Benedict cursed softly as a painful pull shot through his hip.
Vincent had once again overdone it. He had still been gentle, and he had made sure Benedict enjoyed himself. Benedict was fairly certain that Vincent usually did very different things with his lovers. Darker things. Things that hurt. Things where pain and pleasure were so tightly intertwined that, at some point, you could no longer tell where one ended and the other began.
Damn it. Normally, Benedict would never have been interested in something like that.
At least, that was what he had always believed.
And yet, he found himself imagining more and more often what it would be like to feel exactly that.
His time with Vincent was limited. Their relationship was confined to the information Benedict received from Vincent and the benefits Vincent gained from Benedict's job as a cop. Nothing more, nothing less. So he might as well use that time to experience and try new things.
Maybe that was exactly what he would do once the chaos in the city finally settled down. Before he and Vincent went their separate ways again.
The thought left an unpleasant pressure in his chest.
Strange. He had started to like him.
What troubled him even more, though, was what Vincent had told him. Thanks to Vincent, Benedict was now better informed than any other police officer in Magnolia, and yet there were often times when all he could do was stand by and watch.
He had seen the tip of the iceberg, and still it seemed there was far more waiting for Magnolia than he had expected. Something was simmering in the shadows of the city, and while Benedict was doing his best to keep the damage contained and put a few people behind bars, Vincent was fighting a war that would never appear in any history book.
He had promised Benedict that he would stop displaying so many corpses in public.
However, he had also said that he could not make every body disappear. Each death carried a personal message, and that message mattered.
Benedict understood why Vincent did it. He also understood that there were people for whom there was no longer any alternative but death. They made every effort to rehabilitate people, but not everyone could be rehabilitated.
Benedict still believed that you could not simply go around killing anyone and everyone who got in your way. Yet the lines were beginning to blur, and he was far too overworked to feel even a spark of sympathy for the filth festering within the city.
At least he had been able to blow off some steam and get some sleep the previous night.
Even so, he felt as though he could sleep for an entire year without waking.
Not much longer...
Not much longer, and he would finally have a little free time again. He would be able to sleep, and then he could take care of all the things that had piled up in his personal life.
With a sigh, he turned back to his computer. He still had a little time before the daily madness started up again. However, his new arrangement with Vincent was that he would dig through the databases and find information on Levi, and in return Vincent would make sure Benedict had less work caused by dead criminals.
With a sigh, he turned back to his computer. He still had a little time before the daily madness would start up again. However, his new deal with Vincent was that he would comb through the databases and dig up information on Levi, and in return Vincent would make sure he had less work caused by dead criminals.
It would not do much to reduce the mountain of paperwork already sitting on his desk, but it was a start. Besides, there was something else driving him.
Benedict clicked through the databases, searching for the bastard named Levi.
He knew the name, but he had never put a face to it.
Everything he knew came either from Vincent or from bits and pieces he had picked up over the years. Levi had simply never been important enough for Benedict to remember the details.
Now, however, all he could think about was what he knew regarding Levi and Isaac.
There had to be something—anything—that could help Isaac. He wanted to make amends.
By now, he had a fairly good understanding of what Isaac had been through since childhood. There were valid reasons why he had become a criminal, a thief. But Isaac was not someone who had ever killed as Moonshadow. At least, not that Benedict knew of. He used his knives with precision to incapacitate officers. Painful, certainly, but no one died. Most of Benedict's colleagues had walked away from their encounters with Moonshadow bearing a few scars and a considerable amount of frustration.
There was only one exception—one officer who still had not awakened from his coma.
However, Benedict blamed himself for that. The tear gas had been his idea. He had been the one to limit Isaac's vision and force him into a defensive position.
Isaac was dangerous, without question. But Benedict did not believe he would ever deliberately hurt someone.
Which was probably the only reason Benedict felt any sort of obligation toward him.
The head of the Leviathan Cartel was dead.
That left Levi as the only person who could still hurt Isaac. More than that, he was the only thing preventing Isaac from living a normal life. No matter how little Benedict liked Noctis. No matter how thoroughly Isaac had deceived him.
If Isaac could be free and live a normal life, then they would be even.
Then Benedict would no longer have to carry the guilt of nearly killing the man he had fallen in love with. Even now, the thought felt unreal. He had fallen in love with the phantom known as Moonshadow. With Isaac. And all that time, he had believed Isaac was nothing more than a lonely, withdrawn young man.
And as if that were not absurd enough, it had been revealed only a few days ago that Bertram Leviatan was none other than Oswald Lance.
The mayor of Magnolia.
The people currently in power in their beautiful city had reorganized themselves, and soon the new candidates would be presented to the public.
If it were up to Benedict, he would have swept the filth out of the city long before then.
What had Vincent said again? The guy belonged to the Viper Syndicate.
Benedict snorted. Those idiots caused a ridiculous amount of trouble. He entered the syndicate's name into the search bar and was rewarded with a mountain of case files.
"Well, that's just great..." he muttered.
Rubbing a hand over his face, he began sorting the files by date. He only needed records from the past ten years, and even that timeframe was probably excessive. It didn't matter. This was his job, and he was damn good at it.
