Chapter 207: Chapter 0206

Cassidy exhaled slowly. His pulse was steady, but beneath it, something simmered—dark, dangerous, demanding to be released.

His fingers tapped against his thigh, slow and deliberate, before he turned to Nathaniel.

"Did you know?"

Nathaniel's stance didn't change, but there was a flicker—brief, barely noticeable—in his expression. A tell.

Cassidy's gaze sharpened. "Don't make me ask again."

Nathaniel sighed, glancing away for half a second. "I knew Houston was moving shipments under your businesses, yeah. But I didn't think—"

"You didn't think what?" Cassidy's voice was silk-thin, dangerously even. He took a slow step forward. "That one day my boy might end up in the mix?"

Nathaniel’s jaw clenched. "Arthur wasn't targeted, Sir. He was just… there. Wrong place, wrong time. The woman at The Black Hound saw an easy mark and picked him up. He’s just another body to them."

Cassidy’s smile was sharp, humorless. "Another body?" His fingers twitched at his side. “Arthur isn’t just another body. He’s mine.”

Nathaniel held his gaze, but Cassidy saw the shift—the wariness creeping in. He knew what was coming next.

"You go after Houston directly, it’s war," Nathaniel said. "You know that."

Cassidy's head tilted slightly, like he was considering the weight of those words. Then he let out a quiet chuckle.

"War?" His voice dropped to something darker, something colder. "Nathaniel, if Houston touches him—there won’t be a war. There’ll be a fucking massacre."

Without another word, Cassidy turned and strode toward the car.

Nathaniel cursed under his breath and followed. "Sir, listen to me. You can't just—"

Cassidy ignored him, yanking the car door open. His movements were controlled, precise. He slid into the driver's seat and, with a slow exhale, reached for the glove compartment.

Click.

The latch released, revealing a sleek black handgun resting inside.

Cassidy traced a finger along the barrel, his expression unreadable, before he picked it up and tested the weight in his hand.

Nathaniel stood outside the car, hands braced against the roof as he stared at him. "Sir."

Cassidy flicked off the safety with a soft click and looked up, his smile curling at the edges.

"Are you coming or not?"

Nathaniel inhaled sharply, then exhaled. "I always do."

Cassidy didn't waste another second. He started the engine, the growl of the car drowning out whatever hesitation might have lingered.

Meanwhile

Masahiro paced back and forth across the wooden floor of his apartment. His arms were crossed, his jaw tight, the sharp angles of his face betraying nothing—but the weight behind his eyes said otherwise.

Waiting.

He despised waiting.

Across the room, Matthew was sprawled on the couch, one arm draped over the back, a half-empty glass of whiskey in his free hand. He watched Masahiro’s movement with the kind of lazy amusement that only he could manage in a situation like this.

“Careful,” Matthew drawled. “You’re going to wear a hole in the floor.”

Masahiro didn’t respond.

Matthew exhaled dramatically. “It’s almost like you care or something.”

Masahiro’s eyes flicked toward him, cool and unreadable. “He’s my detective. It’s my responsibility.”

Matthew smirked, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Right. Your detective.”

Before Masahiro could cut back, his phone buzzed on the coffee table. Without hesitation, he crossed the room and picked it up.

“Yes,” he answered, tone clipped.

The voice on the other end was steady, professional.

“Cassidy is moving toward Ashmore Manor. It’s an old estate on the outskirts, about thirty minutes west of the city—address: 2985 Fairhaven Road. Used to belong to one of those old-money families before it was sold off. It’s been abandoned for years, but someone repurposed it. Secure perimeter, private access road, reinforced exits. The kind of place you keep high-value packages out of sight.”

Masahiro’s expression didn’t shift, but something in the air around him did.

“Alright,” he said evenly. “Send a team to the location. I’m on my way.”

He ended the call, slipping the phone into his pocket as he grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair.

“Let’s go,” he said without looking at Matthew.

Matthew sighed, setting his glass down with an exaggerated clink. “You know, I really hate when you do this.”

Masahiro glanced at him, unimpressed. “Then stay here.”

Matthew scoffed, pushing himself up from the couch. “And let you walk into Cassidy’s warpath alone? Please. I like having some entertainment in my life.”

Masahiro was already at the door.

Matthew grabbed his own jacket with a grumble. “You’re lucky you’re hot, you know that?”

Masahiro didn’t answer. He was already moving.

Matthew sighed again, rolling his eyes as he followed. “Fine. But if I get shot, I’m haunting you.”

Masahiro’s response was as cold as ever. “Noted.”

As for Cassidy and Nathaniel

The drive was silent.

Not the peaceful kind. The kind that sat heavy in the chest, thick with everything unsaid.

