Adrian's gray eyes locked onto me the moment the warden's authority dissolved, and the steel doors groaned shut behind us. Silence settled like a physical weight, pressing down on my shoulders, and I could almost taste it, metallic, sharp, suffused with danger.
"Tell me, Captain Cole," he drawled, voice low and slow, "why drag yourself into my little cage?"
"The CSI needs your cooperation," I said evenly. "A new fucking player is flooding the streets."
His mouth curved not a smile, but a warning and predator assessing prey.
"Needs," he repeated. "Interesting choice of words. And why should I risk my quiet existence here… for you?"
"Because you built the system he's using," I said. "You know the hierarchy, the routes, the methods. We can't dismantle it without your insight."
He pushed off the wall slowly, boots scraping against concrete, and each step deliberate.
"Insight," he murmured, voice dragging over the word like honey over metal. "That's what you're calling it now?" His eyes flicked over my face, sharp, assessing. "Sounds more like leverage."
"Yes," I admitted. "Leverage."
His lips twitched, pleased. A predator savoring the tension before the kill.
"And?" he pressed, taking a step closer. "You come all this way to state the obvious?"
"The network is spreading fast," I said. "Innocent people are dying, and blood on the streets is not a good way for the people, especially the young ones, to live. "
That got his attention, and I was surprised it was not sympathy, not shock, but fucking calculation. "And you think that moves me?" he asked softly.
"You do care," I snapped before I could stop myself. "You know exactly what happens when supply outpaces control. Bodies stack. Women disappear. Children overdose. You built this, you know how ugly it gets when it runs unchecked."
His eyes narrowed, gray steel meeting mine.
"So now it's my mess to clean up?" he asked. "Convenient."
"It's everyone's mess," I countered. "And if we don't act, more people die. That's the reality."
He let out a low, humourless laugh. "Redemption?" he asked. "Is that where you're going with this? That's a word for priests and men who still believe they're clean."
"This isn't about redemption," I said, voice tight. "It's about consequences. Help us, lives are saved. Refuse, and the blood doesn't stop just because you're locked up."
"Maybe," he said calmly.
The word hit harder than denial. "Maybe?" I stepped closer, heat flaring under my skin. "You know exactly what silence costs and the number of bodies we shall be picking up in the streets."
"And cooperation?" he countered smoothly. "That gets me hunted and gets people I once worked with creative." His gaze sharpened. "Your risk assessment is pathetic, Cole. Try again."
"Everyone's in danger!" I growled. "Civilians. Law enforcement and you don't get to pretend you're insulated from what you built."
A slow smile spread across his mouth, and that smile, the one that always promised consequences, pulled at my blood like a magnet. My chest tightened, pulse spiking, and I hated that I felt it and hated that this man, this criminal, could unnerve me so completely.
"Careful," he murmured. "You're starting to sound emotional."
"Fuck you!" I snapped.
"Eventually," he said lightly. "But let's finish negotiating first."
My jaw clenched in annoyance, and I huffed in response.
"Fine," he said suddenly, the word soft but final.
"Fine?" I echoed.
"Yes." He nodded once. "I'll help."
The room felt smaller. Warmer. Charged.
"I need more than a yes," I said. "Full cooperation. Names. Locations. Hierarchy. Methods"
"Later," he replied instantly.
"That's not an option, Adrian Blackwood!"
He studied me, eyes dragging over my face like he was memorizing every line, every reaction, and then that devastating smirk returned.
"You want it now?" he asked. "You'll get it."
Relief flickered briefly, dangerously. "Good," I said. "So who do we start with?"
He tilted his head, gray eyes darkening. "Come closer."
Every instinct screamed trap, and I chose to be professional and ignored it, and as I stepped forward, his satisfaction was immediate. Subtle. Lethal.
"Good," he murmured.
I stopped inches from him. Too close. Heat rolled off his body, heavy and intoxicating. Every subtle movement of his tattoos was a threat to my discipline. The scent of him, citrus, iron, and something darker clouded my judgment in ways I hated to admit, and my body reacted before my mind could stop it.
He leaned in slowly, voice dropping, brushing the shell of my ear. "You want me to burn twenty years of leverage," he murmured, "for your badge?"
He pulled back just enough for our eyes to lock. "What's in it for me, Captain Cole?"
The question landed heavily, and my throat went dry, and the words got caught, and every rational thought drowned in the thunder of my pulse.
"What?" I stammered.
Metal clanged against concrete at the far end of the gym, sharp and Intentional and Adrian's head tilted, listening, and every muscle coiled like a cat ready to pounce.
A smile ghosted over his lips. "Someone's testing me," he said quietly. "Or testing you."
The air shifted, and tension tightened around us, and Adrian's gaze snapped back to mine.
"This just got interesting," he said. "Do you feel it?" he whispered, leaning closer again. "That edge?" His breath was warm, deliberate. "That's the moment fear turns into desire. When control starts slipping."
My pulse thundered, and I swallowed hard as he circled me slowly, slow enough to count the steps, close enough that every brush of air was electricity.
"What do you fucking want, Adrian?" I asked finally, voice low, and every rational part of me screamed that asking was a mistake.
He chuckled, dark, deep, resonating. "I want… interest. I want stakes. I want to see how far you'll go, Captain. What you'll risk. And what you'll let happen just to keep your precious city breathing."
"Risk," I muttered. "Isn't it obvious? The network, the lives, this isn't a game, Blackwood."
"Everything is a game," he said softly. "You just pretend it isn't and tell me, Captain, are you willing to play?"