Benedict typed the last lines of his report, let his eyes skim hastily over the document one final time, and saved everything before snapping shut his work laptop. The quiet hum of the device powering down had barely faded when he had already grabbed his bag and practically fled the office.
Since his last meeting with Vincent, he hadn't heard a single thing from him. No message. No call. Not even the briefest sign of life.
Benedict had upheld his part of the deal and given himself to him. But Vincent had been silent ever since. As a result, Benedict had been tormenting himself over everything that had happened between them — the deal, the sex, and the fact that sleeping with Vincent had felt really good. Better than he had been willing to admit.
Vincent had promised him that he would never forget that night, and that had proven true. Benedict hadn't been able to forget it. How could he?
But whether Vincent would keep his side of the bargain was the question that left Benedict restless. Vincent had gotten his fun. Who was to say he would ever keep his promise? Or that he really knew who Dan's murderer was?
Though after their night together, Vincent had told him that he still had an important mission ahead of him and that he would catch the bastard afterward.
Yet not a single message had come. No update, not even an approximate date. At home, Benedict had felt like a bundle of raw nerves. Restless, he had paced through his apartment, lain awake at night staring at his phone as if he could force Vincent to contact him through sheer willpower alone. He had wondered whether Vincent would ever reach out again.
Or whether he had lied to him just to get Benedict into bed.
The worst part was that his own body had betrayed him. Even days later, dull aches and fleeting moments of goosebumps reminded him of what Vincent had done to him. Benedict had been dominant his entire life, someone who took control and called the shots. But Vincent had shown him another side of himself — one that unsettled and fascinated him in equal measure. And as much as he resisted admitting it, he had to acknowledge that being the bottom had held its own appeal.
That realization in particular had thrown him even further off balance. He felt vulnerable, almost exposed, as though Vincent had seen something inside him that no one else was ever supposed to see. That was why Benedict had buried himself in work, taken every bit of overtime he could, just to escape his thoughts.
His worries had finally faded after Vincent contacted him half an hour ago. Moz would pick him up after work, and he was supposed to hurry and be on time.
Ever since then, his pulse had been racing.
He pushed open the heavy front doors of police headquarters and stepped out into the cool evening air. Gray clouds hung low over the city while the wind swept through the streets, carrying the scent of rain with it. But Benedict barely noticed any of it. His thoughts were spiraling.
Vincent had actually kept his word.
Benedict no longer even knew what he was supposed to feel. Relief mixed with nervousness, anger with something else he would rather not name too closely. Too many emotions raged inside him at once, making him feel as though he were standing in the eye of a storm.
At last, he would get his revenge.
After all this time, Dan would finally receive justice. Benedict would finally learn who had taken his fiancé from him — and why. The thought alone made his heart pound hard against his ribs as he hurried down the steps of police headquarters.
He didn't think about what would happen afterward. Didn't think about what the truth might do to him. All that mattered was the murderer's identity.
And that Benedict would make sure the bastard ended up behind bars.
Abruptly, he slowed his steps.
Right. Putting him behind bars would be the right thing to do.
He had to do it. That man would receive the punishment he deserved, and Benedict would be able to live every single day knowing that bastard could never hurt anyone again while rotting away in prison.
…or…
The thought crept quietly into his mind, dark and tempting.
What if prison wasn't enough?
What if a few years behind concrete walls could never make up for what had been taken from Dan and him?
Benedict cut the thought off immediately before it could unfold any further.
No.
He was still a police officer. The law wasn't optional just because the case had become personal. His job was not to take revenge or inflict pain. He was there to arrest criminals and make sure justice did its job. Nothing more. Nothing less.
"Good evening, Mr. Johnson."
The voice came from directly beside the staircase, abruptly tearing him from his thoughts.
Benedict's head snapped around. There stood that Moz again — polished as ever, dressed in a perfectly tailored dark suit. Not a single hair was out of place, his glasses sat flawlessly on his nose, and his expression looked so controlled it was as if he had never experienced a moment of stress in his life.
"Moz… right?" Benedict asked as he slowly descended the last few steps.
He forced himself to stop thinking about his fiancé's damn murderer. There was no point in drowning in his anger now. All that mattered was what lay ahead of him.
He would follow the law. Anything else was out of the question.
