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Chapter 49
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2024-12-20 20:30:04The 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
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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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Matthew had just finished his bath, the warm water still clinging to his skin as he slipped into his soft pajamas. The fabric felt comforting against his still-warm body as he crawled into bed, pulling the covers up. It had been a long day, and the quiet of the room was a welcome relief. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, letting the weight of the day settle on him.Thirty minutes passed. Matthew’s thoughts were beginning to drift when suddenly, he heard a soft knock at the door. It was light, almost tentative, but it was enough to stir him from his half-drowsy state. His first instinct was to jump up, his heart rate quickening, worry creeping into his mind. Had something happened to Masahiro? Maybe his arm was bothering him again. Maybe he needed help.Matthew sprang out of bed, his feet hitting the cool floor, and rushed to the door. He didn’t even bother to think about how he looked. His hair still damp, his pajama pants a little too long, dragging ag
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It was morning, and the soft light filtered through the kitchen window, casting a calm glow across the room. Matthew moved about the kitchen with practiced ease, his movements fluid as he cracked eggs into a bowl, whisking them together with a touch of seasoning. The aroma of sizzling bacon filled the air, mingling with the warm scent of freshly brewed coffee.At the kitchen table, Masahiro sat quietly, his gaze fixed on Matthew. His usually steady, stoic expression was softer today, eyes lingering on Matthew's every move. There was something different in his stare… a quiet admiration, the kind that spoke of more than just casual observation. Masahiro couldn’t help but notice how easy Matthew made it look, how natural it all seemed. He was starting to realize something, something he hadn't anticipated: he was beginning to like Matthew. The weight of it settled in his chest, unfamiliar but undeniable. He never liked Matthew, but this feeling? This was new.“Payne,” Matt
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Adam stepped into the café, the scent of freshly ground coffee and something sweet hanging in the air. His sharp eyes swept the place, spotting them immediately.Matthew, sprawled across the seat like he owned the place, one arm lazily draped over Masahiro’s shoulder, fingers idly tracing circles on his wrist. The contrast between the two was almost comical—Masahiro sat stiff, composed, his crisp white dress shirt neatly tucked, tie in place, an air of authority surrounding him even in a casual setting. Matthew, on the other hand, exuded nothing but comfort—shirt slightly unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, smirking at whatever Masahiro wasn’t reacting to.Adam snorted to himself and made his way over.The moment Matthew noticed him, his grin widened.“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite gangster turned babysitter,” Matthew teased, gesturing to the seat across from them. “Come, sit.
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Adam stepped into the apartment and immediately regretted it.`What a mess. ´The coffee table was cluttered with half-empty beer cans, pizza boxes stacked haphazardly, some still open. The TV flickered with muted images, casting a dim glow across the room.Clark was slouched on the couch, dressed in a loose-fitting T-shirt and soft pants that barely clung to his hips. His glasses sat low on his nose, one hand adjusting them lazily as he turned his gaze toward Adam."So, you’re back," Clark mused, voice flat but not surprised.Adam let out a breath, stepping further inside. "Yeah."Without asking, he reached for a slice of pizza from one of the open boxes.Clark’s expression twisted in mild offense. "Are you—"Adam ignored him, taking a bite.Clark huffed. "For fuck’s sake, at least ask.""Why?" Adam mumbled through his bite, chewi
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The elevator hummed softly as it jolted back to life. The sudden return of motion sent a flicker of relief through Adam, but his focus wasn’t on the elevator anymore.The lights flickered once, then stabilized. The number panel above the door blinked. 10. 9.Ding.The doors slid open at the ninth floor.Clark moved before Adam could register it.A sharp breath, a quick motion—he reached for the emergency stop button and pressed it.The elevator jerked. Stopped.The doors, obediently waiting, remained open, revealing the quiet, dimly lit hallway of the ninth floor.Clark stepped out.Not hurried, not frantic—but decisive. Like someone who had made up their mind and would not be convinced otherwise.Adam watched him, not moving at first.Then he sighed, let the doors slide wider, and stepped out behind him.He didn’t say anything
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Clark strode through the quiet corridor of the courthouse, his footsteps measured, precise. The air inside was different from outside—stale, cold, controlled. The kind of air that held centuries of judgment, of verdicts that decided lives, of whispered deals that never made it to paper.Adam trailed a few steps behind, hands in his pockets, casual, but present. He wasn’t following Clark, exactly. Just… making sure he went where he was supposed to. That was the job.They stopped in front of Judge Fitzgerald’s office.Clark barely hesitated before reaching for the handle."You stay here," he said over his shoulder.Adam let out a small huff, leaning against the wall like he hadn’t planned on moving anyway. "Yeah, yeah. Go do your thing, lawyer boy."Clark didn’t bother responding. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him.Judge Fitzgerald’s office
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Clark woke up to a weight against his back.At first, it barely registered—just warmth, skin against skin, the rough scratch of stubble against his shoulder.Then, hands.A firm grip dragging down his waist, fingers digging in with possession rather than affection.Clark stiffened. “Morning, sweetheart,” the man behind him murmured, voice thick with sleep, lazy and satisfied. His teeth skimmed the shell of Clark’s ear. “How ‘bout a morning round?”Clark’s eyes snapped open. `Fucking hell. ´He was too hungover for this.He pushed back, dislodging the man’s hands. “Yeah, no. Get out.”The guy didn’t move.Didn’t even hesitate.Instead, he chuckled, slow and deep, tightening his grip. “Aww, don’t be like that. You were real into it last night.”