So he started working through the files.
He needed a photograph of Levi. He wanted to know what connections the bastard had and what position he currently held within the Viper Syndicate. Once again, the leader of this criminal organization remained unidentified. It would not even surprise him if Levi turned out to be the current head of the syndicate.
Or the puppet master pulling the strings from the shadows.
He glanced at the clock.
It was only eight in the morning.
Benedict rubbed at his face again. This could turn into a very long day, and he had barely gotten started. He heard Jasper wish him good morning in passing before stumbling straight into his office.
He did not have much time for his research, but he intended to use every spare second he could find.
At least this way he could do his part and make the city a little safer again.
Benedict sighed and turned his attention back to the monitor.
___
Only when the sun had long since disappeared behind Magnolia's rooftops and the streetlights bathed the city in a warm artificial glow did Benedict finally decide to call it a day.
His back immediately protested as he rose from his office chair.
With a quiet groan, he stretched his arms above his head, rolled his shoulders, and rubbed at the tension in his neck. Hours spent hunched over case files and databases had taken their toll.
A glance at the clock told him it was already well past ten.
With a sigh, he sat back down one last time and began transferring the most important documents to his tablet. He hadn't come close to reading every file in full. There simply hadn't been enough time.
But anything that mentioned Levi, he had flagged immediately.
He had even managed to find a photograph of Levi.
Granted, he was considerably younger in it, but a photograph was a photograph—even if it was eight years old. In fact, Levi looked remarkably unremarkable. He looked like someone with a respectable job. A banker, perhaps, or an ordinary office administrator.
Benedict slipped the tablet into his bag.
The ones who look completely normal are usually the worst psychopaths.
Like Noctis.
Vincent, on the other hand, looked like a criminal, was a criminal, was dangerous, and often seemed like a selfish, calculating bastard. Yet he planned carefully and valued the lives of his people.
Benedict sighed and sent the photograph of Levi to Vincent. Vincent probably already knew what Levi looked like, but perhaps the picture would still help his people understand who they were dealing with.
Only moments after he sent the email, his phone rang.
The display read The Raven, meaning it was Vincent.
Puzzled, he answered the call.
"What is it?" Benedict asked.
He couldn't casually say Vincent's name at the precinct. Even if it wasn't an uncommon name, he wasn't willing to take any risks.
"It's not him, sweetheart," Vincent replied in his velvety voice.
"Then who is it?"
"I don't know yet, but we'll find out," Vincent answered. "Are you just getting off work?"
"Yeah. It got late," Benedict said as he left his office and walked through the deserted hallways of the precinct. "Don't you have a photo of this Levi? I'd at least like to know who I'm dealing with."
"Unfortunately not. The last time I saw him was the first time I'd ever seen him," Vincent replied. "The man I planted inside the Syndicate is dead, and he never laid eyes on Levi even once."
Benedict sighed.
"So he's a damn ghost?"
"More of a chameleon. My guess is that he's using a different name within the Syndicate. I just don't know which one."
"Great," Benedict muttered. "So we're looking for a needle in a haystack?"
"Something like that, but he won't be able to hide for much longer," Vincent said, sounding amused. "Why don't you stay here again tonight? It's closer to work."
Benedict let out an amused snort.
"I don't even know where you keep taking me, so no. Besides, I still have plenty of work to do, and I can't exactly get any of it done at your place."
Vincent chuckled softly. His dark, pleasant voice still lingered in Benedict's ears. He had heard it so many times the previous night, and yet it still sent a pleasant shiver down his spine.
"What a shame. I was looking forward to spending a little more time with you."
Benedict pushed open the front door and stepped outside. Before letting it close behind him, he waved goodbye to the night watchman.
"As far as I know, you've got plenty to deal with yourself. Isn't there a certain move coming up?"
He descended the steps and started walking home. It was already well past ten in the evening, but at least the trip was short—much shorter than those blindfolded drives to Vincent.
"A man has to sleep, no matter how much work he has to do. Too little sleep kills a great many brain cells."
Benedict laughed.
"I'm pretty sure that's not actually true."
"Oh? Has my favorite cop become a master of medicine now as well?"
"Cut the nonsense," Benedict said with an involuntary smile. "I'll call you when I know more."
"What a shame," Vincent replied. "Then I'll be waiting for your call."
"Talk to you soon."
"Don't forget your beauty sleep, sweetheart," Vincent said. Benedict could hear the smile in his voice.
Benedict laughed.
He was already digging through his pocket for his front-door key when it slipped from his fingers and clattered onto the ground.
He rolled his eyes and bent down to pick it up. Of course something annoying like that had to happen when he was already completely exhausted.
"Beauty sleep? Maybe you need it, but I—"
A gunshot cracked through the night. A split second later, agony exploded through his right upper arm. Benedict cursed. He dropped his phone and clamped his hand over the wound. Instantly, he scanned the darkness for the shooter.
"Ben?" Vincent's voice came faintly from the phone. "What's going on?"
But Benedict ignored both the question and Vincent himself. Adrenaline surged through his body. His heart hammered against his ribs.
Fuck, that hurt.
