"No way. No fucking way!"

Amy, a brunette FBI agent, groaned from her desk. The rest of the field office was empty, with everyone having gone to lunch for the day. It was just her and Detective Abe in the precinct—the usual—and he was having one of his customary fits.

"What is it this time, Lincoln?" she grumbled over a sandwich.

"Look," said Abe, turning his laptop towards her. "You see this?"

Amy read the title of the article on the screen, then rose a brow, glancing up at the detective.

"So?" she muttered.

Abe's mouth fell open, and he floundered for words, in disbelief.

"So?" he spluttered, brows shooting up. "SO, it means Wilford got away with another murder!"

Amy sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Look, Detective—I don't have time for your... theories right now. We're both tired, and work has been hard lately—"

"This isn't a theory, Nelson. They never are," Abe hissed, but he sat back down, regardless. He pulled his laptop back towards him like a fussing child and glared. "I'm just able to see what the rest of you can't."

"Yeah?" said Amy, leaning back and gazing at her fingernails. She left her case files alone, too tired to go back to them, and took a bite of her sandwich.

"Fill me in, then," she said with a mouthful. "Better to hear your nonsense than do this work right now," she added under her breath.

"I heard that," Abe grumbled. He shifted in his seat and pointed at the article on his screen, eyes growing with life.

"Okay—so look—" he said. He ran his finger along the article title, which was in large, bold letters. "'Realtors magically vanished after showing.'" He scrolled down and picked pieces from the article. "Mr. Lau and his associate, blah blah..." he read, "were showing a mansion to a client. On that same day, they disappeared, removed so cleanly that—if the Ambassador of Dumox, a Deja Dumont, hadn't had a dinner reservation with him—no one would have known they were gone."

Detective Abe glanced up from the article and met Amy's eyes. "Doesn't that sound familiar to you?" he pressed.

Amy huffed through her nose and crossed her arms.

"Let me guess," she said. "The Warfstache case."

"Yes," hissed Abe. "Wilford may be careful—no, no, not careful. He may be experienced, but he still leaves behind a pattern. We could catch him—once and for all—if we get some evidence on those realtor's deaths."

"But the article said—"

"Those men are dead," said Detective Abe. "There's no doubt about it."

"Okay, then," said Amy, leaning forward on her desk with an elbow, invested in his outburst. "Who would be next then? If he's got a pattern, we can narrow down a list of who's going to be in trouble."

Abe faltered.

"You're not... actually going along with me, right now," breathed Abe, blinking like he hadn't heard her right. "Are you?"

Amy sighed, and she shook her head. "Lincoln, I may not... agree with you on most of this stuff, but... we're still partners. We've gotta stick together, look out for each other." She smiled. "Plus, if it's two lunatics running the same story, the precinct might actually listen to you for once."

Abe huffed at that.

"Well, I appreciate it," he said. He paused, lost in thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Based on the articles—" He pointed to a corkboard in the far corner, where red string connected articles and photos. "—Wilford is expanding his territory. Now, I don't know if it's in response to someone, a mob war, or... if he's just a greedy bastard for more property, more power." He pointed at his laptop. "But, based on these kills, we should be looking at other realtors. Other property-holders that are close to his territory lines."

Amy nodded, then hummed, her brows furrowing. "In that article," she said. "The only way they knew about those deaths was some Ambassador?"

"Wow, I didn't know you were actually listening."

The two shared a chuckle, and Abe scrolled through the article again.

"You're right, though," said Detective Abe. "Deja Dumont."

"We should interview her. She sounds like a big shot, she might know someone who could possibly be in danger." Amy shrugged. "Hell, she might even be in danger herself."

"That's a good idea," said Abe, nodding. "We can try contacting her tomorrow."

"But then, that leaves the question," said Amy. "Let's say the Ambassador isn't in danger." She tipped her gaze towards the laptop, then met Abe's eyes.

"Then who is?"

———

"Dark Edwards," breathed Wilford, looking up at the onyx building.

He and Host stood right in front of it—so close to Dark, yet so far. They could walk inside if they really wanted—convince the front desk to land them an appointment and talk to Mr. Edwards—but waiting was much more fun.

Wilford wanted to drag out the excitement of meeting the billionaire. He wanted to savor it.

Wilford popped a lolly in his mouth and turned away, letting the sugar swell on his tongue. Host followed close behind, and while he was dressed in something less shady (having traded out his trench coat for a leather jacket), Wilford wore his usual, flamboyant clothing.

He didn't care if he stood out. He wanted to, in fact, and—in his eyes—underdressing to fit a certain status quo was for the weak-willed.

He would never be seen as such.

Another skyscraper peered around the corner, glittering black. It looked exactly like the previous building, only smaller, but it was obviously property of Edwards & Co.