Cassidy’s grip on the wheel was tight, knuckles white, eyes locked on the dark road stretching ahead. The estate loomed in the distance—massive, secluded, the kind of place built for secrets. The kind of place people vanished into.

Nathaniel shifted beside him. He had been watching Cassidy since they left, his jaw set, eyes flicking between him and the road.

Then, finally—

“Sir.”

Cassidy didn’t respond.

Nathaniel exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. “You go in there guns blazing, you’re making a fucking mess we might not clean up.”

Cassidy’s fingers flexed. “They took him.”

“Yeah, and if you die tearing through Houston’s men, you can’t exactly get him back, can you?” Nathaniel shot back, voice sharp. “Think. This isn’t just about Arthur anymore. This is Houston. You’re breaking lines that aren’t supposed to be crossed.”

Cassidy slammed the brakes.

The car skidded to a stop just outside the estate’s gates, dust curling in the night air. Cassidy turned his head slowly, eyes locking onto Nathaniel with something unreadable—something cold.

“I don’t give a fuck about the lines.”

Nathaniel inhaled, nostrils flaring. Then he nodded, short and resigned.

Of course.

Without another word, Cassidy pushed the door open and stepped out.

The estate was eerily silent. No guards posted outside. No movement behind the dark windows. It wasn’t right.

Nathaniel followed, keeping his steps light. “Something’s off.”

Cassidy didn’t answer. He had already unholstered his gun.

They approached the main entrance—an old, reinforced oak door. Cassidy tested the handle. Unlocked.

He exhaled through his nose. \`Too easy. ´

Then he stepped inside.

The air was thick, stale with the scent of damp wood and something heavier—something human. The dim overhead lights barely flickered to life, casting long, uneven shadows across the corridor. No guards at the entrance. No immediate movement.

Nathaniel’s hand hovered near his holster. “I don’t like this.”

Cassidy didn’t either.

A noise. Soft. Subtle. A shift in weight somewhere deeper in the house.

Cassidy moved.

The first shot was silent. A suppressor, swift and practiced.

The guard in the hallway dropped without a sound.

Cassidy barely slowed. He moved through the corridors like a shadow, his presence death in its purest form. A second man turned the corner—Cassidy fired. A third tried to run. A bullet took him in the spine before he reached the door.

Nathaniel was right behind him, methodical, clearing the blind spots, but they barely needed to communicate.

This wasn’t a fight. It was an execution.

Cassidy didn’t spare them a second glance. His focus was ahead, on the heavy steel door at the end of the hall.

Locked.

Nathaniel reached into his vest, pulled out a small charge, and attached it to the panel beside the door. “Please sir, step back.”

Cassidy didn’t.

The lock blew.

Cassidy was already moving before the smoke cleared.

Inside—

It smelled like sweat, mildew, and despair.

A dim, flickering light buzzed overhead, casting sickly shadows across the room.

Arthur was there.

Slumped against the wall, hands bound, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. Dehydrated, his shirt torn at the collar, bruises ghosting his skin. His breathing was shallow.

He wasn’t alone.

A handful of others—men, women—huddled in the corners, silent, watching. Some too weak to move. Some too afraid to try.

Cassidy barely looked at them.

His focus was singular.

He crouched in front of Arthur, gripping his chin, tilting his face up.

Arthur’s eyes flickered open, unfocused at first. Then—

“…Cassidy?”

His voice was hoarse. Raw.

Cassidy’s jaw tightened. He should’ve been furious—should’ve wanted to shake him, demand what the hell he was thinking getting caught up in this. But all he felt was something low and possessive curling in his chest.

Arthur was looking at him like he couldn’t believe he was there.

Cassidy scoffed. “Did you think I wouldn’t come?”

Arthur swallowed, his throat dry. “I—” His voice broke. He shut his mouth.

Cassidy leaned in, close enough that Arthur couldn’t look anywhere else. His fingers ghosted over the bruises on Arthur’s wrists, where the restraints had cut into his skin.

“I’ll kill them,” Cassidy murmured, his tone soft, almost gentle. “Every single one of them.”

Arthur exhaled shakily. “You already did.”

Cassidy smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Nathaniel’s voice cut in from the doorway. “We need to move.”

Cassidy didn’t look back. He pulled a knife from his belt, slicing through the bindings around Arthur’s wrists.

Arthur let out a slow breath, flexing his fingers. His hands were trembling. Cassidy caught one of them before Arthur could pull away.

Arthur stilled.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Cassidy squeezed his hand once. Not gently. Not softly. Possessively.

Then—

The distant wail of sirens.

Nathaniel swore. “Shit.”

Cassidy’s grip tightened.

Arthur’s eyes flickered, something shifting in them.

“You called the cops?”

Cassidy’s smile was sharp. “Sweetheart, do I look like someone who calls the cops?”

Arthur let out a hoarse laugh, shaking his head. “No. No, you really don’t.”

