I'll fill the graveyards, until I have you

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/43047492.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Category: M/M
Fandom: KinnPorsche: The Series (TV)
Relationship: Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham/Vegas Kornwit Theerapanyakun, Vegas
Kornwit Theerapanyakun/Original Character(s)
Character: Vegas Kornwit Theerapanyakun, Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham,
Porsche Pachara Kittisawat, Kinn Anakinn Theerapanyakun, Macau
Theerapanyakun
Additional Tags: Rape/Non-con Elements, Dubious Consent, Canon-Typical Violence,
Torture, Imprisonment, Psychological Torture, Obsession, canon
adjacent, Stalking, Anal Sex, battle of wills, Attempted Murder, Murder,
Abusive Parents, two fucked up characters end up falling for each
other, Dark, Eventual Happy Ending, or as happy as a mafia family can
be, Competency Kink, Electrocution, Whipping, Beating, Non-
Consensual Drug Use, Manipulation, Orgasm Control, Starvation,
Verbal Humiliation, Dirty Talk, Possessive Behavior, Non-Consensual
Oral Sex, Power Dynamics, Strangulation, Restraints, eventually
consensual but not safe or sane, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Cock
Warming, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Sex Toys, References to
Sex Work, BDSM elements, highly analytical Pete, Sexual Tension, Gun
Violence, Serious Injuries
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2022-11-13 Updated: 2023-07-12 Words: 313,871 Chapters:
13/?

I'll fill the graveyards, until I have you

by LunaCanisLupus_22

Summary

“I’m not going to give you information,” Pete volunteers to his bent over form. There’s no
way to know exactly what’s in store for him but Pete feels the need to make that
declaration.

There’s a sharp zapping sound, and Vegas turns to face him then, revealing the jumper
cables in his gloved hands which are connected to a car battery on the table behind him.
The rest seems self-explanatory.

“I don’t want information,” Vegas says, finally looking up at him from the cables.

By then Vegas is already advancing on him, much too close for comfort. But Pete has
already resigned himself at this point.
 Or the one where Pete is very uncooperative at being tortured, Vegas gets a little too
creative and falls for his own trap in the worst way possible.

Notes

Fic title is lyrics from 'The Horror of our love' by Ludo

Okay I know this is based off a book but I've only watched the TV series and from there
I've heard the relationship between Vegas and Pete was a lot more intense than it was
shown. Basically was just super interested in their dynamic and how two unhinged people
might fall for each other et voila you have this fic

Please read at your own discretion and let me know if I should update the tags to include
any other warnings.

As always let me know what you think and I hope you enjoy!

PLEASE NOTE: I do not give permission for this fic or any of my other fics to be posted or
reviewed on goodreads. Don't be that guy please
 I've murdered half the town, left you love notes on their headstones

“So it’s you.”

Pete looks him over. Sees Ken in the relaxed dress of the minor family bodyguards, the gun now
pointed at his chest and doesn’t need to ask any questions. He doesn’t bother calling Ken a traitor,
that goes without saying, but his expression twists with such open condemnation that Ken stiffens
up and sneers as if he did.

And Pete suddenly realises he lost the opportunity to leverage the flimsy ties of friendship against
the situation. That the clear judgement in every measure of his body cut off any chance of
reasoning with him. Any attempts at sympathy will only be met with direct suspicion.

“Get up.”

He can see it now, the way Ken is actually enjoying this moment, particularly the shift of power
between them. Pete would never say that Ken isn’t in the same league as him physically or
mentally but there were certainly aspects of the job where Pete has excelled and Ken, didn’t. It’s
not difficult to guess that Ken might be taking some of his recent frustrations with Porsche out on
Pete instead, purely because the opportunity has now presented itself.

They’ve never been confidants like Pete is with Pol and Arm or even Porsche, but Pete never went
out of his way to make an enemy against him either. Not all of the bodyguards at the main family
home are trying to tear one another down in their efforts to get to the top, to become the most
valuable, highly sought after by the men in the Theerapanyakul family.

Pete has never subscribed to that aspect of the job, preferring to keep his head down and do the
work.

Evidently this past disinterest means nothing to Ken because he flicks the gun at him with intent,
using it to indicate Pete should move around the desk. So he stands, hands raised obediently in the
air as he steps away from the wooden barrier between them, abandoning the flash drive there.

Ken turns to the side so his body is still facing Pete as he edges around the desk and joins him. The
tension in his stance and his index finger which is actually resting on the trigger of the gun tells
Pete now is not the time for sudden movement when he follows Ken’s gesture to move forward.
Pete doesn’t react when he feels the muzzle of the gun press between his shoulder blades but his
heart is thudding dully in his chest.

“Start moving.”

Pete obeys because that’s the safest thing to do at the moment and he wants Ken relaxed. If he
immediately follows orders then there’s the slight chance he can still take Ken by surprise later on.
The situation isn’t entirely beyond help yet. Of the bodyguards back at the main family home, Ken
was always the easiest to trick, too inexperienced to guard himself properly while he was shielding
or defending others.

When there’s an opening, and Pete knows there will be one, considering Ken was just waving his
gun to use as a signal a second ago, he has every intention of taking it.
Ken nudges Pete forward next, and suddenly they’re beyond the door and walking back through
the halls that Pete snuck through mere minutes ago, the familiar sight making Pete want to tense up
as his eyes scan the space in search of other threats.

For now they’re still alone, and Ken hasn’t used a walkie talkie or phone to let anyone know that
he’s caught Pete sneaking around the compound. That seems like a very good sign so far. If Pete
can get away from Ken, there’s still a possibility that he can get out of here. Maybe even without
being noticed if he decides to kill Ken although Pete doesn't feel particularly inclined.

Even so Pete might still be able to find a way to salvage this mission.

Then Ken prods at him again, unexpectedly. “Go left in here.”

Pete hesitates for a fraction of a second and then he’s opening a door on the left and stepping into a
completely unfamiliar hallway. The minor family compound is much more of a maze than he’d
originally thought.

Ken encourages him forward in silence again and they seem to move deeper into the halls, Pete
still trying to take in his surroundings and ignore the pressure of the gun at his back, whilst
thinking of all the different methods to get the upper hand. His sweat has long since turned cold
and Pete is inhaling slow and deep, to ease off the adrenaline coursing through him.

He’ll need to be calm when he makes his move. Panic means mistakes. And mistakes will get him
killed.

When they reach the end of the hallway it's barred by two closed doors. From the ostentatiousness
of the wood panelling, Pete would guess that the room belongs to Mr Kan and he wonders, not for
the first time, why it’s completely unguarded. Why most of the hallway they passed through is not
being watched by a single person when there are so many bodyguards present. When Pete is
certain they’re live in guards like he is.

Where are the rest of the men in the compound? Shouldn’t some of them be on patrol in this area?

He stops before the doors, mouth pressing thin in uncertainty when Ken jabs the gun into his back
again. It’s possible that someone has cleared the area. But why? It can’t be because of Pete. It’s not
that unusual for bodyguards from the main or minor families to be caught sneaking around places
they shouldn’t be in order to spy on one another.

Ken being a prime example since he’s obviously the mole who has been passing information back
to the minor family. Pete can’t really be worth all this fanfare. Unless something else is going on-?

“In you go,” Ken commands, interrupting Pete’s thoughts and sounding firm and sure of himself.

With no other options, Pete opens the doors and walks inside.

Immediately he’s in a larger office like living space, there’s a mahogany desk resting against the
opposite wall and bookshelves lining either sides of the room.

Pete instantly notices there are two doors in the far corners of the room, sitting opposite one
another with the desk as the centre feature. It’s not a hard guess that both doors would lead back
into the compound, further into the maze and allowing multiple exits for Mr Kan should he need it
in the event of an emergency.

But for now the room is currently empty.

There’s a window behind the desk, but the positioning of it, and the strange fraction of light
passing through the panes makes him suspect it’s double plated glass. Maybe even bulletproof.

Pete intentionally steps away from the gun pressing at his back even as he turns to the side and
looks at Ken, demonstrating between the two doors with his hands. “Which way now?”

Then Ken does exactly what he’s hoping for, turning the gun off of Pete for the briefest second to
indicate one of the doors, but Pete is already on him, catching his wrist, and redirecting the path of
the gun before he can point it back at him again.

They wrestle for hardly a second before Pete brings his elbow up, smashing hard underneath Ken’s
chin, even as he twists the hold on his wrist at the same moment, forcing Ken to relinquish his grip
on the gun as he falls back.

Pete quickly ejects the magazine into his opposite hand since he’s got no intention of shooting Ken
himself and would rather not have the gun pointed back on him in the rare chance Ken might be
able to retrieve it. Not to mention the sound of gunshots would bring the rest of the compound
descending upon him in under a minute flat and Pete still wants to escape.

He tosses the magazine to the other side of the room so that it hits the bulletproof glass and
bounces off, falling somewhere out of reach behind the chair and on to the carpet. Then he barely
begins to turn, fully inspecting the room as he twists back to deal with Ken who’s on the ground
and groaning before something is smashing hard into the side of his chest.

From the sensation, Pete can tell that he’s been struck by the side of someone’s shoe and not an
enclosed fist. The assault completely takes him by surprise because up until that second, Pete had
thought he and Ken were alone. To Pete, the unknown assailant is of a much higher threat level
than Ken. Not to mention his own disbelief at the fact that they could move so fast.

The style of the kick seems oddly reminiscent of Taekwondo and Pete has a moment to think,
someone has been picking up Porsche’s moves as he staggers under the blow, without dropping the
gun, whipping around to face the attacker before a fist is clipping him in the jaw, sending him
sprawling back against the bookshelf.

Pete tosses the gun as a projectile and an answering grunt tells him he hit his target before the
person sweeps under his arm, catching hold of his chin and slamming his head back against the
wood with all their strength. His head seems to explode with pain, even as Pete struggles to get out
of their grip, failing to see the attacker through the blur of vision as he does his best to counter the
next move.

But the person’s grip on his face is like iron when they drag him intimately close and smash him
back against the wood again. Harder than the first time, as if they’ve realised Pete is made of
sterner stuff. In the moment it doesn’t seem to be working in his favour that he can take a hit
beyond the fact that he hasn’t been knocked out yet.

Pete’s legs crumple under him, his body sliding down the frame of the bookshelf, dazed from too
many blows to the head as the attacker releases him. He tries to jerk back up, struggling to hold
onto consciousness when a hand is burying itself in his hair, yanking his head back to inspect him
properly.

He hears a laugh and a familiar voice say, “Him again.”

Before they’re slamming Pete back against the wood one last time and his last thoughts about
lifting his hands up to protect his head and fixing on the blurred image of his attacker are both
enfolded into darkness.

Pete wakes up strapped to a stone pillar. He’s shirtless with the overalls of his delivery man
disguise folded over and scrunched at the hips as if someone had started to remove his clothing but
decided to stop at the waist for the sake of modesty.

His arms are being restrained on either side of the pillar, the length of the restraints not offering
very much movement since they’re secured around the column itself. The visibility in the room is
strange, fluorescent and red and absent of the kind of natural light that would tell Pete how long he
was unconscious for.

Ken is nowhere in sight. Neither is Mr Kan but Pete doubts he poses enough of a threat to warrant
the presence of the head of the minor family. He’s back in the strange dungeon like room he found
earlier which had the unusual torture tools Pete hadn’t come across before.

It’s not a hard guess to decipher who the room belongs to. Pete vividly remembers that little kit
Vegas brought out in a small briefcase to question the man at the casino, the clear raincoat style
poncho he’d worn to keep the mess off his nice clothes while he worked. There was no forgetting
the blood spilling helplessly down the man’s chin as Vegas had slowly pulled his tooth out with
pliers.

The details come to him easily because at the time Pete had been unable to look away from what
Vegas was doing. Even when he’d noticed the other guards had stopped watching out of disgust,
and he’d been singling himself out. There was something abjectly fascinating about Vegas at work,
diligently inflicting pain onto others. Something both gruesome and thrilling.

But Pete has a feeling he’s about to reexperience it all first-hand very soon.

There’s no chance to finish examining the room properly before Vegas swims into his vision,
smiling in genuine delight to see that Pete is awake and they can finally get started.

Pete feels a thrum of fear pulse in his throat but doesn’t let it show on his face. That would only
give Vegas more power.

“Hey there, Pete,” he says, and suddenly Pete recognises who it was that got the drop on him when
he wrestled the gun from Ken, when escape had been so close.

The one who kicked him and bashed his head against the bookshelves too many times to count.
Pete’s head is still throbbing from their last encounter.

“You,” he manages, almost surprised by Vegas’ skill. As far as Pete was aware, the major and
minor family aren’t exactly trained fighters like their bodyguards. As with Kinn, Pete had naturally
assumed their proficiencies fell to guns alone, and in Vegas’ case, various instruments of torture.

Usually bodyguards do the fighting for them.

Pete hasn’t really seen Vegas in the same context before and instead thought physicality wasn’t an
area of strength for him. He’s not jacked up like Chan, doesn’t seem to have the same muscular
definition as Kinn. Vegas has a slim looking figure, all billowy shirts, long legs and tight fitting
pants.
To Pete, he looks more like an idol than a mafioso.

The minor family bodyguards don’t talk and Chan doesn’t like the main bodyguards to talk out of
turn either but of all the whispers Pete’s ever heard of him, Vegas isn’t known for his fists. And
any of main bodyguards who would report back and have had the misfortune of dealing with
Vegas, have only ever spoken of the unexpected coldness in his eyes when he smiles, the swift
ruthlessness of his actions.

Out of respect for Mr Korn most of the guards don’t talk about him or his children but Mr Kan
hasn’t commanded that level of respect from the main bodyguards. From what Pete overhears, they
whisper about the minor family the most and Vegas features almost as heavily as his father. Macau
is too young, too inexperienced to strike up any noteworthy gossip.

It’s the sharpness of his tongue, which seems to be the source of where Vegas’ fearsome reputation
originates. That he’s worse than an angry wife, can shred a man apart with one sentence. Pete’s not
stupid enough to think there’s any truth in that comparison. He’s been around enough violent men
to recognise that same volatility in Mr Kan’s son. Vegas would never in a thousand years be
anyone’s angry little wife.

But even if Pete never heard any of the guards gossiping about Vegas fighting with his fists, he
should never have underestimated the danger. It’s with some consternation that Pete has to accept
that he was wrong about the degree of threat Vegas posed. That assumption is how he ended up
here.

Pete can acknowledge that he is in a very dangerous situation. But Vegas continues to grin at him
like the circumstance is merely amusing. As if he might forgive Pete’s trespassing like last time
though Pete very much doubts it. He’s run out of chances that Vegas was willing to give him.
Tailing Vegas while he’s outside and at temple and snooping through the minor compound at night
was one thing but being caught at the computer with a hard drive full of evidence against the minor
family which could endanger their lives is another.

“Lost again huh, Pete?”

Pete blinks at him, unperturbed and doesn’t try for his usual blundering smile of awkwardness. The
one that disarms people’s expectation of him and makes him look incompetent. Harmless. It’s clear
from Vegas’ expression that he no longer considers him as such. Not after Pete got past all of their
guards in broad daylight and into the heart of their compound unnoticed.

They’re way past that now. The pure pleasure in Vegas’ expression speaks of a man who no longer
has to play by the rules set by his father. Not now that Pete has broken them.

“Sure,” he says without inflection because it’s the only way to keep himself from falling apart.

Vegas’ smile only widens as he leans in closer. “You’re very arrogant, for a bodyguard. Don’t
worry, I’m going to help cure you of that.”

A second later, one of the other guards is moving forward, rolling the rest of the jumpsuit past
Pete’s hips until the fabric drops to the floor and then he’s quietly stepping back to resume his post.
Pete tries not to focus on him because there’s something embarrassing, almost infantilising about
another bodyguard, another man having to physically undress him.

Pete has enough mobility to step out of the jumpsuit now pooling around his ankles but chooses not
to, clinging to the protection of the fabric, as he stands only in his boxers and watches Vegas fiddle
with something in the corner.
“I’m not going to give you information,” Pete volunteers to his bent over form. There’s no way to
know exactly what’s in store for him but Pete feels the need to make that declaration.

It’s better to define the borders before they get started.

He’s loyal, good at his job and willing to protect the interests of the main family. He’s not like the
ones who flit in and out of the main family home, the ones who can be bought.

Vegas is likely to torture him. Even more likely to kill him when he’s done. And since Pete can’t
change that he may as well keep the secrets he has to himself. It’s not like torture brings out
people’s honesty anyway, Pete knows people will admit to just about anything if it means the
cessation of pain that cannot be endured.

Real pain can coerce people into just about anything. It’s not a reliable means of gaining
information so the question is really about whether Pete can resist breaking under Vegas. Whether
he’s willing to let Vegas slip through his resolve.

The thing is, is that Pete isn’t so sure he can hold out. But there’s a stubborn streak in his character
that won’t allow him to give up without a fight first. And the cocky, overconfidence in Vegas’
manner desperately needs a dressing down. That can be an excellent motivator. Somehow, even in
the discouraging position he’s currently in, Pete doesn’t want to see Vegas win.

There’s a sharp zapping sound, and Vegas turns to face him then, revealing the jumper cables in
his gloved hands which are connected to a car battery on the table behind him. The rest seems self-
explanatory. At least Pete doesn’t have to wonder what’s going to happen next. He’s just glad
Vegas didn’t decide to start pulling out teeth first. Pete isn’t looking forward to that.

“I don’t want information,” Vegas says, finally looking up at him from the cables.

For a second his gaze travels unwillingly over Pete’s form and Pete is unsettled by the way his
eyes seem to linger beyond a cursory once over. The oddly considering look makes Pete feel more
naked somehow. And vulnerable.

Then Vegas nods to the nearest guard, who gets close again and yanks Pete’s boxers down,
actually exposing his genitals. By then Vegas is already advancing on him, much too close for
comfort.

But Pete has already resigned himself at this point.

“Of course you don’t,” he replies, and he barely gets a moment to feel proud that his voice came
out steady, because Vegas leans down with the cables and connects them right against his balls.

Then all Pete can focus on next are the currents rocking through his body, lighting every single
living cell on fire.

It’s hours later when Vegas gives up on the battery.

Pete is pushed to the brink several times but it’s soon very clear that Vegas doesn’t want to kill him
yet. He just wants him to suffer. But since being electrocuted makes every part of Pete’s body lock
up until the currents cease, it doesn’t really leave much room for screaming or pleading. Aside
from the electrical burns on the tender skin of his balls, Pete isn’t actually doing that badly.
Strangely enough, it's not the first time that he’s been electrocuted.

Vegas isn’t saying all that much to him beyond the occasional sentence so Pete doesn’t really feel
the need to say all that much back in response. Since he’s made it clear he doesn’t want
information from Pete and this is purely for the sake of punishing him, their roles are clearly set in
the situation anyway.

It’s not too soon that Pete can start to see Vegas getting bored. He eventually puts the cables down,
removing the gloves and disappearing from the room with a parting smile that promises something
worse as if it's somehow Pete's fault for not making this more interesting.

Pete doesn’t allow himself any guesswork while he stands there and waits. He knows it’s possible
to count time in the interim but the prospect isn’t at all appealing to him so he continues to assesses
the room and the bodyguards who stayed behind. He tries talking to them both only once but when
neither respond, he gives up and focuses his energy elsewhere.

When he needs to piss he tells them, and the bodyguards unchain him from the pillar but keep him
handcuffed when they escort him out of the room and down the hall to the bathroom. Pissing is
less fun when he has to try and do it handcuffed and without irritating the skin of his balls which is
painfully tender but even so he still manages.

Pete doesn’t try anything when the bodyguards lead him back because they’re tense and that’s
when they’re expecting something from him. But he does make a move when they enter the room
to discover Vegas has returned, just as they're leading him forward to try to strap him back to the
pillar.

As soon as the shorter bodyguard uncuffs his wrists, twisting one arm back while the other guard
goes to reach for the other to do the same on the opposite side, Pete twists his elbow up and clips
the shorter guard underneath his jaw before driving further into his throat. As he staggers back, still
locked on his wrist, Pete aims another punch before the other guard can hold him down but Vegas
swoops underneath his arm, grabs a hold of his testicles beneath the fabric of his boxers and
squeezes.

Pete shouts in agony, redirecting his attention to Vegas next as he hunches over, his hands reaching
for the one now holding him in a death grip but the bodyguards recover by that point and yank his
arms back against the pillar, securing him with the chains again.

Vegas releases his hold, smirking at him without moving out of range but when Pete kicks him in
the chest hard enough that he staggers back a few steps, he’s no longer smiling.

“Looks like Pete’s got some fire in him,” Vegas says conversationally, even as his voice betrays
his delight.

This is entertaining to him. Pete is entertaining him.

It’s this realisation that stops Pete from trying to attack again, even with Vegas still in reach. And
Vegas seems to realise it too, from the way he’s smiling at him knowingly. Such an infuriating
expression on his face.

“Oh this is going to be fun.”

Pete would beg to differ.

They leave him chained up against the pillar all night. The guards change three times throughout
and Pete tries to guess the timing of the shifts but it’s difficult to tell in the red room.

Vegas doesn’t come back, probably off sleeping somewhere and Pete tries to do some of that
himself to conserve his energy. Luckily he’s trained to catch sleep where possible so while sore
and uncomfortable, Pete manages to slump against the pillar and doze for a few hours before the
hunger in his empty stomach eventually wakes him up.

Vegas comes in several hours later, whilst Pete is thirsty and irritable, at a time he suspects to be
around midday because he’s sweating a little from the heat. He can see there's AC in the room but
it's currently switched off, and there's a muggy, haze of heat in the air. Vegas busies himself over at
the table for a bit before returning to Pete and picking up a wrench and beating him with it.

He mostly pays attention to his exposed torso because Pete can’t defend the area and Pete clenches
his jaw so tight he accidentally bites into his tongue and makes himself bleed.

Vegas tosses the wrench back on to the table top as if he’s dissatisfied with it and Pete can hardly
see through the pain to wonder what he might be thinking.

It’s all a moot point anyway when Vegas picks up some kind of leather strap to whip him next.

“How creative,” Pete comments expressionlessly, unable to resist saying so, though he sounds
short of breath from the beating to his rib cage earlier.

It wouldn’t surprise him if Vegas fractured some ribs. They feel tender enough at the moment.
Badly bruised at the very least.

Vegas’ approach halts mid step and his eyes meet Pete’s for a second, narrowing sharply with
interest as he looks at him. He stares long enough that Pete regrets saying anything before Vegas is
trailing his hand down the leather, caressing it like a lover.

“It gets the job done.”

Pete manages to resist rolling his eyes this time but Vegas seems to pick up on it anyway. Then he
simply raises his arm in preparation for the first strike and once it hits, Pete can’t focus on
anything else.

Minutes later Vegas is panting, the muscles in his arm shaking from repeatedly whipping Pete, and
despite the overwhelming pain, the burning flesh of his open wounds, and the trickle of hot blood
running down his chest, Pete can’t help but grin at the frustration plainly visible on Vegas’ face.

It’s better than whimpering over his ruined flesh. Pete knows if he succumbs to the pain, the fear
will rise up within and it’s all over for him. Especially if Vegas realises his will is crumbling.

“Bored yet?” he pants, unable to resist driving the knife in even when he’s in such a sorry state. To
show Vegas how simple it is to lose the upper hand.

For a second Vegas looks young and confused, like he’s tried to rip the leg off a spider only to find
out it has seven more. But even Pete knows better than to trust that. He can’t believe even for a
second that Vegas is floundering. That will only pave the way for Pete to be surprised by whatever
comes next.

He knows that he’s stupid and desperate enough to try a few challenges of his own, goading Vegas
into being more inventive. It’s possible Pete might be able to make Vegas angry enough to kill him
in a careless moment of rage. That would put an end to this game for the both of them.

Vegas is holding the wrench against the side of his chin now, like a master painter admiring his
work before he adds the next stroke. The only difference is Pete is very much still alive and now
entirely a product of Vegas’ handiwork.

He’s been beaten before, but Vegas particular approach is especially dangerous. Not because of the
physical pain, but for the fact that Vegas is clever enough to talk him through it, to attack his mind
as well as his body.

If Pete only had to protect one element, it might feel like he stood more of a chance but the mind
games are just as bad as the bruises, the jumper cables and the whip.

“Still smiling?” Vegas wonders, ignoring Pete’s jab. “Interesting. Interesting.”

Vegas steps closer and drags a fingernail through one of the open wounds on Pete’s naked chest
just above his left nipple. Pete hisses at the flash of hurt but it quickly devolves into laughter.

It’s not that he enjoys the pain. Or that he even likes it that much. But Pete is stubborn, and if
Vegas wants him pained and weakened and scared then he’s going to do everything in his power to
show him the exact opposite.

Laughing in his face feels the most appropriate for that. No matter how insane he sounds doing it.

He knows since he first saw that flicker of emotion cross Vegas’ face that it makes him uneasy.
That Pete’s reactions whilst extremely close to false bravado are actually throwing him off. This is
a space where Vegas is supposed to be in control. When he has others tied up and terrified and at
his mercy. When he can inflict the greatest amount of pain, limited only by the scope of his own
imagination.

Where he doesn’t expect to be challenged in any real kind of capacity that can affect him.

And this is where Pete knows, instinctively, that if he’s smart about it he can best get under his
skin.

“What is wrong with you?” Vegas says, but there’s something else in his tone. An edge. Of
frustration. Or approval. Pete can’t distinguish it.

Because he doesn’t say it like most people would. Like it’s rhetorical. Or a confrontation. A means
of pushing someone away.

When Vegas says “What’s wrong with you?”, Pete hears show me.

He’s closer now. Vegas likes to get close when he’s working in order to watch Pete’s expression.
To hear him pant and shudder, grit his teeth against the pain and cry out when he can’t hold the
sound back. Pete has had a constant headache for two days from clenching his jaw tightly to try and
keep most of the noises at bay.

There’s something intimate about what’s happening between them, no matter how much Pete
pretends it’s not. Vegas is close because he wants to consume the pain he inflicts, to savour it as
much as possible.

But this time Vegas is leaning in so he can talk to him out of earshot of the two bodyguards posted
in the room.
“What happened to shy little Pete from before?” Vegas wonders softly in his ear. “The one who
jumped any time I touched him? Who got nervous and awkward each time I-“

His eyes narrow as Pete watches him figure it out.

“Acting like you were afraid,” Vegas says, considering as he reaches out and drags his hand up
across Pete’s forehead, pushing the curtain of his hair off his face before yanking tight at the
strands.

Pete hisses at the sensation but knows there’s fire in his eyes when Vegas looks at him more
closely. He’s sweaty, dirty and covered in his own blood but given the chance he’d unleash the
same violence on Vegas tenfold. Pete would rip him apart with his bare hands if he could.

The edges of that unhinged impulse still lingers in his bared teeth somehow because he knows that
Vegas sees it.

“Hmm,” Vegas says thoughtfully, tugging his hair harder, pushing more of it off his face and
staring at him intently. “But you’re not afraid of me are you? That meek little bodyguard doesn’t
really exist.”

Pete doesn’t bother to confirm it. He doesn’t need to. Vegas already knows. He can see it all there
on Pete’s face.

There’s no point pretending that he’s not going to fight Vegas for every inch he can take. To make
this as hard as possible for him. For a second Pete looks at Vegas with all the disdain he can
muster.

Vegas wants to feel powerful here, because he can’t get it anywhere else. He’s the oldest son of the
minor family, his own father has little to no affection for him and all of his efforts are directed
towards gaining that man’s approval.

This here, in this macabre dungeon is the only way he can have control over any element of his life.
It’s the only game he can play. Where he can restrain men who think they’re powerful and break
them apart, bringing them to their knees and reducing them into nothingness before killing them.

Vegas is such a goddamn cliché .

“Kill me if you’re brave enough,” Pete taunts. “Because if there’s a chance I get out of here I’m
going to give you absolute hell on earth for the rest of your miserable life.”

He can tell by Vegas’ bearing that the thought is amusing to him. “That a threat?”

“A promise.”

Vegas stares into his eyes and doesn’t blink but there’s a likeness in them that Pete recognises, a
coldness that reflects back into his own. There’s approval too when Pete doesn’t look away from
him.

“Guess we’ll see. Won’t we, Pete?”

The grin Pete directs back at him is savage, deranged. “Guess we will.”
Vegas doesn’t return for the rest of the day which is good for Pete because the wounds on his chest
haven’t had a chance to reopen because of it. The scabs seem to be becoming more solid. He’s still
dirty and unwashed from when Ken first caught him and although Pete has concerns about
infection it’s something he’s sorted into a quiet corner of his mind, unworthy of any real mental
energy.

The infection won’t matter if Vegas kills him. He hasn’t eaten since that quick meal from the main
family kitchen before he left for the compound and got the truck and the orange jumpsuit. Pete can
still almost taste the flavour of the noodles, along with the tang of blood in his mouth. Pete has
bitten the insides of his cheeks now too many times to count.

Since the first night, the bodyguards only give him water and that’s purely because Vegas doesn’t
want him dying of thirst before he’s ready to kill him. Pete was initially tempted to pretend to drink
and spit the water out later to speed up his own impending death but the bodyguards never leave
the room for that kind of thing to go unnoticed.

He can feel the disapproval coming off them in waves but they never say a thing even when he
tries to talk to them. Pete knows they’re aware he broke into their compound but he can sense that
they respect him, particularly from the way they won’t meet his eyes when they’re alone together
in the room.

Pete didn’t think he had a reputation back at the main house, but it’s possible that talk has trickled
back to the minor family guards anyway.

He’s good at his job, not as flashy or boastful as some of the others and he’s certainly never
betrayed them. Despite the differences between the families, Pete can see that the minor family
bodyguards still regard him as one of their own. They only watch when Vegas is in the room with
them, when there’s a principle that Pete could potentially be a danger to. That’s when they’re on
higher alert, even with Pete chained up like he is.

They’re good bodyguards, they don’t slack off, don’t leave their posts until the end of their shift
and they hardly talk to each other either. They don’t try and rub Pete’s situation in his face either,
they don’t throw cruel barbs like Vegas does, and they don’t openly mock him.

In fact, they barely interact with him except to bring him water, and to unchain him to take him to
the bathroom.

Pete only tried to escape on the way to the bathroom once and it was his bad luck that he got the
timing wrong and two new bodyguards were already on their way to replace the two he’d managed
to incapacitate. Since that incident, now four bodyguards escort him and two of them are always in
the room while he does his business.

Pete has gotten used to ignoring them while he takes a piss and they ignore him in turn.

All of these things only add to his belief that they disapprove of situation, that no matter his crime,
Pete was clearly acting on the orders of his employers not his own self-interest. He can see in their
eyes that he's worthy of pity, and the idea that Vegas could treat any of them the same as how he is
dealing with Pete, is unsettling to them.

Not enough for the guards to act or help Pete in any way but Pete knows the situation is prompting
instincts of survival in them all. A revaluation of their own circumstances. What’s to stop Vegas
from doing the same to them if they take a step wrong?

From the rotation there’s about eight different men watching over him and from their body
language and the respect they show Vegas when he’s in their presence, Pete suspects they’re
entirely loyal to Vegas not Mr Kan. Which is interesting to Pete, because he always assumed
Vegas was unwaveringly loyal to his father, not that he would carve out pockets of power for
himself in the household.

Because having his own men, however unassuming, still takes away influence from Mr Kan.

And is Mr Kan aware of these split loyalties? Pete doubts he’d permit a threat like that to his
position. He’s like his brother, the order of power has only begun to shift to Kinn because of Mr
Korn’s declining health. Not for any reason beyond that.

The Theerapanyakul family never give up power once they have it.

The door opens and Vegas enters with a bag slung over his shoulder. From the expression on his
face, he’s no longer looking as frustrated as he did last time. Which could mean he’s mastered his
emotions again or that he has something even worse planned.

“Here to make me bleed again?” Pete says by way of greeting.

Sometimes ignoring Vegas isn’t the best way to deal with him. He seems to like when Pete is
direct as well.

Often times that will get him talking faster than anything else and Pete wants to know exactly
where that irritation from last time went. It had felt like such a triumph at the time to reduce Vegas
to that even if what’s to follow now are the consequences of that action. Pete challenged Vegas to
be more creative and whatever is in the bag will be the result of that.

Vegas grins at him, and Pete feels his first flicker of foreboding. He should have eased up on
provoking Vegas since the last time. There’s something decisive about his movements now.
Resolute.

What is he going to do next?

“Not quite,” Vegas answers in English, gesturing at the two bodyguards as he sets the bag onto the
table where he keeps his other tools.

Pete tears his gaze away from it, knowing he can’t see what’s inside until Vegas decides to reveal it
and refocuses on the two guards instead.

They move in at once and suddenly the cuffs tying Pete to the column are released, a chain
immediately being wrapped around his wrist. One of the bodyguards removes his boxers, only this
time he doesn’t drag them to Pete’s knees, instead he jerks them all the way to the floor until
they’ve pooled at Pete’s feet.

Normally, Pete would assume Vegas is going to electrocute his balls again but the way the
bodyguard removed his boxers completely makes him think there’s something more sinister in the
works. Even more so when the bodyguard gets him to step out of them, kicking the boxers across
the floor, out of the way as the other moves in to restrain him.

Pete is too surprised to struggle as his wrists are cuffed in front of his chest and there’s the clink of
it connecting to something else.

Immediately Pete cranes his neck to look, following the line of metal cabling but all he can hear is
the winch of a chain being moved and a second later his wrists are being pulled inextricably
forward, upward. When he glances above him and realises that there’s a heavy duty metal ring
embedded into the roof and the chain he is now connected to is being threaded through it like a
rudimentary pulley system, it’s clear to him what will happen next.

Because it looks capable of holding a person’s weight. Pete doesn’t need to follow the rest of the
chain to see how it’s connected to the winch one of the bodyguards is crouched beside and
currently turning but his eyes follow the movement of the contraption anyway.

The bodyguard keeps turning the handle and the chain keeps moving through the link at the ceiling
until Pete’s arms are being pulled above his chest and then up over his head. He can feel the
tension in the joints at his arms now as the chain lifts him higher. Until eventually he’s hanging
about an inch off the ground, toes trailing on the floor. The strain is solely on the joints at his arms
and shoulders and he knows the longer he’s hanging here, the more pain he’s going to be in
tomorrow.

That’s about when Vegas signals the bodyguard to stop and gestures for them both to leave the
room. They obey without responding and Pete wonders at what Vegas could possibly have in mind
that he doesn’t want the two guards to witness when they’ve already stood by and watched every
other vicious thing Vegas has done to him.

It must be something that Vegas doesn’t want used against him. Though Pete wonders what kind of
fucked up thing he could possibly do, that could be a danger to Vegas. When there are so many
whispers about him already.

“You’ve obviously resolved yourself to the pain,” Vegas says, and he’s circling Pete’s naked body
now, leaving Pete feeling more exposed because he can’t turn and follow the movement and his
back is no longer protected by the strut he was tied against. “But you’re no masochist.”

Vegas’ fingers trail down his spine next and Pete flinches at the unexpected sensation. It’s the first
time Vegas has touched him with his bare hands. The first time he’s done so without trying to
make it hurt in some way. Pete wonders why a sudden caress makes him so nervous.

“You’re not laughing and smiling because you love it. You just want to challenge me,” Vegas
murmurs, and he’s leaning in now, the heat of his breath brushing against Pete’s ear. “Am I right,
Pete?”

Somehow this feels more dangerous than the battery cables.

“What does it matter to you?” Pete fires back, perturbed by Vegas’ unforeseen excitement.
Whatever he has planned isn’t going to be good. “You’re going to kill me anyway.”

“Yes,” Vegas agrees. “But not just yet. I’m going to have some fun breaking you first.”

Pete frowns. Only because Vegas is at his back and can’t see his expression. “I thought you were
already having fun?”

“No,” Vegas says in English. “You’re too used to violence. You can weather pain. Overpower fear.
So it’s about time to change my approach. See how you fare with something- else.”

