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Chapter 85
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2025-01-05 10:30:23Masahiro unlocked the door to the apartment and stepped inside, the weight of the day pressing heavily on his shoulders. His usually calm expression was marred by frustration, his movements brisk as he kicked off his shoes and tossed his jacket onto the nearest chair.
From the couch, Matthew, sprawled in his usual lazy fashion with Clyde perched on his lap, glanced up with a smirk. “Rough day?” he teased, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You look like someone just stole your donuts.”Masahiro shot him a glare but didn’t respond immediately, heading straight for the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water.Then he finally spoke, his tone clipped. “Just a lot of work. Nothing special.”Matthew raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Work, huh?” He pointed toward the muted television, where a reporter gestured animatedly outside the facility Masahiro had just left. “Saw the press conference. Something happen?”Masahiro hesitated for jus
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Clark's phone buzzed.Adam: Outside.Forty-five minutes.Clark stood up without a word to the guard, coat immaculate despite the cheap plastic chair. He walked out through the double doors with that courtroom grace that said he owned the pavement.The car was there—hood still dusty, engine rumbling low.Inside, Adam sat like he hadn't just made a high-profile lawyer wait in a prison lobby surrounded by vending machines and regret. Hoodie up, one hand on the wheel, chewing on a toothpick like he was at a barbecue.Clark opened the passenger door, slid in, and didn’t wait.“I could’ve been murdered,” he snapped. “Or worse—spoken to.”Adam didn’t say a word.Just leaned over and kissed him. Firm. Fast. Silencing.Clark blinked, lips parted. “That’s not—”Adam reached into the backseat and grabbed a small white bag. Tossed it into Clark’s lap.Clark looked down. Then back at him. “A chocolate tart?”“Figured if I’m late, I better come bearing offerings,” Adam said, starting the drive. “Li
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The car rolled lazy through East End traffic, radio off, tension on. Clark was flipping through case notes, ankle crossed over his knee, coat draped neatly on his lap.Adam drove like he always did—left hand on the wheel, right knee up, hoodie halfway off one shoulder, chewing a toothpick like it owed him rent.The burner lit up.Adam didn’t check who it was.He just answered. “Yeah.”Wilson’s voice slammed through, loud and no-nonsense. “I need you on Barrow. Now. Kid botched a run, left prints, someone’s squealing. Clean it up.”Adam didn’t flinch. “Copy.”But Wilson wasn’t done.“You with that fancy-ass gay lawyer again?”Adam’s jaw ticked. “What’s it matter?”Clark looked up. Slowly.Wilson snorted. “You fuckin’ him or just carryin’ his purse today?”Adam’s voice dropped. “Watch it.”“Relax, Romeo. Just didn’t peg you for the boyfriend type. Thought you were the hit-first, grunt-later type.”Clark blinked.Closed the folder.Wilson kept going. “You soft now, huh? All cozy, ridin’
Gold & Sand Chapter 312
Cassidy woke before the first bell.The cell was cold, silent, the kind of stillness that only happened when the rest of the block hadn’t started breathing yet.He sat up slowly, shoulders cracking from the steel mattress. Swung his legs down. Rubbed a hand over his face.No footsteps yet. No guard knock.He moved anyway.Cassidy always moved early.He dressed like a ghost—quiet, fast, efficient. White tee, jumpsuit rolled halfway up, boots laced loose. He didn’t need a mirror to fix his collar. Didn’t need a clock to know when the halls would wake.By the time the door buzzed open, he was already at the edge of the tier, walking past the first line of sleepy mutters and rubber-soled shuffles.He reached the duty board.His name wasn’t there.No kitchen detail. No laundry. No visitation. No med unit escort. No legal appointment.Nothing.Cassidy blinked once.Weird.Not unheard of, but rare. He was always assigned to something. Even if it was pointless busywork meant to remind him he
Gold & Sand Chapter 311
The keyboard clicks were the only sound in the condo.Clark sat at the dining table, sleeves rolled, glasses slipping low on his nose. Legal files fanned out in front of him like a courtroom ritual—typed statements, annotated briefs, a salad he hadn’t touched, and a glass of water left sweating on a coaster.The front door opened.Adam stepped in with his usual lack of subtlety—hoodie hanging open, boots scuffed, a paper bag in one hand, and a slim envelope in the other. He looked like someone who had stared down a pharmacy line and lost his last nerve doing it.He kicked the door shut behind him. Walked in, dropped the paper bag on the table, and let the envelope land beside it with a flat slap.“Didn’t have Lexopram,” Adam said. “And the Diazprint was ninety quid for ten pills.”Clark finally glanced up. “Jesus.”“So I got the Alprazolam. The Sandoz generic. Blue stripes, not pink. You said those kick in quicker.”Clark blinked, then sat back a little. “You remembered that?”Adam ga
