The bell chimed—a sharp, rhythmic ting-ting—as they stepped into the Doomsday Cafe. It was an ironic name for a place that smelled so pleasantly of roasted beans and cinnamon.
"Welcome to the Doomsday Cafe," a woman's voice drifted over the counter.
Aric, tall and imposing, locked eyes with the barista. Beside him, Darian and Lucien looked like they were ready to bite. "FBI," Aric stated, his voice a low grate that usually made people either swoon or sweat. "We need your CCTV footage. Now."
"Yes, sir. Right this way." The woman didn't blink, leading them into a cramped, dim security room.
The three men crowded the monitors, the blue light of the screens washing over their sharp features. On-screen, a grainy loop of the street played out—cars flickering by like ghosts.
"How are we supposed to know which car took Mella?" Darian muttered, his anxiety peaking. "Aric? Hey, Big Chief, you listening?"
Aric didn't blink. His pupils tracked every pixel, his focus so intense it was practically tectonic. Darian, feeling the sting of being ignored, grabbed Aric's arm and shook it. "Listen to me! Are we just staring at traffic all day?"
Aric didn't even turn his head. "Darian, please be quiet for a moment. Can you do that?"
Darian recoiled as if he'd been slapped. His face shifted from irritation to a pathetic, wounded-puppy pout. He stomped to the corner of the room, radiating hurt feelings.
Lucien sighed, sliding over to him. "What happened, Darian? Don't give me that look."
"Don't act like you didn't see that! He treated me like a noisy fly," Darian hissed.
"It's a small thing. Why bother arguing with the Chief when he's in the zone?" Lucien whispered, his eyes darting to Aric's broad back. "He's trying to catch a kidnapper, Darian. Simp later, work now." Lucien stepped back toward the monitors. "Chief, anything?"
Aric shook his head, his jaw tight.
"That's what I'm trying to say!" Darian interjected, still sour. "It's impossible without a—"
"Stop." Aric's voice sliced through the room. "Pause it. Zoom in. Right there."
The woman clicked the mouse. A silver sedan came into focus.
"Chief? What are we looking at?" Lucien asked, leaning in.
"Lucien, track this plate," Aric commanded, a predatory glint in his eyes.
"How did you pick this one out of a hundred?"
"Look at the first pass," Aric pointed, his finger tracing the glass. "The woman is alone. Ten minutes later, she crosses the same intersection. Look at the passenger seat. There's a flash of blue. A bag." Aric turned his head slightly. "Darian. Call the mother. Ask what color Mella's backpack was."
Darian scrambled for his phone, his anger replaced by a frantic need to be useful. After a tense minute, he lowered the phone, breathless. "Chief... it was blue."
A dark, dangerous smirk tugged at Aric's lips. "Finally," he whispered to the screen. "Found you."
Back at the Bureau, the air was thick with the scent of cheap coffee and ego. As Lucien dove into the digital hunt, the doors swung open, admitting the last people Aric wanted to see: Team B.
Ren, the team lead with a face you just wanted to throw a stapler at, sauntered in. "Well, well. If it isn't the failures. We heard the Mella case is being handed over to us. Tough break, Darian. Maybe you can go back to filing papers? You're better at staying pretty than solving crimes."
Ren laughed, his teammates joining in like a pack of hyenas. Darian didn't even look up. He was used to the "dog shit" commentary; he just kept his eyes on Aric, who was buried in files and video stills.
"Aric?" Darian called out softly.
Aric's head snapped up. His gaze landed on the intruders. "Hey, clowns. What the fucking hell are you doing in my workspace?"
Valentin, a woman whose personality was 10% skill and 90% spite, stepped forward, fluttering her lashes in a way that was more 'glitchy robot' than 'femme fatale.' "Chief, we're just here to—"
"To what? Mock us?" Darian snapped, his voice uncharacteristically sharp.
Aric paused, his eyebrows shooting up. Darian usually let insults roll off his back, but today, he was prickly. Dangerous. Hot.
"Darian?" Aric murmured, a playful, low tone vibrating in his chest. "Honey? You okay?"
Darian flushed. "What?"
"Are you jealous?" Aric smirked, leaning back in his chair, his eyes devouring Darian's irritated expression. He loved it when Darian showed teeth. It was a hell of a lot more fun than the puppy-dog eyes.
The flirtatious tension was suddenly interrupted by a literal drop in temperature. Valentin was standing there, her face a mask of pure, icy venom, giving Darian a death stare that could have curdled milk.
"Get the hell out of here," Aric's voice dropped an octave, vibrating with a lethal, low-end frequency that made the floorboards seem to hum. "Before I personally throw every one of you out of this base and onto the curb."
Ren and his lackeys didn't need a second invitation. They scrambled out, wearing pinched, ugly expressions—half-sneer, half-terror—like children caught kicking a hornets' nest.
As soon as the door clicked shut behind the last of them, the room fell into a heavy, charged silence. Aric didn't return to his files. Instead, he stood up with a slow, predatory grace and walked to the door. The metallic thud of the deadbolt sliding home echoed through the office like a starter pistol.
Darian was still in the corner, leaning against a desk, arms crossed and lip tucked in a classic, wounded sulk. He didn't look up until Aric's shadow fell over him.
Aric leaned in, the scent of expensive sandalwood and cold adrenaline rolling off him. He reached out, his large hand cupping Darian's face before his thumb dragged a slow, deliberate line down the column of Darian's throat. With a sudden, firm grip on the back of Darian's neck, Aric pulled him forward until their chests collided.
"My wife is jealous?" Aric whispered, his breath hot against Darian's ear. A smirk played on his lips, dark and knowing.
Darian's heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. A sudden, defiant spark of boldness flared in his chest. He met Aric's gaze, his voice trembling but determined. "I… I… I am not your wife."
He turned his head away, trying to hide the traitorous, giddy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Aric caught the flicker of it, though he played it cool, his own silent grin hidden in the crook of Darian's shoulder.
Aric didn't let him retreat. He hooked a finger under Darian's chin, pulling him back into his space until they were breathing the same air. Darian's eyes drifted to Aric's ears—usually so pale and composed—now flushed a deep, tell-tale crimson.
"Your ears are red, Chief," Darian teased, his voice dropping to a velvety rasp. He reached up, his fingertips grazing the heated skin of Aric's earlobe.
Aric didn't respond with words. His gaze darkened, his focus shifting entirely to Darian's mouth. He dragged his thumb over Darian's lower lip, pulling it down slightly before leaning in.
The first kiss was a soft, bruising collision—a wet, messy smooch that tasted of desperation and long-suppressed heat. Then another, deeper this time, the rhythmic lick-hiss of their lips meeting filling the quiet room. Aric backed Darian against the desk, his hands roaming, mapping the curves of Darian's waist with a proprietary grip.
Suddenly, Aric pulled back just an inch. Darian's eyes were hooded, his breath coming in jagged, heavy hitches as he stared down at Aric's chest, completely dazed.
"Honey," Aric whispered, his voice a gravelly command that sent shivers racing down Darian's spine. "Open your mouth for me. Don't spoil my mood now."
He didn't wait for an answer. He crashed his lips back onto Darian's, his tongue seeking entrance, turning the kiss into something molten and hungry. Darian let out a soft, broken moan, his hands tangling in Aric's hair, pulling him closer as the friction between them reached a fever pitch.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The heavy pounding on the door shattered the moment like glass.
"Chief? Chief! Are you in there?" Lucien's voice muffled through the wood, sounding urgent and entirely too close. "Chief, I've got a lead on the car! Open up!"
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