"Boss? Your guest is ready—shall I let him in?" Moz asked respectfully, standing in the doorway as he spoke to Vincent.
Benedict hadn't gotten far after leaving Isaac's room. He had barely stepped into the hallway when Moz appeared in front of him, calm but unmistakably firm in his demeanor, and escorted him to Vincent without much ceremony. Even if Benedict had objected, it would have made little difference—Moz left no doubt that his "escort" was not an option, but an order.
In truth, Benedict didn't care how he reached Vincent. At least this way he was spared the effort of searching the sprawling estate for him—even if a certain curiosity might have tempted him to look around a bit. He still didn't know who Vincent really was or how to categorize him.
A quick background check had turned up nothing incriminating. No prior convictions, not even a parking ticket. His record was spotless. According to the available data, Vincent had studied medicine and worked in a hospital. Benedict would have liked to question the hospital staff about him, but unfortunately he hadn't had the time. He was fairly certain that Vincent hadn't worked a single day in that hospital.
And yet, that image didn't match the man now waiting for him behind this door.
Vincent wasn't just tall, but also strikingly muscular—built more like someone who solved problems with brute force than like a doctor who performed precise procedures. Benedict found it hard to picture him in a sterile operating room. Instead of a smoothly conducted surgery, he could more easily imagine this man in a slaughterhouse.
Benedict exhaled softly and stepped closer as Moz gave him a brief gesture, signaling him to move forward.
At least now he knew that Vincent was no ordinary citizen of this city. Just as he now knew that Noctis was a deranged killer. Vincent was likely a killer as well. What would be interesting to know now was which clan they belonged to.
"Leave us, Moz. I don't wish to be disturbed," Vincent said in a deep, calm voice. An inexplicable shiver ran down Benedict's spine as he heard it.
Vincent stood up, turned his phone over, and placed it face down on the desk—a detail that did not escape Benedict, even though it was completely irrelevant at that moment.
"Call me if you need me," Moz replied curtly before leaving the room.
Vincent gave a barely perceptible nod, but his attention never wavered from Benedict. The door closed with a soft sound, and once again Benedict was alone with Vincent. He walked around his desk, straight toward Benedict, and stopped a short distance in front of him. His gaze swept over him appraisingly, as if registering every movement, every unspoken thought.
"As I can see, you've taken care of your affairs."
Benedict raised his head and met those dark eyes that had already captivated him before. It felt as though they were piercing through him, layer by layer. His heart was still heavy from what had happened between him and Isaac. And yet there was a strange sense of relief—as if the clarity, painful as it was, had loosened something inside him.
Slowly, he nodded.
"Good," Vincent said calmly. "What conclusion have you come to?"
Benedict counted to ten in his head, forcing his breathing to remain steady. He now knew how Isaac felt and that there was no path forward for them together. Isaac's heart belonged to Noctis. And beyond that, the man was not only emotionally out of reach but also a wanted criminal.
A line Benedict could not cross—and no longer wanted to. Of course, the feelings he had for Isaac couldn't simply be erased. It would take time to get over him, but now it would be easier.
He studied Vincent, who didn't fit his usual type at all. Unbidden, the thought of what this man demanded of him pushed back into the foreground. It repulsed him—and yet he saw no other way out than to give in and give Vincent exactly what he wanted.
Beyond that, this was not only a rare chance to catch Dan's murderer, but also a one-time matter between him and Vincent.
He only had to sleep with this man once, satisfy him, and then he could bring order back into his chaotic life. What were two hours of sex compared to what he could achieve with it?
Come on, Ben. You're only selling yourself like a prostitute this one time—and he doesn't seem like he wants to hurt you.
The bitter thought left a bad taste, but he held onto it. After all, he didn't believe Vincent would seriously harm him. At least in that regard, he trusted him. Otherwise, Vincent would have already forced himself on him an hour ago.
It was rare to encounter criminals who possessed something like principles. Isaac had already surprised him in that respect—and Vincent fit into that image in his own unsettling way. Unlike most of the people Benedict had put behind bars.
Just get it over with and try to enjoy it. Maybe you'll even like it.
"I'll sleep with you," he finally said. "Even if I don't particularly like the idea that you'll be the one in control."
A twisted grin spread across Vincent's face.
"That's the one point I don't negotiate," he replied calmly. There was unmistakable satisfaction in his gaze.
Benedict let out a quiet curse.
"Normally, that's not something I'd argue about either," he shot back, a hint of irritation in his voice. "And honestly, I have no idea if I can even give you what you expect."