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Clark waited exactly eleven minutes in the outer office before Michaelis’s door clicked open.The red-haired warden stood there, beret off but still somehow pristine. His blue eyes cool, unreadable.“Mr. Brown,” he said. “I was told you insisted.”Clark stood, buttoned his coat, and followed him inside without speaking.Michaelis walked to his desk, sat, and gestured toward the opposite chair. “Please. Sit.”Clark did. Legs crossed. Folder in hand. Composure weaponized.“I’m here to submit a formal transfer request,” Clark said, setting the folder down with clean precision.Michaelis didn’t reach for it.He just glanced at it like it was already beneath him.“For Cassidy Hills,” Clark added.Michaelis finally moved. Opened the folder. Read the top page slowly. “Hm.”Clark waited.Michaelis flipped to the second page. “You’re alleging multiple security breaches.”“They aren’t allegations,” Clark said smoothly. “They’re bruises, a failed poisoning, and a guard who can’t spell ‘neutralit
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Masahiro’s keys hit the counter with a tired clink.He didn’t bother turning on the lights. The apartment’s soft ambient glow—left on by Matthew, always—was enough.He shrugged off his coat, loosened his collar, and let his shoes sit exactly where they landed. The day was long, too loud. And over.Matthew’s voice came from the couch, half-curled around a blanket, TV remote in hand."You look like shit."Masahiro didn’t flinch. Didn’t smile either."Long day," he said simply."Cassidy-related or Arthur-related?""Yes."Matthew grinned without humor. "Should’ve known."Masahiro moved toward the kitchen, hands braced on the edge of the counter for a second. Silent. Then:"Arthur went to see Cassidy again. Said he was worried. Said Cassidy had bruises—wrist, face, didn’t want to talk but admitted he got jumped."Matthew sat up slightly, interest sharp now."Yard fight?""Three or four guys. No incident report. Warden didn’t log a t
Gold & Sand Chapter 308
The office was quiet, dim with late afternoon light filtering through closed blinds.Masahiro sat behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, a cold cup of coffee sitting untouched beside an open report.He was reading, pen in hand, when footsteps broke the silence.Arthur stood at the edge of the office, shifting slightly.“Sir,” he said.Masahiro didn’t look up.“I'm leaving for a while.”That got his attention.Masahiro glanced up, brows slightly raised.“Going to visit Cassidy again?” he asked, voice flat but pointed. “Didn’t you go yesterday—or something?”Arthur hesitated. “Yes. I did, but—”Masahiro cut him off, his tone quiet but firm. “You know you’re not required to check on him. He’s not your case anymore.”Arthur stood straighter. “Sir, I’m worried about him.”Masahiro’s eyes narrowed.Arthur went on, words rushing now. “Cassidy's been beaten. I saw the bruises myself. Face. Wrist. He didn’t want to say anythi
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The next day, Clark arrived earlier.Sharper suit. Colder voice. A thin folder tucked under one arm—nothing damning, nothing overt. Just weight. Just pressure.The receptionist didn’t argue this time. She simply stood, picked up the phone, and said softly, “Mr. Brown is here.”Five minutes later, he was walking back into the same office.Michaelis Gray sat behind his desk, just as pristine. Same beret. Same dark coat on the back of the chair. Same glove on one hand, none on the other.Same unsettling handsomeness.Clark took the offered seat.“Back so soon,” Michaelis said without looking up.“I’m not fond of unfinished business.”Michaelis raised a brow. “What business do you imagine we have?”Clark opened the folder and slid one page across the desk. No numbers. No names. Just an offer.One million per year.Five years.Confidential.Untraceable.Michaelis looked at it. Didn't touch it.Then looked at Clark. “You’re b
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The car rolled to a stop in front of the prison gates.Clark reached for the door.Adam caught his wrist.Clark turned—and before he could speak, Adam leaned in and kissed him. Firm. Sure. No theatrics.Just presence.When he pulled back, he didn’t say much.Just, “Be careful.”Clark blinked. “I always am.”Adam’s voice dropped a note. “I’ll be here. Waitin’.”For a split second, Clark didn’t move. Just stared at him.Then nodded once, adjusted his cuffs, and stepped out.The door shut behind him.He walked with his usual rhythm—straight spine, purposeful steps, tailored coat shifting like a second skin—but something inside him was off.Adam had kissed him like it meant something.Said waitin’ like it wasn’t a joke.Clark frowned slightly, eyes flicking to the gate ahead. He told himself not to read into it. Not to feel anything beyond what was useful.They were a bodyguard and a client.They were good sex and bette
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