deciding to take action, he called Yumi. As upon leaving, Masahiro said was going to her house.“Hey, Yumi, may I talk to Masahiro? He’s supposed to take his meds.”“Matthew?” she replied, her tone confused. “He is not here.”
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Upon entering the dimly lit bedroom, Masahiro closed the door behind them, the click of the latch echoing through the room. The atmosphere was heavy with anticipation as Masahiro made his way to the bed, his movements graceful yet purposeful. He sat on the edge of the bed, his dark hair falling across his forehead, and patted the spot beside him. "Come," he said, his voice a low command.Matthew hesitated for a fleeting moment, his tattooed arms crossing his chest. But the fire in Masahiro's eyes was too enticing to resist. ´What’s his game? ´ He thought, his blue eyes narrowing as they locked onto Masahiro's.This was different, wasn’t it? The way Masahiro’s voice lacked that edge of anger, the way his eyes seemed to burn not with rage but something softer, something that didn’t belong between them. Or was Matthew fooling himself again, setting himself up for the same vicious cycle?´Don’t be an idiot, ´ he
Last Updated : 2024-12-22Gold & Sand Chapter 54
Matthew stirred awake, his body aching in ways he didn’t know were possible. Groaning softly, he blinked against the morning light filtering through the curtains. He rolled over and froze when his gaze landed on Masahiro, lying on his back, completely at ease. His dark hair was tousled, his chest rising and falling steadily, and his face… usually sharp and intimidating… looked surprisingly soft in sleep.For a fleeting moment, Matthew considered how unfair it was that Masahiro could look so perfect even after... well, that.Dragging himself up from the bed, he winced. Every muscle in his body protested. ´Why am I so sore? Oh, right. Him. ´ He glared at the sleeping figure, but the expression quickly morphed into one of unease as his eyes fell on the evidence of their night scattered across the floor and bedside table. Four used condoms.Matthew’s blue eyes widened in disbelief. “Four?” he whispered to himself, his voice a mix of horror and disb
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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
