Semua Bab Gold & Sand: Bab 291 - Bab 300

It had been five days since Allan Doyle’s body was found behind Barrow Lane.Five days since the call. Since the silence that followed it. Since Masahiro had driven into the night with blood in his chest and Matthew’s voice at his back.Now, the sun was too bright for a funeral, but they buried him anyway.The car rolled to a stop at the edge of the cemetery.Beyond the windshield, the canary was crowded—rows of law enforcement officers in black, lined up in silent formation. Uniforms everywhere: pressed blues, starched grays, polished medals that caught the morning light. Detectives in tailored coats stood among beat cops and field agents. The air was stiff with order and unsaid things.Canopies had been set up above the grave site, a futile attempt to shield the mourners from the pale spring sun. The wind tugged at coat hems and tugged hair loose from buns and slicked styles. But no one moved. No one left.Masahiro turned off the engine.They sat for a

The couch wasn’t new to this.It creaked like it recognized the weight—Clark’s spine pressed to the cushions, Adam’s knee between his legs, files forgotten beneath them like collateral damage.Clark didn’t gasp.He groaned.“Tch—Adam.” Half-warned, half-melted. “I just organized those.”Adam didn’t give a damn.“Then you should’ve organized your schedule better, counselor.”He said it at Clark’s throat, teeth barely grazing the skin just beneath his jaw. The kind of contact that wasn’t meant to hurt—but to remind.Clark exhaled through his nose. Calm. Infuriating.“You are dangerously obsessed with making me moan over prosecutorial misconduct.”“That’s ‘cause you sound better screamin’ than lecturin’.”Clark chuckled darkly—head thudding back into the cushion. He pushed his glasses up with two fingers, then slid them off entirely and dropped them onto the table.“You’re so fucking predictable.”Adam smirked. “And you’re so fuckin’

Clark was halfway through his fifth beer when he saw the figure at the stairwell.Boots. Broad shoulders. That walk like he owned the ground.Adam.Still in black, still smelling faintly of smoke and blood, but now—paper bag in one hand, Clark’s meds tucked under his arm.He walked straight across the rooftop like he’d been here before.Clark blinked. “What the—”Adam didn’t stop.Didn’t hesitate.Just leaned in—right there in front of the bar, the bartender, Matthew, the ivy walls, the low music—and kissed him.Right on the mouth.Solid. Direct. Possessive without being rude. Nothing performative—just his.Clark froze. Just for a breath.Then kissed him back. Just enough.Adam dropped the paper bag on the table like it owed him money. “That pharmacy was a joke.”Clark raised a brow. “Did you threaten them?”“No. I paid.” Adam looked personally offended. “Eighty-six quid. For anxiety pills. You better be anxious as hell for that price.”Clark blinked. “Eighty-six?”Adam pulled the rec

Inside the holding room.Cassidy sat cuffed, but not cowed. The sentence hadn’t broken him. If anything, it gave him something solid to lean against.Arthur stepped in first—eyes a little too wide, posture unsure.Clark followed, still in control, suit crisp, gaze unreadable.They said nothing for a moment. Cassidy tilted his head. “You both came.”Arthur nodded. “Five years…”Cassidy looked at Clark. “And you?”Clark met his eyes. “I’ll be checking in. You’re not out of my hands yet.”Cassidy smirked faintly. “Didn’t figure I was.”Arthur watched between them like someone outside a conversation he couldn’t decode. “Will I be able to visit?”“We’ll work it out,” Clark said, still looking at Cassidy. “Once you’re processed.”The guard stepped forward.Clark turned. “Let’s go.”Arthur hesitated, but followed.Cassidy didn’t say goodbye.He just watched them leave.Outside the courthouse.The hallway buzzed. Press cameras clicked at a distance. Voices murmured, not loud enough to matter.

Clark collapsed forward with a breathy groan, body shivering in the afterglow. He let his weight sink onto Adam’s chest, lips parted, eyes half-lidded.Adam didn’t move.One arm wrapped low around Clark’s waist.The other rested firmly over his ass, hand broad and grounding.Neither of them spoke for a moment.Clark exhaled slowly. “God… I needed that.”Adam hummed low, noncommittal.Clark shifted slightly, still not separating them. “Whole damn courtroom felt like pressure. The judge. The press. Arthur trying not to cry. Cassidy whispering nonsense. I swear, if I didn’t ride something today I was gonna start punching reporters.”Adam gave the smallest breath of a laugh—but his chest was still tight.Clark went on, voice loose with satisfaction, words tumbling like they always did after sex. “Also, we need to do something about this mattress.”Adam blinked. “What?”Clark propped his chin on his hand. “It’s loud. Every time I ride you it sounds like we’re breaking furniture. We either