“Something-?“ Pete starts to ask, but falls silent when he feels Vegas’ hands on him again. They
slide down his back and Pete is frowning harder than ever, puzzling out Vegas’ intention until they
reach his ass.

Pete stiffens when Vegas cups his ass cheeks and squeezes deliberately in a way that can’t be
misunderstood. As he realises just how far Vegas is willing to take this. When he entered the minor
family compound it was with the worst outcome in mind. He had expected to be tortured. And
killed.

But Pete never anticipated this.

“You wouldn’t,” he says once he manages to find the words, but even Pete can hear in his own
voice that he sounds unsure.

Rattled by the suggestion.

Vegas only laughs at that. “Why wouldn’t I? With such a fine body so available to me.”

He remembers suddenly the way Vegas’ eyes had trailed over his naked body the first time he was
brought in here, and realises his first instinct had been right all along. Vegas hadn’t just been
assessing him then he was admiring as well.

Vegas is attracted to him.

Pete bites his lip and quickly resolves not to beg for mercy even as he prepares himself to be
humiliated. Violated.

Vegas presses his nose against the nape of Pete’s neck, right where he’s sweaty and the ends of his
hair are damp. Pete feels Vegas inhale and actually jerks forward as if he can somehow escape the
touch. It’s one of the rare times that Pete has actually flinched away from him.

Even though the both of them are well aware of how trapped he is.

“Now that’s the reaction I was looking for,” Vegas mutters in his ear, and suddenly he releases
Pete and the heat disappears from his back.

For a second Pete almost considers that’s it and it was merely for show- just a way to scare him,
but he knows better than to believe Vegas would back down in anything. It’s not in his nature to
say things without intention. Pete would guess that his father beat that out of him years ago.

The sudden coldness against his spine makes Pete shiver as he hears the snick of a cap being
opened in the corner of the room, feeling the heat flood his face at the implications of it.

That’s- that’s lube, Pete thinks, heart sinking. Vegas isn’t taunting him. He’s not the type of man
not to follow through on his threats.

Which is proven a second later when Vegas presses up against him again. Pete grits his teeth and
does his best not to react, breathing deeply in an attempt to calm his body. So when Vegas reaches
around him to take hold of his cock, Pete considers it a win that he doesn’t recoil or make a sound.

Vegas’ hand is wet with lube and he doesn’t bother to tease, just starts stroking Pete’s cock firmly
with determination. And proficiency.

The sensation of it is good, almost a welcome change from the past few days, even as his mind
rebels against it. Obviously Vegas knows what he’s doing even if Pete wants to pretend he doesn’t.

To distract himself, Pete tries to focus on the position of Vegas’ hands instead. He knows that
Vegas is right handed. So the fact that he’s currently stroking him with his left can only mean he’s
saving his dominant hand for something else. The thought doesn’t make him feel better. Especially
when Vegas’ right hand suddenly grips his hip, and Pete can’t help but notice the slickness there
too.
Pete’s breathing is no longer even and he swallows. Hard.

Before he started working for Kinn, Pete had never actually encountered gay men before. Or at
least if he did, he wasn’t ever aware of it. Any of his current knowledge comes from the string of
men occasionally leaving Kinn’s rooms late at night, sometimes not always walking very steady.

The rest, from the bodyguards who dared to whisper about it behind Kinn’s back, saying at least
Kinn took the man’s role in the fucking.

From that Pete learned there was something shameful about receiving. That taking it from another
man, the woman’s role in the position, was something that robbed a man’s power, went against his
manhood. Save for the fact that not all of the men who left Kinn’s rooms were effeminate or
waifish looking, that some of them were even more muscular then Kinn and not one of them had
ever looked dissatisfied by the encounter.

Despite that, no matter what the other guards assumed or what Pete saw, he never had an interest in
any of it, besides in how it interacted with the job.

Pete is also vaguely aware that it can be pleasurable between men- Kinn’s lovers wouldn’t have
returned so frequently to the main family home if that wasn’t the case- but knows he lacks
complete awareness of the logistics of it. Even as he doubts Vegas is doing this with Pete’s
pleasure in mind.

Although Pete can see that his body is responding nonetheless.

It’s almost shameful how quickly Pete starts to get hard. After such a long period of discomfort and
pain in this room, the initial flood of pleasant sensation seems to increase tenfold as if his brain is
doing its best to overwhelm the recent memory of agony with something good. And Vegas handles
cock like he’s very familiar with it, seems to figure out what Pete likes in a frighteningly quick
amount of time, discovering what he best reacts to in only a matter of minutes.

His cock stiffens quickly, filling with blood and Pete wonders how good he is at concealing his
emotion if Vegas can discern his preferences with such ease. Pete wants to be embarrassed by his
response, that his body could turn against him so swiftly but he’s too focused on the present
moment to let himself be shamed just yet.

It’s the tension. The unpredictability of what’s to happen next. The intimacy of Vegas’ breath in his
ear. The tight grip on his cock. All of this stimuli is sending out a million different signals at once
to his brain, culminating in the confusion of his body. Because Pete’s never once thought that he
was attracted to Vegas.

No matter how pretty he is.

No matter how effectively Vegas touches him.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” Pete says eventually, having to bite into his lip when Vegas drags
his thumb over the head of his cock, sending sparks of sensation through him. Just so the waver
doesn’t show in his voice. “It’s a bodily reaction. Nothing more.”

Vegas only chuckles in his ear as if the way Pete has to justify it amuses him. Because Pete has
never had to make excuses for himself like this before.

A second later his mouth is on Pete’s neck, tasting him. Pete is surprised by the heat of it, and the
sensuous slide of his tongue on skin and jerks in Vegas’ grip, cock twitching as he tries to lean
away from his mouth.
The area of his neck which Vegas just licked begins to tingle and Pete realises Vegas found an
erogenous zone of his that he didn’t even know existed. When Vegas notices the reaction, he leans
down, his grip tightening on Pete to prevent him from avoiding the touch and does it again.

Pete can’t help it, his mouth falls open a little, even as he shuts his eyes and tries to focus on the
rhythm of his breaths. On keeping them as even as possible instead of openly panting with
desperation. He thinks he’s succeeding but then Vegas bites into the skin of his throat
unexpectedly and Pete hisses in surprise at the sharp throb of hurt.

“Hmm,” Vegas murmurs, like a casual observer after Pete jerks again in his grip. “I might like this
better I think.”

“Rape over torture?” Pete retorts, trying to keep up the bravado he had earlier when Vegas wanted
to break him open with a wrench. “How altruistic of you.”

Vegas squeezes his cock tight. Painfully tight. And the gasp falls from Pete’s mouth before he can
swallow it, the rush of orgasm rising up out of nowhere. Somehow Vegas senses he’s close and his
grip shifts to pinch the base instead, holding him off from coming.

Pete hadn’t realised he was so close already.

Is he really that turned on by this?

“Not yet, baby,” Vegas whispers, and Pete shudders, repulsed by the affectionate term in his ear.

He knew that Vegas was cold and obsessive and full of darkness. That he had significantly singled
out Porsche ever since his explosive arrival, when he was blundering through and mouthing off to
any and every Theerapanyakul he could. Not to mention all the things that happened with Tawan
that Pete overheard in snatches.

To see how easily Vegas can redirect his interest is terrifying. But what Pete finds the most
disturbing is how quickly the objects of his notice always seem to surrender to him. To succumb
quickly and helplessly to Vegas’ will. Tawan had been Kinn’s first and how easily had Vegas won
him over? After they’d been dating for years?

The most effective kinds of seduction are the ones where the seducer believes even just a little bit
in the lie and he’s certain Vegas is no exception to this. He’s a gifted schemer but Vegas’ true
talent lies in making other men loyal to him.

Even on the periphery of the main family’s orbit, Pete has never had any misconceptions about
how dangerous Vegas is. But he never truly understood how delusional he was either. Pete should
have realised he'd use sex as a weapon just like everything else.

After a moment, the tide of pleasure soon eases back and so does Vegas’ chokehold on Pete’s cock.

“You won’t come until I’m inside you,” Vegas declares in English and Pete barely has a moment to
consider slamming his head back into Vegas’ skull before he feels Vegas’ fingers slide across his
asshole first.

Pete inhales sharply at those fingers along his rim and then Vegas is pressing one inside before he
can think of a way to try and stop him. Pete prepares for the pain of it but there’s lots of lube and
Vegas doesn’t do anything else but slowly stroke his cock and push the finger in further.

There’s strangeness to the sensation but Pete can’t seem to focus on anything else beyond the fact
that it's Vegas doing this to him right now. The man who had ignored Pete so thoroughly before
Porsche’s arrival that he may as well have been wallpaper.

It’s meant to be one of his talents, falling under people’s radars but Pete would never have guessed
catching Vegas’ attention like this would be so deadly.

Pete only realises he’s stopped tensing up at the intrusion when Vegas eases in a second. He can
feel it now, the stretch of what Vegas is clearly doing to him, laying groundwork for a cock. Pete
doesn’t think it’s a kindness that Vegas is preparing him first, that he’s taking the time to do so
with minimal pain and patience.

Vegas isn’t making this gentle out of the goodness of his heart.

It’s another game. One designed to confuse Pete. To invite a sense of goodwill towards his captor
even as he’s being violated by him. Pete understands Vegas’ angle. He knows that Vegas is a
master manipulator. And that he uses his beauty, that captivating façade of his to present a picture
of innocence and lies.

Vegas wears so many faces, that it’s hard to think there’s anything substantial behind the masks.
But sometimes his words do reveal something. So if Vegas says he’s trying a different approach
then that means he probably won’t be satisfied until Pete is.

“You’re very responsive,” Vegas observes conversationally as he works him open. “Don’t you play
with yourself in the main family house? You can’t be getting it from the other guards with an ass
this tight.”

Pete hates all of it. Vegas’ comment on the sensitivity of his body. The way he’s teasing like he’s
got the impression Pete is too pure, too naïve to touch himself. That he would even imply that his
fellow bodyguards would disrespect another in this way.

“Fuck you,” Pete spits, gritting his teeth to stave off another moan.

It’s taking a lot more of his concentration to keep silent than he expected. He wonders how often
Vegas sleeps with other men to have experience like this, and why it isn’t as common knowledge
as Kinn’s preferences are.

Is Mr Kan ashamed of his son?

“I can tell you’re usually more vocal,” Vegas says, ignoring him now that he’s got a rhythm going.
“And it’s not hard to see you’re holding yourself back.”

Pete doesn’t confirm or deny it. It’s safer not to speak at the moment. When he can no longer trust
himself to remain quiet.

When Vegas leans in again along the sensitive skin of his neck and licks him once more, Pete tries
to twist away but with the restraints keeping him pinned, the movement only seems to further
expose his throat to Vegas’ mouth.

Vegas edges around him next, pointedly pressing his erection up against Pete’s hip as he grins at
him, leaning in close to inspect his face. Pete tries to ignore his side profile, though it feels
impossible with his hand on Pete’s cock and his fingers still moving inside him.

Vegas’ smile widens briefly, something unpleasant and gratified. “Let’s see if you can keep it up.”

For a blinding moment of rage, Pete wishes so badly to beat that arrogant look off Vegas’ face that
he loses control of the martyred silence keeping him so preoccupied.
“I don’t give a fuck,” Pete starts, just as Vegas’ fingers turn in him, searching. “Whether you think
I- uhhhh.”

Pete convulses suddenly, as Vegas touches something inside him that he’s never felt before. It’s
startling sensual, sharp and all-consuming. The wave rushes up so quickly, the crescendo of
pleasure suddenly peaking, cresting-

“Ah not so fast,” Vegas says, gripping his cock tight again, edging him back from that moment of
completion. “My, my. Look at you. So remarkably sensitive Pete.”

Pete is flushed and beyond turned on and hating himself for the urgent excitement in his blood, the
impending promise of an orgasm just simmering beneath his balls. There’s an umbrella of shame
too hanging over such a sudden and easy corruption of his own body.

Vegas bites at the edge of his jaw in a teasing, ungenerous way before stepping back behind him
again. Then he adds a third finger, and he’s actively stretching Pete now, working faster since he’s
realised he won’t be able to hold Pete off for much longer and do what he wants with his body
first.

And Pete is pretty sure that Vegas wants the added mindfuck of Pete’s orgasm whilst he’s raping
him.

Pete tries to ignore the sensation of it, thankful at least that Vegas’ fingers are leaving that spot
alone inside him that feels like it’s connected to the pleasure centre in his brain. When Pete glances
down at himself, he sees Vegas’ sure hand steadily working his cock over and the noticeable
amount of his precome which has spattered onto the floor in the interim.

The sheer amount suggests he’s either really turned on or he hasn’t jerked himself off in a long
while. With Vegas touching him so thoroughly, Pete is having a hard time distinguishing which
one is the right answer. Both make him feel ashamed, which must be part of Vegas’ plan. To
debase him.

He grunts in surprise at the fourth finger. At the excess of lube Vegas pushes into him. It feels like
a lot inside already but Pete can’t tell if four fingers are the same rough size of a cock he hasn’t
even seen.

Is Vegas as big as his condom size suggested? Or was that another part of his game? Was he
tricking Pete with the pleasure first, the lull of gentle preparation only to tear him open with a huge
cock instead?

The worst part is Pete can’t touch the floor. Can’t turn around to try and see what Vegas is doing
behind him. He certainly can’t try to kick him either with Vegas wound so tightly around his body.
This position only seems to make him feel more helpless then he did tied up against the column.

Vegas withdraws his fingers and Pete swallows, listening to the sound of him tearing open a
condom behind him, the slick noise of Vegas quickly rolling it on even as Pete is mentally
preparing himself for what’s coming. No matter what, he’s determined not to cry out when Vegas
puts it in. He won’t give Vegas the satisfaction of knowing he’s affected by this.

Unlike the little slip up earlier, Pete loosely knows what to expect now.

But even so when he finally feels the spongy head of Vegas’ cock press up against his hole, it
steals all the breath in his lungs. Pete is actively struggling when Vegas takes hold of his hips and
pins him there while he begins to feed his cock into him.
It feels big. At least the condom acts like some kind of barrier between them. He wonders why
Vegas even bothered but maybe it was just to protect himself. He doubts Vegas has any of Pete’s
best interests at heart in this moment.

Pete doesn’t have anything to compare the size to beyond Vegas’ fingers and his body is mixed-up
by the overwhelming sensation of it. The fullness. Before he can decide what he feels about that
first instance of penetration, Vegas pushes in deeper, easing in slowly as if he wants Pete to be able
to experience every inch.

It certainly feels like a lot of inches. Pete clenches his jaw and tries not to speak, screwing his eyes
shut and trying to take himself far, far away from this room for the first time since Ken caught
him.

But Vegas isn’t playing the same game. Doesn’t even try to keep himself quiet. He lets out an
unconscious noise of pleasure and keeps pushing inside and it’s so much harder for Pete to focus
on not getting overwhelmed when Vegas is right there whispering in his ear.

“That’s it,” he murmurs encouragingly as if Pete has done something more than just remain still
and take it. “That’s it, baby.”

Pete keeps ignoring him, still mentally dragging himself to another place. But Vegas stroking along
his cock, rough and firm, suddenly wrenches him right back into the present, and he soon feels the
sensation of hot skin against his ass signalling Vegas is now completely inside. Vegas presses fully
up against his back as if being in him isn’t enough and Pete can feel his heartbeat against his skin,
the way it’s pounding with excitement.

The sounds of breathing at Pete’s ear doesn’t seem especially even either and he wonders why
Vegas isn’t trying to hide how affected he is.

Pete takes his own shuddering breath, and Vegas doesn’t move yet, seeming to simply enjoy the
situation while he strokes Pete without much intention, still not wanting him to come too soon.
Pete wants to say something cutting, but he knows it’s in his best interest to not anger Vegas while
he’s caught in such a vulnerable position.

Vegas is making this good right now because it suits him at the moment, to diminish Pete with
pleasure instead of pain. He’s trying to get inside Pete’s head, to make him question his dignity as a
man, while he’s being degraded, and then to unsettle him further by making Pete enjoy it.
Rationally, Pete can understand all of this. Even if that doesn’t make what’s happening any better.

There’s nothing that can make this better. Vegas wants Pete to come while he’s fucking his cock
into his ass and that’s exactly what’s going to happen.

Pete presses his lips together and doesn’t fight the sensation, wonders if possibly coming first,
coming earlier than planned might even ruin the moment of victory for him. Or maybe Vegas will
twist that anyway, whispering in his ear about how much Pete enjoyed it, that he’s just as cock
hungry as Vegas suspected. Pete doesn’t get a chance to dwell on what scenario is better before
Vegas starts to pull out, whilst still playing with the head of his cock.

At the dual sensation, Pete jerks forward, confused and aroused before Vegas thrusts back in for
the first time.

Pete groans, as Vegas’ cock drags against that place again and he knows pretty quickly that he’s
going to come from this just like Vegas wants. The hand on him, and the cock now inside him. It’s
too much for him to ignore. And Pete can’t fight the rising pleasure in his body forever.
“You know,” Vegas says, suddenly releasing Pete’s cock. “I was going to lead up to it. Really
savour this moment. But I think I can make you come from this alone.”

Pete doesn’t dare ask him what he means. It’s obvious that Vegas has more knowledge, a better
understanding of sex between men. He’s done this many times. Pete knows it from the way Vegas
handled him, from the way he takes hold of Pete’s hips with both hands and fucks into him in a
near perfect slide.

Pete’s arms twist in the hold, as Vegas seems to hone in on that sensitive spot inside him. The one
that feels infinitely better than touching his cock.

When Vegas grips his hips and changes the angle, hitting it on every thrust so that Pete is close
again- so very close- a spark of horror seeps through the arousal, at the inevitability of this new
reality. Pete is going to come on Vegas’ cock, and what’s worse, he knows that it’s going to feel
incredible.

Desperation overwhelms all rational thought so when Vegas draws back for the next thrust, Pete
suddenly uses his hands to grip the chains wrapped around his wrists in order to lift himself further
into the air and off Vegas’ cock.

A meagre, final attempt to escape.

It almost works, but Pete is too weak from being beaten, tortured and deprived of sufficient water
and food for the past few days. Vegas doesn’t even fully slip out of him before his strength gives
out and Pete drops back down.

Where Vegas is ready and waiting because he thrusts back into him. Hard. The gravity and Vegas’
strength tearing through the last of Pete’s reserve.

He comes on a gasp, cock spurting across the stone floor and Vegas hisses in pleasure when Pete
tightens around the thick length inside him.

Pete’s entire body droops, exhausted and overwhelmed, but Vegas isn’t finished with him yet. He
starts thrusting more forcefully than before, chasing his own end. And Pete can do little else but be
taken along for the ride.

Pete feels it when Vegas is close because he pulls out suddenly and there’s the snap of the condom
being removed. Pete has a moment of horror when he thinks Vegas is going to force his cock back
inside and come in him anyway, but a second later Vegas is shooting his load against Pete’s lower
back, the wet sensation of his spend sliding between his ass cheeks, making him hang his head in
humiliation even as Vegas chuckles somewhat breathlessly, panting, before jerking off sloppily on
to his skin a few more times.

There’s a moment of silence between them while Pete tries to come to terms with everything that’s
just happened. Then Vegas leans in and bites at Pete’s shoulder blade, hard enough to hurt. Pete
doesn’t even react to it, too overwhelmed by the aftershocks still coursing through him.

He’s still trembling when Vegas pulls away.

“Not a bad start,” is all Vegas says next, pressing a kiss atop his bite mark and Pete knows right
then and there that his fate is sealed.

Passing out after that is its own sort of reprieve.

 give me something deep, something straight, like a sharpened knife
Chapter Notes

Chap title from Real Thing KMFDM

Enjoy!

When Pete wakes up he’s still hanging an inch off the ground, his arms are stiff and aching from
the position and he can feel the tight, itchy sensation of Vegas’ dried come against his lower back
and ass cheeks. Heat rushes into his face at the memory and Pete automatically squeezes his legs
together, feeling the tenderness between them, even as there’s a flicker of phantom pleasure at the
sensation.

His skin has gone cold since he’s been left dangling there unattended, and thankfully the room is
still empty.

Pete isn’t sure he could bear the shame of another bodyguard seeing him like this, as Vegas’ used
toy. It’s a good thing that he’s no longer erect but even in such disadvantaged circumstances Pete
can’t help but mentally review what happened between the two of them.

What Vegas did to him.

Somehow even in the midst of such a fucked up situation, Pete wishes he hadn’t orgasmed. As if
that small fact signals any kind of consent on his part- which logically he knows it doesn’t. Human
bodies react to stimuli no matter what they might think about it. Even so that doesn’t stop the hot
feeling of shame in his chest when he hangs there, naked and used.

Pete spends the next half an hour trying to distract from the ache in his joints, the irritation of dried
come on his skin and the smell of sex in the air by rationalising the situation. But even with all his
effort it’s difficult to simply think a way out of what he’s currently feeling. Eventually he's forced
to give up.

So Pete sits in it instead. The humiliation, the confusion, the lingering satisfaction of pleasure, and
the anger.

He’s thirsty. Can’t remember the last time he was brought water which is probably a good thing
because Pete doesn’t need to piss. Since he’s alone and there’s no one to unlock and escort him to
the bathroom if he needs to relieve himself. Pete is almost glad for it. He would rather not piss on
the floor if he can help it. There’s as much indignity in that as there is in being covered in Vegas’
dried come.

He wonders when Vegas is going to kill him now that he’s indulged in Pete’s body.

It seems fatalistic to hope that it’s soon but Pete can admit to himself that it would break up the
monotony of being left suspended, bored and uncomfortably alone with his own thoughts. When he
realises that he’s just hoping for Vegas to come back, solely for the sake of making something
happen, Pete can acknowledge that the situation is slowly breaking down his resolve.

The idle thought is alarming enough that Pete barely has a second to go the opposite direction and
hope that Vegas doesn’t return for hours before the door is opening and Vegas himself is striding
in, shirtless and wearing sweatpants. The bulge in the material lends to the obvious fact that he’s
aroused.

Pete’s left leg spasms uncontrollably and he doesn’t look away, eyes narrowed on Vegas’
approach. It doesn’t take much critical thinking to guess why he’s returned. And although his
muscles clench with the urge for freedom, Pete can’t look away from the reality of it.

Not now.

“Here to go again?”

Vegas merely smiles at him thinly and scoops up the lube from where he left it deposited on the
side table. Pete flushes at the confirmation even as his heart starts to pound.

It’s not a big deal, he tries to convince himself as he watches Vegas uncap the lube. It’ll be just like
before. Pete knows what to expect now. He can- he can handle it. There’s no other option but to
simply endure.

Except once Vegas has a liberal amount of lube on his fingers, he comes and stands in front of Pete
instead of getting behind him like last time as if he's more interested in watching him closely now.
Pete still can’t look away, refuses to look away, so his eyes are on Vegas’ face when Vegas ignores
his soft cock and reaches around to slide those fingers straight between his ass cheeks.

Pete exhales a quiet breath when Vegas’ fingers glance over his hole and then presses his lips
together to ensure silence.

The area feels sensitive. More sensitive than before when Vegas’ fingertips smooth over the
swollen flesh. Pete goes still when Vegas pushes the first finger inside and neither of them speak
when Vegas familiarises himself with Pete’s body again, easing in a second soon after and gently
crooking his fingers.

Pete jolts in the restraints when he feels it, when Vegas’ fingers touch up against that part of him
that seems especially sensitive. And just as receptive as Vegas suggested he was.

“There you go, baby,” Vegas whispers, and Pete knows there’s heat crawling up his face when
Vegas continues to rub at the spot and Pete’s cock immediately stirs between his legs, starts to get
hard all over again despite his willing it not to.

Pete closes his eyes and tries in vain to repress a reaction to the sensation, tries to slow down the
pleasure already rousing in his body.

“Go on,” Vegas whispers at him, as he draws his fingers out of Pete, who still feels just as open as
he did when Vegas fucked him hours ago. “Keep fighting me, Pete.”

"Why should I?" he bites back, hearing the bitterness in his own voice. "That's what you want."

Suddenly there's the heat of Vegas' breath against his ear. "Because you want it too," he answers, in
no more than a whisper and Pete feels the unexpected heat of Vegas' hand as it wraps around his
cock. "Your body is begging for it."
Pete’s eyes snap open then so he can glare at Vegas with all the hostility now simmering in his
blood. He's never once in his life stared at someone and seen an true enemy like this, felt such
consuming hatred for another living person. If Pete had his hands free in this moment, he can
hardly even imagine the different kinds of pain he'd unleash upon Vegas.

Pete has killed before but never out of real emotion or resentment. Looking at Vegas now though
and Pete wants to destroy him.

The violence must show in his eyes because Vegas grins back, sharp and malicious.

But his expression does little to prevent Vegas when he pushes in between Pete’s legs, and gets
situated. Then his intentions become clear very quickly; Vegas wants to do this face to face.

Pete, who could think of nothing worse, grits his teeth and refuses to show any weakness at the
thought.

When Vegas’ arm wraps around Pete’s lower back, lifting him further up so that he’s now carrying
the full weight of his body, Pete exhales a sound of relief that he can’t quite smother. With the
pressure in his shoulders gone, Pete struggles to adapt to the changing situation. Even with Vegas
easing his sweatpants down underneath him and sliding on a condom, Pete is too focused on the
burning sensation in his arm sockets as it begins to fade beneath his trembling muscles.

The pleasure of relief is tangled with the hardness of his erection when Pete feels the pressure of
Vegas pressing up against his hole again.

His body gives way much quicker than before, and Pete’s skin feels hot when Vegas slides slowly,
inexorably into him as if he’s already been permanently changed by the first time.

There’s the flutter of sharp pleasure when Vegas’ cock glances off the spot that makes his blood
sing but Pete is struggling to compartmentalise all of the sensations within him at once to fully
appreciate it.

He notices straight away that the angle Vegas has positioned him at would make the rest of the
ordeal more comfortable if he were to lock his legs around Vegas’ waist. But Pete refuses to
comply, would rather let his legs dangle uselessly and awkwardly on either side of Vegas’ hips
then cling to him in any way whilst he does this. Even at the expense of extending bodily
discomfort.

Like the first time, Pete expends all of his physical and mental energy in keeping himself quiet, of
not giving Vegas the satisfaction of confirming that this is doing anything for him. But from his
perspective, Vegas doesn’t seem all that interested in the noises Pete might make anyway when he
quickly starts up a rhythm.

It's not one that matches their first time. Instead Vegas seems to linger more pointedly inside him,
to savour the sensation of dragging out each thrust, each tilt of his hips into Pete. Luckily he gets
distracted by his own cock so Pete doesn’t have to worry about maintaining eye contact. To look
away would feel like a concession, and even now Pete refuses to entertain the idea that Vegas has
beaten him.

When Vegas has been grinding into him for several minutes, quietly working Pete up to the edge,
they're interrupted by the vibration of a silenced call. Pete glances about distractedly but Vegas is
reaching behind himself, for the sweatpants still pooled around his thighs and then he’s dragging
Pete’s phone out of one of the deep pockets.
Vegas smirks as he tilts the screen towards him and Pete’s heart jumps in dread and horror when
he sees the picture of his grandmother and Vegas swipes across and answers the call, holding a
hand to Pete’s throat to make sure he doesn’t make a sound.

“Hello Grandma,” Vegas says, in a completely different tone, casual and in conflict to what he’s
currently doing. Pete can’t believe he doesn’t even sound out of breath. “I’m Pete’s friend. I wanted
to ask permission to steal Pete away for a trip. He just got time off from the main family.”

For a moment he's still processing that Vegas would dare to do such a thing, but then Vegas’ dark
eyes are flicking up and catching his own and Pete is utterly frozen in shocked rage whilst looking
at him.

Even more so when Vegas leers right back and says, “I’ll let you talk to him.”

Pete doesn’t have a moment to catch his breath before Vegas is placing the phone right by his ear.

What the hell does he expect Pete to say? This is one of Vegas’ more dangerous games.

Pete swallows heavily, trying to calm himself down, but Vegas’ cock is still in him and the
warning in the air is evident. One wrong word and Vegas will have his grandmother killed. Pete
has his home address, her address saved into his phone which Vegas obviously has access to with
Pete now as his prisoner.

“Pete!” she cries into his ear, sounding extremely happy, and so at odds with the current situation
that Pete almost wants to laugh. “Are you finally taking some time off from work? Why don’t you
come home first?”

“Yes, Grandma,” he says steadily and slowly because it’s the only way to keep his voice even.
“Sorry, yes. I got some days off. From the main family.”

Vegas is watching him intently, leaning in close and intimate so he can hear the conversation better
and Pete knows he can’t make a single misstep. At least not one that would ruin Vegas’ fun right
now.

“I miss you,” she continues, utterly oblivious to the tension in the air. “Once you’re done with your
friend, you’ll come home won’t you?”

Pete opens his mouth to reply and suddenly Vegas moves within him, snatching the words from his
mouth. He pauses, as if to convince himself it was an accident but all Vegas does is start nudging
his cock in again more firmly, grinding in deep and heightening the intensity of the moment.

“I- I-“ Pete knows he sounds strange, that if he can’t lie convincingly she might try to contact Kinn
and then Vegas will send men out to hurt or silence her but his attention is split by what Vegas is
doing to his body and struggling to keep his thoughts together. “I’ll- come home.”

And it’s so wrong what Vegas is doing. Something so utterly depraved that Pete can barely focus
on keeping any hitch in breath or sudden noises to himself whilst his grandmother talks in his ear.

“You will?”

“Yes,” Pete whispers, ashamed and disgusted with himself. His erection hasn’t flagged, not once.
Vegas isn’t fucking into him very hard, just a dirty grind that won’t make too much noise and even
like this Pete can barely keep his responses even and normal. “After- after the trip, alright?”

When Vegas leans in and licks his neck Pete has to actively struggle not to come. The humiliation
and embarrassment hits a second later when his grandmother talks again.

“Really? You really will?”

“And then we’ll both- go on a trip together,” Pete manages, trying to keep the despair out of his
voice. “Okay?”

“Okay,” she agrees, sounding delighted, and Pete feels so guilty that he hasn’t spent enough time
with her lately, and the last thing she hears from him will be most likely be a lie. “l love you.”

“I love you, Grandma,” Pete rushes out, and Vegas must realise he’s pushed Pete to the edge
because he snatches the phone away from his cheek before he can say anything else and puts it
back to his own ear.

“Thank you, Grandma,” Vegas says, still putting on that false charm like it’s nothing. “Oh and if
the main family calls can you please say Pete is home with you? He’s afraid of getting scolded for
going on a trip and we wouldn’t want to get him into trouble.”

His grandmother responds and Pete doesn’t need to hear her reply. Of course she’ll lie to protect
her grandson, she loves him. Vegas grins and hangs up a moment later, tossing the phone onto the
ground like it’s nothing, and then his arm is readjusting the grip around the base of Pete’s waist,
holding him more securely.

But Pete still glances down and sees the notifications on the screen before it goes blank again.

It’s not the first time that his grandmother has tried to call him this morning. The time is 2:03 PM
and it's Wednesday. He’s been in this dungeon for four days.

“You planned- Why did you do that?” Pete asks, once he has his breath back. “While I was talking
to my- to my-“

Vegas shrugs nonchalantly, but he’s grinning when he thrusts back into Pete, firm and unyielding.
“Wanted you distracted,” he says. “Less chance of you being able to come up with a secret code to
warn her. But mostly because it was fun.”

Pete feels a flush of anger, knowing that thought had crossed his mind before Vegas pushed into
him again and then all he could focus on was not letting his grandmother figure out what was
going on in the background.

"Did you do the same with Kinn?" Pete fires back. "He knew that I came here. He was expecting
me to return days ago."

Vegas actually laughs then. "Oh Kinn was much easier than that. All I did was send him a text
saying everything was all good then I asked for two weeks off work so you could go home and
visit your grandmother. He didn't even question it, baby, just said yes. I don't think he cares about
you that much."

Pete knows better than to believe that's the full story when Vegas lies so readily but that doesn't
mean the words don't get to him. Rage bubbles over into action, and since Vegas is still holding
him close Pete rocks forward with open teeth, aiming for flesh. He catches the meat of Vegas’
shoulder and bites down as hard as his can, making use of the only weapon in his arsenal. He bites
hard enough to break skin.

Vegas lets out a shout and thrusts into him with such particular firmness that Pete’s teeth are
dislodged but even as he falls back he can see the glint of delight in Vegas’ eyes confirming the
mistake. The bastard enjoyed Pete biting him, he likes the violence of Pete fighting back.

It’s a frustrating piece of information that he can't forget.

A second later Pete is brought back into the moment when Vegas’ hand comes down across his
stomach, anchoring his torso to get a better angle while he ruts into him. He’s far enough away
from Vegas now that he couldn’t use his teeth even if he wanted to. Vegas' prolonged strength
continues to lift him so it’s completely taken the pressure off his arms, the chains slackening
above, but Pete is still surprised by how easily Vegas manoeuvres his body.

He can feel the heat in Vegas’ fingers, the sturdiness of his forearm just above his ass which Vegas
is also using to control his pace and suddenly Pete is struck by the possessiveness of the hold. How
Vegas moves his body without any of Pete’s assistance, pinning him into place while he fucks him.

The staggering hint of ownership in it.

Pete’s never been enveloped like this before. Never had anyone in complete control of his body
either, and there’s a heaviness in his throat at the realisation, warning of strong emotion.

When he recognises that he’s going to come again, that Vegas is going to make him come again,
Pete feels a flash of panic like the first time and suddenly he’s moving, bringing his dominant leg
around and placing his foot on the back of Vegas’ upper thigh, using it as purchase to try and push
himself up and off Vegas’ cock.

It works, the head suddenly sliding out of him until Vegas realises what he’s doing and then
Vegas’ hand is tightening fiercely on his hip, dragging him back onto his cock again whilst his
other hand shifts and pushes tight against his rib cage, stealing the breath from Pete’s lungs and
gripping him tight.

Pete doesn’t get the chance to thrash before Vegas is burying deep within him with a long groan,
pressing his face into Pete’s neck and keeping him perfectly immobile whilst his hips punch
forward a few more times and he goes still.

When Pete realises Vegas has just come, he tenses up, wondering if he'll bother finishing Pete off
now that his urges have been satisfied. He hopes not, because previous experience hints that
Vegas’ attentions on him will be much worse when he’s not distracted by the goal of his own
pleasure. Pete breathes deeply, feeling the heat of Vegas’ skin, the smell of his sweat, and
swallows when Vegas’ doesn’t go to pull his cock out.

Is he not finished?

Pete tries to move in the hold again, but Vegas flexes around him and then he’s forced back into
stillness. He tries to ignore that his cock is still hard between their bodies, and that he was close to
the edge a second ago, while he waits for Vegas to look up.

To do something. Anything.

Eventually Vegas pulls back with a little groan.

“Mmm,” he murmurs softly, dragging his nose down Pete’s wounded chest before he leans over
and puts a tongue to the bud of his nipple.

Pete tries to jerk back again at the spark of heat but can’t move out of his grip and Vegas bites at
his nipple next in retaliation. Then he drags himself up, pulling away from Pete’s chest even as
their lower halves are fused together and his attention drops towards Pete’s cock.
There's a strained moment whilst Vegas seems to think things over. Then after a pause, he drags a
hand down and slides his thumb up the length of Pete’s cock. The touch is full of interest. Almost
experimental in a way.

Pete doesn’t gasp out loud but it’s a very near thing.

“Wrap yourself around me again,” Vegas commands sounding a little breathless, and Pete realises
that his previous action to try and escape must had been misunderstood as encouragement. “Both
legs this time.”

Had Vegas really thought that Pete was pulling him closer? Urging him on? Is that why he finished
so unexpectedly? The idea alarms Pete more than anything else they've done so far.

“I- I wasn’t-“

“You’re close aren’t you?” Vegas continues, eyes meeting his suddenly. “Should I make you come
or leave you like this?”

