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Liam's Pov
The rumble of my bike faded as I rolled into the DA Office's parking. Kill the engine. Helmet off. Another day yet the same fight.
Upstairs, the security check was routine. Badge scan, metal detector, nod from the guard.
I walked past the crowded bullpen—phones ringing, papers shuffling, lawyers and assistants darting around like ants with too many fires to put out.
The smell of burnt coffee clung to the air.
I reached my office and Beth Potts was already at her desk, eyes locked on her monitor, fingers quick on the keyboard and mouse.
She barely noticed me until I stepped closer.
"How's it going?" I asked.
She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, eyes still scanning the footage. "Body cam's clean. Matches Detective Cross and Officer Ruiz's reports. No deviation."
I nodded. "Good." Extending a hand, I added, "The drive and the sample?"
Without hesitation, she reached into her drawer and handed me a small evidence bag—ziplocked, white powder sealed inside with the printed tag. Alongside it, a plain flash drive.
I took them both. "Thanks. I've got some work to do."
Beth nodded, already refocusing on her screen. She was efficient. I liked that.
Inside my office, I closed the door and dropped into the chair. Evidence bag on the desk. Flash drive in my hand.
"EVE," I murmured.
[Yes, Liam?]
"Can you access this?" I plugged the drive into the port.
[Of course. It's in your possession.]
A beat later, my HUD lit up. Video feed played across my vision—the raw body cam footage.
The chase, the arrest, the cuffs snapping shut. Angles shifting as Ruiz and Cross barked orders.
By the end, there was nothing out of place. No slip, no deviation. Clean.
I leaned back. 'Beth did her job. Thorough. Precise.'
And she was right—the cops' testimony lined up.
I pulled out my phone and dialed.
Detective Raymond Cross picked up after two rings.
"Cross," his gravel voice answered.
"Good morning, Detective. It's Liam."
"Morning, Counselor. You get the body cam footage?"
"I did. It confirms your story."
"We told you," he said, a hint of amusement in his tone.
"Yeah but it's my job to recheck everything," I replied evenly.
He chuckled, like he respected the answer.
"Detective," I shifted gears. "You know Hale's lawyers are pushing for dismissal tomorrow?"
"I know."
"They're banking on the fact I don't have anything solid tying the cocaine to Hale. Their move is simple—say it was planted. I need something that sticks. Can you help me by retracing Hale's car through the traffic cams?"
There was a pause. Then Cross surprised me. "Already did it."
My brow furrowed. "You did?"
"Yeah. Back when Briggs had the case. He asked me to retrace Hale's movements. Didn't give us anything."
'So Briggs isn't incompetent. That was… interesting'
"Any blind spots?" I asked quickly.
"There were two."
My pulse kicked up. "Locations?"
"I'll text them to you."
"Appreciate it, Detective."
"Anytime."
I cut the call, setting the phone down.
Two blind spots. Two chances Hale could've used.
And tomorrow's dismissal hearing wasn't going to wait.
The vibration in my hand pulled me back into focus. A new text from Cross.
Two addresses, blind spots on the traffic cams.
"EVE," I said quietly.
[Yes, Liam?]
"Forward these locations to John. Message: 'Possible exchange sites. Blind spots. Check.'"
[Done.]
The message slipped through my encrypted system and into Wick's end without a sound. One more line cast into the dark.
But my next step was clear. Time to visit Velvet Rose.
I stepped out of the DA's Office, helmet in hand, jacket unbuttoned, tie stuffed into my bag. The powder evidence bag and flash drive were locked inside my desk drawer. This trip required a different outfit—less prosecutor, more delivery boy. I rolled up my sleeves, folding the shirt neatly to my forearms.
The bike roared to life, the HUD lighting up with EVE's guidance.
[Turn left in 200 feet.]
The city blurred past. My mind stayed ahead, already playing through contingencies.
I stopped a few blocks short of the club, killing the engine. Helmet on. In my left hand: a carefully arranged fruit basket. Enough to look legitimate. Enough to sell the role.
Velvet Rose's street was nearly deserted, the club shut for daylight hours. Outside, two bouncers sat slouched in chairs, cigarettes dangling. Their eyes sharpened when they saw me approach.
One stood, voice sharp. "Who the hell are you?"
My voice echoed, muffled inside the helmet. "Delivery. For Seraphina. From her secret admirer."
"No deliveries allowed," the bigger one barked.
I shifted the basket slightly in my grip. "Then I'll just leave it with you."
They exchanged a look, then one stepped forward, snatched the basket.
"Need a signature," I said calmly, producing a folded paper and a pen. Something resembling a delivery form.
He grunted, annoyed, scribbled across the page. Then his eyes flicked up—just as I raised my visor.
For a moment, his gaze locked with mine.
Crimson flared. The world drowned in scarlet. His pupils dilated, his body stiffened. His cigarette dropped to the ground.
The Sharingan spiraled. His will folded.
I lowered the visor and took the paper back without another word.
Turning smoothly, I walked away. A block down, my bike waited. I leaned against it casually, arms crossed, helmet still in place.
Minutes ticked by. Then he came. The same bouncer, staggering slightly, his eyes hazy—under my control.
"Who is Seraphina?" I asked.
His voice was low, flat. "She only works at the VIP tables and doesn't the floor."
"Her address?"
He recited it, monotone.
[Saved] EVE confirmed.
I pulled out my phone, showed him Hale's photo. "This man. You know him?"
The bouncer nodded. "VIP. One of the top. Comes often."
"Who does he meet?"
"I don't know what happens inside. But—" He hesitated, then continued, "A month ago, a guy in a tracksuit blocked his path outside. Fought with him. Shouting about poison… death… slowly killing. We pulled him off Mr. Hale. Banned him from the club."
My eyes narrowed. "Do you have a picture?"
"Yes. Security keeps records of banned guests."
"Go inside. Take a picture on your phone. Bring it back to me."
He nodded and shuffled off, leaving me and EVE in silence.
[That was risky, Liam.]
"Calculated," I muttered. "We needed intel. Now we've got a thread."
[Still… you're walking a thin line.]
"Thin lines are where the answers hide."
A few minutes later, the bouncer returned, holding his phone out. A grainy photo of the man in the tracksuit—mid-30s, unshaven, wild eyes even in still frame. I snapped a picture with my own phone.
"Delete it," I ordered.
He complied. I watched to confirm, then pocketed my phone.
"You won't remember this," I said.
His pupils flickered as my Sharingan released him.
Confusion clouded his expression. He blinked, glanced around, and without a word, walked back toward the club—back to his post, none the wiser.
I slid onto my bike, engine purring beneath me. Another piece of the puzzle had just landed in my hands.
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