Moz gave a brief nod and was already turning toward the parking lot.
"Follow me. The boss is expecting you."
That word alone sent an unpleasant knot twisting through Benedict's stomach. Vincent moved through this world with a kind of ease that unsettled Benedict every single time. As though violence, power, and organized crime were as natural to him as breathing.
Benedict took a deep breath and silently followed Moz to the black car parked by the curb. The paint gleamed darkly beneath the streetlights.
The moment they reached the vehicle, Moz opened the rear door.
"My apologies, Mr. Johnson," he said politely, almost apologetically. "But I'll unfortunately have to deprive you of your sight again for this drive."
He leaned into the car and pulled out the same black hood as last time.
Benedict let out an irritated scoff. "Do what you have to do."
A moment later, the fabric was pulled over his head. Instantly, all sense of orientation vanished. The world became muffled and stifling, his perception reduced to sounds, movement, and smells.
Moz helped him into the back seat. A few seconds later, Benedict felt someone sit down on either side of him. Then the driver's door shut. Moz quietly hummed some melody to himself while the engine started and the car began to move.
No one spoke.
So Benedict stayed silent as well.
What was there for him to say anyway? To these people, he was probably nothing more than some guy their boss had fucked because it had become part of a deal. And even if he tried to get information out of them, he wouldn't get far. These men were professionals; simple tricks would not work on them.
And if he did something stupid now, he would only risk never getting close to Vincent again.
Aside from that, he was far too tense to think clearly anyway.
His thoughts revolved around his fiancé's murderer — and around Vincent himself.
He was waiting for him, which meant Benedict would see him again soon. But where? Where was Moz taking him? To the Webster clan's hideout? Or were they meeting somewhere else entirely? If it was somewhere else, that would actually be good. He could simply call his colleagues there to pick up the murderer. If Vincent was holding the man captive at the hideout, things would become significantly more complicated.
Besides, Benedict desperately wanted to know what condition he would find the man in. Was he injured? Sedated? So close to death that Vincent expected Benedict to deliver the final blow? Or would Benedict at least be allowed to land a proper punch for all the pain this man had caused him?
Damn.
Just thinking about it felt wrong.
And then there was the problem with his colleagues. What was he even supposed to tell them? What remotely believable lie could he come up with without immediately raising questions?
It was no secret anymore that Benedict had continued investigating privately. Jasper knew it. Sebastian too. No one had seriously tried to stop him. Probably because everyone understood that he would never truly let it go.
But this went far beyond private investigations.
The man could claim he had been kidnapped and abducted. Maybe he even knew Vincent's face. Maybe Benedict's too.
And then what?
What if it suddenly came out that a police officer had worked together with a criminal?
Benedict's hand unconsciously curled into a fist.
All at once, the hood over his head felt suffocatingly tight. The air beneath it was warm and stale, every breath unpleasantly heavy.
What was even right anymore, and what was wrong?
Had he ever really had much of a choice?
Damn it, if only he could talk to someone. But who? There was no one. Not his best friends, not Isaac, and certainly not Vincent.
Before his thoughts could spiral any further out of control, the car slowed and finally came to a stop.
"We're here," Moz said calmly.
The doors opened.
Benedict was helped out of the car and led blindly into the building. Through the fabric of the hood, he could vaguely make out that he was being taken not into a warehouse, but into a house. A moment later, the hood was pulled from his head.
Benedict blinked against the sudden light — and found himself staring directly into Vincent's scarred face.
"Good evening, my handsome," the boss of the Webster clan greeted him in that calm, dangerously charming voice.
"Vincent," Benedict replied tensely.
Just seeing him again threw his already chaotic emotions completely off balance. Even before the phone call, he had barely known what to do with himself. And now Vincent stood directly in front of him — close enough for Benedict to catch his scent — and suddenly everything came rushing back.
The memories of their night together. Of Vincent's hands on his skin. Of the way he had looked at him.
It was as though his body had remembered every single detail. And unlike Benedict's mind, his body seemed to have absolutely no doubt that it wanted all of it again.
Damn…
Vincent studied him carefully.
"You look tired," he observed. "Weren't you able to recover over the past few days?"
Benedict let out a quiet scoff. "If I look tired, then you look like death itself."
An amused smirk appeared on Vincent's lips.