Vincent stepped closer. With an almost unsettling gentleness, he lifted Benedict's chin, forcing him to meet his gaze.
"It's enough for me that you surrender yourself to me," he murmured. "It will give me great pleasure to bring tears to your beautiful eyes."
A brief, dark glint flashed in his eyes, making Benedict's pulse quicken involuntarily.
"Don't worry. I'll make sure you feel good," he promised softly, leaning down toward him.
Benedict tensed slightly.
"I'm not into pain," he stated sharply.
Vincent smiled with mild indulgence.
"I have no intention of playing games with you," he said with a soft chuckle. His gaze grew heated, his voice dropping to an inviting whisper. "However, I do expect you to be… accommodating in other ways. Show me that you're serious, Benedict. Show me that you're not just here because you have to be—but because you want it."
Benedict swallowed. A faint tremor ran through his hands, one he could barely suppress. So Vincent intended to do this right away? Here? In his damn office? Benedict pressed his lips together and muttered another curse under his breath. His hands moved hesitantly to his shirt. But the moment he touched the first button, Vincent caught his wrists and held them still.
"Didn't I tell you I would be the one to open those buttons?" he chided quietly. He released him again, his fingers instead gliding unexpectedly gently over Benedict's cheek. "You're tense. How about we take care of that first? Don't worry—I don't bite. Not often, at least."
A shiver ran down Benedict's spine. He still couldn't tell whether he liked what Vincent was stirring in him. The situation was so absurd it almost felt unreal. Who made a deal where sex was traded for revenge?
The more Benedict thought about it, the more he realized how dangerous Vincent was.
"How could I not be tense?" Benedict muttered. "I told you it's been a long time since I last had sex—and you're really not my type."
Vincent laughed softly.
"Ouch," he replied dryly, leaning a little closer to him. "So men like Isaac are more your type? Tell me what you're into."
Benedict exhaled audibly, his thoughts momentarily tangled.
"What was it about Isaac that made you interested in him?" Vincent pressed.
Benedict hesitated.
Isaac's appearance. His cool, closed-off demeanor. That pain simmering beneath the surface. All of it had stirred something in him he barely understood. It had drawn him in, challenged him—fascinated him.
The mere memory of it sent a faint shiver through him.
Don't think about it any further, Ben…
"He…" he began, then stopped, shaking his head.
The images he had formed of Isaac belonged to him alone, and he wasn't willing to share them with Vincent—certainly not to project his fantasies onto a man who was so far from his usual type, and whom he was only involved with because of their deal.
"Damn it, what do you expect from me?" he deflected at last, a trace of frustration in his voice. "I'm not someone who submits any more than you are. And besides, what I see in Isaac—or don't—is completely irrelevant, isn't it?"
"Correct answer," Vincent said calmly. He seemed satisfied. "Then let me find out what you like."
His fingers brushed over Benedict's cheek again—and in the next moment, he felt Vincent's lips on his.
Benedict froze for a brief instant, then forced himself to focus on the kiss. Contrary to his expectations, Vincent knew exactly how to kiss him.
At first, Benedict remained tense, his responses hesitant, almost mechanical. But gradually, he found a rhythm, allowed himself—at least to some extent—to go along with it. Still, that underlying uncertainty lingered. The thought of what would come next wouldn't leave him. He had never been someone to throw himself into something like this lightly. Aside from a few one-night stands, he had only ever slept with someone out of love.
Most of his sexual experiences, after all, had been with Dan.
For a moment, he was certain he wouldn't be able to go through with this—that it was a mistake. Until he realized that his hands had already found their own way, now clutching tightly at Vincent's shirt.
It had been far too long since someone had touched him with such unmistakable desire. Without consciously deciding to, Benedict pulled him closer and closed his eyes. Without the eye contact, everything felt more intense, more immediate—less real, and precisely because of that, easier to endure.
Benedict parted his lips and tried to slip his tongue into Vincent's mouth, the way he always did—but Vincent seemed to have other ideas. For a brief moment, their movements met on equal footing, a tentative testing of boundaries, before Vincent took control. Firm, but not rough, he pushed Benedict back, guiding the pace, setting the rhythm.
The kiss deepened.
Benedict gave in reluctantly—and in that same moment noticed how much his body resisted and yielded at once. The more he stopped thinking, the easier it became to let himself drift.