There’s no way he’ll actually take what Pete says into account but it feels like a matter of principle
that he should respond in the negative anyway. “You should leave.”

Vegas merely smiles and takes hold of his cock again, stroking him slowly. “I thought you’d say
that. You don’t like coming on my cock do you, baby?”

Pete knows that Vegas is trying to goad him but answers anyway.

“No.”

“No? Really? Or is it that you don’t like how easily I can make you come?” Vegas wonders, as his
fingers reach the tip of Pete’s cock and slide softly against the slit. Pete can hardly concentrate
even as the precome dribbles out of him. “Don’t like how I make you feel good, Is that it?”

“- no.”

Vegas locks eyes with him again and slams his hips into him hard, viciously jerking his hand down
Pete’s cock at the same time and Pete falls apart under him, orgasming so fast that his vision blurs.

He’s still panting when Vegas wipes the come on his fingers off to join the rest of the mess sliding
slowly down Pete’s stomach and then his grip relaxes around Pete’s hips when he finally pulls out.
The result being Vegas releasing Pete immediately puts the pressure back on to his arms and
shoulders again. Pete winces even as his body is rapidly cooling, loose and satisfied, and settling
from the rush of endorphins following a good orgasm.

He tries not to focus his thoughts on who brought it all out of him.

A second later his feet are suddenly touching the ground again and Pete looks up just in time to see
Vegas approaching with his dirty boxers which had been tossed into the corner of the room hours
ago. He sets the material on the floor in front of Pete’s feet for him to step back into and Pete
finally connects the missing guards and Vegas’ sudden interest in modesty and realises what he’s
doing.

“Don’t want your men to know what you’ve done to me?”

Vegas doesn’t answer but he does look up at Pete from his position on the floor and something
stirs in him at the sight of Vegas on his knees.
Despite his talk, Pete doesn’t want the guards to see him like this either so he accepts the offering,
stepping into the safety of the fabric. Vegas pulls the boxers up past his thighs until the elastic of
the band is resting on his hips again, somewhat protecting his modesty.

Pete can smell his sweat up close like this and he’s distracted by the heat of Vegas’ body again
before he draws back.

“They’re going to know either way,” Vegas says, unconcerned. “But I want the image of you
naked reserved only for me.”

Pete is about to shoot back that they’ve probably already seen parts of his body from when Vegas
was first applying the battery cables to his balls but it seems like a pointless argument right now.
Pete got want he wanted anyway. A flimsy barrier of protection.

Then Vegas leans in and takes his mouth before Pete realises he had any intentions on it.

It’s not a deep kiss but the shock of it has Pete’s lips opening automatically before his body locks
up in resistance. Struggling against scattered thoughts, Pete remembers the use of his teeth just as
Vegas pulls away with an almost supernatural intuition for danger and Pete’s unable to show his
true feelings on the matter.

Despite that, Pete spits curses at him anyway but Vegas has already crossed the room by then and
he can only watch in dissatisfaction as Vegas walks out without another word. Pete glances up and
sees the new slackness in the chains above him which means Vegas must have decided to leave the
winch as it is after he loosened it.

It's not an act of kindness but Pete decides to take the reprieve without question and experimentally
rolls his shoulders to try and ease off the discomfort in his muscles. It's incredible to have his feet
back on the ground again.

He’s incredibly stiff and sore but there is a notable difference in the position now that his arm
joints aren’t holding the weight of his entire body. His breathing eases off into something steadier
without the pressure too. Pete wants to try and reassess the room again, looking for anything that
might have changed since Vegas’ last visit but he's so exhausted from the lack of proper sleep, the
awkward position hanging from the ceiling and from the multiple fuckings that he can hardly keep
his eyes open.

He takes a deep breath, resolving to rest for a few minutes before seeing what else can be done for
the situation.

But exhaustion is stronger than his will and Pete falls into another fitful doze.

The sound of the door opening drags Pete reluctantly back into alertness.

He’s lost track of time again, has no idea how long he slept for bar the fact that he doesn’t feel well
rested. But he's alert enough to spot the way the first bodyguard pulls up short when he steps back
into the room again, expression twisting. Pete is confused for a second by the flash of shock on the
man’s face as he stands there frozen. The second guard nudges at his back.

“Oat, what is-?”

Oat steps aside almost automatically to let his partner into the room and the second bodyguard with
hair long enough to tie into a ponytail takes two more steps before he pulls up short as well.

Pete watches them exchange glances with one another, seeming to communicate some kind of
understanding, and then to Pete’s utter surprise the both of them flick their gazes over to him and
meet his eyes for the first time since he was dragged in here unconscious.

Their expressions are a surprising mixture of anger and revulsion.

That’s when Pete figures it out. This was what Vegas meant when he said they would know what
happened even without having to see Pete naked.

He glances down at himself and tries to imagine it from their perspective, noting the dried come on
his stomach, the splatter of bodily fluids on the ground in front of him. On Pete’s next breath he
finally notices how strongly the room reeks of sweet, blood and sex. He’d become used to it
without any conscious effort.

Pete flushes as the heat hits his face but realises there’s a sense of power here when he meets their
eyes again and the bodyguards quickly drop their gazes and move carefully over to their posts
without another word.

He can actually see the source of hesitation in their body language. They know exactly what Vegas
has done to him and it’s shame that has them dropping their eyes from his own. They do still
consider him a bodyguard. And Vegas’ use of him has crossed an unimaginable line. Pete feels a
flicker of vindictive pleasure before rational sense kicks in.

He may have their sympathy, but no matter how much they disapprove of the situation there's no
chance they’ll go against Vegas. It's not worth their lives.

Pete still hopes seeing him like this has shaken the foundation of their loyalty though. Vegas could
stand to have some of his men turn against him. It would be fitting karma at least.

Since there’s no other acknowledgment from the bodyguards, Pete goes back to ignoring them and
lets his mind wander instead because it’s the only thing keeping him from sinking into despair. It
helps to take his mind away from the room, to think of other places and better times.

More than once his thoughts settle on his grandma, and their home in Nong Kwai. Not for the first
time, Pete is glad that half of his pay check is sent through to her. If he dies, Pete can be sure that
Kinn will do the honourable thing and take care of her. Maybe even Porsche. Pete knows he can't
entrust the task to his uncles.

That’s if they ever discover his body though. Maybe they’ll assume Pete quit or that he ran away
though he can’t imagine Kinn won’t have doubts about that story. He’s surprised Kinn didn’t
question it further when Vegas sent that text to him. Things must be pretty bad at the main family
home if Kinn missed something like that.

Pete would never have resolved things in a text. He’d have returned to debrief Kinn in person.
Even if Kinn has no suspicions, they’ll start to grow when Pete doesn’t return after the two weeks.
Maybe sooner if Tankhun catches wind of it. Tankhun, who questions everything. At the very least
Pete is certain the eldest brother will be in his corner since he’s fiercely protective of the
bodyguard’s on his detail. And Pete’s been with him for years.

They’re going to know something is wrong eventually. It’s just a question of when. But time is the
one thing Pete doesn’t have an abundance of. He’s still waiting for Vegas to be done with him. To
toss him away like he did Tawan.

There’s no telling when that will happen.

Pete thinks it’s been about an hour when Vegas slinks back into the room. The bodyguards don’t
say anything at his entrance but Pete can feel the tension from them. The unsaid accusation in their
eyes.

It doesn’t make him feel any better about what Vegas has done but he won’t deny there’s a small
measure of comfort in the thought.

“Bring him to the East room.”

Vegas hands Oat the key and both he and the ponytail guard approach Pete while Vegas unspools
the chain further. Pete almost cries out in relief when he has enough slack to finally lower his arms
completely. His muscles are so stiff that he can only make small movements, shaking the whole
time as his cuffed hands drop to hang in front of his stomach.

The ponytail bodyguard grips his upper arm to hold him whilst separating the cuffs from the long
chain. Pete feels a rush of excitement, of adrenaline from being disconnected from it even as
apprehension swirls in his gut. Oat stays out of reach as the ponytail bodyguard drags at Pete’s arm
to encourage him forward.

Pete stumbles at the first step because he hasn’t walked anywhere in days. His legs are shaky from
exhaustion, the empty hollow of his stomach eating up his remaining energy as the ponytail
bodyguard drags him from the room. They turn right, towards the familiar route taken to the toilet
but they don't stop at the usual door and the second bodyguard simply tugs him past it when Pete
tries to slow down.

Puzzled, Pete glances over his shoulder to see Oat at his back and realises that he’s intentionally
keeping his distance. Because he’s the one in possession of the key. It mattered more to Pete when
he was attached to that unbreakable chain but when it’s just the cuffs around his aching wrists, the
key is suddenly not so important. Pete can still do a lot in just cuffs.

They don’t walk much further until the ponytail bodyguard stops in front of an unfamiliar door and
Oat reaches them and opens it, taking up posts on the other side of the doorway.

Pete peers in and it immediately becomes obvious that they're at a bathroom with a shower, not just
a toilet and there’s a reason for that.

When the ponytail bodyguard releases his arm and Pete feels the hot brand of Vegas’ palm nudging
between his shoulder blades, pushing him forward, Pete stumbles into the room with the warning
of Vegas closely at his back.

It’s clear that Vegas intends to clean him up a little after yesterday.

The thought makes Pete nervous because it implies a sense of permanence to the situation. Vegas
wouldn’t care about his cleanliness if he wasn’t intending to keep him long. Pete knows he smells
of blood, sweat and sex but Vegas doesn’t strike him as someone with a particularly sensitive nose.

There's a hint of finality to it. So much that the act of Vegas having him cleaned up is enough for
Pete to suspect he intends to keep him.

The thought instills such horror in him that Pete doesn’t notice when the door closes behind them
both but he does notice when Vegas seizes the edge of his dirty boxers and drags them past his
knees in one rough movement.

Pete jerks back to elbow him automatically but Vegas is too quick for him, nudging Pete forward
so that he stumbles out of the boxers now around his ankles. Pete tries to turn around but Vegas is
already pushing him into the shower.

He stumbles once on the tiles and hits the wall, turning quickly to survey the rest of the
surroundings. Outside the stall there’s a toilet, a sink and mirror cabinet but Pete’s attention falls
immediately on the window above the toilet itself.

It’s small. Too small for him to comfortably jump up and climb through, even cuffed as he is but
it’s not completely impossible. Pete thinks he could fit through the window.

The only rub is the amount of time he’ll need to do it, which means Vegas has to be out of the
picture while he makes the attempt. Pete considers the restriction of moves he can achieve with
hands restrained, especially those that would knock Vegas out quickly. His options are fairly
limited, solely due to the fact that Vegas moves too fast for Pete to effectively get the drop on him
in the small space.

If Pete wants to take him on it’s not going to be swift and efficient. It’s going to be violent and
messy and Pete isn’t confident he can overwhelm Vegas without him alerting the guards first.
There’s the mirror too, which Pete could smash Vegas’ head against but the threat in that scenario
is the noise it would make. Same goes for the glass doors of the shower stall.

Any contact with them will make a substantial amount of noise too.

For another second he considers the room, trying to see if there’s any kind of weapons he can use
instead, but it’s pretty much been stripped bare. There is a towel rack secured to the wall that he
might be able to slam Vegas’ head against, but that would involve manoeuvring him over there in
the first place and Pete doesn’t have the best range of motion with his hands cuffed.

Although it is much better to have them in front of his chest rather than restrained behind his back.
Except Pete suspects they’ve only left him like this to make it easier to clean himself.

In the short few seconds while Pete considers his options, he glances down to inspect the new cuffs
more thoroughly. This pair is tighter on his wrists, which limits his range of motion further but
there is a notch in the design which allows for the slot of a key; a lock mechanism means that it
can be picked. If of course Pete had a safety pin or something thin and long enough, which he
doesn’t.

When he glances up again at Vegas, his shirt is untucked and he’s in the middle of unbuttoning his
pants, shucking off the clothing as quickly as he can.

Pete flushes hard when he realises what is Vegas intending.

It doesn’t look like he will be showering alone.

For a second Pete glances at the nozzle, longing for the coolness of fresh running water before his
stubbornness kicks in. Maybe there’s a chance he can quietly force his way past Vegas whilst he’s
still getting undressed. He’d have to improvise with the two men standing guard at the door but
Pete thinks he might be able to do it. Even if he doesn’t really relish the thought of fighting without
clothing.

Nevertheless now is the optimal time to try, with Vegas distracted.

Pete barely makes the decision, stepping toward the opening of the shower door before Vegas is
striding towards him utterly naked now and resolved to getting his way.

Almost unwillingly, his eyes drop quickly from Vegas' face, past his sculpted chest, before resting
on his bare cock. Immediately Pete’s thoughts scatter at the sight of it and he’s startled enough at
seeing Vegas so completely exposed for the first time that he takes an unthinking step back.

Vegas presses the advantage and suddenly he’s crowding Pete back into the shower stall, trapping
him there in the enclosed space. Pete drags his eyes away from Vegas’ soft cock and tries to
reassess the situation, but Vegas is already closing the glass door, sealing them both in and he
knows he’s just lost the opportunity.

Pete curses himself for passing it up but understands why he was so disconcerted. Vegas has been
inside him twice already, but this is the first time he’s actually had a look at Vegas’ cock. Even
soft, Pete is startled at the idea that this is the appendage which fit inside his body. In his brief,
cursory glance, Pete could easily say that Vegas is above average.

Although he clearly noticed the inspection, Vegas doesn’t say anything when he presses forward
but Pete knows better than to let Vegas get behind him. This is the most unrestrained he’s been
since the first time and Pete has no intention of letting Vegas rut into him again. Of making Pete
fall apart underneath him.

So he backs himself further into the shower stall. At least Pete has his legs now, his arms more or
less free. And he wants to fight Vegas. Even in the slick conditions of the wet floor, he’s at least
better prepared to defend himself.

He’s expecting Vegas to try and pin him down somehow, to turn him so he’s face first against the
tiles so Vegas can work his cock back into him again.

Pete isn’t expecting Vegas to kiss him on the mouth.

Vegas’ kiss is slick and hot, and Pete hates the immediate jerk of arousal in his gut that responds to
it. More than anything that’s what has Pete wrenching his face back, shoving vehemently at
Vegas’ chest.

When Vegas moves forward again, Pete automatically backs up against the wall. But Vegas merely
reaches around him and switches on the water at the faucet. Pete feels only a few stray drops,
having not been standing under the shower head, but once Vegas has adjusted to the temperature he
likes, he merely snags his hand atop the link connecting the two cuffs together and drags Pete back
toward him.

Pete inhales sharply at the sensation of heat, wincing a little as the water cascades in rivulets over
the scabbed sores on his wounded chest, the tender skin of his chaffed wrists. His balls are still just
as sensitive with the leftover electrical burns and he has to bite his lip to keep from wincing.

With his free hand, Vegas drags his fingers through Pete’s hair again, suddenly pushing the wet
fringe away from his forehead. His hair doesn’t cooperate how Vegas wants, it’s too short for that
but Vegas doesn’t seem to mind as he twists more of it off his face, pulling the curtain away from
him.

Pete can’t help but notice that Vegas is looking at him very intently again. Just like he’s done the
last few times when he’s pushed Pete’s hair back.

“Surprisingly good looking,” Vegas remarks softly. “Beneath the terrible haircut you’re hiding
under.”

Pete spits a curse at him but Vegas ignores it and scoops up the bottle of body wash tucked into the
corner of the shower cubby. He doesn't bother to defend his hair, because his grandmother likes to
cut it and he lets her because she's always worrying that she's not doing enough for him. Pete is still
glaring at Vegas when he looks up again and grins at him, all teeth.

“Want me to soap up your back, Pete?”

Does he really think that Pete is that stupid? That he trusts Vegas won't try something with the both
of them in there naked?

“Like hell I’m turning around.”

Vegas doesn’t respond but squirts a decent amount of the body wash into his hand before tucking
the bottle back into the cubby. Then he rubs his hands together and spreads the liquid out.

When he reaches forward, Pete backs up automatically out of the spray of water but Vegas merely
follows and puts his hands on Pete’s neck, massaging the liquid which rapidly foams up across his
wet skin. When Vegas rubs his hands down Pete’s shoulders and arms, he's surprised to notice
Vegas intentionally avoiding the wounds on his chest.

The whole time he's touching him Pete is tensed, and has his hands tucked up against his sternum
between their bodies, ready to push Vegas back if he tries to do anything beyond simple cleaning.

Vegas tucks his palms up underneath Pete’s wrists a second later and Pete almost pushes back
before he realises Vegas is rubbing at the skin of his abdomen where he’s covered in the remnants
of his own dried come.

Pete flushes a little at the reminder, at the indignity of having to rely on Vegas for this because
Vegas wasn’t stupid enough to give him the full use of his own damn hands. When Vegas’ soapy
fingers drop into the nestle of his pubes and hit the base of his cock, Pete jolts at the sensation and
when Vegas goes further and wraps a hand around him, Pete shoves his hands forward to slam into
Vegas’ chest.

Just as at the same time Vegas’ free hand grabs onto his testicles which are still sensitive and
covered in burns from recent contact with live battery cables.

Pete loses the strength of the hit immediately at the rush of pain, half sagging against Vegas when
he surges forward, releasing his cock and balls, taking hold of Pete’s hips and sliding his hands
back towards Pete’s ass.

He grunts at the touch, jerking away and stumbling back, and they stagger against the wall of the
shower together, Vegas crowding up against him and not giving Pete an inch.

When Vegas presses his forehead up against Pete’s, sliding his hands up Pete’s cheeks and rubbing
at his lower back, he remembers Vegas came all over that spot and that’s why he’s singled out the
area. Pete doesn’t dare to trust that’s all he’s trying to do and it’s a tense few minutes whilst Vegas
finishes rubbing soap onto his skin.

Once he’s finished Vegas takes hold of the chain link again and steps back into the spray, dragging
Pete under the water with him.

The body wash slides off his skin and Pete winces only a little when some of the suds from his
neck dribble across the open sores on his chest, and when the hot water hits his balls again. At least
he no longer has the stiff sensation of dried come on his skin which is hardly a blessing
considering the circumstances. At least he thinks so until Vegas’ hands drop to his ass again.

Pete tries to bring his knee up into Vegas’ crotch even as he clenches his hands into fists and
strikes at his sternum again. Vegas dodges to the side, managing to catch the cuffs and pin Pete’s
hands to the wall, avoiding Pete’s knee as he shoves at his chest and nudges Pete into the corner of
the shower stall.

Pete doesn’t know what he’s expecting but he definitely loses his train of thought when Vegas
drags his wrists lower, pinning them awkwardly to his right side against the wall before dropping
to his knees in front of Pete.

He manages to pin one of Pete’s feet under his knee, reaching out and seizing hold of his free ankle
and securing him there.

Pete has a second to recognise Vegas is holding him there for a reason when Vegas presses his face
into Pete’s crotch and nuzzles at his soft cock. It's shock that has Pete letting out a strangled sound,
feeling the hot breath of Vegas stir across his cock followed by the heat of his tongue.

He’s not- he couldn’t possibly-

Vegas drags his mouth further along his shaft, lowering himself until he reaches the head. Pete has
a brief second where his body jerks into action, arms tugging at the pressure of Vegas’ hand
restraining them, knees jerking forward before Vegas’ grip on his ankle tightens, his weight
pressing more firmly against Pete’s other foot, the force of it now painful. He watches Vegas’
biceps flex with the strength of holding him down and Pete knows he can’t escape Vegas’ mouth.
Not with the wall at his back and Vegas right in front of him.

The only upper hand Pete has is that he’s not currently hard yet. But that brief consideration is lost
when Vegas digs his tongue into the sensitive slit without warning and sucks the head of Pete’s
cock into his mouth.

Pete inhales sharply at the sensation, his cock twitching as it rapidly begins to fill with blood from
Vegas’ expert ministrations. He’s done this before, Pete thinks stupidly, as Vegas massages
distractingly at his ankle while he sucks him, not bothering to take more into his mouth with Pete
only half hard and still stiffening up.

The shower tiles are cold against his back, the muscle under his left armpit straining from having
his forearm crossed over his chest and stomach and Pete’s wrists are chaffing against the cuffs. The
pressure of Vegas’ hand crushing them to the tiles is beginning to make the bones in his wrists ache
and Pete is starting to get pins and needles in the foot Vegas is kneeling on top of but all of these
minor discomforts are not enough to distract from Vegas’ hot mouth between his legs.

He knows when he’s become fully erect because Vegas shifts his knee off of Pete’s foot and rises
up a little higher, the back of his thighs now resting on the balls of his feet as he adjusts the angle,
opens his mouth wider and starts easing his lips along the shaft of Pete’s cock as he takes more of
it down his throat.

Pete is only able to watch him for a second before he realises what he’s doing and the sight is
much too tantalising for his brain. After that he tilts his chin up and focuses on the ceiling instead,
blinking rapidly as if he’s still standing under the spray of the shower.

His right foot is slowly coming back online now that Vegas isn’t crushing it with his weight but
even so there aren’t many moves he could do in the close quarters beyond kicking Vegas, and
judging from the strength in his arms and how he’s still holding Pete down and not giving him an
inch, Pete wouldn’t be able to generate enough momentum to force Vegas into releasing him with
one blow anyway.

And with his cock so far in Vegas’ mouth, in his throat, Pete doesn’t dare to do anything that could
possibly startle him into using his teeth. The situation is much too vulnerable for that. The best he
can do is withstand Vegas’ sudden urge to blow him.

Vegas hollows his cheeks suddenly, sucking hard and Pete feels the flush of heat in his skin whilst
he tries to hold back a noise. Vegas obviously already knows that he’s good at this, Pete would
rather die than give him the satisfaction of confirming it.

When Vegas eases off again, scraping his teeth lightly against the underside of Pete’s shaft, he has
to bite his lip to keep still and resist thrusting back in deep again. But thankfully Vegas doesn’t
seem particularly interested in teasing him when he eases off suckling at the head before opening
his throat and taking Pete down to the root.

Pete can’t help it. He tilts his head back and closes his eyes as Vegas deepthroats him, surrendering
to the slick pleasure of Vegas’ mouth. He hasn’t been sucked in so long, and Vegas seems to know
he won’t last much longer. Seems to like performing the act from the way he lingers at the base of
Pete’s cock, taking him with the kind of finesse that a person wouldn’t be able to if they hadn’t
done it before.

Pete is almost shredding his lip from biting so hard, when Vegas eases off and starts off a steady
rhythm instead of playing with him like he was before. Suddenly his fingers are stroking up the
skin of Pete’s ankle whilst he bobs his head and the suction, the heat, is sparking along his cock so
nicely that Pete isn’t able to resist moving his hips with the motion of Vegas’ talented mouth.

He doesn’t notice Vegas’ hand is still moving until it’s underneath his thigh and he’s lifting Pete’s
leg up.

Pete struggles to concentrate for a second, putting his weight on his remaining leg when Vegas
deepthroats him again and ducks in under his thigh to rest it against his shoulder, the base of Pete’s
foot now touching Vegas’ lower back. Pete feels a flush of embarrassment at the open position but
Vegas’ hand is on his hip now and his head is bobbing between his legs a little faster and the
moment of feeling exposed gets lost under the power of constricting heat and pressure.

He can feel that he’s getting close, Pete’s fingers automatically twitching in the cuffs because he
wants to move them. Wants to tangle them in Vegas’ hair and make him take his cock the way Pete
wants. If he had his hands free, Pete would be controlling the rhythm, the pace. He would be the
one in control of Vegas’ mouth.

He startles when Vegas’ fingers brush against his balls, a twinge of pain mixing in with the
pleasure, enough of a distraction for Pete to realise his hips are actually moving in tandem with
Vegas, chasing after his mouth every time he eases back before swallowing him down again.

Pete is so tangled up he can’t remember if he should be staying still or not but then he feels the
drag of Vegas’ fingertips across his hole, the unexpected zing of sensitivity and pressure, and then
he’s coming hard into Vegas’ mouth with a groan.

The last remaining portion of his strength leaves his body, sapped by Vegas’ skill and there’s black
spots dancing across his open eyes when he’s finished spurting.

His legs are shaky when Vegas hums around his cock and pulls off, spitting Pete’s seed onto the
tiles and Pete flushes at the sight of it before it’s washed down the drain with the rest of the
running water. Vegas lifts his leg up again and sets it back down on the ground, releasing Pete’s
wrists as he rocks to his feet and meets Pete’s eyes.

Pete is panting heavily as he breaks eye contact and slides down the tiles, no longer able to support
himself and feeling like he’s on the brink of passing out from the heat of the steam, from the state
of dehydration and starvation. Pete’s body has endured more in the past few days then he’s
experienced all at once before and it’s left him impossibly weak. He lets his eyes flutter shut again
as he gets his breath back and sits down on the floor.

A moment later he can hear the wet sounds of Vegas jerking himself off but Pete is too exhausted
now to bother to watch what he’s doing.

He doesn’t really care, so long as Vegas isn’t expecting Pete to return the favour. If he’s fool
enough for that Pete will absolutely make use of his teeth to dissuade him from the idea. Vegas
sounds close, Pete recognises the signs of that now, so if he’s not trying to put it back in Pete or get
Pete to use his hands to finish him off, then he doesn’t really care what Vegas is doing.

At least Pete thinks so until he’s completely taken by surprise from the sudden spatter of warm
come against his nose and cheeks, dripping down his lips and chin when Vegas shoots all over his
face. Sputtering in disgust, Pete jerks away, mouth parting unthinkingly as he tries to move
towards the water and wash it off but Vegas’ hand is on his neck dragging him back up on his feet
and Pete barely has a second to feel the sensation of come catching on his lips before Vegas is
kissing him, forcing his mouth open wider.

When the salty taste of it reaches his tongue, Pete realises Vegas isn’t kissing him just for the sake
of it, especially when Vegas drags a thumb across his cheek and pushes at the corner of Pete’s
mouth as well, smearing more of his come between them.

Pete’s stomach rolls but Vegas’ tongue is in his mouth and he can’t open his eyes because he’s
covered in come and it’s some precious seconds wasted before he manages to push him away
again.

Vegas reels back, when Pete dives under the spray, madly rubbing his face clean. He uses the
water to rinse his mouth out and spits a few times but it’s not enough to get rid of it completely. He
knows the distinct flavour of Vegas’ semen now.

Vegas watches the whole thing in satisfied silence, grinning at him and Pete has never wanted to
kill another man so badly in his life.

“How’d I taste?” Vegas wonders casually with an innocent expression like he doesn’t know what
he’s just done.

Pete stands up and doesn’t answer, ducking under the spray and washing more thoroughly in case
some of Vegas’ load got in his hair as well. When Vegas makes the mistake of approaching him
again Pete feints a kick at his left side and when Vegas moves to dodge, he brings up his right arm
and elbows Vegas directly in the face.

He hits hard enough that Vegas staggers into the glass of the stall which rattles so loudly Pete
wonders if it will break but Vegas quickly finds his feet again and the glass eventually resettles.

There’s a loud thump against the door, an open question, and Vegas waves a hand dismissively as
if the bodyguards stationed there can see it.
“All good,” he calls out, still looking at Pete.

Pete doesn’t look away from Vegas’ bloody mouth, he must have split his lip with the strike, but
his attention is solely focused on his eyes. It’s a lesson he had to learn. Pete should never have
taken his attention off Vegas. Not ever. Not for even a second when they’re in the same room.

He shouldn’t have assumed that Vegas would only jerk himself off without involving Pete in some
way. It’s a mistake he won’t make again.

And from the way Vegas grins at him, all bloodied teeth and wild eyes, it looks like he learned a
lesson of his own too. Maybe he won’t be underestimating Pete again either.

They’re both silent for a moment, Pete staring him down like he would a poisonous snake, Vegas
eyeing him like he wants peel back his flesh and climb into him.

A breath passes before Vegas spits again, blood spattering the tiles before wiping at his mouth like
it’s nothing. His constitution for pain is only part of the tapestry Pete is beginning to weave about
his childhood. He has no doubt that Vegas inflicting pain on others, holding them at his mercy and
under his control, is a way of governing his own trauma.

A way to reassert as sense of power because it’s always been taken from him, because Vegas
refuses to be made helpless.

“Worth it. Painting your face like that,” Vegas decides a moment later, still smiling at him. “You
were so wet in my mouth when I was sucking you earlier. I bet it was worth it for you too.”

Pete glares at him but knows his cheeks are still flushed. He can’t deny it was enjoyable, Vegas
will only say worse things if he lies.

Pete is a pretty shitty liar on a good day, and Vegas is always watching him so intently, slowly
learning all of his most obvious tells.

“Fuck you, Vegas,” he says, because even if Vegas is right, that doesn’t mean he’s not angry.

Though the blood trickling down Vegas’ lip is making him feel marginally better.

“Let’s get you dressed,” Vegas says, ignoring his words, and stepping out of the shower stall to
wrap a towel around his hips. Pete refuses to look at his bare cock again. “You and I can have
some more fun later.”

It’s a sign that his world has completely fallen apart that Pete doesn’t even bother to argue with
him. Just switches off the faucet and shuffles over to the towel rack to select one for himself.

Vegas goes to the exit next, without even bothering to be concerned about turning his back to Pete
and cracks the door open. Oat passes him some folded clothing that Pete doesn’t recognise and it
isn’t until Vegas has shut the door again and approached Pete who is in the middle of drying
himself off that he fully understands the new clothes are for him.

Vegas has definitely adjusted his attitude towards him then. Is this really all because he fucked
Pete?

Pete ignores him and continues drying himself so Vegas shrugs and sets the clothes down on top of
the sink counter. As Vegas gets redressed, Pete watches him out of the corner of his eye the entire
time, expecting him to approach again. When he eventually moves back towards where Pete’s
boxers are he bends down to pick them up and tosses them in the laundry bin beside the sink.
Pete watches him in silence.

“Need to piss?” Vegas asks, glancing down with interest at Pete’s cock.

It seems pointless to bother to cover himself. Looking is preferable to touching anyway. Even with
Pete's limited strength right now, he’ll hit Vegas first before he dares to get his hands on him
again.

“No,” Pete says shortly and doesn’t mention that he hasn’t been given water since yesterday
morning.

Maybe he will die of dehydration after all. At the very least it would inconvenience Vegas, which
is especially appealing to him.

“Pity,” Vegas says, still looking at his cock. “I would have been happy to assist.”

Pete’s temper flares. “I can still piss with my hands cuffed.”

“Not if they’re behind your back,” Vegas says pleasantly, as if he’s looking for the opportunity.

There's no denying he's taken aback by the suggestion for a second. Vegas is more disgusting than
he thought.

“You want to watch me piss?”

Vegas only grins. “Not particularly,” he admits. “But I do love to watch you squirm.”

Pete drops the towel and lunges for his throat, but Vegas laughs and darts out of his reach, his eyes
alight with gratification. Pete manages to get control of himself again and picks up the fresh
boxers, stepping carefully into them. He’s still moving like an old man, his body aching all over.
So much worse than any training session he’s had when he was a recruit.

The other set of clothing turns out to be a pair of sweatpants which Pete tries to unfold without
openly wincing. Moving his arms too far pulls on the scabs across his chest. Vegas shrugs and
takes the sweatpants from him, bending down to work Pete’s feet into them.

“You’re dressing me?”

Vegas doesn’t respond. Once he’s got them on Pete’s ankles, he starts the tug the fabric up his legs
until they’re settled against his hips. Pete notices that his thumb lingers on his tattoo longer than
necessary.

After that he’s almost glad that there wasn’t a shirt. Pete doesn’t want Vegas any closer than he
already is and he doesn’t think he’d be able to handle the sensation of fabric against his injuries
either. The scabs on his chest have softened in the shower and Pete knows from experience that
one wrong move can have the skin tearing open again.

At least they’re a little bit cleaner now. It’s probably a good thing that he leaves them uncovered so
they can breathe.

“Shall we?” Vegas asks, gesturing at the door like he’s inviting Pete to dinner instead of taking
him back to his torture dungeon.

Pete is too weary to respond.

When Pete is returned to the room, the first thing he notices is that the smell is gone. One of the
windows behind the columns is open, letting in the breeze from outside and someone has cleaned
up all traces of the dried semen on the floor.

The table has been moved into the centre of the room, along with one of the chairs that used to rest
on the wall. Pete stares at it cagily, his suspicions mounting when Vegas nods at Oat who leaves
the room and Vegas encourages him down to sit.

Pete is forced into the chair because his legs aren’t strong enough to resist Vegas’ hands on his
shoulders. Immediately, with his hands out of sight, Pete begins fiddling with the cuffs, trying to
tuck his thumb in preparation to dislocate it when Vegas drops a hand into his lap.

Pete jumps in surprise but Vegas merely grabs the connection of the cuffs and pulls Pete’s hands
up from underneath, resting them on the table.

“Hands where we can see them, baby,” he murmurs at his ear and Pete’s chest swoops with
murderous rage as he turns to look at him.

They smile thinly at one another, as Vegas suddenly reconnects the cuff to the long chain so his
movements are back to being limited to the room again. Pete is disappointed with himself that he
didn’t think to drag his hands away and make it harder for him but he’s too weak to cause Vegas
much trouble anymore and that is a frightening thought.

Vegas doesn’t say anything else once he’s re-secured, standing at Pete’s side whilst they wait for
the return of Oat. Pete is too tired to wonder what he’s doing.

But he smells it first before Oat's return confirms it.

Food. Hot food. Pete can almost taste the lemongrass, the shrimp, the tang of chilli.

Soup. Hot and Sour soup. When Oat enters carrying a bowl, a fork and spoon in his grip, Pete
actually starts salivating. It gets worse when he deposits the bowl in front of him on the table.

Pete couldn’t be more astonished if he tried. Oat sets the spoon and fork down too and Pete looks
at them immediately, noting that they’re flimsy plastic utensils. So Vegas isn’t entirely stupid
enough to give him a weapon.

Pete still lingers on how satisfying it would have been to pick up the fork and stab it into whatever
part of Vegas’ skin he could make contact with. Vegas is looking at him now, waiting, and Pete
knows for sure that the food is for him.

Despite his hunger, Pete still considers the advantages of not eating for a second. He doubts it’s
poisoned but he knows he’s very weak at the moment, extremely dehydrated and much closer to
death than he’s ever been before. Eating will be a step in the opposite direction.

A symbol of his acceptance of the situation.

And while Vegas appears to be treating him better than he did initially it’s obvious he still intends
to fuck him. What’s to happen next if he displeases Vegas? Will it be back to battery cables and
whips?

“I didn’t poison it,” Vegas says unnecessarily, as if Pete will actually believe him.
While he's mulling over his options, Pete picks up the spoon and stirs through the surface of the
soup, realising very quickly that the garnish of shrimp and vegetables on top is the only solid food
in the bowl. The rest is just the soup broth.

He assumes this is based on Vegas’ instructions. After so many days without any kind of food even
this meagre amount will be enough to overwhelm his digestive system. The fact that Vegas knows
this well enough to restrict the portion of solid food means he’s probably starved people before.

Pete makes his decision and sets the spoon back down against the rim of the bowl without eating a
thing and stares at Vegas, wordlessly not backing down.

Vegas smiles at him as if this was to be expected before he leans down to whisper in his ear. “You
either eat this now, baby, or you learn what it’s like to sit on my cock for hours on end, keeping me
warm until that bowl is empty. But either way you’re going to eat.”

Pete jerks his head back.

“Can you guess which method I want to try?” Vegas wonders and Pete turns away, picking up the
spoon so fast that it clacks audibly against the ceramic.

Vegas grins, squeezes Pete’s shoulder once in a misleadingly friendly gesture and walks over to the
door.

“If he doesn’t finish it, come and get me,” he says to Oat. “Oh and careful of that bowl when he’s
done. He’ll be trying to smash it over your head.”

Pete hisses out an angry sound because unfortunately Vegas is right about his intentions. It’s very
unlucky for him to be a prisoner of a man who seems to think as much about potential attacks and
methods of escape as he does.