"At least that would be a nickname capable of frightening my enemies."
Benedict crossed his arms over his chest. His patience had long since run out.
"Where is he?" he asked bluntly.
He had absolutely no time left for small talk.
Vincent slowly raised an eyebrow.
"Someone's in a hurry," he remarked with a drawn-out sigh. "Our friend is sitting downstairs in the basement, tied up nice and tight."
Those words alone sent Benedict's pulse skyrocketing instantly.
"He's here. That bastard is really here."
"Good," Benedict said immediately. "Then show me where he is so I can finally put him behind bars!"
He needed to put all of this behind him at last.
But Vincent didn't move from where he stood.
"Wait a moment," he said calmly. "The man is my part of the deal. The moment I bring you to him, our agreement is fulfilled."
His gaze remained fixed on Benedict.
"I will take you to him," Vincent continued. "And whatever is left of him afterward, I will make disappear. Thoroughly enough that no one will ever find him again."
Benedict's expression hardened instantly.
"Don't talk nonsense," he growled. "That piece of shit gets the punishment he deserves. In court."
Vincent merely shrugged, as though Benedict were talking about something insignificant.
"If you don't kill him, I will." His voice remained disturbingly calm. "The man has seen my face, and I have no intention of letting him walk free again so he can later describe my pretty features to a room full of police officers and lawyers."
Benedict stared at him.
"He's seen… your face?" he asked in disbelief.
"Habit," Vincent replied casually. "I never hide my face. Not in here, not during a mission, and not during interrogations."
Then a crooked smile spread across his lips.
"Besides, you probably have far fewer reservations about taking revenge on him now, don't you?"
Benedict exhaled slowly.
Damn it.
Vincent was right. And that was exactly what made him so angry.
He had more than one reason to hurt that bastard. Damn it, he wanted to hurt him so badly that his conscience had become nothing more than faint background noise. So he couldn't just take the murderer with him and drag him into court? The case would never truly be closed. Yes, he would get his revenge — but what about the other families waiting for the day the murderer of their husband, brother, son, or father would finally be avenged?
So many police officers had fallen victim to this man. He had murdered so many people, and no one had ever been able to identify a clear pattern.
And now Benedict was on the verge of ending all of it outside the law.
He absolutely hated that Vincent had taken the decision to do the right thing out of his hands, but at the same time…
…he had suffered from Dan's death for so long that more than once he had imagined all the things he wanted to do to the murderer. Wasn't that exactly why he had kept searching for him? Why he had pursued him privately? Now the man was within reach, so why was he hesitating?
His entire purpose over the past months had been to track this man down and punish him.
Only now did Benedict notice that his hands were trembling.
Wouldn't it be downright foolish to let this opportunity slip away?
If he didn't do it, Vincent would. And afterward, no one would ever get their hands on the murderer again. No police. No court. No one.
The decision suddenly felt unavoidable.
Benedict lifted his gaze and looked Vincent directly in the eyes.
"Take me to him," he finally growled.
Slowly, Vincent's mouth curled into a twisted, satisfied smile.
"I like that look in your eyes," Vincent said softly.
Vincent stepped close to Benedict once more. For a brief moment, the dangerous boss of the Webster clan seemed almost gentle, like a tamed predator, as he slowly brushed his fingertips along Benedict's cheek.
"Once you've had your revenge, you're welcome to stay the night here," he murmured. "There are still one or two things I'd like to discuss with you."
Benedict immediately pushed his hand away.
"One time wasn't enough for you?" he asked dryly. "I was actually under the impression that after all the times I made you come, you'd been pretty satisfied."
Vincent laughed quietly.
"Am I really that easy to read?" he asked with a crooked grin. "Well… you can think about it. And before you start implying things again: I actually did mean the conversation. The sex would just be a nice bonus."
"Enough talking," Benedict scoffed. "Just take me to him already."
"As you wish."
Vincent stepped aside and led the way. Benedict followed him in silence.
Neither of them spoke another word as they moved deeper through the house. Eventually, they reached the basement. More precisely, a long, narrow corridor lined with cold concrete walls, several heavy doors branching off from it. At the very end of the hallway stood one final door made of dark metal.
The closer they got, the tighter Benedict's stomach twisted.