Vincent might not be his type, but Benedict had to admit the man knew exactly how to use his tongue. A soft moan slipped from his lips. Instantly, Benedict froze. Heat rushed to his face, and he reflexively pulled back as if burned. But Vincent didn't let him go. His hand settled firmly at the back of Benedict's neck, holding him in place.
"Don't try to run. Stay here," he murmured close to his lips.
His breath brushed Benedict's skin before his lips moved lower—along his neck, unhurried, almost provocatively calm.
"…I wasn't trying to run," Benedict managed quietly, his voice rougher than intended.
"I like how you sound," Vincent replied in a low, dark tone. "It's even better than I imagined."
Benedict frowned slightly and exhaled as Vincent's large hand brushed over his groin. He was far gentler than his appearance suggested. Slowly, Vincent began undoing one button after another with one hand.
It felt good to be desired.
Still, Benedict had a real issue with Vincent taking control. It didn't suit him at all to be the one being handled, and he suspected he would never be able to relax if he didn't actively take part in this.
Vincent wanted him to prove how serious he was?
Fine. Then Benedict would grant him that.
The better this felt for him, the better. By the end of the night, he would walk out of this estate with the name of Dan's murderer—and leave Isaac, Vincent, and his shame behind.
So Benedict pushed Vincent back decisively and looked straight into those black eyes.
"Sounds like you've imagined this—us—quite a few times?" he asked, a faint edge of challenge in his voice.
Benedict's hand rested against Vincent's chest, rising and falling with restrained intensity. Vincent looked as though he wanted to consume him whole with his gaze. But Benedict wasn't ready—not yet, no matter how insistently his arousal pressed against his jeans, practically begging to be released.
Vincent studied him for a moment, then a slow, knowing smile spread across his lips.
"You have no idea how often."
Step by step, Benedict pushed the taller man back until Vincent's lower back hit the desk. The entire time, Benedict held his gaze, almost defiantly, as if trying to prove to himself that he was in control of the situation.
In the back of his mind, the thought pulsed that it wouldn't be long before this deal reached its inevitable climax. He still wasn't thrilled by the idea, but the more time passed, the more he found himself coming to terms with it.
You have a goal, Benedict. Your reward is exactly what you've been searching for, for months.
Slowly, he let his open shirt slip from his shoulders. The fabric fell carelessly to the floor as he leaned forward again. His focus shifted fully to Vincent. He began to explore his body with his hands—tentatively at first, then with growing confidence.
It irritated him immensely how muscular and well-trained he was. His skin felt good, and despite the scars that marked it, it was soft to the touch.
From that brief contact alone, Benedict could tell how well Vincent took care of his body.
A fact that relieved him more than he cared to admit.
For one, it meant he wasn't sick—and that he placed a high value on hygiene. Even his fingernails were neatly trimmed.
Vincent shivered as Benedict's hand moved over his chest, then slowly trailed down his abdomen toward his belt. Benedict felt the muscles twitch beneath his touch.
This… suited him far more.
He loved getting an immediate reaction to what he did to others. Once more, he lifted his gaze and looked directly at Vincent. Those dark eyes had lost none of their intensity—if anything, their pull seemed to grow stronger with every passing second, as though drawing him in deeper and deeper.
For a moment, the absurdity of the situation struck him again with painful clarity. Benedict was well on his way to sleeping with a criminal. As a cop. As a man of the law. His very presence here was a contradiction.
He exhaled softly.
He shouldn't think about it any further—just go with the flow.
So he lowered himself until he was kneeling in front of Vincent. He opened his pants, pulled the zipper down without ceremony, and in one motion dragged both Vincent's jeans and underwear down.
So abruptly that Vincent's length bumped directly against his forehead, coming to rest there with its full weight. For a brief moment, Benedict froze. Then he lifted his gaze—and involuntarily startled as he grasped the extent of what he was dealing with.
Shit, what have you gotten yourself into…?
Before he could fully process the thought, he felt Vincent's hand tangle in his hair. The grip was firm, commanding, pulling him a little closer.
"I like you much better down there," Vincent murmured, his voice dark and low.
"Shut up," Benedict snapped sharply, without completely breaking eye contact.
Vincent laughed softly.
"It's really a shame this will be the only time," he said with a suggestive smile. "I can think of quite a few things I'd like to try with you. Maybe I should make a particular effort—so you won't be able to get enough of me."
He tilted Benedict's chin up.
"What do you think?"
Benedict slapped his hand away, irritated.