He refocuses on the food in front of him and resolves to enjoy it despite the circumstances. It does
smell delicious after all. Pete scoops a spoonful of the broth and lifts it to his mouth to taste.

Despite the lack of shrimp and vegetables, the broth is still full of flavour, as if it was originally
cooked with all the proper ingredients and strained for the broth only. Pete has to admit whoever
the cook is, they’ve obviously got a talented chef on their payroll. He lets the taste swim in his
mouth, washing out the faint traces of blood and Vegas’ come from his palate.

It takes three more spoonfuls before he can’t taste them at all. Only the broth is in his mouth now.
Pete takes it slowly to give his stomach time to adjust and to signal when he reaches fullness. He
has no doubt that his capacity has shrunk after not eating for days.

It takes him nearly an hour to finish the bowl and by then the broth has cooled and Pete is
becoming concerned that he won’t be able to finish it at all and Vegas will take that as an incentive
to make good on his threat.

Pete wasn’t entirely certain of his meaning when Vegas bent to whisper in his ear but he’s sure
when he said he’d sit Pete on his cock for hours he didn’t mean he’d be fucking him the entire
time.

‘Keeping me warm,’ Vegas’ voice seems to repeat in his ear and Pete flushes, realising the idea is
just to prolong the duration of penetration. For something like that Vegas’ intention wouldn’t be to
come at all because he wouldn’t be able to stay continuously hard that way.

It’s obviously meant to be something enjoyable for Vegas and uncomfortable for Pete, so why
would he suggest something like that? Pete knows about edging at least, so the idea seems
somewhat similar even if he doesn’t quite understand it. Is the sensation of Vegas’ cock just being
inside Pete as enjoyable as the act of fucking? It must be, otherwise Vegas wouldn’t have
suggested it.

He feels his naivete for a moment, and is annoyed with himself for not making more of an effort to
learn once he found out Kinn was gay. His ignorance in all of this is only a danger to himself.

Pete finally empties the bowl of liquid and discovers that those small morsels of solid food are
going to be too much for his stomach.

He manages to eat a shrimp before his body is pushing at overfullness so Pete is forced to leave the
remaining vegetables where they are, abandoning the spoon and fork along with them. The
bodyguards don’t say anything and since Pete is sitting down for the first time in days, he
immediately takes advantage of it, dropping his head onto the table's surface, leaving his cuffed
hands visible above his head and letting his eyes close.

It’s a testament to his exhaustion that he falls asleep like that, the position only marginally more
comfortable than falling asleep standing up or dangling off the ground.

Pete is out like a light.

When he wakes up the bowl and utensils are gone and Vegas thankfully hasn’t returned to carry
out his threat. Pete doesn’t take that as confirmation he’s safe though. Once he’s fully cognizant
and noticed that the bodyguard shift has changed again, one of the guards lifts him out of the seat
whilst the other pushes the empty table back into its original position.

Once he’s out of the chair they move that too so Pete is forced to stand.

They disconnect him from the chain and lead him back to the bathroom again. Pete is completely
confused until one of the guards is handing him a toothbrush and encouraging him over to the sink.
There’s toothpaste wedged between the taps so Pete uncaps it and squeezes some out onto the
toothbrush, turning on the taps to wet the bristles before he puts it into his mouth.

Pete watches the bodyguards out of the corner of his eye the entire time but they don’t make a
move towards him so he’s largely left alone to finish cleaning his mouth out. He wonders if Vegas
had them do this so he can kiss him without having to worry about the logistics of things like bad
breath.

The thought doesn't embarrass him. Pete has gotten worse at judging his own cleanliness after
sitting in it for so many days and thinking he was going to die. Cleaning his teeth seems relatively
low on the list of priorities.

That’s not to say he doesn’t feel some relief when he spits into the sink and rinses his mouth out
with the water from the tap.

Pete leaves the toothbrush and toothpaste back on the sink, figuring the bodyguards aren’t
inexperienced enough to let him take it with him. Once he’s finished, he approaches the doorway
where they’re waiting and lets them lead him back towards Vegas’ dungeon.

He considers trying something before they connect the cuffs back to the chain again but one of the
bodyguards is anticipating this and nudges the back of his knee with enough force that Pete
crumples to the ground, half kneeling, when the other bodyguard smoothly locks the chain into
place on his cuffs.

Pete sighs in frustration and climbs back to his feet once they're done, glancing over at the
bodyguards who are now at their posts and back to ignoring him. Since they didn’t wind the chain
any tighter, Pete can keep his hands lowered at his waist and there’s enough slack for him to pace
the room without being able to reach anything useful. It's enough to make him feel like a tiger
trapped in a cage.

Eventually one of the bodyguards flicks his eyes over to the column he was first chained against
and Pete realises it’s the only thing still within his reach. Evidently the bodyguards have been
talking to one another about Vegas’ treatment because they haven’t done anything like this to help
him before. Pete decides to accept it and shuffles over to column and props himself up against the
concrete, slowly sliding down until he’s sitting on the stone floor.

It’s much more comforting to have something resting at his back.

He’s not as cold anymore because he’s wearing sweatpants now but the room isn’t exactly the
perfect temperature. Occasionally, goosebumps break out against his skin as there’s a warm breeze
coming in through the open window. Pete finds that even with these new comforts he still can’t
fully relax.

Because he’s waiting for Vegas to return.

Pete doesn’t fall asleep again but he’s in that state in between, thoughts floating aimlessly when the
door opens.

Vegas comes into the room, and Pete breathes slowly at the sight of him, trying to calm his
emotions before Vegas can try to get a rise out of them.

It’s a relief that he doesn’t dismiss the guards. Pete has now taken that as an indication of when
Vegas wants to fuck him since the past few times he hasn’t wanted an audience. Even though the
bodyguards are now obviously well aware of what he’s doing to Pete.

Pete wonders if they’re the only ones. Or has it spread around the compound and every single
person knows Vegas is making good use of Pete’s body? The thought is disconcerting but his one
consolation is that Mr Kan probably doesn’t know.

Surely his father would draw a line at something like this. To see Vegas’ perversions shame the
minor family.

“Let’s chat,” Vegas decides, striding up toward him.

Pete lashes out with his left leg, kicking Vegas so hard in the side of his ribs that Vegas staggers
underneath the blow. Then he’s up immediately, eyes flashing as he pins Pete to the concrete pillar
by the throat.

“Who left his ankles unchained?” Vegas asks the bodyguards without taking his eyes off Pete’s
face.
When Pete tries to struggle, Vegas digs his thumb and forefinger into his windpipe so that he’s
forced back into stillness.

“Apologies, Mr Vegas. He needs help walking,” the one on the left says. “Can’t even stay on his
feet. We didn’t think he had the strength to do anything.”

“Get out,” Vegas snarls and Pete feels his heart pulse against Vegas’ fingers knowing exactly
where this is going to end.

Pete glances almost unwillingly down the open chest of Vegas’ billowy shirt before his eyes hit his
crotch. In the tight pants he can see Vegas’ bulge fairly distinctively and Pete flicks his eyes up to
Vegas’ face quickly to avoid being caught staring. The ready smirk on Vegas’ face tells him he
wasn’t so lucky.

Vegas presses against him then, pointedly lining their bodies up so Pete can feel the pressure of
him against his cock and Pete wonders if he’s already hard yet. Somehow Pete fighting him seems
to turn Vegas on even more. A second later, Vegas is reaching around to play with the back of his
waistband and Pete flushes at the warmth of Vegas’ touch against his skin, understanding
immediately what he’s teasing at even as he turns his face away.

Vegas barely tucks his fingertips underneath the elastic before there’s someone shouting at them.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Pete leans to the side and catches the look on Mr Kan’s face when Vegas drags his hands back as if
burned, turning at once.

“Father,” Vegas says, just in time to catch Mr Kan’s open palm as it strikes him hard across the
face.

Pete glances between the two of them, not daring to blink and miss a second of the confrontation.
It’s a small miracle that Pete wasn’t naked when he walked in or that Vegas wasn’t trying to fuck
him. He’s not sure if Mr Kan noticed Vegas pushing his hand down the back of Pete’s sweatpants
but the fact that Vegas’ hands were empty of torture devices probably doesn’t look great.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Mr Kan shouts, expression livid as Vegas straightens again,
looking young and hurt as he touches the side of his face.

An almost petulant expression ages him back several years but the defiance is there too when he
lets his hand fall back to his side. “What you told me to do!”

Pete is watching Vegas first, he’s always watching him first and because Vegas is partially
standing in front of him he also has a front row view of Mr Kan’s expression.

The way his mouth flattens into a sneer, nostrils flaring as the skin between his brows tenses.
When he lifts his hand up again it’s the least surprising action so far. Mr Kan’s body language is in
a constant state of what Pete would call broadcasting; unable to properly conceal the emotion on
his face or the intent in each movement before he shifts to attack.

To the trained eye he’s pitifully transparent.

But what really interests Pete in the moment when Mr Kan lifts his hand back to strike is how
Vegas’ right hand twitches even as it remains firmly by his side. When Mr Kan’s hand connects
with Vegas’ cheek for the second time, he merely turns with the movement and faces that direction,
not daring to turn and look back at his father.
Instead his eyes slide over toward Pete who is watching him before he glances away.

If it’s what he think it looks like, Vegas knew Mr Kan was going to hit him and did nothing. Pete
knows it’s not a question of intercepting him in time, Vegas has incredible reflexes, he must have
decided to accept the punishment out of respect for his father.

Maybe Vegas’ speed could even be attributed to Mr Kan himself. Something tells Pete that this
isn’t the first time he’s hit his children. You don’t get as fast as Vegas unless the purpose is deeply
rooted in something, like survival. Like knowing how to avoid the worst hits.

Mr Kan advances on him then, catching Vegas by the jaw and dragging him closer like a
disobedient pet that’s been suitably chastised. “What did I tell you? I told you to keep an eye on
Porsche- not to hurt him. How dare you disobey my order.”

Vegas is silenced then and Pete is so astonished at the sudden shift of power that he’s not sure how
to respond. From what he's seen of him, Pete didn’t think anyone could silence Vegas. He would
have expected some type of satisfaction from this moment, to see Vegas finally put in his place but
all Pete feels is sickened by their dynamic.

He never liked Mr Kan all that much. He reminds Pete too much of his own father. Mr Kan is
noticeably less forgiving than Mr Korn, reaching out to take respect and power without earning it.
Which was why Pete was always glad to leave the minor family to themselves. The last thing he
wanted was to be caught inside their evident turmoil.

Mr Kan slides his eyes over Pete before he turns back to Vegas and sighs. He doesn’t ask who Pete
is. He has already classified him as someone unimportant. Probably even recognises him as one of
the main family’s bodyguards. No doubt someone briefed him on Pete’s breaking and entering of
the compound.

“Pack your bags,” Mr Kan says coldly. “The main family has blacklisted you so you’ll need to go
to the safe house. When things quiet down, I’ll decide what to do next.”

Then Mr Kan looks over at Pete again. “They’re going to send some men to search for you,” he
says before handing Vegas a gun and gesturing at Pete. “Clean this mess up before you go.”

Vegas accepts the gun but doesn’t respond and Pete feels a rush of anticipation when Mr Kan and
the rest of his guards file out of the room. This will finally be over. Mr Kan has ordered his death.
To the minor family that’s as good as law.

When Vegas finally glances over at him he looks like himself again and not a little boy being
beaten down by his father.

“What are you smiling about,” he asks softly, pressing the gun up tight under Pete’s chin and
forcing his head back. “I’m not done with you yet, baby.”

His heart thunders in the base of his throat at the words. Pete should have known better than to
hope Vegas will listen to Mr Kan. Vegas has been enjoying himself too much to let him go that
easily.

A second later Vegas gets his phone out of his pocket, dials a number and puts the phone to his ear.
“Report back to me,” he says in short, clipped tones. “We’re packing up. I want eyes on Pete while
I’m getting things ready.”

Pete has an odd moment when two of the other bodyguards return, Oat and the ponytail guard and
he notices straight away that they’re carrying weapons for the first time. It's not difficult to
recognise they’re not here to guard Vegas from him, but to guard him from the rest of the men in
the compound. From this small act of defiance, Pete realises that Vegas doesn’t trust his father not
to send men to kill him.

He’s not sure how he feels about Vegas using his own men to protect him.

Once the additional bodyguards are stationed, Vegas leaves them with Pete while he goes to pack
his bags and Pete wonders exactly what he’s going to have to do to get his way. Because Vegas
will try and get his way no matter what his father thinks. Does he really believe that he can
smuggle Pete right out of the compound?

Fifteen minutes later Vegas comes back with two water bottles. He sets one down on the table and
breaks the seal on the other, uncapping it in front of Pete. Then he strides forward and cups the
nape of his neck, tilting his head back.

All Pete has had in hours was the soup and the sodium in it has only made his mouth drier in the
absence of water.

Pete is desperately thirsty, going on severely dehydrated now and even though Vegas opened it in
front of him, he still hesitates. Unsure but knowing better than to ignore the flicker of intuition that
wonders why Vegas is the one giving this to him directly. When it’s been the bodyguards who
have only given him water before.

“Drink up, Pete,” Vegas says. “Or you won’t be getting water for another 24 hours.”

Pete knows he can’t afford that long without water. He opens his mouth and Vegas pours it into the
back of his throat, nearly choking him. Pete is forced to swallow it down, but when he takes the
second mouthful and Vegas tries to do the same thing again, he tilts his head away, keeping the
water in his mouth this time.

That’s when he recognises it doesn’t exactly taste like regular water. Vegas reaches out and slaps a
hand over Pete’s lips before he can spit it out whilst the nearest guard takes the bottle from him.
Then Vegas calmly pinches Pete’s nostrils closed and seals off his airway.

Pete realises the salty taste on his tongue is because it’s some kind of drug. Vegas must have
injected it into the plastic using a syringe. For a second he’s torn between the indignity of trying to
force the drugged water out past his lips, dribbling it down his chin or to let himself pass out and
perhaps choke on the water, drowning himself instead.

All because the look in Vegas’ eyes tells him he knows Pete will relent and that he’s waiting for it.
Only Pete doesn’t want to prove him right.

Vegas continues to stare him down whilst Pete wastes precious seconds trying to hold out. He’s
angry, and annoyed with himself that he made it all too easy for Vegas. That he even dared to
believe Vegas even for a second. Pete holds his breath until his lungs are burning, his chest
convulsing with minor spasms as his body tries to fight his own will.

But he knows he can either pass out or swallow and passing out is probably Vegas’ end goal for
him anyway.

Pete glares into Vegas’ eyes and swallows the water. Vegas doesn’t take his hand away until he’s
sure Pete has drank all of it. He even tilts his head back further for good measure, to make it harder
for Pete to fight gravity even if he had tried to keep the drugged water in his mouth. Pete swallows
again and coughs a few times at the unpleasant taste but doesn’t think he’ll be able to make himself
throw up in this position without the use of his hands.

Besides, drugged or not, there was water in there as well and Pete definitely needs that.

When Pete glances over at the water bottle he realises that a third of it is now empty. Whatever
drug Vegas gave him, that’s definitely enough of a dose to get some kind of reaction out of him.
The bodyguard screws the cap back on and at a nod from Vegas, the both of them leave the room
without a word, leaving Oat and the other guard who are still carrying their guns in their hands.

Pete licks his lips and scowls at Vegas.

“Well you’ve got more common sense than Porsche, that’s for sure,” Vegas says, amused. “I didn’t
even have to do nearly as much for him to drink it.”

“What,” Pete starts, gasping a little. “What did you give me?”

Vegas leans in and trails a light hand down his bare chest, tracing the edges of his wounds without
agitating them. It’s an unthinking gesture. Possessive. As he feels Pete’s breaths even out again.
“Just a little GHB. I’ll need you quiet for this trip and you and I both know you’re only quiet when
I’m fucking you.”

Pete ignores that comment because Vegas is trying to bait him. He’s not entirely all that familiar
with the drug but from what he saw of Porsche the GHB had him acting like he was drunk, and not
in control of his own body. Pete doesn’t know how that’s supposed to make him quiet but he’s
more interested in Vegas’ confession anyway.

“Kinn always suspected it was you,” Pete murmurs, interested despite himself. “Who attacked
Porsche.”

Vegas leans in and pats at his cheek gently with an open palm. “Let’s not talk about Kinn.”

“Then let’s talk about the GHB,” he says. “How long until it starts to affect me?”

Vegas shrugs as he pulls out a pair of slip on sandals and bends down to work Pete’s feet into them.
“Depends,” he says conversationally. “Usually between ten minutes to an hour.”

“Is this why you put sweatpants on me earlier?” Pete asks, surprised. “Did you know your father
was coming?”

Vegas pauses at the mention of his father and doesn’t respond immediately. But Pete’s not afraid of
him and he doesn’t regret asking the question. “Much as I’d love it you can’t walk out of here in
your boxers.”

“I’m walking out of here?” Pete shoots back. “I thought I was meant to be drugged out of my
mind.”

“You will be,” Vegas agrees. “Hopefully you’ll be drowsy enough not to try anything but who can
be sure. We all know how disobedient you can get.”

“I’m not your pet.”

Vegas ignores him and reaches out to brush his hand across the front of his sweatpants, cupping
Pete through the fabric instead. “GHB can make you horny too.”

Pete doesn’t do anything under the touch. Moving forward or away. Both would just excite Vegas
further and Pete knows his body is already stirring under the touch. He tries to calm himself and
just looks at Vegas expressionlessly until he eventually withdraws his hand.

“Is that what you want?” Pete asks, after a moment. “For me to be horny for you?”

Vegas smirks at him as if the question is merely amusing but Pete knows there’s the weight of his
own desire behind it. Vegas wouldn’t have reacted like he did to Pete wrapping his leg around him
if he didn’t to some degree want Pete to want him back.

The worst of it is Pete can concede to a sense of- anticipation in his own body now every time
Vegas touches him.

Pete holds his wrists out next, assuming that Vegas will finish dressing him but Vegas merely
smiles and ignores the offering. Because he’s not easily fooled by most of the things Pete tries.

“Let’s wait until the GHB works, baby.”

Pete sighs with irritation, purely because he’s always looking for an opportunity once he’s
disconnected from the chain. Vegas is smart not to trust him.

Fifteen minutes later, Pete starts to feel his body going loose and relaxed. He slumps to his knees of
his own volition and Vegas unwinds the chain even further. When he returns again and Vegas
comes to kneel in front of him, Pete falls into his chest by accident, unable to support his own
weight anymore. It’s such a relief not to feel the relentless ache in his muscles that several tears roll
down his cheeks.

He must fall asleep or pass out because Pete comes back into awareness under the gentle motion of
a car, realising he’s laid out on the back seat. He catches the side profile of Vegas at the wheel in
front, and struggles weakly to sit up but he’s so drowsy there’s no strength to his limbs. Pete can
hardly keep his eyes open.

He comes to again in Vegas’ arms, registers the horror of being held in a bridal carry as they’re
being escorted by Oat and the ponytail guard who go through the front door of a familiar house
first and emerge a second later, giving them the all clear.

Pete can barely keep his head up as he’s taken inside. He feels the coolness of the AC first. Then
he sees part of the safe house in flashes only. The plush leather of a couch, the wooden floorboards,
a potted plant in the corner before he’s in a long hallway then being deposited gently onto a bed.

He actually groans out loud at the soft sinking sensation of a mattress after spending so long on
concrete and cold, rigid stone.

A phone rings in the background and Vegas’ voice suddenly fills the room.

“Tie him up,” he commands. "And keep a close eye on him.”

Suddenly the warmth cradling the back of his head is gone and he hears Vegas’ shoes click on the
wooden floorboards as he leaves the room.

Pete can hear his soft murmur as he answers, “Hello Father,“ but Pete is already sinking deeper
into the pillows, as his thoughts try to reassemble themselves in vain.

His eyes fall closed again and he sleeps.

At some point Vegas must return because Pete hears him talking in the room and an unfamiliar
voice responding.

It’s another man, and Pete feels someone tie a strap around his bicep, straightening his arm before
there’s the sharp prick of a needle piercing his skin. Pete thrashes weakly but there’s familiar hands
holding him down along with the gloved ones and though the pain is acute, the sensation of it is
brief. Eventually the needle is removed.

He can hear the clink of several vials next, the tearing of a plastic seal and suddenly the gloved
hand is on his mouth, pushing his lips open.

Pete resists but a small point is pushed painlessly into the side of his cheek and quickly removed.
He hears mention of another swab and Vegas is murmuring gently in his ear when his sweatpants
are dragged down and followed by his boxers. Vegas rolls him onto his stomach and Pete has no
strength to do anything when another tiny instrument is inserted inside him and gently rotated.

He says Vegas’ name once before it’s also removed and Vegas is there talking soothingly into his
hair as he drags his boxers and sweatpants back into place. Pete winces when the cuffs pull against
his wrists and the stranger says something else about the results coming in soon but Pete is lost
again without taking in any of the words.

Only the sensation of Vegas stroking his head again follows Pete into his dreams.
 oh, you're mine to take, I wanna hear the sounds that you'll make
Chapter Notes

Chap title from Gimme by Banks

Enjoy!

Pete wakes up alone.

The first thing he’s aware of is that the untethered, lethargic feeling is now gone and that despite
what Vegas said, he never got particularly aroused whilst he was under the influence of the drug.
It’s possible that Vegas didn’t dose him heavily enough. Or that maybe his body simply isn’t
primed to have that kind of reaction with GHB in his system. Not that Pete has any reason to
complain.

The room is dimly lit but he can see the outline of his surroundings which tells him it's potentially
mid-morning. Pete still has the cuffs on, as the rubbed skin around his wrists quickly reminds him
when he sits up, and he’s still connected to the chain. But the length of it now slithers off the
mattress and disappears somewhere under the bed.

What is Pete anchored to this time around? A cursory look upward tells him it can’t be anything in
the ceiling.

When he goes to roll over onto his side, intending to follow the path of the chain, Pete happens to
glance down and see that there’s now a bandage covering the crook of his left elbow and forearm.

Pete’s not so sure that he remembers how he got into this room or what happened to his arm but
since it’s the kind of bandage one does when a person extracts blood, Pete would hazard a guess
that someone has taken a sample whilst he was half unconscious.

But why?

Pete pauses mid-movement, distracted by the bandage as he tries to sift through hazy memories
and recall exactly what happened. They were in the red dungeon room. Vegas drugged him with a
sealed water bottle. He was in a car at some point and then here at the safe house. Vegas carried
him over the threshold. Oat and the ponytail bodyguard led them inside, flanking the both of them
as if anticipating an attack from all sides.

Everything else feels sluggish. Pete closes his eyes and lets his impaired memory try and lead him
further.

He got into this room somehow. They must have chained him back up again. Vegas was here,
because Vegas is always here and he was talking to someone. Talking to a man Pete didn’t know.
It’s possible it could have been a bodyguard, Pete isn’t confident that he’s heard all of Vegas' men
speak before and certainly not frequently enough to conclusively recognise their voices.
There were gloved hands on him at one point, Pete knows that much. A doctor? Why would Vegas
bring a doctor here for blood samples? There was something in his mouth too. And- Pete suddenly
remembers the sensation of Vegas dragging down his pants, exposing him.

And there was something in- Pete flushes red. The doctor took more than one sample.

Pete lets out a groan and tries to shake the thought from his mind even with his own
embarrassment plain and still lingering. What’s done is done. If he asks Vegas there’s a possibility
he’ll explain but not without that smirk on his face. Not without openly savouring the moment and
Pete doesn’t want to further admit his ignorance. Not knowing Vegas will find enjoyment in it.

The doctor has taken samples for some kind of test, probably to do with his health now that Vegas
seems at the very least invested in keeping him alive. He’ll find out exactly what for eventually,
Vegas isn’t exactly secretive about all of the things he currently wants to do to Pete. In fact, he
likes to use as much detail as possible.

Feeling somewhat settled by the resolution, Pete rolls off the mattress, the chain unspooling loudly
behind him as it hits the ground and that’s when he spots a carabiner looped through the chain
about half a metre from his wrists, the kind of snap hook he’s seen used in rock climbing or
rappelling.

Frowning, Pete drags the chain up towards his hands, fingering the snap hook with quiet confusion
as he glances about the empty room and tries to understand what it’s for.

Is it meant to connect to something else? Or is it a mistake Vegas has made?

Now is not the time to dwell on it so Pete releases hold of carabiner, deciding it’s another answer
he’ll have to wait for while inspecting the safe house. He doesn’t waste energy wondering where
Vegas is. He’ll be around somewhere and Pete knows not to worry about him, taking advantage
instead of being alone to properly inspect the surroundings.

It’s obvious that he has better freedom of movement here but Pete doesn’t know whether this was
intentional or merely a by-product of the open space. There’s no metal rings embedded in the roof
to hang him from the ceiling this time.

After letting his eyes intuitively follow the path of the chain at his wrists, Pete drops to his knees
and squints under the bed, trying to locate where the rest of it goes and more importantly, where
the chain might end. It’s vital to figure out what he’s tethered to first. Only then will he be able to
come up with solutions on how to get free.

The more information the better.

He spots the first metal ring lodged into the wood of the bed frame below. Then a second further
along the frame. The chain is threaded through these metal rings underneath the bed before trailing
out onto the opposite side. Pete scoots out from underneath the bed, gauges the length of the chain
and decides there’s enough length for him to walk around the mattress rather than having to
clamber over it.

He finds the rest of the chain on the opposite side, coiled up into a circular nest with a large chunk
of rock deposited in the middle.

Pete crouches down and picks up the mass to inspect it. It’s so heavy that he needs to use both
hands and all Pete can manage is to lift it high enough to turn it slightly, exposing new portions of
stone until he discovers the metal loop fused into it. This crude piece of mineral seems to be what
his chain is connected to.

All at once Pete understands its rudimentary purpose. The size of the rock means that Pete might
have a greater range of motion than he did back at the compound but he’ll never be able to
disconnect the chain from the stone, nor can he separate the chain from its attachment to the bed
frame since the rock is much too large to be fed through the tiny metal loops.

And there’s no way Pete has any tools strong enough to break up the hunk of rock or the strength
to carry the bed frame out of the room by himself. From the narrow door frame and the height of
the ceiling, he doubts lifting the bed frame up onto its side will make much difference if he still
can’t fit it through the doorway.

Pete flushes with dismay and understanding of the situation. Vegas has literally chained him to the
bed.

At once he drops the rock next to the chains so it can shift unencumbered, scrambling away in
disgust as he puts as much distance between himself and the stone as he can, looking about the
room before his eyes settle immediately on a wall hanger full of tools. There’s bolt cutters, a
wrench, a baseball bat covered in barbed wire, two sets of old manacles, nun chucks and an axe.

For a second Pete stares at them all open mouthed. Then he’s darting forward, hands reaching for
the bolt cutters as he tries to lift them straight off the wall. They don’t budge an inch. Puzzled now
as well as shocked, Pete moves down the line attempting to remove any of the instruments hanging
there and soon finds that not one of them can be displaced.

Are they nailed into the wall or something? Has Vegas placed them here as a display for his
prisoners, just to rub in the fact that there are weapons here in the room that they can’t use?

Pete gives up with a snarl of defeat and doesn’t even make a conscious decision when he dives
towards the door next, tearing it open and rushing out into the hall.

Vegas is still nowhere to be found when Pete glances down either side of the walkway. The
direction on the left seems to lead towards open windows and larger space- an exit maybe? And
the other on the right looks like it disappears further into the house.

Pete goes left.

He makes it all the way to the end of the hallway uninterrupted, learning where it opens into living
room space before the chain pulls taut at the cuffs on his wrists, halting him as he discovers the
first limitation of the chain. Pete strains his neck so he can peer further around the corner and
assess the layout.

The kitchen area is to the right, tucked into the wall opposite the living room space neither of
which Pete has access to. When he cranes his neck further, he spots a door at the opposite end of
the room but Pete can’t figure out if that’s the entry to another area of the house or actually an exit.
It looks like a regular door, probably not the main entrance to the house.

When Pete does another sweep of the room, he finally spots the main door in the left hand corner
of the hallway he’s standing in, nearly a metre out of reach.

Pete is so close to freedom he could scream.

Instead he lets out a breath of frustration and stomps back down the way he came, determined to
figure out the limits of the chain before he has another encounter with Vegas and his lack of
knowledge becomes a disadvantage.
The first door he opens leads to a bathroom. Pete steps in at once and discovers there’s enough
chain that he can go to the toilet himself without needing to call for a guard every single time. Then
he steps into the shower stall, realising he can reach the faucet without difficulty either.

Pete has barely a moment of satisfaction at this before he realises the insanity of the situation. That
he would be pleased Vegas has given him permission to use the bathroom and shower without any
assistance, something that most children over a certain age don’t need supervision for.

Not for the first time, Pete forces himself to reconsider the perspective of the situation. He is not
grateful that Vegas is returning the basic needs and human requirements that most people have
access to without chains being permanently wrapped around them.

He will not be grateful to Vegas for anything.

But it does arouse a healthy amount of suspicion encountering all these unexpected acts of
generosity. For what purpose does Vegas mean to give him more freedom? Although Pete is well
aware that in all the sudden liberality, Vegas neglected to give him access to the kitchen. A good
tactic if he wanted to keep Pete away from the knives and potential blunt objects.

It also means that Pete will still be relying on Vegas for water and food. Unless he uses the tap in
the bathroom sink and he doesn’t know for certain if that’s safe to drink or not.

Pete walks back out and edges further down the hall until he reaches a closed door opposite the
bathroom which he pushes open and immediately identifies as Vegas’ office. Straight away, Pete
stomps over towards the computer but he doesn’t even reach the edge of the desk before the chains
pull taut again to prevent him moving closer.

Vegas has only allowed him enough chain length to be able to sit in the seat opposite the desk, not
to use the computer or the desk phone which would otherwise be in reach if Pete wasn’t
imprisoned in fucking chains.

The situation is looking pretty dire, so much that Pete forces himself to take a deep breath to try
and calm his temper before moving on. He can't help but consider how carefully Vegas must have
taken measurements for the circumstances to be like this before turning on his heel and striding out
of the room, seething with rage.

There’s another door at the end of the hall but the chain runs out again before Pete can touch it. He
stares at that closed door, the gallingly visible handle of the doorknob just beyond reach and
wonders if it leads to another exit he can’t get to.

So the first solution, obviously, is to get out of the chains.

Pete glances down at his wrists again and considers the cuffs the chain is connected to. They don’t
sit all that tightly on his wrist- these are the same cuffs Pete thought about maybe dislocating his
thumb for in order to remove them.

The only problem being he was constantly watched and any small efforts he made toward escape
would have been quickly discovered in Vegas’ dungeon.

Except Pete is alone now. Has been alone for several minutes.

“Vegas?” he calls out loudly, and waits, listening intently for any kind of response.

When ten seconds have passed and he can’t hear anyone in the house, Pete redirects his attention
back to his hands. The skin is red around his wrists from the constant rubbing, the flesh chaffed
and tender. But Pete focuses on his thumbs, knowing full and well that doing this again is going to
seriously hurt.

It’s not actually the thumb that needs to be dislocated to remove a handcuff, it’s the CMC joint at
the wrist. By dislocating that it shifts the first metacarpal out of place in the thumb but it can only
be done by breaking one of the bony components of the joint or tearing all of the ligaments.

He’s only done it once before and Pete broke bones in the joint in order to do so but it had meant he
was barely able to use his hand afterward. Considering the current situation, Pete knows he’s going
to need use of his hands once free and while possible, it’s too risky to take both of his hands out of
commission.

Thankfully, that's not his only option.

Pete frowns down at the cuffs and the thin chain connecting them and slowly brings them closer
together, twisting and carefully rotating the small chain using the cuffs to generate pressure. He
keeps twisting until there’s enough torque being applied to the chain and then jerks his wrists hard
and fast in opposite directions. There’s a ting of metal on metal from the duress of the resistance,
and Pete starts twisting the chain, applying the same rotation all over again.

On the third try the thin chain between the cuffs snaps altogether, completely separating the cuffs
at his wrists as the link from the longer chain slips off at the open connection. Pete only just
manages to catch the rest of the heavy chain before it drops to the ground.

The sting at his wrists where the cuffs are now sitting like metal bracelets tells him that he’s
broken the skin there but Pete ignores it in the excitement of having full range motion of his arms
again.

At the heightened stakes, Pete glances up and rapidly scans the hall for any sign of Vegas since
he'd last checked. With his hands now free, Pete’s the closest to escape that he’s ever been and
he’s not going to waste the opportunity.

The halls are still empty so Pete darts quickly back into the bedroom to soundlessly set the chain
onto the duvet, careful not to make the links rattle as he does so. He could have just left it on the
floor in the hallway but the few seconds it might take Vegas to walk into the bedroom before he
realises what Pete has done could be the difference between life and death.

Although Pete’s still in the sandals and the sweatpants Vegas dressed him in, he doesn’t pause to
waste time searching for other articles of clothing. He’d rather be outside and half naked, then
trapped again fully clothed. Right now a shirt is not a priority. Taking several deep breaths to calm
his rapidly rising heart rate, Pete slips out of the room, hugging the wall and still keeping an eye
out for Vegas as he slowly sneaks out towards the exit.

Pete sweeps the area diligently, glancing over at the living room and then the kitchen area,
scanning for any signs of life or sudden movements.

Both are still empty.

Seizing his chance, Pete darts quietly to the front door and turns the handle.

It opens soundlessly and Pete slips outside. The first thing that hits him is the brightness of the
morning. Pete’s eyes need a moment to adjust after so many days in the hazy lighting of the red
room. Blinking several times, Pete finds himself in a narrow open walkway that seems to lead to
another smaller building which Pete doesn’t bother to step into, assuming it to be the garage where
Vegas must have parked his car.

When he glances over to the right, he can see the gravel of a long sweeping driveway. One that
doesn’t have much coverage if he needs to hide, and what seems to end in a large iron gate that is
certainly locked.

Pete peers left and sees the wooden deck leads all the way down along the length of the house and
continues on until it reaches a small gazebo perched over the edge of a vast lake. This safe house
must be on a large property for a feature of that size. It almost looks man made. There’s grass on
either side of the walkway too and Pete figures it’s better to circle the property first to get an idea
of how to get out rather than going straight for obvious choice of the main gate.

It’ll be safer for him to try and climb a wall along the boundary. No doubt one of Vegas’ men is
posted at the gate and the other would be out patrolling the perimeter. It will be easier to avoid the
second guard across such a wide area. That’s assuming more of Vegas’ men haven’t arrived to
protect the house since Oat and ponytail guard escorted them here.

It’s a risk he has to take.

Pete edges along the floorboards, listening intently for anything out of the ordinary as he moves
forward but all he can hear are a few birds nearby and some crickets which are lingering around
the edge of the lake.

He sticks to the wall of the house, darting across the sections which have windows, not wishing for
Vegas to spot him if he’s somehow still inside. Pete’s moving quickly but trying to be cautious, the
further he can get without being detected the better. It’s harder without having eyes on Vegas, and
Pete is starting to think the likelihood of him being outside in the grounds of the property is the
real threat to this plan.

He doubts Vegas would have ignored Pete calling for him earlier just for the fun of it.

When he reaches the back of the house and the garage, no longer shielded by the protection of the
walls, Pete steps out, eyes automatically sweeping left first as it’s closest to where he’s standing.

That’s his first mistake. Pete hears a sharp inhale on his right a couple metres away, followed by a
familiar burst of short laughter.

Pete doesn’t even turn to look at him, he bolts. Launching straight off the deck and landing in the
grass, banking sharply to the left and running hard along the edge of the lake.

There’s a thump behind him of something hitting the ground, then the screech of a chair scraping
across the wooden deck to signal pursuit- Vegas must have been sitting when Pete blundered into
his path- and then there’s the heavy slap of Vegas’ shoes pounding after him.