He had taken more than enough bullets over the past few months. The moment he spotted the shooter, a second shot rang out through the darkness.
Benedict threw himself to the side when, in the glow of the streetlamp, he saw the gunman level the weapon at him again.
But he wasn't fast enough.
The bullet slammed into his left thigh, and the next one grazed his left flank. The pain was so savage that it stole the air from his lungs for a moment. Before he could react, another shot followed.
This time, something tore through his hip.
A strangled cry escaped his throat.
Had those bullets not missed their marks, he would have been dead for certain.
He collapsed immediately. His leg could no longer support him.
The pain in his arm flared again at once. Even so, he reached for his own pistol. There was no way he would be able to aim properly.
But letting himself be executed without a fight wasn't part of the plan either.
He tried to steady his ragged breathing and raise the weapon, but his arm was shaking so violently that he could barely lift it. He fired anyway.
The shot missed his attacker by at least a meter.
The gunman took aim at him once more.
He seemed to have all the time in the world.
Judging by the expression on his face, however, he was growing tired of Benedict's clumsy resistance.
Benedict could barely hold onto the pistol anymore. His fingers were slick with blood. His breath came in short, uneven gasps.
Was he really going to die tonight?
But before the shooter could fire again, the man suddenly collapsed to the ground.
In the light of the streetlamp, Benedict caught the flash of a blade buried deep in the man's chest.
Someone shot past him, moving straight toward the gunman, and drove a kick up beneath his chin.
The shooter toppled like a felled tree.
Standing over him was a slender woman.
Benedict blinked through the haze of pain.
What the hell...?
He couldn't make out who she was, nor whether he knew her. She crouched down and did something to the gunman, though Benedict couldn't tell exactly what. Then she headed straight toward him.
He still couldn't get a good look at her. The lighting was simply too poor.
Instinctively, Benedict tried to raise his pistol again.
"Are you okay?" she asked coolly.
Only when she stepped directly in front of him did he recognize her.
Vincent's secretary.
"Lucy... right?"
The young woman gave a brief nod.
Relieved, Benedict lowered the gun once more.
"You were lucky I was on my way to headquarters and Vincent noticed the attack," she sighed.
Even in the dim light, Benedict could see how exhausted she looked.
Dark shadows lingered beneath her eyes. Apparently, she too had long since exceeded her limits. Benedict let out a shaky breath. His heart was still pounding far too fast. Adrenaline coursed through his body, keeping him conscious by the thinnest margin. At the same time, he could feel blood soaking through his clothes.
He could feel his clothing becoming drenched with blood.
"Thank you," he managed. His voice sounded hoarse. "You probably saved my life."
His body trembled with pain and exhaustion. Perhaps also from the knowledge of just how close it had been.
Lucy knelt beside him and examined his wounds with a practiced eye.
"That looks painful, but it doesn't seem like anything vital was hit," she murmured.
Without hesitation, she pulled a scarf from her bag and tied it around his thigh. Then she grabbed her phone and called someone.
"Boss, I've got him… yes, the shooter is unconscious… good, we'll wait here. I'll send him my location."
With that, she hung up and tapped away on her phone for a moment before finally putting it away.
"Moz will come pick us up in a minute," she told him.
Benedict nodded slowly.
He looked over at the shooter, who was still lying unconscious on the ground.
Damn it. How was he supposed to explain his way out of this? What was he going to tell Jasper? His blood was all over the street, and someone had surely noticed something. Even with the suppressor the man had used.
"What's going to happen to him?"
"He'll be questioned. I put him to sleep. Do you have any idea why he attacked you?"
Benedict snorted.
"We didn't exactly have a chance to talk," he replied. "I don't know. Maybe he works for someone I locked up recently."
He cursed quietly as the adrenaline began to wear off and the pain became more noticeable again.
Lucy looked thoughtful.
"We'll figure it out," she said. She glanced around once more. "At least there was only one of them."
His phone rang. Lucy sighed, walked over to it, picked it up, and handed it to Benedict. Vincent was calling. He answered immediately.
"I hope you're not hurt," Vincent said.
"I'm full of holes like Swiss cheese, but otherwise I'm fine," Benedict snorted, straining to speak.
The attempt at humor came across much weaker than intended. By now, his hand was so sweaty that he had trouble holding onto the phone.
"Don't worry," Vincent said, his voice softening slightly. "Once you get here, I'll have you looking good as new."
Benedict closed his eyes for a moment. The prospect alone was an enormous relief.
Right… he can heal. Thank God I won't have to endure this pain much longer.
"However," Vincent continued, "you're staying here until I've spoken to this guy."
"Why? He's probably just a hitman because I locked up the wrong idiot."
He could barely keep his eyes open.
"Or he was one of Levi's men," Vincent countered. "Until I know who attacked you, you're not going anywhere."
Benedict blinked.
"Save your concern. I'll be back at work tomorrow morning."
Vincent chuckled.
"We can talk about that in two or three days, once you've had some sleep."
Sleep… yeah, that sounds really good.
Benedict let out one last amused snort before exhaustion finally overwhelmed him, and he drifted into the protective embrace of sleep, where the pain faded away completely.