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Clark barely spared a glance at Adam as he grabbed his keys off the table, his movements brisk, sharp with unspoken intent. His fingers curled around the cool metal, the faint clink echoing through the quiet apartment. Adam, stretched out on the couch, remote in one hand and a beer in the other, didn’t even bother turning his head. "Where are you going?" Clark exhaled. Didn’t slow. Didn’t stop, "Outside," That was all he said before crossing the room and reaching for the door. Adam let out a slow sigh, taking his time to put down the remote. Then stood. Clark heard the shift of weight behind him. He didn’t have to turn around to know what was coming next. "Jesus Christ," he muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes as he pulled the door open. "Do you have to follow me everywhere?" Adam, now standing a few feet behind him, met his irritation with the same lazy indifference. "Yeah," he replied, completely unfazed. "That’s kinda the job." Clark clenched his jaw, his fingers
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The drive back to the police station was tense. Arthur sat in the backseat, rigid, arms crossed, eyes locked on the window like it held all the answers he didn't have. Clark, on the other hand, had his usual ice-cold detachment in place. Legs crossed, elbow resting on the door, flipping through emails on his phone like he wasn’t sitting next to a literal criminal acting as his bodyguard. Adam? Adam was watching them both, the way Arthur’s knee bounced, the way Clark’s fingers were tight around his phone despite the bored expression. He smirked. "Damn. This car ride’s fuckin’ depressing." Arthur didn’t respond. Clark didn’t even look up. "Then drive faster, MacDougall." Adam let out a low chuckle but did exactly that. When they pulled up in front of the station, Arthur finally moved. He unclipped his seatbelt, hesitated, then muttered, "Thanks." Clark barely glanced at him. "Try not to look like you’re mourning your own goddamn funeral in there." Arthur gritted his teeth but
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The atmosphere in Masahiro’s office was thick with tension.Clark stepped in first, his suit crisp, posture composed, despite the hangover weighing on him. Adam followed, silent, imposing, watching.Masahiro looked up from his desk. "Clark."Clark nodded. "Masahiro."Arthur was already there, sitting stiffly, his hands gripping the edge of his chair like he’d been waiting for this moment.Masahiro turned slightly. "Cooper, the file."Arthur was fast—too fast. He grabbed it like it was life or death, shoving it toward Clark before Clark even sat down.Clark narrowed his eyes. Noted that.He flipped the file open, eyes scanning the legal jargon, the cold, hard details of Cassidy’s case.A slow exhale."Alright. Let’s tear this apart."Masahiro leaned back slightly. "What’s going to be the prosecution’s
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Clark was dead asleep when his phone started vibrating aggressively against the nightstand.A groan. A slow inhale. A delayed reaction before his hand finally reached out, fumbling blindly until his fingers closed around the device.He cracked one eye open. Too bright. Too soon.The caller ID: Masahiro.Clark exhaled through his nose, pressing the phone to his ear as he collapsed back onto the mattress."Payne," he muttered, voice rough, thick with exhaustion."Clark," Masahiro’s voice was as crisp as ever. No trace of sleep, no pleasantries. "Cassidy was moved to the detention facility this morning."Clark barely processed the words before rubbing a hand down his face."Great," he muttered, blinking up at the ceiling. "I was planning on heading to the station today. Need to go over a few things with you and Arthur.""Fine," Masahiro said, as if he