Pete pushes his body forward, sprinting hard across the grass, eyes scanning the area frantically for
some direction to flee. He’s currently moving toward a line of trees and relatively dense jungle but
even that’s a hundred times more preferable than the safe house. He loses a sandal pretty quickly,
moving so fast that it simply slips straight off his right foot but Pete doesn’t even pause, running
for the tree line.

Determined to put as much distance between himself and Vegas as possible.

He loses the second sandal after that, lungs burning, panic flaring as he notices the pace flagging
because he’s not at full strength anymore and can’t keep sprinting at high intensity for much
longer. Even worse, the sounds of Vegas pelting after him are getting closer by each step forward.
Pete pushes through the pain, gritting his teeth and losing his nerve at the last second, finally
succumbing to the urge to glance behind him.

He has a second to take in the shocking sight of Vegas almost on top of him- damn his speed-
before Vegas is diving forward, body tackling him to the ground. Pete twists fully towards Vegas
to try and minimise the damage of the landing, only half succeeding before Vegas takes him down.

They land hard in the grass, Vegas’ shoulder clipping his chest and it’s just Pete’s luck that he
happens to make contact with the ribs Vegas took a belt to several days ago.

Pete takes huge, shuddering gasps, the air completely knocked out of him, half blinded with pain
even as he tries to roll and shove Vegas off him.

But Vegas, who isn’t currently weak and injured, recovers faster and climbs atop of Pete, using his
weight to pin him to the ground. When Pete manages to see through the pain, Vegas is staring
down at him, grinning wildly, though he looks a little paler than Pete’s ever seen him. Did
escaping the cuffs truly shock him?

“You really are something, Pete,” Vegas says, and Pete hates the admiration in his voice.

He can hear shouting nearby and the sound of approaching feet, the other bodyguards undoubtedly.
This is his last chance to break free.

Pete manages to get a hold of his breathing but as he goes to sit up and attempt to throw Vegas off
again, Vegas clips him hard underneath the chin with his fist. Swift and brutally accurate. Pete falls
backward, dazed from the blow and a second later, Vegas is pressing something up against his side.

He figures out it’s a taser pretty quickly when Pete gets hit with five seconds of high voltage. His
body locks up through the aftershocks and Pete can only lay there helplessly as his own body
betrays him. By the time the worst of it is over there are other hands on him, rapidly pulling him to
his feet.

“Take him back inside, Gear,” Vegas commands, sounding out of breath himself.

At the thought of being dragged back into the house, Pete loses it completely. Suddenly he’s
lashing out, kicking hard at Ponytail-now-Gear when he tries to get a restraining hand around him,
fighting the attempt to pull his arms around his back.

Pete is in the middle of turning, jerking his bloodied wrists up when Vegas comes out of nowhere
with his fist again, aiming again for the jaw. The intention of it is clear as day when Pete tries to
jerk back at the last second but Vegas is just too fast, striking him hard with a ruthless sideswipe.

Pete’s chin explodes with pain upon contact, head immediately snapping to the side as he blacks
out.

And then it’s all over.

When Pete comes to, he’s back on the bed, and no longer wearing the same broken cuffs. For a
second, reality crashes over him in such a tumultuous wave that Pete is drowning. Then he’s
mastering his emotions for the sake of practicality, dragging his hands up to inspect the new
restraints intently.

They’re so tight to the wrist that even dislocating his CMC joint wouldn’t be enough to slide his
hands free. They’re old looking but in good condition, not the same type of metal as the previous
cuffs and the connecting chain between the two is thicker and shorter- less chance for him to create
enough rotation to break through the links.

Pete thinks these ones might be iron made. Vegas has literally clapped him in irons.

The unreality of it all gets to him for a moment and Pete shakes his wrists, listening to the new
cuffs and the chain rattle together ominously. These are the type he won’t be getting out of without
serious metalworking tools.

Furious with Vegas and the situation, his jaw still throbbing dully from their last encounter, Pete
looks up toward the open doorway of the bedroom. He doesn’t want to stay in here, because he
knows exactly what the purpose of the room is for but it’ll be easier to be where Vegas expects him
when he finally returns.

There’s a greater chance of taking Vegas by surprise that way.

Pete clambers further up the bed, looking about the room and confirming there’s no sharp objects
he can use to try and jimmy open the cuffs despite his earlier inspection. There’s no heavy duty
instrument blunt enough to cut through the chains either. Pete pointedly ignores the wall board full
of weapons, handcuffs and tools that he couldn’t remove before because staring at them seems to
sap his mental energy.

They’re just another edge of insanity Vegas has brought into the room.

There’s no bedside table, just a trunk propped against the wall on the opposite side of the bed.
There aren’t any photographs or posters, certainly nothing made of glass and Pete angrily drops
back into the pillows, staring at the ceiling and trying to consider what he can do.

Unfortunately, Vegas has been extremely thorough.

Pete kicks his feet out, stretching his legs before he glances down at himself. At the bare skin of
his ankles and the fresh dirt on his bare feet. Pete can see there are blades of grass stuck in between
his toes from running outside earlier. He can smell the dried sweat on his skin too but that’s not as
important to him. Because in spite of the escape, Vegas still didn’t put restraints on his ankles.

Even after the amount of times he’s kicked out at Vegas, somehow they’re completely uninhibited.

Although Pete suspects that’s less for his benefit and more because Vegas is still holding out some
perverse kind of hope that Pete will wrap his legs around him whilst they’re fucking.

In spite of being chained to the bed like before, and locked into place with the iron manacles on his
wrists, that’s still too much range of movement than Pete should have been allowed.

He doesn’t make any comments about the carelessness of this set up aloud however.

Because first chance he gets, Pete is going to use the length of the chain and his new cuffs to wrap
a noose around Vegas’ slender neck.
He lays there for hours, bored, hungry and simmering with prolonged irritation at his own
helplessness.

It’s especially grating after being so close to freedom. To actually tasting the air outside, feeling
the grass beneath his bare feet. Pete had been so close.

Now there’s nothing to distract from the waiting and there aren't any books or magazines in the
room. Vegas wasn't thoughtful enough for that. Pete has a feeling that he'd prefer him to simply lay
around aimlessly, wondering only when Vegas will return. No doubt he wants to nurture a sense of
co-dependency in Pete.

If at the very least to make their separation that much harder if Pete ever succeeds in escaping this
place.

That’s not the only thing Pete has to think about whilst he dozes on the bed, the question of
punishment occupies an even larger portion of his mind. Considering the bizarre, perverse kinds of
ways Vegas has sought to discipline him in the past, there’s no telling what he’ll come up with this
time. That’s if Vegas has any intention of punishing Pete any further than he has been already.

To have been outside, with freedom slipping through his fingers, seems beyond the pale of regular
cruelty. Pete could hardly suffer more than that.

He does his best not to dwell on where he went wrong nor the endless void of his thoughts about
Vegas. No doubt Vegas would probably get a kick out of being at the centre of Pete’s deliberations
which is why he tries so hard not to think about him at all.

Eventually there’s the familiar sound of Vegas’ steps in the hall to interrupt the monotony of the
hours passing. After so much time lying there listlessly, Pete jerks up at once at the new noise,
heart pounding at the distinctive clack of Vegas’ shoes hitting the floorboards. He can tell from the
sound alone that it’s him.

It’s almost an appalling thought, that Vegas’ shoes are almost identifiable to him now.

Pete takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself in preparation of the confrontation soon coming
his way. He’s going to need a cool head for what’s to happen next. Vegas is unpredictable at best
on a good day.

There’s the sound of Vegas depositing keys on the counter and then he can hear him getting
steadily closer in the hall.

Pete is sitting up on the bed when Vegas finally enters the room, already in the midst of
unbuttoning his shirt one handed.

He normally wears them half unbuttoned anyway but Pete still nearly swallows his tongue at the
unspoken implication of it. Even though he knows, he knows what the situation is to see Vegas
already undressing himself.

Vegas chained him to the bed for a reason. Though he can’t help but shake the new manacles when
Vegas doesn’t look at him long enough to satisfy his anger.

“New accessory?” Pete wonders, though it comes out like a growl.

He is no longer succeeding in hiding his emotion anymore. Pete wonders how he never noticed the
steady loss of control. At his tone, Vegas’ eyes flick up to his, watchful and predatory.

“I didn’t think the other handcuffs would hold you for long unsupervised.”

This is news to Pete. “Then why keep me in them?”

It doesn’t seem like Vegas is interested in explaining himself because he only shrugs. “Just wanted
to see what you’d do.”

Pete feels a rush of outrage so strong it nearly robs him of speech altogether. Suddenly it makes
sense that Vegas was carrying that taser with him. He must have rightly assumed that he couldn’t
overpower Pete in a fight without some kind of advantage. Was he truly just sitting there the whole
time waiting for Pete to emerge from the house?

A second later, Vegas tosses something at him that Pete catches out of reflex, glancing down at a
bottle of water now in his hand.

He lets out a short, humourless laugh.

“You haven’t had water since yesterday,” Vegas says, as if he’s been paying attention because he
cares and it’s not simply another way to dominate him. “The tap water is filtered here but I know
you haven’t had any of that either.”

Pete takes in this information with a sinking feeling that there may be cameras in the house after
all. For a beat, he mulls over Vegas’ intentions.

“Do you honestly think I’m stupid enough to-“

Vegas lets out a short sigh, propping his knee on the edge of the bed and leaning across the
mattress to snatch the bottle straight out of his hand. Pete watches him break the seal before putting
the rim to his lips and taking two large gulps. He swallows, screws the cap back on and tosses it
into Pete’s lap this time with a hint of finality.

“I don’t need to drug you again,” Vegas tells him with a kind of frank honesty that Pete should find
disconcerting. “I have you exactly where I want you.”

Pete doesn’t bother to point out that Vegas himself said a reaction to GHB isn’t always
instantaneous. Although it does seem more than likely that he’s actually telling the truth. He
doesn’t think Vegas would go to such efforts to drug Pete again, especially by taking the drug
himself. He seemed to get more of a kick forcing Pete to swallow it down last time. Not to mention
the way he'd sounded almost disappointed when he'd talked about how easy it had been to drug
Porsche.

In all things, Vegas seems to prefer a real challenge.

And as much as he’d rather not admit it, Vegas does have Pete exactly where he wants him.

“For now,” Pete bites back, unable to curb the defiance in every inch of his body.

Vegas’ grin turns vicious for a moment before he’s easing off of the mattress again and going back
to unbuttoning his shirt.

Pete ignores him and twists the bottle cap open, then he locks eyes with Vegas, pointedly using the
material of his sweatpants to wipe the lip of the bottle Vegas just had his mouth on. Any small act
of defiance will do. Vegas merely smirks when Pete drinks a significant amount afterward, and he
tries not to think too deeply about why Vegas wants him hydrated and healthy now when it’s in
such stark opposition to his earlier intentions.

Such contradictory behaviour certainly doesn’t inspire confidence.

When he’s done, Pete reseals the lid and tosses it beyond Vegas so that it lands on top of the trunk.
Vegas doesn’t even flinch out of the way, merely flicks his gaze up lazily toward Pete as if he
knows he’s won some kind of small victory.

Which he hasn’t. Pete refuses to believe that even for a second. Not after he got so close to being
free of him.

From the way Vegas is still getting undressed, Pete’s recent escape attempt clearly hasn’t put a
damper on Vegas’ lustful intentions for him. Pete wonders if he imagined how pale he'd first
looked when Pete nearly got away. If that was all part of the game too. Still, after all that’s
happened between them so far, seeing Vegas’ desire shouldn’t surprise him like this.

It’s obvious he’s become fixated; the resistance Pete continually drives back, the challenge of
trying to keep him contained whilst Vegas indulges his own passions. The thrill of their opposing
positions.

Pete doesn’t like the idea of being Vegas’ new obsession but he can at least take comfort in the fact
that Vegas hasn’t managed to ensnare him like the others. He knows he’s in control of his own
mind, and no matter what Vegas might have succeeded in doing to his body, Pete can still see him
clearly for the sociopath that he is.

Pete very nearly almost asks Vegas where he’s been since he knocked him out hours ago and had
Pete dragged back inside. Thankfully the placating object of the question sinks in before he opens
his mouth and Pete smothers the impulse. They’re not the type for casual conversation. He’s not
going to ask Pete about his day chained to the bed and imprisoned in the safe house. They won’t
talk about the weather.

Under no circumstances is Pete willing to acknowledge any kind of bond between them.

At the end of the day, the only connection they truly have is ultimately physical. And Pete is doing
his very best not to ruminate on how easily Vegas makes him experience the bliss of that
physicality despite his resistance. His stubborn reluctance.

Instead, Pete watches Vegas whilst he continues to get undressed, letting his wrists fall into his lap,
eyes catching on the white of the bandage on his arm again. The sight of it makes him remember
his initial questions when he woke up here for the first time.

“Why did you need my blood?” Pete asks before he can tamper down his own curiosity.

Vegas only smiles at him, putting a shoe on the bed and loosening the tie on the laces enough to
slide his foot free before setting his shoe back down and going to do the same thing with the other.

“Why was that doctor here?” Pete tries instead, stubbornly refusing to drop the line of questioning
even with it seeming likely that Vegas won’t bother to answer.

To prove his point, Vegas takes an undue length of time with the shoelaces on his other foot, not in
any real rush to redirect his attention. It rankles almost as badly as having to watch him shed his
clothing and Pete stares with an edge of prolonged frustration.

“As a personal favour to me,” Vegas eventually responds, giving nothing away in his voice as he
kicks his shoes off completely and starts working on the button of his pants.

“But what for?” he demands, determined to push. “Why did he- why did you let him-?”

Pete flushes and can’t say the rest out loud but Vegas locks eyes with him in sharp understanding.
“He was perfectly professional. I promise you don’t need to worry on that front.”

“And why don’t I?” he asks, studying Vegas as he unzips his trousers in order to untuck the open
shirt and tug it free of his waistband. “Because I have you to protect me?”

Pete is unable to keep the scorn out of his voice at the suggestion. He wonders what kind of
promises Vegas made to Tawan, to Porsche, to convince them that he can be trusted. That he’ll do
the right thing by them. At the very least, Pete can say with certainty that he won’t be made his
fool.

Vegas laughs and then he’s grabbing at the placket of his shirt, exposing his chest fully and
dragging the thin material off his shoulders.

Pete watches as the muscles in his arms, across his pecs and chest shift and tense from the casual
movement. The sight makes his gut clench even whilst he tries to keep focused on the object of the
plan. Pete’s not looking away because he doesn’t want to be distracted but watching Vegas undress
himself is enough to divert his attention anyway.

“Because I don’t like to share, baby.”

Pete’s mouth draws into a thin line at that and he doesn’t respond. Vegas is looking at him now,
drinking in the sight of Pete's body in turn and Pete, understanding he’ll need Vegas close to do
what he’s planning, awkwardly takes hold of the elastic of his sweatpants and manages to drag
them down. He succeeds in drawing them around his knees before the new cuffs get in the way and
prevent him from going further.

Vegas sucks in a sharp breath at the action, of Pete willingly undressing himself and Pete is
surprised for a moment at how easy he is. They both seem to pause and look at one another for a
moment, taking in that split second of raw honesty. Then Pete redirects his attention to pulling his
ankles and feet free, finally kicking the sweatpants off the edge of the mattress.

Vegas is standing completely still now at the end of the bed, hands frozen on the open waistband
of his own pants, and watching Pete with rapt attention. There’s a strange kind of weight to the
look that Pete has never noticed before. Vegas almost seems like he’s considering Pete with a kind
of unguarded reverence.

Pete can’t help it, he flushes under the heavy heat of Vegas’ gaze, trying to ignore the stir of
anticipation in his own body even as he yields and glances away. Vegas is acting like Pete is giving
him some kind of sensual strip show, not merely taking his pants off in order to lure him in closer.

He hears the sound of Vegas scrambling out of his pants next, the rustle of the rest of his clothing
hitting the ground before the mattress is dipping again and Pete is looking up just in time for Vegas
to catch at his wrists, throwing them up above his head as he pushes at the hollow of Pete’s throat
and pins him back to the mattress.

Pete’s legs are already spread wide from wriggling out of the sweatpants but even he is shocked by
how quickly Vegas yanks his boxers down and gets resituated between his legs.

He’s absorbed with the importance of timing for a moment, flexing against Vegas’ grip on the
cuffs and taking in as many details as he can at once. The most important being the position of the
chain trailing across the mattress and the side of the bed. He’s so engrossed with assessing if he’ll
be quick enough to pull his hands free and situate the chain effectively that Pete actually misses
the snick of a cap opening.

But he definitely feels it a second later when Vegas pushes his fingers into him.

Pete gasps in surprise and clenches, riding sensitivity when Vegas makes quick work of stretching
him on two fingers, pushing lube inside to make him ready for more. Excitement seems to retract
from his usual steady movements because Vegas’ fingers seem to flex and fumble more than Pete’s
ever noticed before.

It’s essential he doesn’t give anything away so Pete leans towards Vegas, biting his lip and
pointedly not glancing at the length of the chain on the mattress next to him because he doesn’t
want Vegas to notice Pete paying any undue attention to it.

His plan is only going to work if Vegas is preoccupied enough for Pete to take him by surprise and
he can tell this strategy seems to be working in his favour when Vegas pushes in another finger
without looking at his face.

He’s rushing, Pete realises. Even the intently arrogant expression on Vegas’ face can’t fully
conceal his enthusiasm as he works.

Pete is certain that he’s somehow responsible for this reaction. That removing his sweatpants like
he did has obviously made Vegas excited, overeager and he’s trying to get Pete’s body ready as
quickly as possible. It wouldn’t surprise him if chasing Pete down earlier did something for Vegas
too.

The more physical they seem to get with each other, the more aroused Vegas is. That’s just a fact.
One of the many things he’s noticed with so much of his mental energy focused on Vegas. Another
is that even with Vegas managing to stretch him just fine one handed, he probably won’t be able to
roll on the condom like that too.

Pete is hoping that’s when Vegas’ attention will be most side-tracked from holding down his
wrists.

He’s jolted from his own plans when Vegas touches that spot in him, and Pete unexpectedly feels
his own cock twitch. He can’t stifle the sudden interest despite the situation and Pete’s thrown
again for a second, the sensation making it harder for him to concentrate.

But when Vegas drags his fingers free of Pete’s body, tearing into the condom packet and dropping
his grip of Pete’s wrists, Pete immediately sits up. His hands come down in front of his chest just
as Vegas is looking up at him from rolling the condom onto his cock and his eyes seem to hone in
on Pete’s body.

“I want it face to face,” is what Vegas says next and it’s not a question.

Hardly able to believe his own daring, Pete pushes him and climbs slowly into Vegas’ lap, as the
chain drags over Vegas’ thigh, then his hip until Pete is settled and properly straddling him. Vegas
is completely still now, watching Pete intently as if he’s completely captivated by this new
development. Pete lifts his hands up over his head like the position Vegas had him in before,
feeling the chain climb higher between them and then he meets Vegas’ eyes for a second.

His pupils are blown wide and Pete feels an answering jerk in his lower abdomen at the arousal
burning there even as his resolve doesn’t waver.
He waits until the last possible second, when Vegas’ hands reach around and grip his ass cheeks,
pulling them apart to make sure he’s properly open. Only when his hands are completely occupied,
does Pete make his move.

He lunges forward, throwing his hands across the length of Vegas’ shoulder, and dragging his
wrist quickly around the back of Vegas’ skull, consequently tugging the unspooled chain around
his neck as it naturally follows the movement of his wrists.

Vegas’ hands tighten on his ass for a second before he’s trying to lean back and away but Pete is
already at his opposite shoulder and that only helps him drag his wrist back towards himself and
loop the chain quicker. Then he’s dropping his left wrist and catching the extended link of metal in
hand whilst rotating his other wrist to catch at the section of the chain connected to the cuffs.

He sees understanding on Vegas’ face when Pete has a hold of the overlapping chain. Then he
yanks in both directions, the metal immediately going taut around Vegas’ throat.

The cuffs restrict his movement enough that he can’t pull his wrists as far apart as he’d like to
strangle him but it will be enough to get the job done. Pete knows because he took the time to test
it on himself earlier.

Vegas’ eyes flash as Pete tightens his grip immediately and then Vegas’ hands fly up to try and
grasp at the metal now constricting his airway. Since Pete’s body is pressed so closely against him,
it takes Vegas a couple tries to even worm his hands between Pete in order to reach the chain at his
throat. His eyes are wide but Pete wouldn’t say the expression on his face is surprise. Or even fear.

If anything he looks pleased when Pete starts firmly choking the life out of him.

Even with such a frighteningly contrary reaction, Pete doesn’t back down from the task. For a
moment his vengeance overpowers every last thing, the chance to make Vegas suffer for what he’s
done simply too powerful to ignore. He can see the strain on Vegas’ face, the way his veins seem
to jut out against the base of his throat as he fights for air and all Pete can think is that he wants to
watch the exact moment when the life finally leaves his body.

Vegas looks right back at him as if he knows it, and the hunger there in his eyes feels like it could
consume entire cities.

Pete knows that he’s won this game. But just as he’s pushing Vegas to the brink of victory, rational
thought is seeping through the rage and the cost of reality is already beginning to overshadow his
revenge. With the chain still around his neck, Pete comes to the demoralising realisation that he
can’t kill Vegas just yet.

Logically, he shouldn’t.

If he kills Vegas now the chance he might still make it out alive drops exponentially.

If by some miracle he gets out of the cuffs, he could never return to the main family having killed
one of their own. Too many influential people would demand Pete’s death as recompense, namely
Vegas' father. Perhaps even Mr Korn. And Pete is much too loyal to turn his back on the
Theerapanyakul name even now.

So whilst killing Vegas might briefly satisfy the fury within him, it will only ensure a quicker end
for himself.

He doubts Vegas is carrying the keys for the chains on him either. He’s not that stupid. And if he
can’t free himself what’s the point of staying in a house with a corpse until he’s discovered by the
guards? The only other places he can reach are the office and the bathroom and neither of those
places will protect him from decomposition.

There’s still no escape whilst he’s chained to the bed either. Not to mention how long discovery
could take. What if Vegas instructed his men never to disturb them?

Pete hasn’t seen another living soul in the house since Vegas and Gear dragged him back in here.
What if those two guards aren’t even stationed in the house at all? Will Pete just die of hunger
lying next to Vegas’ decaying flesh?

Pete has to be practical if he wants to survive this and that means not taking stupid risks. Even if
his hurt pride and sense of mounting vengeance sorely want him to.

A second later, just before he decides to ease off the pressure on Vegas’ throat, two things happen
simultaneously.

Vegas manages to gasp out the word, ‘harder’, his eyes alight in fire and glinting with dark pleasure
and Pete finally realises the pressure underneath him is actually Vegas’ erection pressing up
against his thigh.

That’s what tips his decision. The last thing Pete plans to do is give Vegas anything he wants.
There’s absolutely no satisfying retribution from killing Vegas in a way that Vegas is going to
enjoy while it’s happening.

Pete drops his hold in disgust, freeing up Vegas’ airway as he unwinds the chain and rolls off of
Vegas, shoving him far away on the bed. Breathing heavily, and already regretting his decision,
Pete unspools the chain and scoots into the left hand corner of the mattress, his back pressing up
against the metal frame of the headboard.

Vegas lets out a croaky laugh, and moves a hand to his throat, sprawled out on his back with each
of his breaths sounding like an uphill struggle as he slowly recovers himself. He coughs several
times and Pete watches his Adam’s apple bob up and down before his eyes drop to the red line
rising prominently around his throat.

That’s a reminder he won’t forget any time soon. Vegas will bruise for sure, those metal chains
were anything but soft.

Pete continues to watch him, not speaking, and eventually the rise and fall of his chest starts to
deliberately even out again. Vegas’ expression hasn’t shifted all that much, he’s still grinning in an
almost deranged kind of way, intentionally not looking at Pete as he lies there.

Whilst he waits, Pete’s muscles grow stiff with tension as he anticipates what type of retaliation
there will be for his attack. Even though he knows, instinctively, that Vegas growing bored of him
is a much more dangerous thing.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

Vegas lunges toward him with incredible speed even with Pete watching him so intently, and Pete
automatically throws his fists up in preparation of blocking a punch. Except Vegas snags the front
of the chain at his wrists instead and grabs hold of the carabiner, yanking Pete sideways and
hooking it lightning fast to a clip in the centre of the headboard that he hadn’t noticed earlier purely
because it was behind him.

The chain is secured there with a final snap and as Pete jerks forward immediately to try and unclip
it from the bed frame, Vegas is suddenly there at his back, reaching underneath his arms and
catching at the opposite end of the chain not connected to his wrists, dragging and wrapping it over
his hip, pulling the restraint over to his opposite leg and tucking it underneath and over his thigh,
winding quickly until he’s reached Pete’s left ankle, coiling the chain twice around the bone there
for good measure.

Pete tries to pull back to unwrap himself but his wrists don’t allow him to move any further from
the headboard now that he’s secured to it and Pete finds he’s stuck in position. He’s just about to
bring his knee up, attempting to bring the chain closer to himself in order to unwind it from his leg
that way before the weight of Vegas disappears from the bed and Pete turns his head just in time to
watch him pick up the chunk of stone like it’s nothing as he pulls the remaining coil of chain
completely taut.

Inexorably, Pete’s knee is dragged back down by the tug of movement until his leg is completely
extended on the mattress. Once Vegas is certain there’s no give to the chain anymore, he sets it
down on the floor and places the heavy rock on top of it, ensuring Pete won’t be able to move it
just by tugging at the restraints.

Pete still yanks determinedly at his ankle and wrists anyway but there’s no give in the chain at all.
He can’t pull himself forward to free the snap hook from the metal frame nor can he reach down to
tug the end of the chain up off from the floor.

Vegas has trapped him again.

Pete bites his lip and bitterly regrets his earlier act of mercy.

“Crude I know,” Vegas murmurs from behind him as he climbs back onto the bed. “But only
temporary until the restraints I ordered finally arrive.”

Pete feels the hair rise on his neck at how carefully this has worked out in Vegas’ favour. He’s now
all but face down on the bed, lubed up and waiting. Will the restraints he ordered be even more
exact in the measurements he’d taken for this current chain? Pete is certain they will be.

How long has Vegas been planning something like this? The metal rings in the bed. The chain that
covers a perfectly restrained distance. Was what he did to Pete in his dungeon not a spur of the
moment thing after all? Had he intended to bring Pete here all along?

A second later, Pete hears the familiar squirt of lube being deposited into an open palm and flushes
high in his cheeks at the realisation of what’s coming. What’s still coming even after Pete very
nearly half killed him. After what just happened he couldn’t possibly-

“Very interesting foreplay though,” Vegas murmurs, voice low and still raspy. Pete is certain his
throat will be mottled with bruises within the next hour. “Wanna play rough then, baby?”

“No,” Pete grits out, glancing over his shoulder at a naked Vegas in the middle of stroking lube on
to his condom covered cock before turning back and tugging fruitlessly on the chain locking him
against the headboard.

He’s trapped on the mattress, wrists lifted in the air in front of him from the pull of the chain when
he yanks on the metal again but even using all of his strength trying to displace it, the chain won’t
budge in any significant way. The craftsmanship of the links are too strong for Pete’s bare hands.

“I think you do,” Vegas says, and Pete jolts at the touch of a palm at his naked hip, even as another
set of fingers are slipping between the flesh of his ass and skating towards his hole.

Pete twists, rolling towards the chains on his side of the bed to create some slack, the sudden
looseness enough for him to be able to twist and kick Vegas hard in the stomach with his only free
leg.

Vegas falls back, but not very far and it’s not a moment later that he’s back up and on his knees,
recovered and hands outstretched. Before Pete can right himself for another kick, Vegas has
reached him and by then he’s pushing Pete face first down onto the bed.

Pete’s heart is jumping out of his chest even as he struggles, the chains going taut at his wrist, and
tugging painfully at the awkward angle. He thought it would be easier to resist on the bed than it
was when he was chained and hanging from the ceiling but even his movements now won't be
enough to throw Vegas off.

Vegas who is unrestrained and intrinsically motivated.

He holds Pete down by the back of his neck, his face half smothered by the pillows and Vegas’
right hand finds his entrance, still a little puffy and sensitive from before and then he’s shoving two
fingers straight back in.

Pete hisses out his resentment but not in reaction to any kind of discomfort. After everything Vegas
is somehow still determined not to make this painful for Pete. Only the fullness is back, and
already his cock is twitching, steadily beginning to rise at the sensation, trapped against the
mattress as it is.

“Just checking you didn’t tighten up again when you were trying to kill me, baby,” Vegas murmurs
in a voice surprisingly absent of any anger.

If anything, Pete’s attempted murder and their consequent wrestling for dominance as he restrained
him, seems to have gotten Vegas even more excited.

Pete feels a little tender, raw and used but after the types of training he’s put his body through, he’s
well versed in the kind of aches that lead to injury and the kind that just feel good. Satisfying even.
And though it pains him to lump the sensation in with the latter, Pete can’t deny that it’s true.
Vegas might be violating him, but he’s obviously taking care not to rip him open.

For some sick reason he’s still just as invested in Pete’s enjoyment of this as much as his own.

He curses when Vegas quickly pushes in a third a second later, immediately disproving the
thought, clumsily stretching him open like he doesn’t have the patience to take this slow after
what’s just happened. From how quickly he got impossibly hard after Pete strangled him, it’s not
exactly surprising.

“Hmm,” Vegas says appreciatively, dragging his fingers out of Pete a moment later. “Ass up,
Pete.”

Pete twists and tries to kick at him again but Vegas merely grabs at his knee and pins him hard to
the bed, pushing his thigh up into a position that opens him up wider. The warmth of his hand is
just as distracting when he keeps Pete in position and gets situated. Pete barely has a second to
yield to reality before he feels that familiar pressure again and Vegas slides straight into him.

Pete takes that first instance of penetration on a muffled groan. His jaw clenches in frustration even
as Pete is aware of his own cock, now fully hard, and a response to the irresistible drag of Vegas
inside him, the heat of stimulation.

This is only the third time he’s done this, but already it feels like Pete’s body is primed to react to
it.
He doesn’t lift his hips as Vegas instructed, refuses to accommodate him in any way but that
doesn’t seem to matter so much when the hand gripping his neck loosens and slides between his
shoulder blades, following firmly along his spine as if Vegas is mapping out the stages of Pete’s
body. The touch is as inescapable as the rest of him before it trails off and Vegas takes hold of the
edge of his hip next.

Anticipation lingers in the air before Vegas hums appreciatively again, both hands gripping onto
Pete tightly, one lifting his hip up, and the other sliding between the mattress and his leg to grip at
his inner thigh, adjusting the angle and also allowing him to slide deeper.

Pete’s mouth is open against the pillow and all he can do is pant shallowly against the material and
focus on not giving Vegas any other sounds that would gratify him or suggest pleasure.

“That’s it,” Vegas encourages anyway, as if he knows what Pete is trying to do and whatever
cutting response Pete was thinking of is lost in the first thrust.

It’s different on a bed. The mattress and the chains seem to give them just the right amount of
friction that having Pete’s body suspended in the air didn’t, and his cock is wet and leaking when
Vegas pushes into him firmly, sliding deep while the chains keep him secured enough to just lay
there and take it.

From the earlier fingering, the adrenaline of his attack and the rush of trying to fight off Vegas,
he’s too keyed up, too high strung on the tension to last long.

Pete doesn’t say anything when he comes but his body says it for him, clenching around Vegas as
he spurts against the sheets, muscles trembling with ongoing shock at the sudden orgasm.

Vegas groans into his hair and doesn’t last more than five more thrusts before he’s snapping his
hips hard into Pete and coming with a drawn out moan. Pete’s eyes are closed so he flinches when
Vegas grips his chin and tilts his head back to kiss him. Weakly, he tries to pull away but Vegas
has pushed him so deeply into the pillow that there’s nowhere to escape to. When his tongue slides
into Pete’s open mouth though, he tries to bite down on it.

Vegas knows what he’s thinking or at the very least he’s expecting something because he reaches
down and grips Pete cock tight before he can clamp his jaw fully shut. At the unexpected pressure,
Pete gasps into his mouth so that Vegas’ succeeds again, tongue meeting his own in a slick kiss.

Pete stiffens all over at the sensation and Vegas groans, drawing his mouth away even as he drops
hold of Pete’s cock and slides both hands back down towards his hips again. He’s still inside,
hasn’t bothered to pull out yet even though he’s softening and Pete’s not surprised. He’d do
anything to prolong the coupling.

“So tight,” Vegas whispers at Pete’s ear. “So good, baby.”

Pete flushes and tries to kick him again but he only makes contact with Vegas’ shin.

“Get,” he tries, gasping and struggling to keep his voice even as his body cools down. “Get out of
me.”

Vegas leans over and kisses at his jaw next. He makes Pete wait another few more minutes while
he continues to go soft inside him so Pete can intimately feel the whole thing. Only once he’s
satisfied does he pull out, the mattress dipping as he finally climbs off. Pete glances over his
shoulder at the sight of Vegas’ bare ass leaving the room and immediately zeros in on the weight
at the end of the chain.
Unbelievably, Vegas has moved it. Pete immediately drags himself up to his knees, ignoring the
twinges in his lower body from the movement as the slack in the chain now allows him to reach
the snap hook connecting him to the bed frame.

With trembling fingers he opens the carabiner and eases it out of the metal ring on the bed frame.
When Pete goes to remove the carabiner next from the chain itself, intending not to be caught out
like that again, he realises the metal links in the chain are actually too small for the hook to ever be
untangled from it. He can’t turn the carabiner at the right angle to pull it through the loop in the
link because the metal itself is too thick.

It’s obviously designed so Pete can’t remove it.

He gives up with a hiss of disgust, turning over and nearly putting his chained knee into the puddle
of his own seed on the sheets.

Pete flushes at the noticeable volume of it because Vegas made him come so hard, before he’s
turning his face away and concentrating on unwrapping the cold metal from his ankle. He moves
quickly in case Vegas intends to come back and finally gets completely free of chains around his
body until it’s only connected solely to his wrists again and then he’s stumbling off the mattress
and hurrying out of the room.

He listens carefully, realising he can hear Vegas moving about in the kitchen and then he ducks
left, rushing to bathroom where at the very least he can get rid of most of the traces of what they’ve
just done.

Pete doesn’t worry about the possibility of rusting the cuffs or the chain- that’s Vegas’ problem.
He just steps straight into the shower and turns the nozzle on, adjusting the temperature until it’s
how he likes.

Pete puts his face under the spray first before letting the water run over his body. The sting of the
raw flesh around his wrists and the scabs on his chest almost has a grounding quality to it and Pete
doesn’t shy away from the pain. He’s still sweaty and oversensitive from the sex but Pete can feel
the wetness between his legs and knows he wants to get the feeling of the lube out first.

Flushing at the thought, Pete knows he can’t really reach and perform a thorough cleaning with his
hands currently cuffed in front of him.

But if they were behind his back? Would he- would he be able to-?

Pete bites his lip and glances down at himself, surprised to see that his cock is getting hard again.
Is this because of what Vegas just did to him? Has he already developed new sexual perversions
now that he’s Vegas’ prisoner?

It’s such a disturbing thought that Pete ignores his cock completely, choosing to believe that the
sluice of water will be enough to wash away any remaining lube. There’s no way in hell he’ll be
caught stroking himself. Especially not straight after Vegas just forced himself on him. The door to
the bathroom doesn’t lock either and Pete refuses to give Vegas an opportunity to walk in on him
masturbating.

There is no privacy from Vegas in this safe house. It’s a wonder Vegas hasn’t installed cameras.
Pete gives the room another once over out of suspicion but he didn’t see anything the first time he
looked, and he still doesn’t notice anything the second time around. It does nothing to soothe the
current unease within him.
What use does Vegas have for cameras when he’ll be staying here with Pete too? Instantly, he’s
struck by another alarming thought. Is Vegas planning to actually sleep in the same bed with him?