Cassidy pulled him up, steadying him. Arthur swayed slightly, exhaustion dragging at his limbs, but Cassidy didn’t let go.

The sirens grew louder.

Nathaniel checked his watch. “We’ve got a minute, maybe two.”

Cassidy exhaled slowly, his fingers brushing the inside of Arthur’s wrist before he finally released him.

“Alright, then.”

They had barely reached the hallway when the blue and red flashes cut through the darkness.

The sirens weren’t distant anymore.

They were here.

Nathaniel cursed under his breath. “Fuck. We should’ve moved faster.”

Cassidy didn’t even blink. He rolled his shoulders, adjusting his grip on Arthur’s arm as he steadied him. Arthur was still weak, barely holding his weight upright, but Cassidy had no intention of letting him fall.

Then—

“Cassidy Hills.”

The voice was controlled, sharp, cutting through the chaos like a blade.

Cassidy exhaled through his nose, lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smirk. “Right on time.”

Masahiro stood at the entrance, his jacket settled perfectly on his shoulders, his expression blank but his gaze razor-sharp. Behind him, uniformed officers flooded into the estate, weapons drawn, spreading through the scene with efficient precision.

And just a step behind him—

Matthew.

His arms were crossed, but his expression was a picture-perfect oh, fuck moment.

Cassidy almost laughed.

Masahiro’s eyes flicked over the scene, taking in the bodies strewn across the floor, the smell of gunpowder still thick in the air, the shattered remnants of Houston’s operation now littered in blood and silence.

His jaw tightened.

Then his gaze landed on Arthur.

Arthur, still unsteady on his feet, still looking at Cassidy like he was something untouchable.

Something his.

Masahiro’s lips parted slightly, but whatever thought had formed died the second one of his officers stepped up behind him.

"Chief, we’ve got at least six confirmed fatalities.”

The words fell like dead weight between them.

A crime.

A massacre.

Masahiro inhaled deeply, his hand flexing at his side. He knew—knew—this wasn’t just some cold-blooded execution. This wasn’t senseless. Cassidy had done this for Arthur.

But that didn’t change what it was.

Murder.

Arthur was the first to break the silence. “No—wait.” His voice was rough, desperate, his grip tightening on Cassidy’s sleeve. “Sir, you can’t.”

Masahiro’s gaze flicked to him. “Arthur.”

Arthur shook his head, stepping in front of Cassidy like a human shield. “He—he saved me.”

Masahiro exhaled slowly, something unreadable flashing behind his eyes.

“I know.”

Arthur’s throat bobbed, eyes pleading. “Then don’t.”

Cassidy had been silent through the whole exchange, but the way his fingers twitched at his side, the way his head tilted slightly—it was like he was enjoying this.

This moment.

This fight over him.

Like he had expected it.

Masahiro didn’t move. His subordinates were watching, waiting for a command. The law was clear.

Cassidy had killed.

And Masahiro was the law.

Arthur turned to Cassidy now, his voice dropping into something raw. “Please. Say something.”

Cassidy looked down at him—really looked at him. His boyish, naive detective. The one who had once looked at him with nothing but trust, before the truth had shattered that illusion.

And yet, here he was, still reaching for him.

Cassidy let out a soft hum, then tilted his head toward Masahiro. “You gonna do it?”

Masahiro’s grip tightened around his cuffs.

Cassidy smirked. “Go ahead.”

Arthur stiffened. “Cass—”

Cassidy turned his gaze back to him, something smug, something possessive settling in the curve of his lips.

“I don’t regret it,” he said simply. “I’d do it again.”

Arthur’s breath hitched.

Masahiro’s jaw clenched.

Matthew finally spoke, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ, Cass.”

Masahiro stepped forward.

Arthur grabbed his arm. “Masahiro.”

Masahiro’s voice was low, firm. “Move, Arthur.”

Arthur’s grip only tightened. “No—just—just let him go.”

Masahiro’s expression didn’t waver. “He killed six people.”

Arthur swallowed. “But—”

Cassidy’s voice cut in, smooth and easy. “Arthur.”

Arthur turned to him, breathing uneven.

Cassidy leaned in just slightly, voice quieter now. “Let him.”

Arthur stared at him like he couldn’t believe what he was saying.

Cassidy just smiled. That smile. The one that was all sharp edges and I own you even now.

Arthur didn’t move.

Nathaniel exhaled heavily from the side. “Goddamn it.”

Cassidy finally turned his wrists outward, offering them up like it was his choice. “Go on, Chief.”

Masahiro stepped forward, voice cold, unwavering. “Cassidy Hills, you are under arrest.” His fingers closed around the cuffs. The click of metal locking into place echoed through the silence.

Arthur inhaled sharply.

Cassidy just grinned.

And the sirens howled through the night.