Benedict didn't know these corridors, and yet his body seemed to remember that he himself had once been down here before — after he had nearly killed Isaac and Noctis had taken his anger out on him. A lump seemed lodged in his throat, one he could neither breathe away nor swallow down.
His steps grew heavier, his heartbeat faster and faster. Bile rose in his throat.
How many months had he spent desperately searching for this man?
Vincent stopped in front of the door. His hand settled on the handle, but before pressing it down, he looked at Benedict closely. This time, there was actually something resembling concern in his gaze.
"Ready?" he asked quietly.
Not even close.
And yet Benedict still nodded.
He nodded. "Let me see him."
Vincent held his gaze for another moment before giving a faint nod of his own.
"Take all the time you need. I'll be waiting right outside," Vincent said.
At least he could go in alone. No one would interrupt him, no one would pressure him, and he could calmly decide what to do with the man who had ripped the person he loved most out of his life.
Vincent opened the door, and Benedict stepped inside.
The room was cold, sterile, and dimly lit. In the center sat a man on a simple metal chair, his hands and legs tightly bound. Despite the restraints, he did not look intimidated.
Quite the opposite.
His eyes gleamed with hatred.
Benedict stopped abruptly.
That was him.
The man who had murdered Dan. The man responsible for the deaths of countless other police officers.
"Let me go already, you fucking assholes!" the bound man shouted the moment he saw Vincent.
Vincent remained completely calm.
"Not happening, scum," he replied coolly. "You're sitting in the very heart of the Webster clan. Do you really think you're leaving this place alive?"
The man violently strained against his restraints.
"You fucking bastard! Untie me and I'll show you what your pathetic clan is worth!" His voice nearly cracked with rage. "I'll kill every last one of you!"
But Benedict barely heard him anymore.
His gaze had locked onto the man's face.
And suddenly, everything felt real and utterly unreal at the same time.
"Gladly. But first, he's going to have his fun with you," Vincent said in a bored tone. "You two still have quite a lot to discuss. So I'll leave you alone now. Have fun, Ben."
With that, he pulled the door shut behind him.
The dull sound of the lock echoed through the room — and suddenly Benedict was alone with his fiancé's murderer.
The rage burned hot in his veins. This uncontrollable piece of shit had managed to kill Dan?!
Benedict couldn't understand it.
How had he searched for him for months without finding him? How had this loud, arrogant bastard managed to evade every lead for so long? Why had Benedict needed to sell his own body just to finally stand here?
How many sleepless nights had he spent? How many hours had he buried himself in files, chased down clues, and lost pieces of himself in the process?
And in the end, the killer had simply been handed to him.
Like some grotesque gift.
The bound man snorted contemptuously.
"Are you mute or something?" he growled. "Why are you just standing there staring at me like some fucking psychopath?"
Benedict barely heard the mockery in his voice.
Only one single question forced its way through the noise in his mind.
"Why did you kill him?"
The words left his mouth before he could consciously think about them.
The man blinked in irritation, then a cold, mocking smile spread across his face.
"You'll have to be more specific than that," he said with a shrug. "I've got quite a few bodies to my name."
The provocative tone instantly burrowed beneath Benedict's skin.
Benedict dug his fingernails so deeply into his palm that the skin split open.
"Officer Daniel Ortega," he forced out. "The man you shot ten months ago in a filthy alley by the docks."
The murderer tilted his head slightly, as though genuinely thinking about it.
"Doesn't ring a bell right now. I've killed a lot of cops," he answered with another shrug. "Were you related to him? Well, sorry, but I had to kill him and all the others."
Benedict's jaw tightened painfully.
"Why?" he snarled. "Was it a contract?"
"But what if that were the case?" the man asked provocatively. "Hey, if you let me go, I'll tell you everything I know. What do you think?"
Benedict raised an eyebrow. He could play that game too.
"Your life is already in my hands," he replied as calmly as he could, though rage burned inside him. "I'm not a murderer or an assassin, so your chances of getting out of here alive aren't exactly bad."
"Hmmm, but can I really trust you just like that? You don't exactly seem… calm, you know. I really do wonder why that is."
"Well, I guess you'll have to answer that question yourself. I'm the one asking questions here, not the other way around. So answer properly if you ever want to see daylight again," Benedict hissed.