Would he dare to do such a thing after Pete nearly strangled him? Previous experience suggests he
would. Pete tries to steel himself for the possibility of having to spend a lot more time with Vegas
in close quarters. At least Vegas can still roam the grounds of the safe house while he’s on the run
from the main family.

He’s not limited by the chain at all.

Pete's thoughts stray back to Kinn and the main family, wondering what must be going on over at
the main house in his absence. Does Kinn still truly have no doubts of Pete’s sudden
disappearance? Porsche wouldn’t just forget about him would he? And Arm and Pol, won’t they
find it odd that Pete has taken time off unexpectedly when he hasn’t been to see his grandmother in
little over a year now?

Pete realises thinking about how easily they’ve all continued on without him is too upsetting and
not at all productive, so he ducks his head under the spray and lets the heat of the water soak his
hair, trying not to succumb to despair.

He wonders again what will be the tipping point that has Vegas eventually deciding to kill him. If
attempted murder only has Vegas more aroused what could be enough to make him bored of Pete
for good?

If you stop fighting him, a voice answers immediately, but Pete pushes the thought away as an
impossible option.

He can’t let Vegas, spoiled, entitled Vegas, get what he wants. And while it’s clear Vegas enjoys
his resistance, Vegas also wants Pete to submit to him just as badly. He wouldn’t get so excited
whenever Pete has shown signs of willing participation otherwise.

Is that what Vegas truly wants? For Pete to spread his legs and beg for him? The idea gnaws at
Pete so badly that his fists clench as he steps out of the spray, turning off the faucet a second later.

Pete can’t do it, even for the sake of pretending. He’d rather die than let Vegas believe he has a
cock magical enough to break Pete, to shatter his resolve and divide his loyalties. Pete will die
before giving Vegas any kind of impression that he’s won him.

Pete stomps out of the shower, chain dragging loudly across the tiles which he ignores in favour of
reaching for the nearest towel and striding out of the room without covering himself. What would
be the point when Vegas has seen every inch of him anyway?

He listens carefully for a second, sliding the fabric awkwardly over his wet shoulders as the cuffs
clink against his tender wrists and Pete can still pick up the sounds of Vegas moving about in the
kitchen. The smell of chilli and minced pork hit his nostrils and Pete has to physically turn himself
away from the aroma because it only seeks to remind him how empty his stomach is.

That sweet and sour soup feels like it was from another lifetime now.

He wonders if Vegas’ sudden interest in treating him better extends to home cooking. Although
Vegas has proven how unrepentantly he’ll drug Pete when it suits him, Pete would be a fool to
recklessly trust anything Vegas puts in front of him. That doesn’t mean the cooked meat lingering
in the air isn’t its own special kind of torture when Pete moves back into the bedroom.

He’s dripping water all over the floorboards but Pete can’t find it in himself to care when he moves
to the edge of the bed and finds his discarded boxers and sweatpants.

Pete doesn’t want to put the same underwear back on, so he leaves the boxers on the ground,
bending over to pick up the sweatpants instead. He stops short when his eyes immediately are
drawn to the wet spot on the bed, and Pete can feel the heat crawling across his face at the
reminder when he dries himself off perfunctorily and scrambles back into the sweatpants.

He dresses too quickly, the stretch of movement pulling open some of the scabs on his chest and
Pete is bleeding a little when Vegas re-enters the room, wearing only briefs and carrying a bowl
full of what smells distinctly like Pad Kra Prao.

Vegas’ eyes drop automatically to the sores on Pete’s chest, and they narrow disapprovingly at the
blood there. He steps forward a second later, moving around Pete to deposit the food down on top
of the trunk whilst Pete is fighting hard not to turn and look at it with interest and then Vegas is
striding out of the room.

Pete’s starving. Hasn’t had solid food in days and the smell of pork and basil is making his mouth
water. But Vegas wouldn’t have left it there if he wasn’t at the very least trying to tempt him and
Pete isn’t stupid enough to approach and take the bait before he’s confirmed it’s safe to eat.

He stands there rooted to the spot until Vegas returns carrying a white and green ointment of some
kind in his hand. When he approaches again, Pete steps back, away from the bed and the hot dish,
retreating until he’s close to the wall. It’s not exactly a defensible position but it’s arguably better
than the bed.

Vegas is ignoring him, uncapping the tube and he’s close enough now that Pete recognises it’s
Centella Cream for wound treatment. When Vegas squirts a generous amount on to his open palm,
Pete tenses up and stares at him with evident mistrust.

“Now are you going to be a good boy and stay still?” Vegas wonders, standing close enough that
Pete can see the insolent shape of his mouth, the twist of it edging on playful.

“Depends on what you’re going to do,” Pete answers begrudgingly, not in the mood for any more
of Vegas’ games.

But Vegas merely tilts his chin, further exposing the purpling ring of irritated flesh around his
throat as he cocks his head at him.

“What do you think I’m about to do?”

“I think it’s a little late to be worrying about infection when you’re the one who caused the damage
in the first place.”

Vegas only smiles inscrutably at him, before reaching out and rubbing the cream onto Pete’s skin
without any warning. Pete hisses with sensitivity at the first touch but it’s obvious Vegas is taking
care to be soft in his application. Almost as much as Pete resents being taken care of by him.

“Don’t pout, baby,” Vegas says at his expression. “Haven’t I been nice to you?”

Pete openly scoffs at that just as Vegas glances over his shoulder at the bed again, lingering
pointedly on the wet spot that Pete left there.

“I have to change the sheets now because you enjoyed yourself so much,” Vegas continues, sighing
as if at the inconvenience before openly smirking at Pete’s furious look. “Next time I’ll put a towel
down first before I play with you.”
“You’re delusional. Pathetic,” Pete fires back. “You’re-“

Vegas cuts him off with a kiss.

This one is worse than the others because Pete’s bottom lip gives under the pressure and suddenly
Vegas’ hand is on the back of his neck, holding him there as he shifts the angle and the kiss
unexpectedly deepens. His wrists are trapped between the both of their abdomens and it’s a
humiliatingly long pause before Pete remembers the use of his hands. When he finally succeeds in
pushing Vegas back, they’re both openly panting, and breathing unsteadily.

“You took your time,” Vegas notes. “Pushing me away.”

Pete doesn’t answer. His lips are tingling.

Vegas finishes up rubbing in the rest of the cream, then heads back out to the bathroom to wash his
hands. When he’s gone, Pete weakens momentarily and glances over at the dish sitting on the
trunk. The rice looks warm and sticky, the pork cooked to near perfection and Pete wonders if
Vegas is truly aware of the mental anguish he’s inflicting upon him.

“You’re supposed to eat it. Not stare at it,” comes a voice behind him and it’s a testament to Pete’s
steadiness of character that he doesn’t jump.

“And how many times have you poisoned me now?” Pete retorts back, turning his back on the
food and spotting Vegas at the edge of the mattress as he strips off the duvet cover.

“None,” Vegas points out. “Drugging you was fun though.”

Pete isn’t going to argue technicalities with him.

“Why should I trust anything you offer when you said you'd kill me?" Pete says. "Your own father
told you to get rid of me. This is all part of the plan, right? To kill me eventually.”

Pete is glancing at the pork again, preoccupied enough that he doesn’t notice Vegas hasn’t
responded at first. Vegas, who has finally stripped the duvet cover off completely, bunches it up
and strides out of the room again.

When he turns right, Pete realises that the hallway with the doorway he can’t reach probably leads
to a laundry room. Vegas comes back thirty seconds later with a new duvet cover, this one blue
and remakes the bed with surprising efficiency. Pete is torn between watching him and the bowl of
hot food the entire time.

“You didn’t answer, Vegas,” Pete says suddenly, to the silence of the room.

It’s the first time that Vegas has ignored an opportunity to drive the knife in deeper at Pete’s
questions. Especially one that he had answered readily in the past before.

Pete sees the horror of the distinction immediately.

“No,” he says quietly, and that’s when Vegas, who is smoothing out the sheets, straightens and
meets his gaze. His eyes might be dark and empty but Pete can see the insatiable appetite in them.

“No,” he repeats, heart pounding furiously. “You can’t be serious.”

“You’re mine,” Vegas says softly and the fervour in his voice is raw and terrifying. “I can do what
I want with you.”
“I’m not- you think that because you have me trapped and chained up here-“

“You belong,” Vegas repeats, smiling sharply. “To me.”

Pete lunges for him, bare hands aiming for his throat again but Vegas twists out of his range,
laughing as he slips out of the room and out of reach before Pete can properly chase him down.

“Eat up, baby,” Vegas calls over his shoulder. “You’re going to need to get your strength back.”

Pete very nearly smashes the bowl against the wall in a fit of misplaced rage. Almost. But hunger,
which has been gnawing at him for so long now finally defeats his pride. So Pete climbs onto the
bed with a snarl of annoyance, dragging the bowl into his lap as he scoops up the fork and spoon.

Vegas hasn’t bothered with plastic utensils this time, and his lack of concern now of Pete using
them as makeshift weapons is almost insulting. But Pete’s earlier reasoning for keeping Vegas
alive doesn’t cancel out the urge to gouge Vegas’ eyes out with the fork now in his hand. After all,
there are still lots of ways to seriously injure Vegas without actually killing him.

Whilst his imagination runs wild, Pete scoops up the first bite and lets his taste buds be
overwhelmed with flavour. He’s meant to eat slowly and carefully, but Pete barely swallows before
he’s scooping up the next bite, determined to fill his belly and savour this as much as possible.

Vegas, though hoping to get a rise out of him, is unfortunately correct. No matter what he might
have planned for Pete, he does need to get himself back to full strength in order to survive Vegas.
And that means eating whatever he cooks.

He’ll have to risk the poisoning. Although Vegas has already made it clear he has no intention of
getting rid of Pete just yet. He’s clearly having too much fun enjoying himself, enjoying Pete.
Which has to be some kind of advantage in Pete’s favour.

If he can only figure out how to use it.

Vegas can’t have the upper hand forever. He’ll slip up eventually and Pete will be ready for him.

He has to be.
 let's not pretend, we're not a loose canon ending
Chapter Notes

Fic title is from Bout You by Vérité

hey everyone just a bit of an update:

I've seen a few worried comments and just wanted to let you know I'm not abandoning
this fic!! I've been working on the story for a while now and a lot of it was already pre-
written when I started posting. I just happened to reach some of the sections where it's
not so I'm back in the currently-writing stage before the rest of the story connects
again

so posting might be a little more sporadic atm but it is definitely still ongoing no need
to stress!!

hope you like the new chap ♡

Pete is eating the last bite, trying not to think too much on the horrific ramifications of Vegas
deciding to keep him alive after all, when Vegas comes back to him again.

His timing seems a little too coincidental when he takes the empty bowl and cutlery out of Pete’s
hands and not for the first time is Pete reminded of his suspicions that Vegas has cameras hidden in
the house.

He wonders if it would be worth it to ask before Vegas is tossing a bottle full of pills into his lap,
rattling noisily against the glass as they land. Frowning, he picks them up and turns the bottle over
to read the label, the furrow in his brow deepening further.

“What-?” he starts, puzzled, at the Thai script that marks the pills as fibre supplements.

“To keep you regular,” Vegas says without pretence and Pete finally catches the tiny postscript
underneath the brand label that says ‘Promotes digestive health’ and feels a flush of heat burn in
his cheeks.

Vegas is talking about- he’s actually talking about-

“You can’t- seriously believe I’ll take these,” Pete says, half spluttering through his own
embarrassment.

Vegas only shrugs. “Up to you, baby. But you know I’m going to keep playing with you. The pills
will just help clean you out.”

Pete’s face is on fire when he throws the bottle of pills at Vegas’ head in a fit of pique. There’s no
satisfaction in it however, because Vegas reaches up and snatches the bottle out of the air before it
can make contact.

Then Vegas casually sets it down on the trunk whilst Pete is trying his very best not to look at him
and walks back out of the room carrying Pete’s empty bowl. His calmness in the face of Pete’s
anger is absolutely infuriating.

“I’ve left you a new toothbrush in the bathroom,” Vegas calls over his shoulder. “In the cupboard
under the sink.”

For a second Pete wants to ignore the not-so-subtle suggestion just for the sake of annoying Vegas
in any way, shape or form that he can. But his own sense of personal hygiene wins out. Climbing
off the bed with a groan of aching limbs- the muscles in his legs are already protesting the running
he did earlier in the day- Pete rattles the chains loudly and stomps on out towards the bathroom.

He finds the new toothbrush and toothpaste where Vegas said they’d be, in the cupboard under the
vanity sink, which is intentionally devoid of anything else. Pete feels a twinge of further
aggravation at himself that he didn’t think to check the cupboard earlier on his first sweep of the
house. Are there possibly other things that he missed?

Pete ruminates on this whilst he brushes his teeth, thinking it might be a good idea to go over the
house again tomorrow when Vegas leaves him alone again. That’s if Vegas even decides to risk
that after his last escape.

With a touch of irritability, Pete spits into the sink, rinses off the toothbrush and leaves it sitting on
the counter before he shuffles over and relieves himself in the toilet. Even though the door doesn’t
lock he doesn’t bother to close it either, the chain looks like it's actually too thick to fit through the
small sliver of space between the base of the door and the wooden floorboards.

Yet another thing Pete didn’t pay as much attention to as he should have since it means he can’t
even attempt to keep Vegas out of the bathroom when he’s in there.

It doesn’t sit well with him to think that the earlier days’ worth of food, water and sleep deprivation
are still making the effects on his mental faculties known. Since that has changed recently, Pete
can only hope his concentration and his attention to detail will improve but only time will tell on
that front.

With a belly now full of food, Pete is having difficulty stretching his thoughts beyond the welcome
oblivion of the mattress. The draw to rest, to recharge, is simply too great to ignore.

Even so Pete does his best to concentrate on the chain and the locked door issue, as he flushes the
toilet and goes to wash his hands. The skin around his wrists are still raw, and scabbed in places
and Pete eases them under the running water, letting the coolness soothe the tenderness of the
sting. They’ll be red and sensitive for days after he expended so much effort escaping the first
cuffs.

Pete has a feeling this second pair isn’t going to help much with healing either. They’re way too
tight to allow for that. Wounds like these need to breathe.

He lingers there at the sink, wasting water to relieve his wrists before suddenly arriving on an idea.
He might not be able to shut himself in the bathroom but he could do it for the bedroom door.
Maybe he could use the trunk or the bed frame to try and barricade himself in.

Immediately his own pessimism weighs down the thought, intent to let it sink with his other failed
escape attempts. Because what would barricading himself in the room achieve? Besides a short
reprieve from Vegas’ sexual advances and the grim resolution to starve himself to death. With no
guarantee of the duration since it goes without saying that Vegas could probably find some way to
break the door down eventually.

Most likely well before Pete could do any real damage to himself which would render the entire
act pointless.

Emotionally, he understands the desire to put some distance between them. All of Pete’s time now
is absorbed by Vegas completely. There’s no telling what it’s doing to his psyche, though Pete is
well aware of the effects on his resolve. It feels somehow worse now that the guards aren’t in the
house with them. Pete and Vegas are completely alone together in here.

It’s harder not to blur the boundaries.

Sighing now, Pete returns to the bedroom, immediately spotting the pill bottle on the trunk to his
left and now within reach before striking it vindictively with the back of his hand. The bottle goes
flying across the room, with the pills making a rewarding clatter before the bottle rolls into the
mound of chains in the corner and stops there.

Grimly appeased, Pete stalks further into the room and collapses face first on to the bed, feeling the
tight itchiness of his healing chest, the awkwardness of the chains at his wrists, wincing a little as
he tries to get comfortable. He soon figures out the best way to lay down is on his side with his
wrists splayed out before him, the chain trailing over the edge of the mattress with enough give so
that it doesn’t constantly pull at his wrists.

Pete wants to stay alert but can’t keep his eyes open for long and he’s lightly dozing when Vegas
comes back to join him.

It’s the smell of him that hits first. Some kind of cologne or shaving cream that has a sharp, biting
scent to it which lingers in Pete’s nostrils. He tilts his chin over to look at Vegas more closely,
observing the fact that he’s changed into comfortable looking sleep pants and his hair is still a little
damp.

He showered but as Pete was in the bathroom earlier, it’s confirmation that there must be a second
bedroom in the house with an ensuite. Possibly the room that led off from the living room and
kitchen.

Automatically, Pete’s eyes drop to Vegas’ crotch but he’s not in the kind of state that Pete has the
energy to worry about. At least beyond the daunting prospect that in spite of there being a second
bedroom, Vegas clearly still intends to bother him here all night.

“Are there cameras in the house?” Pete demands, unable to resist finally asking the question that’s
been plaguing him since he arrived. “Are you recording- all of this?”

Pete gestures between the two of them, the chains at his cuffs rattling as he watches Vegas for
signs of duplicity.

“No,” Vegas says simply and Pete knows that he isn’t lying. “This is all for my eyes only.”

The answer might be comforting if Pete could ignore the possessive reasoning behind it. Although
it’s probably a good thing that Vegas isn’t interested in sharing. Pete doesn’t want to think too
deeply on what that would mean for him if Vegas did. There’s enough horror in this situation
already.

When Vegas climbs on to the other side of the mattress, lifting up the duvet and slipping under it,
Pete tenses up all over, greatly disliking having his back to Vegas.

Before he can make the very prudent call to shift positions, Vegas has already slotted up against
him, sliding an arm under Pete’s neck and reaching the other around Pete’s ribcage until his hands
are catching, not on the cuff of the chains, but on the warm skin of Pete’s wrist just above it.

Vegas’ hand seems to enclose him, forming his own warm cuff before he tucks his nose against the
base of Pete’s neck and seems to settle there with ease.

Pete is rigid in his arms, skin flushing and impossibly tense as he tries to move his arm back to
strike Vegas in the stomach. The hand on Pete’s wrist tightens, Vegas revealing his strength and
intention, when he prevents Pete from attacking like he wants. Holding Pete back from pushing
him off.

“Relax, baby,” Vegas murmurs, a warm puff of air against his skin. The tightness of his grip
doesn’t let off even for a moment. “Sleep.”

Pete doesn’t obey. He lays there, tense, and on high alert, whilst his thought stay agitated and
scattered. How can Vegas even think Pete will relax in this position?

Vegas, soon noting this, laughs a little against him. “You really love to suffer, don’t you?” he says,
and when he leans in closer to the side of Pete’s face as if to kiss him, Pete turns his mouth out of
reach immediately.

Undaunted, Vegas places a kiss against his cheek, shifts once more to get more comfortable and
then doesn’t say anything else.

Pete listens intently to the sound of him breathing the whole time until the rhythm finally evens out
completely and Vegas slowly sinks into the luxury of uninterrupted sleep. Once he’s certain it isn’t
a trick, Pete relaxes only in increments, shocked that Vegas would have the guts to fall asleep in
reach of Pete after he strangled him earlier.

In spite of his upper hand of the situation, Vegas’ overconfidence is still completely jarring. He
must be wholly convinced after what happened earlier that Pete won’t try to kill him again. The
arrogance of the gesture is irritating enough that Pete’s tempted go against his earlier decision. The
mutually assured self-destruction doesn’t seem to bother him as much now as it should.

But even so, Pete has a feeling that if he can somehow just manage to escape, to get outside of the
reach of Vegas’ influence, that might be the best way to get at him. To make Vegas hurt. Leaving
him here all alone.

He’s not deluded enough to believe that Vegas has romantic feelings for him. Vegas wants to fuck
him, to play with him, to taunt and control Pete in any way he can because he believes he has the
right to possess him. It’s Vegas’ sense of ownership which has him so invested in holding Pete here
now that he’s changed his mind about killing him.

Pete wonders if his presence is serving another purpose at the safe house too. He wonders if Vegas
gets lonely. The notion doesn’t inspire his pity though. Pete is well beyond feeling any kind of
sympathy for Vegas.

When he’s certain Vegas has been asleep for a least an hour- enough for REM sleep to kick in and
for Vegas’ body to fully relax, Pete finally makes an effort to extract himself. But he’s surprised to
find that even in that restful state, Pete still can’t seem to tug himself free of Vegas’ hand.

It’s a sobering thought that even in his sleep Vegas won’t let him go.
Eventually, Pete’s exhaustion creeps back in again and he reasons that since Vegas has decided to
introduce this new method for prolonging bodily contact and it’s likely to continue for some time,
he might as well be practical and make peace with it. Sleep, recovering, and regaining his strength
back are more important than his pride as a man being held close by Vegas.

In the grand scheme of it all, cuddling is certainly one of the least offensive things Vegas has done
to him so far.

Even so, Pete’s irritation at being held, at the fibre pills, at Vegas controlling every inch of his
body, simmers so hotly beneath his skin that he remains edgy and alert for much longer than usual.
Often Pete can fall asleep just about anywhere as the job requires. After being trained to catch rest
wherever they can, any bodyguard would be a fool to pass up a few hours of sleep.

Ultimately he can’t do anything locked into position like this anyway so Pete gives over to the
vulnerability and the anger eventually ebbs away.

Vegas is warm at his back, a steady, immovable presence, and the pillow under his head is getting
softer by the minute.

Pete reminds himself not to get too comfortable with this set up. No doubt Vegas will try
something in the morning with Pete so close and at his mercy, but any thoughts on how to address
this scatter into the blackness of his mind when sleep finally reaches out and takes him.

The dreams that follow are disjointed and visibly disturbing. Mostly because he gets overheated
sleeping in the sweatpants and that’s also worsened by the simple fact of Vegas being wrapped
around him, sharing body heat. Usually Pete wears hardly any clothing to bed because he has
nightmares when his body temperature gets too high. Always has ever since he was a small child.

Even with the AC running in the safe house, Pete is still too warm.

He wakes up several times over the course of the night, his typically dreamless sleep now restless
and disorienting. Pete tries more than once to pull free of Vegas, but he’s almost as strong sleeping
as he is awake and his grip doesn’t waver, clinging tightly to his body. Between him and the tangle
of chains, Pete is forced to give up and falls back into a fitful doze.

When he wakes up again, he’s not as alert as he should be, blinking sleepily around the room and
trying to figure out what disturbed him.

There’s sunlight streaming in through the windows but it has been for hours now and the rest of
the safe house is quiet and still. There’s no sounds of the bodyguards outside but Pete is certain
now they never patrol close enough to the house for him to detect noise from them anyway.

Vegas wants to keep Pete to himself inside this little bubble of theirs. He would have ordered his
guards to keep off from the house.

Pete feels that he should be worried that his understanding of Vegas is increasing by the day but
it’s too much of an advantage to turn away from. The further inside his head Pete gets, the better he
can outsmart him like he almost did strangling him with the chains.

Pete replays that moment again in his mind, having Vegas underneath him and at his mercy and it
helps soothe some of the anger he was carrying around last night. He can’t afford to let Vegas
make him emotional.

He’s just starting to consider a way to extract himself from Vegas when the edge of his sweatpants
shifts and Pete realises there’s a hand playing gently with his waistband. Pete tilts his head down,
realising Vegas’ left arm is still tucked under the space between his neck and the mattress and his
other arm is thrown haphazardly over Pete’s side, curving over his hip whilst his thumb slides
meaningfully under the elastic of Pete’s sweatpants.

Pete lets out a breath, as Vegas presses decisively up against him, announcing the other parts of
him that are awake and now firmly nudging up against Pete’s backside.

Then Vegas shifts again, slowly pulling his left forearm back until he’s close enough to cup his
hand over Pete’s throat. Pete’s chin tips up almost automatically at the sensation as he swallows,
Adam’s apple bobbing up against Vegas’ fingers. Then Vegas is leaning down and kissing at the
curve between his neck and shoulder, the hand at his throat almost holding him still.

There’s no pressure against his neck, Vegas isn’t actively choking him but Pete still feels the
tension in it anyway and shivers when Vegas’ lips move higher, placing lingering kisses against the
sensitive area of his throat as he nuzzles against him. While this is happening, his fingers at Pete’s
waistband are constantly flexing, teasing Pete with the suggestion of more.

Before Pete’s completely flustered by this, a bolt of inspiration strikes him and he reaches down
slowly to take hold of Vegas’ wrist, dragging his hand free and lifting it up towards his stomach.
Vegas seems to take the hint without prompting, his eagerness to be led by Pete plain, and then his
fingers are trailing up Pete’s sternum, across the slow healing wounds on his chest before reaching
out to tweak at his left nipple.

Pete grits his teeth at the sensation when Vegas presses a lazy kiss against his shoulder blade but
the whole point of moving Vegas’ right hand was to get it within reach of his other one. The link
between Pete’s new cuffs only allow for the smallest amount of distance possible.

And whilst Pete may have resolved himself to not killing Vegas just yet and having also not
forgotten that Vegas has a high tolerance, an almost sick enjoyment of pain, there are still options
beyond that.

Pete can’t believe he didn’t think of it earlier but then again Vegas hasn’t yet been foolish enough
to leave his limbs within close reach of Pete’s hands for such a long period of time.

Slowly, he brings his free hand up to his throat, catching hold of Vegas’ wrist and dragging it off
his skin. Vegas lets Pete move him into the exact position he wants, not understanding what Pete is
planning. Then without warning Pete jerks his hands up, latching harder onto both of Vegas’ wrists
and moving to twist them in a brutally unnatural direction.

Vegas catches on to the purpose immediately and is just quick enough to slide his right hand free
before Pete can fully lock onto it. But his left, which is still trapped under Pete’s neck, isn’t so
lucky.

Pete readjusts his grip, holding tight with both hands now and puts Vegas into a wristlock before
applying as much pressure as he physically can.

Vegas is spitting a curse behind him but before he can do anything else, Pete hears the satisfying
snap that tells him exactly what he wanted to hear. Then as Vegas instinctively releases him, Pete
rolls straight off the bed, towards the chain, and is back on his feet in seconds, whirling about to
face Vegas and any anticipated retribution.
Vegas, who is now sitting up on the mattress, cradling his broken wrist with open kind of interest
that seems deeply wrong somehow. Pete ignores it and only wishes he managed to do the same to
Vegas’ dominant hand as well. But one is better than nothing.

Vegas may be able to blink unemotionally through the pain but it’s the long term pay off that
matters most to Pete right now. It’s going to be harder for him to do what he wants to Pete with a
hand incapacitated like that. And that’s what makes whatever result or consequence worth it.

When they lock eyes again, Pete is surprised that Vegas doesn’t seem very perturbed about what
just happened when he carefully moves his wrist above heart level. It’s that gesture which
immediately tells Pete Vegas has broken it before. Since it’s the best way to prevent pain and
swelling.

There’s still no signs of anger on him and from his expression, Pete might almost say he seems
disinterested. If not for the glint of heat hidden behind his eyes that Pete now knows to look out
for.

“How,” Vegas wonders slowly, his eyes raking possessively over Pete’s body. “How did I not
notice you when you started?”

For a second Pete remembers the first time he ever saw him. Chan had been taking him on a tour of
the main family house and Vegas had stopped by to see Kim about a Ducati in his possession as
Kim had still been living there at the time. Vegas had been standing there in the hallway,
completely flanked by his own guards as Pete and Chan had approached from the opposite end,
heading toward the armoury room that Chan sounded the most proud of and eager to display.

Pete had seen the back of Vegas’ profile first, taking in the height of him and the broad set of his
shoulders and had narrowed his eyes at the silky, patterned shirt he was sporting. Only a man truly
certain of his own power could wear something like that without fear of being labelled feminine or
weak.

It wasn’t just that though. It was the way that Vegas turned first before any of his other guards did
at their approach but it was mostly how he moved with an ease and focus like he was ready for
anything.

Pete knew exactly the type of men who moved like that. What that kind of hyper vigilance could
mean. So as Chan made the introductions, he’d plastered on an overly wide and silly looking smile
before bringing his hands together until the tips nearly reached his eyebrows and bowed his head in
greeting.

Vegas merely nodded perfunctorily at the respectful gesture, said a couple more words to Chan and
then walked away without a second glance at Pete who had been observant enough at the time to
recognise that was a good thing.

In their first meeting, Pete was certain Vegas hadn’t even remembered his name- that was how
little of an impression he’d made. Which was a relief because within five seconds of seeing him,
Pete had already understood he was much more dangerous than any of his cousins. Even Kim, who
whilst wanting to desperately leave the mafia life, seemed to be the most capable at operating
within it.

Pete looks at Vegas now and doesn’t respond.

“Because you didn’t want me to,” Vegas decides, eyes still alight. "Even back then you knew
better."
For a second Pete is surprised. “You remember meeting me?”

Vegas raises his eyebrows at him. “Of course. Who could forget that stupid smile? I should have
realised you just wanted me to think you were some bumbling sidekick like Arm or Pol. You knew
straight away that the best tactic was to avoid my attention.”

Pete bristles a little at the insult against his colleagues but Vegas ignores it, too engrossed by
rearranging his understanding of him. It’s obvious that Vegas is fascinated by him but Pete is
stunned to hear that Vegas recalls their first meeting so clearly. Was that purely because of Vegas’
initial attraction to him? Or did Vegas see something else in Pete too?

“You know I couldn’t put my finger on it at first, what was wrong with you. I’ve had my eye on
you since Kinn first posted you on my tail but I’ve never been able to pin down your character.
You don’t take bribes, you’re respectful, you do the work without complaint and you’re still
playful with the other guards. But you’re hard too, ruthless even. You handle the job better than
most.”

Pete continues to hold his gaze, resolutely.

“You were watching me too when I pulled that traitor’s tooth out,” Vegas recalls suddenly. “You
didn’t even blink.”

He doesn’t bother to deny Vegas’ analysis. The both of them have already come to realise that they
have a good read on the other. Even if Pete sometimes doubts Vegas’ motives are as simple as he
thinks they are.

“Fuck,” Vegas breathes, looking absolutely thrilled. “You’re almost as dangerous as me, baby.”

More so, Pete thinks, because he’s prepared to die fighting for his beliefs but Vegas seems like
he’d fall apart without the safety of his own authority. Ignoring how Vegas is trying to divert his
attention, Pete’s eyes trail across Vegas’ body, analysing what other bones he can potentially break
next.

Vegas isn’t going to make it easy now that Pete has lost the element of surprise but it’s a tactic he
can still draw upon in future. Pete has more experience fighting than Vegas does, and whilst he
might not know Taekwondo like Porsche he has a lot of knowledge in martial arts and hand-to-
hand fighting.

Vegas’ experience is more raw, he’s obviously not trained, better at fighting dirty than relying on
specific techniques and from the way he handled those instruments when he was torturing Don's
man, Pete suspects he might have a little skill with knife fighting.

They have opposing approaches, different styles, but Pete isn’t as certain that he has such a
significant advantage over Vegas with his skills, less so in the current state he’s in with his hands
restrained. That being said, Pete is confident if Vegas tries to get close to him again, he’s going to
break something else.

“What will you go for next?” Vegas asks, reading him intuitively well.

His hyper vigilance, which has to be a left over survival instinct from the abuse experienced at the
hands of Mr Kan, seems to give him a very accurate means of discerning people’s motives and
intentions.

Pete, who has a similar disposition because of his own father, doesn’t have the same extreme level
of awareness that Vegas does. But that’s because Vegas turned his hyper vigilance towards
manipulating situations and people, to needing to control everything in order to feel safe. Whereas
Pete refocused his own toward observing danger and making snap decisions; operating effectively
in high stake situations and protecting others.

They are vastly different people even if at their cores they share a sameness, a cold cruelty that
when left unchecked can extend easily towards others. Vegas has obviously spent time nurturing
his to an unfathomable level, whereas Pete has only ever seen it as a kind of apathy to be fought
against.

This job, protecting others, is what keeps him from completely going under most days.

“Touch me again and find out,” Pete says eventually, with a tone completely devoid of inflection.

Vegas nods once as if in approval and then he’s rolling out of the bed and moving toward the door
as if nothing happened. His lack of consideration for his own body is entirely disturbing, even if it
tells Pete that it would take a lot of effort to bring Vegas down for good.

Is this how he would usually act after his father hurt him? Pete is surprised to find his behaviour so
unsettling.

“You hungry?” Vegas asks over his shoulder, and while Pete doesn’t answer he follows Vegas out
of the room, still watching him as if he can’t help himself.

Vegas is still holding his wrist up high, and actually whistles a short little tune to himself as he
exits the hallway and turns right, disappearing into the kitchen space where Pete can’t follow. Still,
Pete walks to the absolute end of the chain length, feels them pull hard at his wrists, as he peers
around the wall to watch Vegas’ naked back.

Vegas moves about the kitchen easily, and Pete sees him put a pan onto the stove, dragging out oil
and fish sauce from the cupboard and getting fresh ingredients from the fridge. He has no trouble
doing any of these tasks one handed.

Pete can easily guess what he intends to cook from the eggs.

“You want your Kai Jeow with steamed rice or rice porridge?” Vegas asks him without looking
around and for a second Pete is startled at being spoken to.

“- Uh steamed rice.”

Vegas nods and pours a generous amount of oil into the pot, adjusting the stove so that it starts to
heats up first. Pete is surprised to see how at home he looks in the kitchen. Most of the rich Thai
men he knows struggle with all kinds of basic domestic duties- purely because they’ve always had
others do it for them.

Would Mr Kan have taught Vegas how to prepare food like this? Or did he learn it from the cooks
that work at the compound?

Eventually Pete realises that he’s just standing there watching Vegas when he should be using the
free time left alone to explore the house again. To empty his bladder and wash his face.

Pete turns and heads back to the bathroom, leaving Vegas alone with the cooking. His behaviour in
the situation, the strange effort to make this seem normal disturbs Pete the most. Doesn’t Vegas
understand this can’t go on forever? That Pete will escape eventually or die trying? Does he think
that Pete will want to remain here and play husband and wife with him?
Frowning to himself, Pete pads into the bathroom and uses the toilet. He can actually hear the oil
sizzling now from the kitchen before he flushes and goes to wash his hands. By the time Pete has
finished cleaning his face and brushing his teeth, the smell of hot food is in the air.

Despite the full meal last night, Pete can feel the gnawing sensation of hunger that tells him he can
eat again. He’ll have to chew each bite slowly, Pete isn’t sure that he’ll be able to eat a full meal
after such a short time between the last one. After missing so many prior, his ability to digest food
is probably out of alignment as well.

Pete automatically glances down at his chest, checking to see how it’s faring after the cream Vegas
applied to it last night. There isn’t a drastic change to the slow healing wounds but Pete does note
that they’ve lost some of their angry redness which is a good sign.

His wrists however aren’t looking too great. Pete winces at the bruises and the raw and opened
skin, wondering if he should ask Vegas to apply the cream there too the next time he does it.

A second later he thinks better of the request. Somehow, stubbornly, Pete doesn’t want to ask
Vegas for his help. Not in anything. Not even something as simple as this. Mostly because it
implies a sense of vulnerability on his part. And Pete doesn’t want to be vulnerable around Vegas.

Once he’s finished inspecting himself, Pete wanders back into the bedroom and out of need for
something to do, makes the bed, straightening the wrinkles out of the duvet and laying the pillows
down neatly before his eyes catch on the chain disappearing underneath the frame.

Pete hasn’t climbed under there since the first day. Hasn’t actually tried tampering with the rings
embedded into the bed frame at all. If they haven’t been drilled into the wood enough it’s possible
Pete might be able to remove them by just using his hands alone. For a second he glances at the
doorway, wondering if he should risk getting to his knees and wriggling under there but if Vegas
catches him he might do something to tighten the screws.

Pete can’t risk it with Vegas in the house.

The answer to that is simple. Pete needs Vegas to leave.

The answer comes to him ten minutes later when Vegas returns carrying breakfast. Pete silently
watches Vegas' effort to carry the plate one handed, with the cutlery clasped awkwardly in hand
and despite the fact that Pete’s the one who broke his wrist, suddenly he can’t stand it any longer.

His eyes flick towards Vegas’ left wrist almost automatically and it’s impossible to ignore the way
it isn’t sitting at a normal angle. That it definitely seems swollen now. How did Vegas even
manage to cook in such a state?