"What do I think?" His voice was tense, edged with annoyance. "I think you should just shut up. You talk too much."
There was no way he would admit that he found Vincent's deep voice appealing.
This time, Vincent laughed more openly.
"Damn, I like your cheeky attitude," he said. "It'll be a pleasure hearing you beg for more."
Instead of answering, Benedict took him into his mouth. He wrapped his hand around the shaft, gripping a little tighter than he normally would, moving with a rougher edge. The sharp intake of breath from Vincent told him that he liked it.
Good.
At least in this, he had control.
When Vincent finally fell silent and simply watched him again with those dark eyes, Benedict slowed his movements. If he kept up that pace, his jaw would tire faster than he liked—and especially in front of Vincent, he refused to show any weakness.
Besides, it had been quite a while since the last time he had given a blowjob. If he had to do this for his revenge, then he would give it everything he had. So he loosened his grip slightly and playfully nibbled at the tip before enclosing it again with his mouth, teasing it with his tongue.
He extended his tongue and let his head move up and down in a steady rhythm.
Vincent groaned, his hands gripping Benedict's head, fingers burying themselves in his hair. His hips moved faintly in response—until his hands held Benedict firmly in place and he pushed deeper into his throat. Reflexively, Benedict shoved him away just as the door burst open and Noctis stormed in.
"Vince!" he called out urgently.
Benedict flinched, tensing instinctively. Vincent cursed and climaxed deep in his throat.
"Noctis! What the hell are you doing here?!" Vincent snapped, visibly irritated.
Benedict pulled back, coughing harshly and rubbing his throat as he tried to catch his breath.
Noctis stared at him, his expression twisting with distaste.
"Okay… I don't even want to know," he muttered dryly, then turned back to Vincent. "Get dressed. We need to go."
"Seriously, Noctis—get out," Vincent hissed sharply. "You can see I'm busy."
Noctis scoffed, then his expression turned serious.
"He's ready."
Vincent was already about to snap back again, but stopped mid-sentence.
"I told you to get lost, so—… wait. What did you just say?"
Vincent looked at him in disbelief.
"He's ready," Noctis repeated calmly.
A moment of silence.
"You're kidding."
"I'm not." Noctis crossed his arms. "So stop wasting time here and come on."
Vincent exhaled sharply, visibly torn. "Tell him I'll come tomorrow."
Noctis raised an eyebrow. "You really want to waste an entire night?"
By now, Benedict had straightened up again, rubbing his still-irritated throat as his gaze moved back and forth between the two of them.
What the hell are they talking about?!
"So… he's really going through with it?" Vincent finally asked, as if he needed reassurance.
Noctis gave a brief nod. "We should start planning immediately," he said, his gaze drifting back to Benedict. "Maybe your little friend here could even be useful."
Vincent raised his hand at once.
"No. Not another word." His voice was sharp, final. At the same time, he was already getting dressed again. "Your timing is absolutely terrible."
Noctis rolled his eyes. "Stop complaining. We've worked toward this moment long enough." He made a broad gesture. "This can't possibly be more important."
"Tell him I'm sleeping," Vincent growled.
"Vincent, seriously—move, before I lose my patience."
An annoyed curse slipped from Vincent as he rubbed his forehead.
"You're getting on my nerves," he muttered at last. "Wait outside. I'll be there in a moment."
"Fine. Have it your way—as long as you finally get moving," Noctis grinned, throwing Benedict one last cheeky glance before leaving the room.
The door clicked shut.
For a moment, Benedict stood frozen, his gaze still fixed on the spot where Noctis had disappeared.
That didn't just happen…
"You're staying the night, right?" Vincent finally asked.
"Damn…" Benedict muttered, running a hand through his hair. "I don't have much of a choice if I want my revenge."
Vincent looked at him apologetically. "I wouldn't leave if it weren't important. I'll have Moz take you to my bedroom. Take a bath, relax. I'll be back as soon as I can," he promised.
"You're not to touch yourself until I'm with you. Understood? I'll know immediately if you do," he added, his gaze firm.
Benedict grimaced slightly.
"Then you'd better hurry," he growled quietly. "I'm not going to wait forever."
"In that case, I suppose I should hurry," Vincent replied, before leaving the room as well.
Shortly after, Moz arrived and escorted Benedict to Vincent's bedroom. Benedict followed in silence. Whatever had just happened between Vincent and Noctis—it was important. Important enough to drop everything else.
And that, more than anything, made him suspicious.
He wanted to know what this was about.
More than anything.