The man stared at him for another moment before snorting in amusement.
"Then I guess I'll play along a little. My chances don't seem completely hopeless after all, right?"
Benedict didn't answer.
What he really wanted was to punch this disgusting bastard in the face, but he held himself back. Without information, this would get him nowhere. First, he wanted to know everything — no matter how painful it became.
"Why did you kill so many cops?" he finally asked. "Why like this? And why didn't any of them fight back? There were no signs of struggle, no traces of poison or sedatives."
The man tilted his head. "Are you a cop yourself?"
"Answer the question."
"So you are one," the man replied with amusement.
He burst into loud laughter, wearing such a smug grin that Benedict could barely restrain himself.
"Since when do cops work with the Webster clan?! What a combination!" he continued laughing.
Without warning, Benedict punched him in the face. Furious, he glared at him.
"Answer the question."
But instead of making a sound, the bastard just kept laughing.
"Because I wanted to. Not many people dare kill cops," he grinned. "When one of you dies, you swarm out like a damn hornet's nest. Though that's exactly what makes it exciting. I killed six of you idiots, and you still couldn't catch me. It took the Webster clan for you to finally get me."
He tilted his head, his gaze turning cold.
"Well? How does that feel? You know it wasn't your own skill that brought us together here."
Inside his head, Benedict counted to ten to stop himself from hitting him again.
"So you killed them just to test your own damn limits?!" he snarled angrily.
"You could put it that way. Though honestly, killing them was pretty easy. They didn't even realize they were in danger until I finished them off," he grinned. "It's really interesting how strong your protective instincts are."
Immediately, Benedict thought of Dan and how fiercely he had always fought for people who could not protect themselves. He had been the kind of man who would throw himself into gunfire without hesitation to save someone else.
Because of Dan, so many people were living peaceful lives now. Ever since graduating, he had devoted himself to the law and thrown himself into his work with relentless passion. Dan had always shone brightest whenever he closed another case.
And that very trait Benedict had loved so much about him had become his death sentence?
Because of this disgusting bastard in front of him, who had killed him just for fun?
The rage that had burned inside Benedict moments ago now seemed to freeze in his veins.
"How did you kill them?" Benedict hissed.
The answer was a smug grin.
"Undo one of my restraints, and I'll tell you."
This fucking bastard…
"Forget it."
The man shrugged. "Too bad. Guess I'll owe you that answer then."
How could Dan possibly have fallen for someone like you?! What did you do to him?!
Benedict crossed his arms over his chest.
"The deal was that you tell me everything I want to know, and then I let you go, right?"
Another laugh.
"You really are stubborn, Officer."
But then he stopped laughing abruptly and stared at him coldly.
"I'd really love to know whether you'd be just as easy to fool as the others."
"In what way?"
Spit it out already, or I'll show you what pain feels like.
He could barely hold himself back anymore. He was so sick of this game. All Benedict wanted were answers. Why hadn't Dan defended himself against this bastard? What kind of act had this disgusting man put on to make Dan trust him?
He wanted answers.
He wanted to scream at the man in front of him.
But suddenly, he paused.
"You attacked on the nights when the Phantoms announced their raids," Benedict said suddenly.
Why hadn't he made the connection sooner?
Benedict watched every reaction from the man in front of him. But the man continued staring at him coldly.
"You used those nights on purpose because we were busy trying to catch those damn thieves. What did you use to lure them out? Domestic violence? A witnessed robbery? Loud drunken arguments?"
Though Benedict still couldn't explain how he had managed to lure officers to him without any record of a call. There had been no message or anything similar either.
Yet the man still remained silent.
"I'm right, aren't I? How did you do it? It couldn't have been a phone call. Did you approach them personally? Pretending to be a witness to a crime that never happened?"
"And what if I did?" the man hissed irritably. He gave Benedict a cold smile. "They all followed me like obedient little puppies. I never forced anyone with violence, and I wouldn't have killed them if they hadn't come with me. It was their own decision."
His grin turned arrogant.
"That's what you cops are like. Loyal dogs of the law and the citizens of this beautiful city. You're so ridiculously easy to manipulate that tricking you is barely even fun."
Something inside Benedict snapped.
Without warning, he struck him.