“Aren’t you going to go and get that checked out?”

Vegas glances down at the wrist he’s still stubbornly holding above chest height and merely shrugs
as if he’d forgotten about it. “It’s broken.”

“Well aren’t you going to do anything about it?”

Vegas looks at him, genuinely puzzled as he sets the plate down on the bed in front of Pete, the
fork and spook clattering as he adds them on top of the plate. “Like what?”

Pete wonders if he’s making fun of him for a second. “Like a doctor’s visit? Or an X-ray to make
sure it broke cleanly? Won’t be worth much to you if the bone sets badly and you can’t use it.”
Vegas actually has the gall to ignore him and Pete is suddenly digging himself deeper into the
position. Why should he even care whether Vegas looks after injuries correctly? Pete really doesn’t
have a leg to stand on when he’s the one who caused it in the first place.

And even though the Kai Jeow smells delicious and is cooked to perfection and Pete’s stomach is
actively making noises now, Pete doesn’t go to pick up the utensils yet. He’s too busy still
focusing on Vegas.

“What is it? You can kill and torture people, run the minor family’s business, be responsible for
your brother and countless men but taking care of yourself is too much? Are you so pathetic you
don’t know how to look after your own injuries?”

Vegas looks at him with a steady, ill-concerned expression. “I can look after myself.”

“Oh yeah?” Pete goads. “Go get your wrist checked out by a doctor then.”

Vegas narrows his eyes at him, immediately deflecting. “Want some alone time, baby?”

“From you?” Pete fires back. “Always.”

Vegas turns away from him then, eyes scanning about the room and clearly searching for
something. Pete gives up on him and starts eating instead but Vegas soon spots what he's looking
for over by the pile of chains in the corner and picks up the fibre pills Pete tossed there last night.
Then he comes close and unceremoniously dumps the bottle back into Pete’s lap again.

“We’ll start you out on breakfast and dinner today,” Vegas says as if Pete hasn’t said anything.
“Then after a couple days we’ll introduce the third meal back into your diet. If we’re too quick
increasing your portions you’ll be sick.”

Pete glares down at the fibre pills with a mouth full of omelette. Then he chews slowly and
swallows.

“I told you I’m not taking them.”

“Want me to force you, baby?”

Pete glances down at his broken wrist in a calculated once over. “Do you think you can? With one
hand?”

Vegas smiles and sits down on the edge of the bed as if conceding to Pete’s point. “Why are you so
opposed? Do you want things to get messy?”

Pete chokes on his next mouthful. “Don’t be crude.”

“Take the pills then. It just makes things easier when we fuck.”

Pete chokes again and has to cough a few times to clear his airway. When he’s finished, his face is
red and Vegas is grinning at him. He can't believe that someone can look so pretty, almost angelic
and have such an absolutely filthy mouth.

“Does that make you shy?” Vegas wonders slyly. “Talking about fucking? Is this part of the reason
why you’re so repressed?”

Immediately this accusation raises Pete's hackles. They've hardly spent a week together and already
Vegas is psychoanalysing him.
“I’m not repressed,” he insists. “And why do you care what I am anyway?”

“You don’t get as tightly wound as you are without repressing yourself in some way or other. Why
else do you think you’re so sensitive whenever I get my hands on you? Or is it because you want
me that badly?”

“I-,” Pete is floundering all of a sudden. Does Vegas have to talk so openly about everything when
it comes to sex? “Shut up.”

“No need to be embarrassed, baby,” Vegas says. “I like it because I’m the one who gets to unwind
you. You’re so fucking sexy when you let yourself go. I love making you come.”

Pete jabs his fork at Vegas in warning, but Vegas jumps up and out of reach with a laugh, striding
casually toward the door. He returns in under a minute carrying his own plate and despite the fact
that he could have very easily sat in the living room or the kitchen to eat, he climbs up onto the bed
next to Pete and joins him.

If he was anybody else Pete would welcome the company. Instead he watches Vegas warily out of
the corner of his eye as he gets situated and then he’s returning to his own meal, wanting to finish
it quickly now. Purely because he doesn’t want to be on the bed when the both of them are done
eating and Vegas remembers what he was trying to do to Pete when they first woke up.

Pete sees Vegas struggling to break up the omelette one handed and Pete snatches the plate from
him with a sigh, using his own fork and spoon to separate the egg into smaller, bite size pieces.
Vegas watches him silently and when he’s finished Pete sets the plate back in front of him.

“You’re pathetic,” Pete adds for good measure, because he’s coming to find that he enjoys being
rude to Vegas when all of their previous interactions demanded Pete’s respect. When nearly every
other person who interacts with Vegas treats him deferentially.

With a reverence born out of fear.

Vegas shrugs, unbothered and resumes eating. Despite not wanting to get caught up in the
normalcy of this bizarre situation, Pete feels a flicker of contentment as they sit there together
eating quietly.

Once their plates are cleared, Pete stacks his on top of Vegas’ piling all their cutlery together so
that Vegas can carry it back out of the room. Pete stands up immediately once they’re done,
intentionally avoiding the bed, though his eyes do catch on the bottle of fibre pills again.

It’s more a matter of principal that’s preventing him from doing what Vegas wants. Pete has
nothing against the pills themselves but knows he has an unstoppable stubborn streak and Vegas
seems to bring out the very worst of it in him.

When he comes back again Vegas ignores Pete entirely and scoops up the bottle, uncapping it and
shaking out a pill before screwing the lid back on. Pete eyes him suspiciously, body already tensing
up in preparation.

“What if I made this fun?” Vegas asks, and when he turns, the pill is caught between his lips and
Pete feels a flutter of panic.

Before he can move Vegas’ good hand catches onto the chain between Pete’s cuffs, throwing his
arms up over his head and pinning them to the wall, and then he’s leaning forward and kissing
Pete.
Pete’s mouth opens automatically and he’s distracted by the graze of Vegas’ tongue as the pill is
pushed into his mouth. He turns his face away before Vegas can take it further and although he's
annoyed, Pete decides it's not worth the ensuring fight. If it means Vegas will leave him alone.
Will stop trying to kiss him.

So he swallows it.

Pete flexes and manages to twist out of the hold Vegas has him in, ducking under Vegas’ arm and
closer to the door, looking for escape in case the confrontation got Vegas too excited. When Vegas
tries to advance on him again, Pete reaches down and grabs hold of Vegas’ left wrist.

Vegas lets out a shout just as Pete immediately lets go, having successfully made his point.

“Go to the fucking doctor, Vegas,” he says, sounding out of breath.

Vegas shoots him a dark look, but it morphs into a smirk once he realises that his attempt worked.
“Good boy. Taking your vitamins.”

Pete reaches out for his wrist again but Vegas has learned his lesson now and is already sliding out
of reach and toward the safety of the door. “I’ll have the guards posted on the house so feel free to
try whatever it is you think will get you outside a second time. And when I get back I’ll show you
exactly what I can do one handed.”

Pete waves away the words with his cuffed hands even as a thrill of something like anticipation
settles into his gut. What will happen if Vegas tries to overpower him with only one hand? Will he
still be able to do all the things he thinks he can do?

The sharp smile on Vegas’ face is like a promise. “See you soon, baby.”

Pete doesn’t follow him out of the room but he listens carefully to Vegas when he disappears into
the hallway. There’s the sound of doors opening and closing and Pete realises Vegas is probably
getting dressed in the other room before he leaves.

Five minutes later, there’s the sound of Vegas talking on a phone and then thirty seconds after that
there’s a knock at the main door.

Pete hears Vegas talking to a guard before the door is closing and there’s silence in the house
again. He waits another ten minutes to be sure and then Pete is heading straight for the side of the
bed, laying down on his back before catching hold of the bed frame and using it to pull himself
underneath it.

It’s harder to see clearly underneath the frame but there’s enough light in the room that Pete can
still navigate. He finds the two metal loops quickly, reaching up and tugging experimentally on the
cold metal for both. There’s no give at all on either of them which is fine as Pete wasn’t really
expecting there to be.

He adjusts his hold to get a better grip and tries to turn the first one to the left, hoping that if it isn’t
as tight as it should be there could be a chance to unscrew it by hand.

But it doesn’t even move.

Biting his lip, Pete tries to apply both of his hands in order to use as much strength as possible but
the metal loop is too small to comfortably fit in his grip and he’s forced to give up. Pete scoots a
little further under the bed until he’s reached the second metal ring.
When he does the exact same thing, exerting all the strength in his hand, wincing through the
awkward grip as he tries to twist it, Pete is absolutely astonished when the metal gives beneath
him.

Pete drags his fingers away in surprise and looks at it to make sure but the truth is sitting there
right in front of his eyes. He managed to turn the metal loop about sixty degrees. Heart pounding
with excitement now, Pete shakes out the tension in his hand and tries to move it again. Slowly and
clumsily, Pete manages to keep turning the metal until the process starts to get smoother.

Because the metal is loosening in the wooden frame.

When the metal loop actually pops free of the bed, Pete’s heart is in his mouth and he wants to
shout from the sheer joy of it. Instead he lets it drop, hanging uselessly around the chain now as he
moves back to the first metal loop to make a second attempt on it.

After nearly fifteen minutes he has no success and his palm is showing the imprint of the metal
shape in his hand. Pete knows he doesn’t have time to waste on this. Vegas could be gone hours or
not very long at all. Maybe Mr Kan even sent the doctor back to him. Maybe Vegas is sitting
outside on the deck barely ten metres from where Pete is right now hidden under the bed.

Pete makes the decision to abandon the task for now. But he can’t leave the second hook where it
is. Vegas might spot it and figure out what he’s doing. So Pete moves back into place and picks the
hook up, inserting the screw end back into the hole left into the wood. Then he starts the slow and
painful process of screwing it back into place again.

He makes it tight enough that it won’t move by mistake but not so tight that he won’t be able to
loosen it again. Despite the failure with the second metal hook, Pete is feeling oddly optimistic
when he emerges out from under the bed.

That’s when Pete’s eyes are drawn to the trunk again. He frowns at it for a moment, thinking about
when he first woke up here. Did he ever try and open it?

The blood drains from Pete’s face as he realises that he didn’t. Without another thought he
scrambles over to it, hoping against hope that it’s not locked or another trick of Vegas’ like the
weapon board.

Pete drops to his knees in front of it, heart pounding in his chest when he glances at the clasp on
the trunk and realises it’s free of padlocks. Is this another mind game? Why would Vegas just
leave it open like this?

Pete has his answer a second later when he pops the lid.

Because there’s nothing in it.

He drops his hold and lets the lid slam shut with a sound of disgust. It didn’t have to be full of bolt
cutters or a gun or a weapon but Pete would have at least settled for some books. There’s nothing
to do in this place to pass the time except interact with Vegas.

It feels like it’s been forever since he’s seen another person.

This has probably been the longest time Pete has gone without touching his phone. He hopes that
Vegas is at least still keeping up the pretence with his grandmother who likes to send him text
messages occasionally. He knows she won’t try to call if he’s on a trip with someone for fear of
bothering him. She’s probably waiting for Pete to ring her when he has a spare moment.
Pete wants to ask Vegas about his grandmother, but doesn’t want to be beholden to him in any
way. Besides the more things Vegas knows that Pete wants the more of an advantage that he has
over him. Like earlier when Vegas had him against the wall and kissed him. Pete needs to be very
careful with that.

Scowling, Pete climbs to his feet again, giving up on the bedroom before disappearing back into
the hallway. At least now he’ll be able to inspect the rest of the house again. It would probably be a
good thing if Vegas was to catch him doing that since he knows that Pete is still planning to escape
somehow. The further he finds him from the bedroom the better. Pete doesn’t want to arouse any
suspicion about his discovery with the hooks and the chain.

He starts again in the bathroom this time performing a more thorough sweep than before. Pete
confirms for himself that the chain is too thick to close the door behind him and he inspects the
handle installed into the wall where the towels hang in case it might be removed and used as a
weapon but it’s very secure. Pete checks the cupboards under the sink but it’s empty now that his
toothbrush and toothpaste are sitting on the edge of the basin.

There’s a tiny window in the bathroom and Pete manages to get it open to have a look outside but
the bathroom faces the lake and all Pete can see is water stretching on until it meets jungle on the
other side. He can partially see some of the wooden deck and the gazebo sitting in the corner of his
eye but nothing else.

Pete finishes up with the bathroom and heads back into the office again but there’s nothing much
there for him to find either. Anything useful to him is sitting there just out of reach but Pete ends up
laying down on the carpet just for something different as he tries to think of some way to unscrew
the first metal loop from the bed frame.

He needs some kind of tool to do it and that’s the problem. The only tools he knows of in the house
are the ones in the kitchen which he can’t access and those superglued to the weapon wall Vegas
has hanging in the bedroom. Which are useless because he can’t remove them.

There’s got to be an answer somehow.

Pete lets his thoughts wander on this conundrum and soon loses track of time. He’s lightly dozing
when the scent of cigarette smoke reaches his nostrils.

Pete sits up at once, looking around the empty room and seeing nothing. But the smell is still there.
So he stands up, inhaling again and strides out of the room and down the hall in search of the
source. It’s got to be Vegas, the guards are meant to be posted around the perimeter of the house
somewhere but Pete has a feeling they wouldn’t be smoking. He usually only smoked when he was
stationed in one place for a long time, not when he had to patrol.

The newfound itch in his fingers, speaks of the urge to have one in his hands. Pete didn’t always
smoke but it’s a habit he picked up when he started working for the Theerapanyakul family.

For a bodyguard there’s a lot of standing around and waiting before their principals are on the
move again. Not to mention having a lit cigarette is always a good excuse to fall back on if Pete is
ever caught in areas he shouldn’t be. People can get into all sorts of strange outdoor places just for
the excuse of having a smoke.

At first he’d picked it up to make himself less conspicuous, to look less like a hired bodyguard
when they’re trying not to be noticed as such but after time it’s developed into a regular part of his
routine. Pete wouldn’t say that he’s addicted but with the smell of it now in the air, he’s suddenly
reminded just how long ago his last smoke was.
When Vegas comes back in through the front door, Pete is standing in the hall at the end of the
chain’s length, and Vegas still has the lit cigarette in his mouth though it’s almost burned down to
the stub.

“Come here,” Pete commands, and Vegas’ head snaps up at the words, glancing over in surprise to
spot Pete lingering there waiting for him.

Vegas doesn’t seem bothered by the command, merely thumbs the cigarette packet and his lighter
into the back pocket of his jeans one handed before he’s striding casually towards Pete.

As soon as he’s within distance, Pete steals the cigarette right out of his mouth.

For a second Vegas just looks at him and Pete wonders if that’s because Vegas thinks Pete intends
to brand him with it, to burn circular holes into his skin. He doesn’t seem too fazed by the prospect
and not for the first time, Pete wonders what Vegas’ true fears are when physical pain means so
little to him. Distractedly, Pete puts the cigarette to his own lips, taking a quick drag.

The taste of smoke after so long is familiar and somewhat comforting, though Pete could do
without the brand. It’s not to his usual taste but it’s better than nothing and Pete takes a couple
more drags before it burns down to the filter.

“You like menthol?” Pete asks without really meaning to like he’s standing with another
bodyguard outside one of the Theerapanyakul’s various properties, swapping words just to pass the
time. “What’s this, Marlboro? It tastes like shit.”

Vegas grins at him and plucks the finished cigarette from his hand, stepping into the kitchen and
lazily flicking the butt into the sink.

“As opposed to iScore Blue?”

Pete freezes at the brand name which is what he usually smokes. Any relief from those brief few
puffs are lost in sudden suspicion. “What? How did you-?”

“I’ve been watching you almost as long as you’ve been watching me, baby,” Vegas says, visibly
pleased with himself. “Maybe longer.”

Pete scoffs at that. He knows for a fact that he only got on to Vegas’ radar after Kinn sent him out
after him over a month ago. Pete’s been working for the Theerapanyakul family for a couple years
now and never once drew Vegas’ attention in all that time. Because this would have always been
the fall out.

Or maybe they would have killed each other.

Pete doesn’t know how much his loyalty to the Theerapanyakul’s would have protected Vegas if
Vegas had come after him. Now that he understands Vegas more intimately, it’s certainly not
protecting him now.

A second later Vegas puts his hand behind his back and he’s dragging out the cigarettes and lighter
again, not breaking eye contact with Pete the whole time. He thumbs opens the packet and draws
out a stick, holding it out teasingly to Pete. Pete notes that in spite of the new splint around his
wrist, he’s surprisingly adept at doing these tasks one handed.

“You want it?”

Pete glares at him and refuses to answer. Vegas smiles grimly to himself and presses the filter
against the corner of Pete’s mouth. He opens and catches it between his lips, still frowning.

“You’re gonna let me smoke in the house?”

Vegas flicks the lighter and presses the flame against the tip of the cigarette whilst Pete leans in
closer and inhales, helping to light it. A second later smoke is unfurling between them and Vegas
walks over toward the kitchen, disappearing along the island and out of sight.

Then Pete hears the sound of sliding doors opening, realising they must connect to the deck behind
the house. Pete didn’t know it was there because he can’t see fully around the wall separating the
kitchen from the hallway in order to view the empty space beyond.

He brings his hands up to his face a second later, catching hold of the lit cigarette between his
fingers and thinking deeply whilst the smoke burns in his lungs. He must be really slipping to have
missed so many important details in the safe house.

Arguably, his attention has been absorbed by trying to outwit Vegas and stay alive so he’ll have to
allow himself some leeway for not being perfect but Pete can admit that his initial sweep of the
house has evidently been subpar. Or at the very least that he missed some important details.

Vegas returns and Pete watches him toss the cigarette packet and the lighter onto the kitchen
counter, well out of reach.

“You may as well have the rest,” Vegas says.

Pete nods immediately in understanding. Chan and the doctors are pretty strict about it if a
bodyguard ever breaks something. Smoking can either delay or prevent healing when it comes to
bones. He glances down at Vegas' wrist again.

“Distal radius fracture?” Pete guesses, looking at the splint closely. “You haven’t been gone long
enough for surgery so it must only be a minor fracture to warrant the splint.”

“Were you hoping for a reduction?”

Pete merely shrugs but the idea of Vegas’ bone having to be reset doesn’t bother him in the
slightest. He doubts it would have mattered much to Vegas either. The both of them are too
familiar with these types of injuries. Pete wonders how many bones in his body Vegas has already
had broken.

Pete wonders if he’s broken more than Vegas.

“Whatever inconveniences you the most.”

Vegas grins, baring his teeth at him. “Whatever makes it harder for me to fuck you, you mean.”

Pete inhales deeply to hide the rest of his reaction. “Same thing.”

“You know from the look of you, nobody would ever guess you were such a handful, baby.”

Oddly, Pete feels a little bit of pride in that.

Vegas disappears into the second bedroom again and when he returns he’s carrying a book that
Pete can’t see the name of under his arm. He goes and settles down on the couch, whilst Pete
stands there smoking his cigarette and watching him.

“Why did you have the chain end here?” Pete asks him suddenly, before he can open the book.
Vegas turns his head back to him with a considering look.

“The laundry has a back door.”

“Ah.”

That at least makes sense. If the chain extended into the living room then it would have enough
length for Pete to enter the laundry at the opposite end of the hall. Maybe even open that door.
There’s probably things in there that he can use to aid his escape. Cleaning chemicals and the like.
Or maybe even just opening that door and shouting to the world outside would be enough.

The property is large but not so large that the neighbours wouldn’t be able to hear Pete yelling.

If they called the police Vegas would have a hard time explaining why he has another man chained
up in the bedroom. That is if the police who answer the call aren’t already on the Theerapanyakul
payroll.

Pete takes his time with the cigarette and watches Vegas whilst he opens the book and starts to
read. Because of his hand, Vegas has to rest the book in the cradle of his lap so he can keep turning
the page one handed.

There’s a kind of justice in watching him struggling to do simple tasks now. Pete is actually
looking forward to the moment Vegas tries to jump him again. He’s very confident that he’ll be
able to put Vegas in his place since they’re more evenly matched.

Eventually Pete finishes his cigarette, and manages to toss the stub into the sink to join the first
one. Vegas will have to clean it up later. When he glances back over to him on the couch, Vegas is
sitting there staring at him.

“What?” Pete asks, staring back.

Vegas’ eyes are dark as he watches him.

“Nothing.”

Bullshit, Pete thinks to himself. That’s not a look that means nothing even if Pete can’t entirely
read it. Unperturbed, Pete goes to turn away, no reason to linger in the hall now that his cigarette is
finished.

“What do you want for dinner?” Vegas asks after him.

Pete pauses and looks back, startled by the question. He’s struck again by the seeming normalcy of
it. And it's something that he should be concerned about. That any part of what is happening
between them here could be considered standard.

“I- why do you care what I want?” Pete can’t resist asking.

Vegas closes the book and sets it onto the couch before standing up and walking over to him. Then
he reaches out and takes hold of Pete’s chin.

“Why shouldn’t I?”

Pete finds that he doesn’t have an answer to that. Instead he grabs Vegas’ wrist and forces him to
let go, pushing his hand away completely. “Because I’m your prisoner, Vegas. I don’t want to be
here.”
The look Vegas gives him is penetrating, shrewd.

“Don’t you?”

Pete retreats to the bathroom, the chains rattling behind him as he goes.

Once he’s finished flushing the toilet, Pete decides to shower. Just for something to do instead of
watching Vegas or waiting for him in the bedroom.

He steps out of his sweatpants and considers the clothing situation once he’s in the shower and
standing under the spray. Obviously he’s going to need another change of clothes. Fresh
underwear. Vegas can’t expect him to wear the same thing forever.

He notices also that a new pump bottle has been added into the shower cubby since he was in there
last. It doesn’t look like a body wash so Pete picks it up but when he glances at the title he nearly
drops it. It’s silicone gel type lube but it’s the word 'anal' in the name that draws Pete’s eyes first.
Flushed and embarrassed, he sets the lube back and resolves not to think about it again.

He's certainly not going to use it.

Pete spends a long time in the shower and by the time he emerges, his skin is pink from the heat
and not only is he beginning to feel hungry again but the steamy air is making him feel tired and
sleepy.

Pete grabs one of the towels and drags it over his head to try and dry off most of his hair. He uses
the towel to pat down the rest of his body too, careful not to rub too much against his chest and
then Pete slings the towel over his neck.

He leaves his sweatpants on the floor and strides out into the hallway, intending to go looking in
search of clothes just as Vegas enters the hallway from the opposite end and pulls up short at the
sight of Pete standing there entirely naked.

“What did I do to deserve this?” Vegas asks with an edge of friskiness and Pete doesn’t even bother
to cover up when Vegas has seen and touched everything anyway.

“You got clean clothes?”

Vegas gestures towards the bedroom and Pete hesitates before following him to the doorway. He’s
surprised to see the new pair of underwear on the bed, briefs this time, and another pair of
sweatpants folded neatly underneath them.

Pete realises it shouldn’t surprise him though when Vegas clearly seems to think of everything.

A second later he jumps when Vegas’ hand touches his ass, whirling about and backing into the
bedroom to get away from him.

Vegas merely smiles at Pete’s reaction. “Really, Pete?” he asks. “You were expecting me not to
touch?”

Pete has already reached the edge of the bed, awkwardly scrambling into the briefs before sitting
down and trying to get his feet into the sweatpants.
“I’m gonna cook dinner,” Vegas announces. “But thanks for the show, baby.”

Pete flushes but manages to flip him off before he goes.

Vegas cooks Gai Pad Prik Gaeng and like the rest of the dishes he’s made for Pete so far, it’s
unfairly delicious.

Pete is tense once Vegas eventually takes away their dishes and he’s finished brushing his teeth
and they’re both in the bed but Vegas doesn’t try anything further beyond the way he groped him
when Pete came out of the shower naked earlier.

Pete wonders if the pain in his wrist has distracted him enough for the moment. He hopes so.

Since it’s better to keep Vegas’ wrist elevated above his chest, he ends up falling asleep with it
tucked above his head on the pillow. His other arm is slung possessively around Pete’s waist.

Pete takes the risk of sleeping in his briefs this time, and Vegas seems to take the same cue from
Pete because he does the same without comment. The AC is keeping the temperature at a
comfortable level and Pete is feeling more relaxed than he did the night before. Less chance of
overheating at least.

What’s worse is how easily he falls asleep in Vegas’ arms the second time around.

By the next morning, they begin to settle into a routine.

They sleep wrapped up together all night. In the morning, Vegas usually tries to encroach on Pete’s
personal space or tries to get his hand into his briefs whilst Pete does his best to rebuff him. Then
Vegas drags himself out of bed and goes to cook them breakfast which they eat in bed together.

The rest of the day passes into languidness. Vegas opens the kitchen doors which lead to the deck
and lets Pete smoke a couple cigarettes in the hallway again before he’s picking up his phone and
disappearing outside for a few hours, taking his book with him.

Pete squeezes under the bed again and tries to shift the remaining metal hook in the bed frame for
as long as he dares to try and avoid discovery. Then he gives up and retreats to the office, laying
down on the carpet and letting his thoughts drift aimlessly.

He doesn’t know what Vegas is doing outside but it’s probably scheming things related to the
minor family. Pete is pretty sure Mr Kan doesn’t only give Vegas the grunt work. He’s at least
involved in some important aspects of the business even if his father is unwilling to give him more
power.

Pete is beyond bored when the front door opens a couple hours later and Vegas comes back inside
the house. There’s a listlessness to Pete that wasn’t there previously and he doesn’t even bother to
move when he hears Vegas in the hallway and then the bedroom, obviously searching for him.

He eventually finds Pete in the office, book tucked under his arm and phone in hand when he notes
Pete’s position on the floor with interest.

“What are you doing in here?” he asks, sounding almost amused.

Pete glares at him, even as his eyes glance resentfully at Vegas’ book. “Change of scenery since
there’s nothing to do in this fucking house.”

“Here,” Vegas says, tossing the book so that it lands atop Pete’s stomach. “All yours. I’ve seen you
looking at it. I’ll get you some more to read.”

Pete doesn’t even glance at the title when Vegas folds his legs and sits beside him. They stay there
in silence for a moment. Vegas is calm and relaxed whilst Pete is tense and agitated.

“You know this can’t last, Vegas,” Pete says eventually, breaking the silence. “I can’t stay trapped
in this house forever. Neither can you.”

Vegas sighs and stretches out a little, leaning back on his good hand.

“I know. But I’m going to enjoy it while I can.”

“I’m going to escape,” Pete says, because he has to believe it’s true. There's no other alternative.
“Or I’m going to die trying.”

Vegas nods expressionlessly. “I know, baby. I just need more time.”

“More time?”

Vegas sits up and then he’s reaching out and stroking Pete’s cheek. “More time to convince you to
stay.”

Pete swallows hard and finds he can’t think of any way to respond normally to that. He's still not
sure where Vegas' feelings about him lie. Is this truly about control now or has it transformed into
something else? A second later, Vegas’ phone buzzes and he’s unlocking it, thumbing through
something that seems like a long text message.

He’s quiet for a minute, reading.

Pete picks the book up off his stomach and reads the title. Childhood's End by Arthur C. Clarke.
Pete turns it over and quickly scans the blurb at the back of the book, surprised to realise it's a
Science Fiction book about an alien invasion. Why would Vegas want to read this? His eyes flick
automatically toward Vegas to monitor his expression but Pete's distracted when he notices how
Vegas has gone unnaturally still.

Then when he glances up from his phone, there’s a strangely triumphant glint in his eyes as they
lock on Pete.

“Go and shower,” Vegas says, and Pete has been around him long enough now to recognise the
danger immediately.

Especially because Pete thinks it’s around midday and he usually does his showering at night. The
fact that Vegas wants to suddenly break this routine doesn’t bode well at all. Pete drops the book
on to the carpet unthinkingly.

“No.”

Vegas merely smiles then, long limbs untucking gracefully as he begins to get to his feet. Pete sits
up immediately and scrambles to stand up also, not wanting to be on the ground with Vegas
hovering over him with that glint in his eye.
He’s fully clothed today, though Pete would argue a blouse so far unbuttoned hardly counts as a
shirt.

He doesn’t look angry either. Pete hardly remembers being the target of Vegas’ fury anymore, not
since he became the object of Vegas’ twisted passion instead. There’s something inherently strange
about being protected from Vegas’ wrath now, not after Pete has seen him lash out so
unforgivingly at others, uncaring of who falls prey to his displeasure.

It’s obvious that Vegas views him as some sort of possession. A living pet for him to play with
whilst he’s temporarily cut out from the routine of his daily life.

He wonders where all that anger went, once Vegas had determined Pete was responsible for his
world crumbling around him. Pete highly doubts that Vegas dominating him sexually has truly
satisfied his need for revenge.

If he really has decided not to kill Pete, but to keep him instead what other kinds of punishment
does he have in mind? What can Pete expect when Vegas has given up on violence? When the only
force he uses is to overpower Pete, to keep him locked in the position Vegas prefers while they
fuck.

That wrathful energy needs to go somewhere right? Pete certainly hasn’t lost his.

Vegas cocks his head to the side and looks at him, considering. “Why not?”

Pete stares back for a second, astonished at the plainness of the question. He’s gotten used to their
unspoken power struggle, the last thing he would have expected was for Vegas to come right out
and say it.

“Because you’ve got something planned,” Pete manages eventually. “And I know I won’t like it.”

Vegas smiles a little wryly and suddenly he’s in Pete’s space, gripping the base of his neck and
looking deeper into his eyes.

“That’s right, baby,” Vegas agrees. “Because you’re going to love it.”

He drops his hold on Pete’s neck then, reaching out and catching hold of his chains, dragging Pete
out of the room. He lets himself be led for a second and then once they’re in the hall, Vegas is
turning on him with this wild kind of excitement in his eyes as he crushes Pete into the wall,
slamming his mouth onto to his.

Pete fights back immediately and they struggle against each other before Pete manages to turn his
head away, avoiding the heat of Vegas’ mouth. When Vegas advances on him again Pete brings
his cuffs up in one sharp movement, using the unforgiving metal to clip Vegas hard under the chin.
He goes staggering into the opposite wall with a savage laugh and Pete dives forward, not towards
the bathroom but to the bedroom instead just as Vegas gives chase after him and manages to tackle
him to the mattress.

“Fine,” Vegas huffs against him as Pete lands on his stomach, already trying to wriggle free of
him. “No shower.”

Then Vegas is using his body weight to pin him and he’s already tugging at the waistband of
Pete’s sweatpants. He drags them halfway down with ease and Pete flushes when Vegas starts on
his briefs next. Vegas manages to yank them down until they’re just below his ass, tangled up
against his thighs. When Vegas shimmies a little further down his body next, pinning Pete to the
mattress with a forearm pressed against his back, he feels a flutter of fear when Vegas’ fingers are
at his ass already spreading him open.

Everything is suddenly happening so fast.

And Pete never saw him grab the lube.

“Vegas,” he starts, his voice sounding strangely high pitched. “Lube?”

“Don’t need it,” he answers back, and then a second later there’s a tongue licking against his hole.

Pete cries out in shock, bucking forward on the mattress, away from the sensation but Vegas
merely follows after him, determined.

“I’ll shower!” Pete shouts, scrambling to get away from him. “Okay? I’ll shower.”

Vegas considers and then relents, climbing off of Pete’s body so that he can roll over onto his back,
red faced and gasping as he sits up and edges away from him. Vegas merely reaches out and lazily
drags Pete’s briefs and sweatpants down until they’re at his ankles. Then Pete bends down himself,
heart beating an uneven tempo as he takes them both off completely.

Once he’s certain Vegas isn’t going to jump on him again, Pete eases away from the mattress,
skirting Vegas who has turned now and is watching him intently and then Pete is darting out of the
room.

When he gets to the shower stall and climbs in, Pete has barely even turned the dial before Vegas
is sauntering in after him, completely shirtless now and in the middle of unbuttoning his pants.
He’s also temporarily removed the splint from his wrist.

Pete’s heart seems to stop at the sight of him.

“We’ll shower together,” Vegas announces unnecessarily.

After what he just did in the bedroom, Pete seriously considers attacking Vegas first. Does he
seriously want to lick Pete like that again? How could that be the reason he wanted Pete to shower
when he hasn’t so much as hinted at ever doing it before?

Vegas gets his pants and underwear off and Pete is still standing there stupidly, unaware that the
water is actually cold and hitting the whole right side of his body. He comes to life when Vegas
enters the shower stall though, backing away from him immediately.

At his reaction, Vegas gives him a wry smile. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen this expression on your
face before. Did that scare you, baby?”

Pete is still trying to calm himself down. “You- you licked me-“

“Did it feel good?” Vegas interrupts, as if that’s all that matters.

Pete’s skin is on fire and he’s stubbornly ignoring his erection. Both of their erections.

For a second he’s tempted to lie but Vegas will only see straight through that and there’s no chance
of him responding to Vegas in the affirmative. So he simply doesn’t respond at all thinking that's
the safest method.

Vegas still manages to read between the lines though.

“So what does it matter then? If it felt good?” Vegas wonders, moving closer to where Pete still
stands frozen. Vegas reaches casually around him and adjusts the temperature of the water until it
grows warm.

“Will you let me do it again?”

Pete is hopelessly confused by the question. Since when has Vegas ever asked his permission?
Vegas turns him around then and Pete is too overwhelmed and doesn’t fight him, swallowing hard
at the sound of Vegas dropping to his knees behind his back.

The water is warmer and trailing down his spine now and Pete’s body feels like its trembling when
Vegas’ fingers cup his ass cheeks and spread him open. Pete has never been more embarrassed and
is about to try and move when Vegas’ mouth descends upon him again.

Pete can’t help but make a noise a second time before he swiftly silences it, rocking forward and
suddenly he's so unsteady that he needs to brace his cuffed hands against the tiles whilst Vegas
licks into him. Like everything else with Vegas, Pete has never had this done to him before and he
bites his lip at the sensation, hips bucking forward while Vegas mouths at his sensitive flesh.

Pete is shuddering under the feeling and wants to touch his own cock but his hands against the tiles
are the only thing preventing him from sagging against the wall. The struggle to keep his silence
under such a foreign ministration saps all of Pete’s mental concentration but when he feels Vegas’
tongue press against where he’s now loose, and press in, Pete loses all control of himself.

He moves forward and out of Vegas’ hands with a jolt, unable to bear the intensity of it any longer
as he turns and faces him, breathing heavily. Vegas seems to understand because he rocks to his
feet and wraps his good hand around Pete’s lower back, tugging him forward so that Pete is
pressed fully up against his chest, the cuffs caught between them.

Pete’s fingers shift as if in automatic reflex to push him away but Vegas’ hand has already curved
downward over Pete’s lower back, slipping between his cheeks and pressing up against him.

Vegas’ mouth certainly did something because his finger slides straight into Pete without any real
resistance, and Pete gasps quietly against Vegas’ skin, his nose almost tucked against Vegas’
collarbone when Vegas quickly eases in a second finger.

He slides them into Pete gently but without lube there’s a lot more resistance and a couple seconds
later, Vegas is drawing his fingers free and reaching for the shower cubby behind him. Dazedly,
Pete remembers the bottle he discovered there yesterday and then Vegas’ fingers are back, wet and
slippery, and they slide straight back into him.

Pete is panting a little when Vegas fingers him in a kind of leisurely fashion that has the heat
climbing steadily in his face, his cock sliding against Vegas’ abdominal muscles with each crook
of his fingers. When Vegas touches that spot inside him Pete rocks forward unthinkingly, suddenly
remembering that Vegas is naked and aroused too when their cocks press up against each other.

Pete’s heart is beating like crazy when Vegas tilts his head and starts kissing at his neck next,
sucking marks there before he’s sliding his tongue against his skin. Pete shudders underneath it,
gasping against Vegas’ throat when Vegas rocks his hips forward and moves his fingers at the
same time, distracting Pete entirely with the dual sensations.