"Just how many of these does he have?" mused Wilford, examining the skyscrapers arching high above them. The city roared around them—blaring noise, thundering music—but with everyone at work, the sidewalks let up in the slightest.

"Too many to count," said Host, gazing around them. "Edwards has a lot of divisions in his company—most of them worldwide. He needs a lot of space for communication, I assume."

Wilford hummed, the heels of his shoes clicking on the sidewalk. A flurry of people passed, but none of them brushed against him, veering out of his path.

"Such a shame," sighed Wilford dramatically. "He's starting to sound like one of those lousy businessmen."

They walked around the curb, cut through a crowd of people, and neared Fifth Street.

"I told you so," said Host, scanning their surroundings. He took a deep breath, and they stopped at the intersection. "I know you want to convince him to give up that property," he said, "but there's no doubt he won't put up a fight."

Wilford hummed, and he glanced around, catching sight of the property in question. The property he wanted, that Dark stole, and would hold a stuck up party in a few days.

His fingers tingled with energy.

"Nothing we do is easy," slurred Wilford. "That's the fun of it."

He eyed the building, which rose more than fifty-stories. The top of the skyscraper slanted in the shape of a diamond, and decorative stripes of gold accented its body. It was certainly an upgrade to Mr. Edward's current head office.

Wilford squinted at the building and ran his hand over his mustache.

"But, based on his international ties, like you were saying," he mused, "I could settle for a compromise with him." He smirked, and Host glanced at him, his copper eye glinting. "He certainly won't like it... but this isn't about him."

He sucked on his lollipop with excited eyes and grinned.

"It's either a yes... or a bullet through the head."

———

Dark signed a stack of papers, his face drawn back. His pen glided across the forms, glinting under the sunlight pooling into the penthouse.

"Alexander Bridge?" said Mark, reading off a clipboard. He sat in the chair across from Dark, beginning to grow weary.

"No," said Dark simply.

Mark sighed and crossed off another name on the list. Edwards had denied more than half of the bodyguards he'd listed, and he didn't seem to be stopping his streak any time soon.

"Takeshi Sofu?"

Mark actually liked that one. He was polite, approachable, and—

"No."

Mark's shoulders slumped, and he crossed off yet another name. A door shut from afar, and heels clicked behind them.

"Any luck so far?" came Tali's voice as she joined Mark's side. Dark eyed her through the corner of his eye and hummed.

"No," he and Mark said at the same time.

Mark huffed, and he set the clipboard on the desk, standing.

"I understand you're selective with who guards you, sir," said Mark, "but if it's only for a night, then—"

"You say this Warfstache is terrifying," said Dark. "How am I supposed to know those guards won't run away at the sight of him?"

"You're hiring them for a job—"

"Money has a lot of benefits, Mark, but it can't sway a person under life or death."

Mark frowned, and Tali smiled, glancing between the two of them.

"You two bicker like a married couple," she teased. Mark's face went red, and Dark cleared his throat, sitting up straight. The air went heavy.

"How about I get you two some refreshments?" offered Tali, trying to lighten up the mood. "The party's not for another day. You have time for a quick break."

"Sure," Dark said, folding his hands over his desk.

"Two coffees?"

They nodded, and Tali headed to the waiting room down the hall, where there was a complimentary kitchen. Mark watched them go, then turned back to the desk, clearing his throat.

"How about I choose who to guard the place?" he said, scooting forward. Dark glanced out the floor-to-ceiling windows, clearly lost in thought. Tali's comment had made his mind whir. "I know what to look for in a bodyguard, what to avoid, and—"

Mark's brows furrowed, and he sighed, running a hand over his face. "Mr. Edwards," he said. "Sir, are you listening?"

Dark blinked, and he glanced back at Mark, snapping out of his trance. Mark sent him a pointed look, and Dark looked down at his rings, twisting them around his fingers.

Like a married couple.

He slid off a ring and shifted the metal band onto his ring finger. His stomach tingled at the sight, the jewelry cold against his skin.

He'd been so caught up in business that he never considered something like that. Relationships took so much time, so much effort. Too much of a learning curve. Power was much more comfortable.

Dark's brows furrowed, and he sucked in a breath, gaze flicking onto Mark's.

"Go ahead," he said. "If Warfstache comes, I plan to speak with him, anyway. If the guards you hire run away, it won't matter."

Mark swallowed, and he pulled the clipboard back into his lap. "I thought you meant that in the spur of the moment," he muttered. "You know—because of the whiskey."

Dark glanced back down at his rings and removed the one on his ring finger. He slipped it back into its original place, ignoring the ache in his chest.

"He seems interesting," he said simply.

"Do you even know what he looks like?" said Mark, with more bite than he intended. Dark's gaze flicked onto him, and Mark went quiet.

