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Chapter 74
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2024-12-31 00:00:48The moonlight streamed through the blinds, casting faint patterns across the floor as Masahiro sat on the edge of the bed, his head buried in his hands. The map was burned into his mind, every twisted symbol, every seemingly random line. No matter how many angles he considered, it didn’t add up. How could a public venue, one used by government officials, be connected to Mr. K’s underworld?
The bed shifted slightly as Matthew sat down beside him, silent at first. He reached out, placing a hand on Masahiro’s back, a rare gesture of comfort. "Still stuck on that map?"
Masahiro sighed, lifting his head. "I just can’t wrap my head around it. It doesn’t make sense. Why would the map lead to a public building? How could someone like Mr. K be tied to something so... visible?"
Matthew leaned back, arms crossed as he considered Masahiro’s frustration. His gaze was sharp, filled with that quiet wisdom he’d gained from a lifetime na
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Gold & Sand Chapter 75
The police station buzzed with a quiet intensity as Masahiro and the team gathered around a map of Cleveland, their eyes scanning over the newly marked locations. Weeks of frustration had started to fade, replaced by a sense of unease as they began to uncover the dark reality behind the public venue they’d zeroed in on.Lewis, tapping a pen against his notebook, leaned forward. "The venue has a strange history. It’s hosted countless high-profile events, but there’s hardly any record of who attended. It’s all kept under wraps, like there’s something they don’t want anyone digging into."Masahiro frowned, glancing at the timeline laid out before them. "And you’re sure this isn’t just coincidence?"Lewis nodded, his expression serious. "I thought it might be at first, but there’s a pattern. Every few months, they host private events. The guest lists are always confidential, but whenever these events happen, poli
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The night of the event arrived with an air of opulence that felt almost suffocating. Masahiro adjusted his tie in the reflection of a polished marble pillar, his heart pounding with a mix of excitement and apprehension. Dressed in a tailored suit, he blended seamlessly into the world of wealth and power. Beside him, Matthew looked every bit the part in his own high-end ensemble, exuding a confident charm that was hard to ignore.As they stepped through the grand entrance of the gala, the atmosphere enveloped the… a luxurious ballroom bathed in soft golden light, chandeliers sparkling overhead like a constellation of stars. The scent of expensive perfume mingled with the aroma of gourmet hors d'oeuvres wafting from the catering stations. Yet beneath the glitz and glamour, an undercurrent of secrecy throbbed, sending a shiver down Masahiro’s spine.“Keep your eyes peeled,” Masahiro murmured, his voice low as he scanned the room.Matthew no
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Lewis sat in the van, his attention divided between scanning the scene outside the tinted windows and listening to the hum of conversations around him. Ethan, focused on the laptop in his lap, had been silent for a while, working through the data they had received. The van was filled with the faint sound of the radio crackling with occasional updates. Officers sat nearby, tense but waiting for the next move.Ethan, with a sharp look on his face, leaned forward suddenly, eyes narrowing as he clicked open a file on his screen. "Lewis," he said, his voice low but urgent.Lewis barely glanced up, still absorbed in his thoughts. "What’s up?"“We've got something," Ethan responded, his tone serious now. "Matthew and Masahiro sent something… photos and videos. We’ve got a clear picture of everything.”Lewis straightened up, curiosity piqued. He pulled up the files, noticing a jumble of images and spreadsheets opening before him. Hi
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The precinct buzzed with the kind of energy that only came after a long-fought victory. Mr. K, one of the most elusive figures in the criminal underworld, was finally behind bars. The officers who had worked tirelessly on the case stood around a central table, passing around champagne bottles and takeout containers, laughing and recounting their roles in the night's events.Masahiro sat in the corner, watching the team celebrate. It wasn’t just any case… they had arrested Kenneth Hartman, the Minister of Trade and Economic Development. The shockwaves from his arrest hadn’t even begun to settle.“Can you believe it?” David was saying, shaking his head in disbelief as he recounted the moment, they realized Mr. K’s true identity. “A minister, involved in all this… We knew this case went deep, but this? A full-blown mafia baron right under our noses.”Evelyn, standing nearby, added, "It's insane. I’ve bee
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The door clicked shut behind Matthew and Masahiro, the hum of the outside world fading into the background as they stepped into the quiet of the apartment. The weight of the night, of the victory at the precinct, still hung heavy on both of them.Masahiro didn’t waste time. He reached for Matthew, pulling him close with a force that made Matthew’s breath catch. There was no more talk, no words to break the electric silence between them. Their lips crashed together, hungry, desperate, a culmination of everything that had been left unsaid.Matthew's fingers gently tugged at Masahiro's hair, guiding him as they continued their kiss. Slowly, he backed towards the bedroom, their lips never parting, the desire between them intensifying with each step. Masahiro's hands slid down Matthew's sides, leaving a trail of goosebumps as they made their way under the fabric of his suit jacket.As they reached the bedroom, Masahiro guided Matthew onto the bed, their k
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The room was quiet, save for the soft rustle of the sheets and the faint hum of the city beyond the window. Matthew was already asleep, his breathing deep and steady, sprawled out on the bed like he didn’t have a care in the world. His body was relaxed, the exhaustion of the night finally taking its toll on him. Masahiro watched him for a moment, his heart a strange, tight feeling in his chest—something he couldn’t quite name, but something real nonetheless.He gently pulled himself away, careful not to wake Matthew. Slipping into loose pants, Masahiro padded silently toward the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water, the cool liquid a small, simple comfort in the quiet of the apartment. When he finished, he returned to the bedroom, water in hand.Matthew lay on the bed, his hair spread across the pillow. Masahiro paused at the foot of the bed, watching him for a long moment. He felt a strange, almost possessive tenderness in the way Matthew look
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The raid on Mr. K's operation had not only dismantled a criminal empire but had also ignited a media firestorm that engulfed Cleveland. News outlets raced to cover the shocking discovery of the trafficking ring, the corruption that had seeped into the highest levels of government, and the arrest of Kenneth Hartman, the Minister of Trade and Economic Development. Headlines screamed for attention, each vying to present the latest angle on the scandal that had rocked the city.Masahiro could hardly keep up with the barrage of notifications on his phone, each ping signaling another story breaking. “Minister Arrested in Shocking Trafficking Ring,” one headline blared. “Corruption at the Highest Level: Who Else Will Fall?” Another speculated about the fallout, naming high-ranking politicians who had been seen mingling at the gala just hours before the raid.As Masahiro sat in the station, the weight of the media scrutiny settled heavily on his shoulde
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At the precinct, the atmosphere was charged with an undercurrent of tension. Officers bustled about, preparing for what many considered the most significant operation of their careers. Masahiro joined the team briefing, his mind shifting gears as he focused on the task at hand.“Listen up!” David, announced, his voice commanding attention. “Tomorrow’s transfer of Mr. K is not just another routine procedure. We’re dealing with a high-profile suspect—a government minister who has ties to organized crime. This operation must be flawless. I expect each of you to perform your duties without fail.”The room buzzed with murmurs. Masahiro exchanged glances with Lewis, who leaned closer, whispering, “It’s hard to believe a minister is a mafia baron. How does he get away with it?”“I wish I knew,” Masahiro replied quietly, his thoughts already racing ahead. “But we can’t let our guard down. Not now.”As the briefing continued, Masahiro listened to David outlining the secu
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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,
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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