His fist slammed into the man's face with full force. The bound man's head was thrown sideways. Blood splattered from the corner of his mouth onto the floor. But instead of showing pain, the man slowly lifted his head again and grinned.
Then his gaze drifted to Benedict's neck. To the rings he had worn close to his heart ever since Dan's death.
A malicious smile spread across his bloodstained face.
"Ohhh… rings?" he drawled. His eyes gleamed provocatively. "Now I remember."
He leaned forward slightly.
"That Dan was the faggot, right?" His voice dripped with contempt. "The guy who kept calling for his lover the whole time."
Benedict's heart stopped.
"Ben…" The man laughed quietly. "Yeah, your name sounds familiar. So you were his lover?"
At that exact moment, something inside Benedict broke.
Dan's loss felt more present than ever. Benedict felt as though he were breaking apart from the inside out. He had loved Dan more than anyone else in this entire godforsaken world. He had always searched for meaning in his death — believed Dan must have stumbled into something truly terrible, that he had been following clues connected to some massive case that would eventually come crashing down on all of them.
Never, not once, had Benedict believed that Dan had been murdered out of nothing more than a killer's curiosity.
His death felt so meaningless.
He had simply been deceived… and then killed.
All the pain Benedict had endured after his fiancé's death… all the sleepless nights… none of it had been worth the way he had slowly destroyed himself piece by piece.
All because of him.
All because of this bastard, Dan had died.
Only because of this bastard had Benedict lost the love of his life.
It felt as though reason and conscience abandoned him at the same time. As though everything that had held him back until now had simply vanished. The rage exploded inside him like a firestorm.
He stopped thinking.
He only acted.
His fist slammed into the man again. And again. And again. Each blow harder than the last. Blood sprayed across his hands, the floor, the metal bars of the chair. At some point, the bound man wasn't even truly screaming anymore — only dull, choked sounds escaped his throat.
But Benedict couldn't stop.
All the months of pain, guilt, and helplessness poured out in raw violence. Every strike was filled with flashes from the past. Dan's smile. Dan's voice. Dan's lifeless body.
Only when his arms finally gave out and all strength drained from his body did Benedict collapse to his knees, breathing heavily.
The room had fallen silent.
Only the sound of his own ragged breathing still echoed through the torture chamber.
Tears streamed down his face as he stared at the man before him — the one responsible for all his suffering. His hands trembled so violently that he could barely control them anymore. The metallic smell of blood hung heavy in the air, burning in his throat.
He had killed him.
At last, he had avenged Dan. Dan, and all the other colleagues who had fallen for this man's lies and cruel manipulations. All the people who had trusted him and paid for it with their lives.
So why didn't it feel like victory?
Shouldn't he feel relieved somehow? Free?
Instead, there was only this crushing emptiness in his chest, a black hole swallowing everything whole.
"Dan…" he sobbed.
The name nearly broke apart in his throat.
In his mind, Dan's face appeared. His crooked grin. The endless arguments in the office. The half-cold coffee cups Dan always left lying around somewhere. He would never be able to touch him again, never feel his body beneath him again. Memories that suddenly felt so painfully vivid they stole the air from his lungs.
Dan would never laugh again.
Never make another stupid comment.
Never stand beside him again.
And none of it would be undone by this murder.
Everything felt meaningless.
The past few months had given him a purpose. Anger had driven him forward, had forced him out of bed in the mornings and kept him awake at night. Every thought had revolved around revenge. Around Dan — and then around Isaac, alias Moonshadow.
What was he supposed to do now?
Was there even anything left waiting for him?
He no longer had a task. No real reason to keep moving forward.
Dan was dead.
Isaac had only used him to get his notebook.
He was alone.
And the mere thought of returning to his empty apartment made nausea rise inside him.
Then, in that moment, he felt a large hand on his shoulder.
He flinched.
"Come with me," Vincent said softly. His voice sounded unusually gentle. "You should wash the blood off and put on some clean clothes."
The warmth of his hand felt almost wrong amidst all this coldness. And because of that, the tears only came harder.
Hesitantly, he reached for Vincent's hand and gave a weak nod.
He didn't want to stay in this room with that damned murderer any longer.
But as he stood up, a thought crawled ice-cold beneath his skin.
He had just killed this man. Didn't that make him just as much a murderer as him — and Vincent too?