He sounded... jealous.

Mark cleared his throat, and he leaned back in his chair, avoiding Dark's gaze. He couldn't handle its intensity right now. Where was Tali and that coffee?

An uncomfortable pause fell between them, and finally, Dark spoke up.

"No," he said. "I don't."

Mark glanced over at Dark and rose a brow. "You seem so invested in him," he said carefully, keeping his emotion in check, "and you haven't searched him online, yet?"

"I figured there wouldn't be anything."

"He's the most well-known mob boss—"

"A criminal," said Dark. "Who, most likely, owns the police, and the people who run the articles that try to put his name out there. I wouldn't be surprised if he's found a way to make his online presence nonexistent."

"Well, fortunately for you, sir," said Mark sourly, "he hasn't." He motioned towards Dark's iPhone. "Why don't you search him up? Then you can see why it's such a crazy idea to try and talk to him."

Dark hummed, and he carefully picked up his phone, eyeing Mark. "You've been bitey all morning," he mused, unlocking his phone and tapping a few buttons. "Wake up on the wrong side of bed?"

Mark's face went red, but when Dark smirked at him, his eyes half-lidded, he couldn't find the energy to be mad at him. Instead, he fell into a fit of grumbles and glanced down at the clipboard of names, scanning them.

"How do you spell his name?" asked Dark.

Mark huffed out a laugh. "Exactly how you think it is."

Dark rose a brow and smirked. "His parents must have hated him," he teased as he typed Wilford's name into the search bar. A list of articles came up, but nothing that screamed murderer popped out at him. Most of them were pleasant—interviews with politicians or deals he made with the city.

Dark opened his desk drawer and pulled out a pair of reading glasses, unfolding them and pushing them up onto his nose. Mark blushed at the sight and did his best not to stare, but he couldn't help it. It was rare that his boss used his glasses—he said he found them embarrassing—but he always looked so... cute.

Mark would never admit that aloud, of course, especially when Dark preferred compliments like intimidating, commanding, or powerful. Cute would be demeaning.

Dark tapped the Images tab, adjusted his glasses, and his breath hitched.

Mark perked up at the sound, and he searched Dark's features, noting how tense he'd gotten.

"What?" he said. "Is something wrong?"

Dark cleared his throat, and he scrolled through the images of Wilford. There weren't many—most of them snapshots of interviews or blurry candids of his public appearances—but... hell.

He quickly snapped himself out of it.

"No," Dark said quickly, shaking his head. "No, everything's fine, I'm simply..." He tapped on a better-quality image of Wilford and felt a foreign heat in his belly.

Stunned, is what he wanted to say. Enamored. But he refused to let himself stoop so low to such emotion.

"Amused, is all," he said instead.

Wilford certainly looked as silly as his name. But the way he carried himself in those photos... and that confident, lopsided grin under a silly pink mustache. And—and those intense eyes—

Dark swallowed, and he huffed out a laugh, taking off his glasses. Mark rose a brow at his behavior, jealousy balling up in his chest.

Since when did Mr. Edwards get flustered? Flustered!

"He looks like a clown," said Dark in a half-lie, smirking. "It's hard to believe he's done anything inhuman at all."

Mark suppressed a frown, and he turned to the clipboard to distract himself. Heels clicked from the hallway, and Tali returned with two cups of coffee.

"Sorry it took a while," said the secretary. "The machine broke for a bit."

She handed Mark a cup, then set Dark's on the corner of his desk. When she noticed the rare sight of color on Edwards' face, her brows rose.

"Does—does he have a fever?" said Tali, pointing as she glanced at Mark. Mark scribbled a few useless notes on the list of names and glared at the paper.

"No," he said curtly. "He just looked at Warfstache."

"Who?"

Dark held his phone out for Tali to see, and she blushed.

"Oh!" she said. "He's cute."

"And a serial killer," Mark added under his breath. "He's dangerous—really dangerous."

"That's not Tindr, is it?" said Tali, pointing at the phone. "There's a lot of creeps on there, from what I've heard."

Mark groaned, and he took up his coffee and clipboard and stormed away. "I'll be in my office!" he called out. He disappeared down the hall, and a door slammed shut. Tali grimaced.

"What's gotten into him?" she muttered.

Dark sighed, and he set his phone aside. He felt like going to Mark's office and talking to him would be a good idea—the right idea, the one a decent person would do—but he couldn't bring himself to follow through with it. Painstakingly, he figured that if he did nothing, it would give Mark less reason to have those childish feelings for him.

Pushing people away was easy. In his comfort zone.

Dark sighed, pulled his coffee close, and dove back into work.

It was better to keep people at a distance, than too close.

...

Two new character introductions... what are your thoughts? 😎

Thank you so much for reading, and have a wonderful day!

Love, Victor xoxo