He can already feel the pleasure mounting inside him, soaring towards that peak when Vegas’
fingers begin to rub at the spot that makes Pete’s legs weak. The heat from the steam is starting to
make Pete feel weak too, almost dizzy.
“Vegas,” Pete whispers against the base of his throat, still pinned against his chest by the hand
Vegas has cupped at his ass. “I’m- I’m going to-“

“Come?” Vegas guesses, fingers still dancing inside him. “Of course you are, sweetheart. That’s
the point.”

Pete inhales sharply as Vegas’ fingers slide firmly into him just as he feels Vegas’ erection rocking
against his stomach. Then his body is going suddenly taut and Pete is spasming, an overwhelming
climax that has him collapsing fully against Vegas, relying on him to take his body weight.

Vegas holds him up, pumping his fingers into him a few more times before tenderly removing
them. Pete is still trembling with the aftershocks of phantom pleasure when Vegas ducks them both
under the spray and helps Pete clean himself up.

They’re both covered in Pete’s come when he orgasmed between their bodies earlier, and Pete is
feeling loose-limbed and content when Vegas presses a kiss to his chest. He knows that he should
feel more upset that he didn’t fight Vegas off as hard as he usually does, but Pete is too swept up in
the satisfaction of his own body to dwell on it.

Suddenly he can feel the weight of Vegas' eyes on him.

“How has nobody figured out how sexy you are?” Vegas wonders, with eyes on fire.

Pete is too worn out to argue with him.

Eventually Vegas gets them both out of the shower, helps towel Pete off then leads him back into
the bedroom. Pete is suddenly so exhausted that his head is lolling against Vegas’ shoulder before
he’s encouraged down onto the softness of the bed.

He has a moment when he catches sight of Vegas who is still naked and hard when he hovers over
him but Pete can’t find it in him to be alarmed by that. Instead he settles into the pillows and
sleeps.

When Pete wakes up he doesn’t know how long he was unconscious for. Only that he’s hard again
and Vegas is still naked and lying between his legs, wearing the splint on his wrist now they’re out
of the water. One glance down at himself tells Pete he’s also naked and the chain is connected to
the headboard again. With Vegas on top of him, Pete’s hands are trapped above his head because
he can’t move back far enough to free himself.

Somehow the situation is not enough to make him panic. Pete’s been here before. Although the
position is a little different this time.

“Thank fuck, you’re awake,” Vegas says, sounding desperate and a little relieved. “I really couldn’t
wait any longer.”

And then with his good hand, Vegas buries two lubed fingers inside of Pete, watching his
expression intently for signs of pleasure. Pete is still half asleep and confused but he moans out
loud, even as his faculties are coming back online warning him that he's meant to be silent. Soon
enough, Pete is slamming back into alertness and doing his best to hold his noises back, but he’s
hard and leaking against his stomach, and Vegas knows how to touch him now. Knows how Pete
wants to be touched.
He’s stretched and open in a matter of minutes before Vegas pulls himself free and nudges Pete’s
legs apart, pushing them wide so that they’re braced against Vegas’ hips, naturally falling back
towards Pete’s chest. Vegas isn’t really exerting any kind of real pressure but already Pete feels
bent in half, a flutter of anticipation rocketing through him when it’s followed by the sensation of
Vegas’ cock against his entrance.

Pete has a moment to think that Vegas is going to have him exactly like this, face to face in the bed
for the first time, until Vegas leans down and kisses him, scattering his thoughts entirely while he
presses inside. Pete loses his composure for a second, straining against the cuffs for some space
even as he kisses Vegas back unthinkingly.

It takes almost a second too long for him to realise the position is not the only thing that’s
different. Vegas feels hotter than normal inside him, the sensation of flesh on flesh more
prominent. He wonders at that for a flash of a second until Pete realises he never saw Vegas pick
up a condom.

When Vegas tilts his hips back, sliding partially free of Pete’s body and Pete feels all of it much
more intimately than ever before, he knows it’s because Vegas isn’t wearing one.

Vegas’ first thrust into him draws the sound out of Pete like a gasp. But he refuses to give Vegas
the victory of asking him about it even as he feels that flicker of fear that comes with the idea of
unprotected sex. Even after everything Pete stubbornly refuses to show Vegas any weakness.

Is this why Vegas was excited earlier? He starts to wonders why it took Vegas so long to go
without the rubber but then Vegas jerks into him again and Pete can no longer assemble his
thoughts around it.

“I love that part,” Vegas murmurs softly in his ear, easing off his rhythm for a moment as he
presses his forehead against the side of Pete’s face and tries to catch his breath. “When I manage to
surprise you and you can’t hold back the sound of pleasure.”

Pete twitches underneath him in shock. He hadn’t expected Vegas to speak in his ear like that and
especially not about this.

“I only hear it once,” he continues, in a low, sensuous tone, that vibrates against Pete’s skin.
“Before you know what to expect and manage to suppress the reaction next time. Then I have to
figure out how surprise you into giving it up all over again.”

Pete bites his lip and considers a very rude response, but mostly he’s shaken by the words. He
didn’t anticipate that in all the time he’s been watching Vegas closely, learning his mannerisms, his
tells, and his reactions all the better to fight him off, that Vegas has been watching him just as
closely too.

What’s worse is that everything Vegas is saying is true. Whenever they fuck Pete is actively trying
to silence himself, just to deny Vegas the confirmation of it, what the sounds of Pete’s pleasure
represents. But he does slip up occasionally. And only when Vegas does something unexpected.

Like now.

“You know if I got you in my bed under different circumstances,” Vegas continues, leaning down
to kiss along Pete’s jaw, the curve of his neck beneath his ear before returning back to whisper to
him again. “I bet you’d be a screamer, baby.”

Pete opens his mouth to say the most hateful thing he can think of but Vegas ruins it by increasing
the pace without warning. A second later and he’s pummelling into Pete, thrusting into him fast
and hard enough that Pete leans forward and frantically sinks his teeth into Vegas’ shoulder just to
keep the sounds to himself.

Vegas groans for a second as his pace stutters, but then he’s resuming, fucking Pete harder.

“Fuck, so good,” he gasps disjointedly. “Fuck.”

Pete shudders and trembles as he starts to come, all without Vegas even needing to reach down and
touch his cock and Pete thinks he fully understands why Vegas wanted this face to face. Or at least
it seems very clear to him, when Vegas rocks his hips a few more times at a jagged pace before his
eyelashes flutter closed and the brink rushes up to meet him.

And then Vegas is coming, and Pete experiences the sensation of Vegas emptying inside him for
the first time.

Then it’s much worse because Pete feels it. All of it. He flushes high and full on his cheeks at the
sensation of Vegas’ coming inside him, even as his body shivers, still trembling through his own
aftershocks.

Pete can’t help it, he inhales sharply at the feeling, flushing hard, as his heart pounds desperately in
his chest. There’s something about it that feels more intimate then all the other times before.
Maybe because it was face to face like this. Or because Pete can feel Vegas’ spend inside slowly
leaking out as Vegas winds down from his orgasm, still driving into him at an uneven pace.

There’s a sense of possession that wasn’t quite there before. As if Vegas has finally put his claim
on him. In him.

Pete knows Vegas’ exact expression in the throes of orgasm now, the serenely human moment of
base wants and satisfaction colliding together into one blissful moment of release.

Vegas is always the most striking at his extremes. When he’s the most vicious. Or the most
vulnerable. But Pete can see the beauty of it here too, in his pleasure. It’s no surprise he could
seduce so many others to his side. There’s something so uniquely fascinating about him, like a red
lionfish drifting through a coral reef, serenely beautiful but highly venomous.

When Vegas’ hand flexes on his hip Pete almost feels a flutter of relief, thinking that Vegas is
about to pull away because they’re done.

But a second later, Vegas is shifting his weight, leaning on his elbow as his good hand trails down
the slope of Pete’s neck, then over his chest, lingering on his left nipple for a second as he
teasingly pinches at the nub.

Pete hisses and jerks in his grip, but Vegas still hasn’t pulled out yet. When Vegas’ hand seems to
finally settle around the base of Pete’s cock, he understands that this isn’t over yet.

It feels strange to have Vegas in him without moving and even now Pete can vaguely feel him
beginning to soften when Vegas drags his hand along Pete’s cock. He’s lost hardness a little after
coming but Vegas seems to want to coax him back anyway with the touch. Stroking Pete who is
just on the borderline of sensitive, but easing off enough that’s Pete own arousal soon answers
again in kind.

Nearly five minutes later, Vegas has succeeded in stiffening Pete’s cock up, hard and ready for the
next round.
This is new, Pete can’t help but notice. Usually Vegas leaves him alone after the first orgasm. He
doesn’t wait around making an effort for Pete to get hard all over again.

Does that mean he has more planned? Pete feels Vegas’ hand as it brushes against his nipple next.
Then he’s sliding a hand down Pete’s side, the touch against his rib cage maddening before Vegas
reaches his hip and slides further down to wrap around his upper thigh.

Pete understands his intention a second later when Vegas drags Pete’s leg over him, tucking his
foot across the back of his calf. He obviously still wants Pete wrapped around him and whilst Pete
knows he can manoeuvre himself free, he leaves it where it is, distracted by the hand back on his
thigh and the slow, burning heat of Vegas inside him.

“Can you come again?” Vegas wonders innocently, almost absently, pressing kisses along Pete’s
skin. “I think you can.”

Then he redoubles his attention to Pete’s cock. At the new sensations Pete clenches down on
instinct, his body rippling around Vegas and then he hears an answering groan in return, starts to
feel it as Vegas twitches in him, becoming stiffer inside him.

Pete’s face is red when he realises Vegas is almost ready to fuck again, the slickness now inside
helping ease the movement. By the time Vegas has remembered Pete’s cock, he’s thrusting slowly
into Pete, building up a rhythm that sparks across that place inside. His muscles lock up in
preparation of fighting off the breathless gasps wanting to leave his mouth when Vegas grinds into
him, careful to leave Pete feeling like he’s on fire when his hand finally wraps back around him,
thumb playing firmly with the head of his cock.

“Fuck,” Pete does gasp then, no longer able to keep himself quiet. He tries to drop his gaze from
Vegas’, staring past his shoulders, eyes unfocused in a subtle attempt at distance but Vegas notices
immediately.

“Oh yeah? You close baby?”

Pete throws his head back against the pillows, no longer able to watch Vegas’ hand move between
them, squeezing his eyes shut to get the tantalising image out of his mind. Waves of pleasure are
cresting within him, warning that he’s close to the edge, so close-

“Go on,” Vegas encourages. “Don’t fight it- just feel it. Give yourself over to me.”

Pete’s mouth opens, almost unwittingly forming his name. “Ve-

He comes first, his own groan drowning out the rest of the word. Thankfully. Pete shoots across
Vegas’ fingers and chest, splattering him with white whilst Vegas thrusts into him a few more
times and finally goes still with a long, lingering groan.

A second later the full weight of Vegas is dropping on top of him, and Pete feels the breath leave
his chest in a whoosh of surprise when Vegas wipes his come covered hand off on the sheets and
tucks his face into the side of Pete’s neck, kissing briefly underneath his jaw as he gets his breath
back.

“Hmm,” Vegas hums out tiredly. “Wish I could stay inside you. Keep you forever.”

Pete shivers at the words because he knows that Vegas means it.

And if he can’t figure a way out of here, and soon, Vegas is likely going to get his wish.
 so what if you can see the darkest side of me, no one will ever change this
animal I have become
Chapter Notes

Song title from Animal I have Become by Three Days Grace

Whooo new chapter we got there! Finally getting to the juicy bits (or at least the parts I
enjoyed writing most haha) hope you all enjoy!

Pete can hardly keep his eyes open when Vegas unhooks him from the headboard and rolls off of
him.

The act speaks of casual dismissal and Pete immediately brings hands back down to his chest, not
wanting to give Vegas the opportunity to chain him up again. In the lagging moment, Pete's
thoughts drift to whether he can expend the effort to roll over on to his side just as Vegas gets to his
feet, the mattress dipping as his entire weight shifts. Vaguely he’s aware of Vegas walking out of
the room but Pete is too emotionally overwhelmed to spare any energy on him after what just
happened.

He knows when he wakes up again that he’ll need to process everything and that if he thinks about
it too deeply right now he’s likely to panic. To lash out and do something irrational. But all Pete
can feel is the languid fatigue that follows the thrill of a mind emptying orgasm.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t still jolt at the touch of a wet cloth between his legs a few minutes
later.

Vegas mutters something softly under his breath but Pete is intentionally ignoring him now,
sinking more deeply toward the call for sleep, his body still warm and tingling with sensation. The
touch of cloth is mild and delicate when he wipes Pete down, cleaning most of the mess they made
together and Pete is too exhausted to be embarrassed. When he’s finally done, the mattress sinks
again and Vegas climbs half on top of him, encroaching on Pete’s space as he splays himself out in
a vested sprawl.

He throws an unshakable arm across Pete’s shoulders next, slotting a leg over Pete’s hip and
between his own before tucking his head right next to Pete’s throat.

Pete feels a flicker of distant irritation that Vegas won’t even let him have his own pillow before
the lethargy and the warmth of Vegas’ body sends him deeper into the fabric.

Then he drifts off, completely untethered.

His dreams are detached and mellow. Lazy snapshots of himself moving through an ancient temple
that feels vaguely familiar as if he's been there many times before and forgotten. Pete doesn’t
know what he’s looking for but as he moves from the prayer room into another room that's as
identical as the last, the welcome feeling in his heart suddenly shifts to unease.

Pete sees an opening and darts into the next room only to find himself in yet another identical
space. He can feel the heaviness of his own heartbeat in his chest when he seizes upon another
door, another room.

His feet are moving, running fast, by the time he realises he’s in a maze. The feeling of being
trapped increases when he looks up and sees the height of the walls surrounding him, lowering
down towards his head. Confusion has him sprinting at full speed as logic wars through his head,
telling him to stop and retrace the past few steps and he’s still running when the floor drops away
beneath him.

The dream changes and Pete surges to the surface of a hot spring, feeling warmer than ever as he
looks about the empty space and the steam rises around him. The presence of heat on his skin is
like nothing else and Pete feels more present in his body than ever before, unable to focus on
anything else but the warmth and how it sinks into his skin and activates every part of his body
with light.

The heat soon becomes deeper, more than a simple impulse of contentment which Pete is sinking
in to. He recognises the sensation of it, how his body is in a state of arousal and already the dream
is becoming too intense, too vivid.

Pete hears a noise and comes awake at the sound, surrounded by heat and a tell-tale urgency. His
eyes flutter open to Vegas between his legs, mouth hot on his cock whilst his hands keep Pete still,
one gripping at his thigh as he blows him. The other tangled and interlocked with Pete’s.

A second later he hears the noise again and Pete realises that it’s coming out of his own mouth.
Because he’s moaning.

Pete yanks his hand free, silencing himself at once even as he can feel the promising rush of an
approaching orgasm. He fights to master his own body, disoriented and overwhelmed when Vegas’
hand tightens on his thigh again, to stop Pete bucking whilst he was still asleep. From the
sensations in his dream, Pete can’t be certain how long Vegas has been doing this to him, but can’t
help a sense of betrayal that Vegas would do this whilst Pete was unconscious and unable to
properly censor himself.

From the way Vegas is holding him down, Pete must have been thrusting into the heat of his
mouth, must have been writhing on the sheets whilst Vegas worked him over. He was obviously
making encouraging noises about it too, which after such a long time of managing to keep his
silence probably upsets Pete the most.

It’s almost unjust the way that Pete is constantly shoring up protection around himself, constantly
building walls between them whilst Vegas is surreptitiously pulling them down brick by brick.
Vegas knows that Pete refuses to make any sounds. Is that why he decided to give Pete a blowjob
in his sleep? Or is he truly becoming more and more desperate for him that when he woke up first,
he simply couldn't resist?

Neither of these answers are comforting. If anything, Pete feels more trapped than ever. Hard not
to with Vegas between his legs with Pete’s cock in his mouth.

The abrupt silence must be enough of an indication because Vegas eases off Pete’s cock for a
second, well aware that Pete is now awake as the light filters into the room announcing the
morning. “Oh come on, baby,” he murmurs in a low voice that brings a shiver out across Pete’s
skin. “Don’t go quiet on me now.”

Pete can feel the flush on his face as he digs his elbows into the mattress and goes to half sit up,
moving with the intention of stopping him. Of finding some way to push him off. But Vegas’ right
hand lands across Pete’s abdomen first and pushes him back down, Pete’s cock spit slicked and
twitching as it stands to attention between them.

“None of that either,” Vegas chides as if Pete is the one misbehaving. “I’m almost finished.”

Pete tenses all over at that, rocked by the inference. That Vegas knows with such surety that Pete is
close. To think he knows his body well enough now that he can accurately predict when Pete is
nearing climax. It's not the kind of reality he was expecting to face so early in the morning. Pete
swallows hard and stares down at Vegas when he leans in close to Pete’s cock again, blowing hot
air against the tip, still wet from Vegas’ saliva.

Pete swallows again as his cock twitches for a second time, dribbling out precome that Vegas
merely licks away as if it’s a treat before descending down upon his cock. Pete sucks air in sharply
through his teeth as Vegas takes him down to the root, bobbing his head a few times before he
eases back and refocuses his attention exorbitantly on the tip.

Pete collapses onto the pillows, unable to hold himself up to watch Vegas work any longer and it
only seems to make the sensation of Vegas’ touch worse. The sweet suction of his mouth as he’s
constricted by that familiar heat. He jolts a second later when Vegas’ thumb strokes gently over his
balls even as they’re shifting underneath the touch, drawing closer towards his body in preparation
of coming.

Vegas tongues the sensitive slit of his cockhead before sealing his mouth tightly against it and
sucking hard. Pete hips lift up off the bed as his cock erupts, shooting come into Vegas’ open
mouth as he sinks back into the sheets, panting and exhausted whilst Vegas continues to swallow
lightly around him.

He lingers in the moment, touching to excess and just as Pete is about to become too sensitive,
Vegas draws away, his mouth opening and Pete can only think of sleeping again when Vegas
places an appreciative kiss against his hipbone right atop his tattoo.

“So stubborn,” Vegas says fondly, and Pete doesn’t respond as he lays there, struggling to get his
breath back.

The fact that he wasn’t expecting to wake up like this allows Pete to be a little forgiving of his
delayed reaction. He should have known to be on his guard after Vegas significantly changed his
approach last night. Obviously Vegas is escalating the duration between their sexual encounters
and Pete wonders if he’ll even be able to sleep properly knowing Vegas could do whatever he
wants to Pete’s body now. That he no longer considers that a natural boundary between them.

If it was uncomfortable or unpleasant it would be easier to feel anger at how this is yet another area
of Pete’s space that Vegas is infringing on. But Vegas is still all too engrossed in the trajectory of
Pete’s rapture every single time which is blurring Pete’s ability to look at it rationally.

He can admit to himself that his memories of each sexual encounter aren’t as negative as he'd wish
for them to be and that for all of Vegas’ controlling and selfish behaviours, he is still surprisingly
attentive as a lover. If Pete would even call him that.
Pete remembers suddenly what Vegas had said last night, whilst they were in the throes of it, and
he wondered how it could have been between them under different circumstances. For the first
time Pete seriously considers the idea. What would have happened if Mr Korn had decided to
assign Pete to the minor family instead? If he was posted at the compound first?

Would Vegas have continued not to notice him if he’d been assigned to Macau? Or Mr Kan even?
What would have happened if Pete had first been assigned to Vegas from the very start?

“What are you thinking about?” Vegas asks him, sitting up between Pete’s open legs now and
staring down at him with genuine interest.

Pete says the first thing that comes into his mind.

“Why didn’t you use a condom last night?”

Vegas blinks at him, then smiles in a measured and deliberate kind of way. “Why do you think?”

Pete looks at him suspiciously.

“It’s got something to do with your phone. The way you reacted to that text message like you’d
finally heard the news you were waiting for-“ Pete trails off, slowly connecting the dots. “The
doctor that was- those samples. That’s why you haven’t-? Why you never-? This whole time
you’ve been waiting on my results?”

The expression on Vegas’ face tells him that he’s hit close to the truth.

“I wanted to play with you properly,” Vegas explains. “Because despite all your challenges you’re
not completely defiant to pleasure.”

Pete levels him with a cold stare, hiding his emotions behind the expression. “How have you not
grown bored yet?”

It probably scares him the most. That Vegas' desire for him can be such an endless, constant thing.
Especially since Pete has never had anybody ever feel like that about him before. Vegas smile is
sharp enough to cut and he puts it straight to the test.

“Oh that’s easy,” he replies. “Because of this.”

A second later Pete feels the press of two wet fingers at his hole and Vegas is pushing into him.
Pete arches up off the bed in a jolt of astonishment, still sensitive, as Vegas slides deeper into him
and Pete’s breath hitches.

His mouth presses into a thin line when Vegas’ fingers reach that place inside him and begins to
rub, gently and firmly as if he has all the time in the world to bring Pete back to hardness after he’s
just come. The way Vegas looks at him, like Pete’s body is this fascinating thing that he’s
experimenting with, pushing the limits of gratification and his sanity, is enough to make Pete want
to hit something, even as his cock twitches.

“Love the way you try and fight your own body,” Vegas murmurs. “When it’s so obvious you
crave pleasure. It’s so contrary. So inflexible.”

This is not the kind of topic Pete wants to delve into with Vegas. His own preferences should not
be so interesting to a person who has already steamrolled over all of them. “Should I enjoy being
chained up like this?” Pete fires back. “Should I be happy being your prisoner?”
“Why not?” Vegas asks, still idly fingering him. “I doubt anyone has taken care of you like this
before.”

Pete’s temper flares like a flash grenade. “This isn’t- taking care of me. This is you controlling-
forcing-“

Vegas’ fingers twist just right and Pete is forced to break off into silence or risk moaning out loud
again whilst his body tenses all over. He’s already breathless enough as it is and the fact that his
cock is starting to stiffen up all over again is its own small defeat.

“Look at you,” Vegas murmurs, with something akin to wild delight at Pete’s reaction. “Are you
fighting my touch or the feeling of it? Do you even know anymore?”

“Shut up,” Pete hisses, but his voice isn’t steady and he’s leaning into Vegas’ touch more than he
should, as Vegas’ fingers all but anchor him to the bed.

Vegas presses a distracted kiss against Pete’s thigh but Pete knows he’s not really paying attention,
he’s much too focused on the warmth of Pete wrapped around his fingers. As he reaches up with
the wrist still in a splint and strokes pointedly along Pete’s cock. It's- inescapable the sensation.
And when Pete shudders and tries to scoot further up the bed, Vegas’ fingers currently inside him,
twist with intent and Pete is reduced to stillness, all thoughts of moving away abandoned as the
heat rises up from within.

Vegas takes one look at him, eyes flicking down to Pete’s now hard cock before leaning down
again.

“Wait-“ Pete tries, sensing the danger but Vegas ignores him and his mouth slides over Pete’s cock
again, the head pulsing as it disappears into the heat of Vegas’ mouth.

Pete keens and goes tense all over, tightening around Vegas’ fingers, thighs locking up as his head
drops back and hits the pillow, actively fighting the wave of bliss descending upon him. Vegas’
fingers are tracing diligently around that spot more insistently now and Pete is doing all he can not
to sob and beg for more before he comes.

Vegas sucks him as he inserts a third finger into Pete, stretching with vindictive purpose whilst
Pete is struggling to keep his head. Eventually he must deem Pete ready enough because he eases
off his cock entirely and slowly pulls his fingers free.

“Roll over, baby,” Vegas says and there’s something tender in his tone now, almost indulgent.

Pete looks him in the eye and flushes but doesn’t move.

“Can’t do it on your own?” Vegas wonders. “Do you need me to overpower you first before you
can convince yourself you’re allowed to enjoy it?”

“What about you?” Pete responds as Vegas lifts his hips and starts to roll Pete on to his belly. It
doesn’t even occur to Pete to try and resist. “Are you so fucked up you can only enjoy it when it’s
taken? When it’s forced?”

Vegas eases up Pete’s sides, blanketing him entirely as he gets situated against him. Pete bites his
lip when he feels the blunt head of Vegas’ cock sliding between his cheeks before it’s catching on
his hole.

Vegas hums out a satisfied sound at the sensation and then he’s pushing his cock straight into Pete,
easing carefully into him whilst Pete tries to keep a hold of himself. He tenses again when he feels
Vegas flush against his spine in entirety, signalling that he’s balls deep in Pete and savouring the
sensation of it. Before he can mentally prepare himself, Vegas rocks into him a few times, sparking
off that place inside him as he gets into the position he wants.

Pete is shaking and leaking against the bed sheets when Vegas’ nonchalantly strokes his hand
down Pete’s back before he’s reaching around underneath Pete’s breastbone and using a hand to
lift him.

“Come on,” Vegas says, encouragingly. “On your knees, baby.”

He has to close his eyes, when Vegas manages to raise him off the mattress until he’s resting on his
shins and sitting almost perched on Vegas’ lap. He’s not sure what he’s planning to do if Vegas
tries to put him on his hands and knees but that doesn’t appear to be his goal anyway when Vegas’
hand stays secured across Pete’s chest and he bucks into him, punching his hips up in such an
unexpected way that Pete lets out a gasp.

His eyes fly open in surprise, and Pete glances down at himself, at the way his cock looks angry
and red as it bobs with the movement. When Vegas thrusts up into him again, Pete tries to lift
himself up at the same time, trying to ease away so the full force of Vegas’ cock can’t be felt. The
tell-tale tingling in his thighs warns he’s much too close to the edge as it is. Vegas’ cock is
constantly pressing up against that spot inside and Pete is too worked up to hold out for much
longer.

He tries to breathe evenly, and thinks about ways to calm down. Of not showing everything that
he’s feeling right now but Vegas already understands when he leans down and puts his teeth to
Pete’s shoulder.

”Don’t want to come too soon?”

It’s safer not to answer but Pete can’t keep his silence when Vegas’ hand comes off his chest and
drops down to stroke briefly at Pete’s cock.

“Ohh-“ Pete starts, before he quickly strangles the sound of being overcome.

“You know what I think?” Vegas continues, as if Pete had spoken. “I think you’re repressed. I bet
you never once jerked off back when you were living at the main family house, too busy stifling all
of your desires under that tight fitting suit. Am I right, baby?”

Pete’s embarrassed to acknowledge there’s truth in the words.

At the main family house it’s always been simpler to put physical needs like that aside. Especially
when there are so many other more important things happening in his job. With how easily Vegas
touches him and brings about his pleasure it’s possible that Pete has set himself up for this kind of
situation with a habit of constantly denying himself. Would it have been easier to resist this if Pete
did take care of his needs more often? If he went out to bars like some of the other guys did on
their days off, returning with stories of beautiful women and hot sex in bathroom stalls?

Has keeping himself firmly under control all this time really benefitted Pete? It certainly feels like
it’s working against him right now.

“Why do you- even care?” he has to ask, because even Vegas should understand by now that
they’ve crossed into new territory that they should never have done.

Vegas starts to move again, nudging his hips up in a slow and easy rhythm that distracts Pete from
the conversation entirely. He’s so, so close. Vegas must know he’s moving right against the spot in
Pete that is slowly driving him insane with need.

“Have you even fucked before?”

Pete remains stubbornly silent even as Vegas immediately stops moving. “Ever?” Vegas breathes,
sounding astonished and Pete wants to roll his eyes because he’s had sex. Even if it was only a
handful of times with the same woman. But why should any of that matter when his energy is
currently focused towards not reaching climax sitting atop Vegas’ lap?

“Is that why you’re so sensitive and desperate for me to touch you?”

That's grating enough that it manages to sink through the haze of Pete’s concentration and he
bristles at any suggestion that Vegas has won something over him.

“Fuck you, Vegas.”

He’s wrong. Vegas isn’t- Pete isn’t desperate to be touched by him. Although he might be a little
right in saying it has been a very long while for Pete, who masturbates only occasionally and only
in the most controlled circumstances. It's not one of the focuses of his every day routine and Pete
can admit to himself that there was probably a bit of intention in neglecting that aspect of his life.

It was just easier to be alone.

Another thing they have in common. Pete doesn’t like to lose his control either. Because in his line
of work that’s a very fast way to get killed.

“Don’t believe me?” Vegas wonders lightly, leaning in towards Pete’s neck. “Don’t worry I’ll
prove it.”

And then he’s dragging his tongue along the sensitive skin of Pete’s throat before biting into the
crook of his neck and shoulder.

Pete’s cock jerks once without warning and then he’s spurting, ropes and ropes of come splattering
across his stomach and chest as he shudders through climax. He’s lost to the sensation, the waves
of pleasure rolling over him at the exquisite pinnacle of release and though his awareness narrows
down to Vegas’ cock, still hot and hard inside him, Pete can’t help the knowledge that he came
untouched for the first time. That Vegas teased him and stroked him and worked him up so much
that a couple sentences were enough to put him over the edge.

If he could do more than drag air into his lungs, Pete might have realised he wasn’t the only one to
notice this.

“Fuck,” Vegas curses, sounding impossibly desperate as he tightens his hands on Pete’s hips before
Pete has recovered. “Oh baby, fuck.”

And then he’s thrusting into Pete, hips pumping, once, twice before he comes with an forceful
groan, his teeth sinking into the skin of Pete’s shoulder.

Pete gasps, but his chest is heaving when he pants and tries to get his breath back even with Vegas
pulsing inside him, the sensation of warm come like nothing he’s ever experienced. If he wasn’t so
wrung out, Pete would be moving already, twisting and trying to get off of Vegas’ cock somehow
but instead he collapses against Vegas’ chest, exhausted and sinking further against his frame
whilst his body continues to tingle, subsiding under the fatigue of a powerful orgasm.

Vegas’ jaw loosens on the muscle at the crook of his shoulder but he soothes over the bite with his
tongue. Then he's kissing along the ridge of Pete’s skin until he’s reaching the crest of his deltoid,
each press of his hot mouth more lingering than the last. Every press of his lips burns in a way that
Pete didn't think was possible. He couldn't be less aware of the effect of Vegas' touch if he tried.

Pete swallows and tries to refocus his thoughts but Vegas is moving in closer again, his nose
dragging pointedly against the curve of his throat in a long, enduring line of possession.

“You’re incredible,” Vegas says, and he must be dazed as well because he doesn’t seem to notice
his tone is full of wonder, completely unguarded. “So fucking sexy.”

Pete feels himself flush at the absolute awe in his voice because there’s no doubting Vegas’
sincerity. The words embarrass Pete enough into using his trembling thighs to try and climb off of
Vegas’ cock but Vegas holds fast to his hips, stilling him.

“Not- yet,” he gasps, sounding out of breath still. “Let’s just enjoy it a little longer.”

Pete’s face is on fire, but he’s also exhausted, lightheaded and shaky and doesn’t understand how
Vegas seems to have such complete intuitive understanding of Pete’s body. He's never been one for
very adventurous sex, and Pete has definitely never come untouched in his life. Has never had to
fight pleasure quite like this just to keep his sanity. Vegas knows how to stroke and pluck and
caress Pete in ways he’s never even thought of before.

It’s almost humiliating how easily Vegas can work him up, can make Pete hard and hungry even as
he’s fighting it.

What if they were like this and Pete’s hands weren’t shackled? What if Pete wasn’t tied to the bed
but he came there willingly? For a moment Pete imagines the same scene, not with Vegas thrusting
up from below, driving his cock in deep and perfect but of Pete moving himself. Of Pete in Vegas’
lap, grinding down and anchoring his hands on Vegas’ thighs, riding him and seeking his own
release for once.

Pete’s cock twitches and Pete is horrified by how tantalising the image is. So much that he screws
his eyes shut and tries to remove Vegas from the situation. With them closed its easier to pretend
the person whose breaths are now evening out isn’t Vegas, that the slowly softening cock inside
him belongs to someone else. Anyone else.

But even that is a silly fantasy.

Would Pete have ever let anyone do this to him if Vegas hadn’t forced his hand? Hadn’t showed
him what it could be like? The worst part is Pete, who would have said no only just barely a week
ago doesn’t have a definitive answer now.

“Mmm,” Vegas says placing another kiss to Pete’s shoulder blade as he lifts Pete up and off of his
cock, setting him back down on the bed sheets. “You shower,” says Vegas, rolling towards the
edge of the mattress and getting to his feet. “I’ll make breakfast.”

Pete feels a shiver of anger pass over him as Vegas bends over and steps into a pair of boxers.
“You still honestly believe that I’m here to obey you?”

It's a loaded question but Vegas glances over at Pete and merely shrugs. “By all means stay here
whilst my come leaks out of you. I’d be more than happy to eat you out when I’m finished.”

Pete remembers Vegas’ mouth between his legs and knows the flush of memory must show on his
face because Vegas grins at him.
“Seems like you’d like that too.”

Furious now, Pete climbs off the bed and passes Vegas, shoulder checking him hard enough that
he staggers against the wall. He’s moving quickly because of the wetness between his legs and it
still rankles to hear the echoing laugh behind him as he darts into the bathroom to clean up.

He disappears into the shower for twenty minutes, trying very hard not to think about Vegas or
them together in the bedroom or even the trail of seed washing down the drain. It seems obvious
now that Vegas wants to come in him as often as possible and Pete doesn’t know how to deal with
the increasing frequency of Vegas’ sexual advances on him. It was hard enough trying to hide all
of his reactions before when Vegas would touch him once every day or so.

How will Pete fare if Vegas is constantly advancing on him, at multiple times of the day, wearing
him down with continuous sex?

By the time he turns off the faucet, steps out of the shower stall and towels himself off, Pete is
spiraling under the weight of his conflicting desires. There’s no point denying that his body is
responding to Vegas, that he is enjoying every orgasm in spite of how deeply wrong the situation
is. Logically, Pete knows that he doesn’t want the rush of climax every time Vegas puts his hands,
mouth or cock into him.

And while the reality of the situation is that Pete might be able to conceal some or most of his
response to Vegas, Vegas is obviously well aware of the effect that he is having on Pete. Arguably
he is enjoying the situation more because of it.

So what can Pete really do about it?

As he’s mulling over his options, Pete abruptly realises that he didn’t bring a new set of clothes
out. It’s likely that Vegas has left it on the bed again like before but Pete is suddenly struck with a
strong desire not to return to the bedroom which smells strongly of sex. So when he steps out naked
into the hallway, he disappears into the office instead. At the very least he can be alone there for a
little while and not have to think about the unrelenting fact of their bodies tangled and entwined
together.

Pete spots the book, Childhood’s End where he dropped it yesterday still waiting on the floor and
drops to his knees, scooping it up as he lays flat on his stomach on the carpet, uncaring of his
nakedness. There’s sounds of movement down the hall and he can smell minced pork in the air so
Vegas might be busy in there for a while.

He would prefer another cigarette if he’s being honest with himself but Pete doesn’t want to
request something of Vegas right now. Or ever really if he can avoid it. So the book will have to
do. Pete rests his weight on his elbows and opens to the first page, intending to lose himself for a
while.

The story is interesting enough if a little strange. And Pete only gets about thirty pages in when he
notices a change in the air and looks up to spot Vegas already in the room and halfway toward
reaching for him. The dark, hungry look in his eyes tells Pete exactly what he’s after.

Pete goes to rock up off his stomach and on to his knees but Vegas has sunk to the floor, dropping
between Pete’s open legs.

“Again?” Pete says, almost unthinkingly, when he sees the bulge in Vegas’ boxers.

It barely feels as if an hour has gone by since he last pounced on him.

“You’re driving me crazy,” Vegas groans as if Pete has done something sultry and intentional
rather than just lay there naked long enough for Vegas to find.

Pete’s fingers are still tangled in the pages of the book as he twists, trying to look over his shoulder
and see what Vegas is intending. But it becomes clear very quickly when Vegas uses both hands to
spread Pete’s cheeks open and buries his face between them.

At the first touch of tongue, Pete cries out, dropping the book and letting it fall to the carpet as his
hips jerk back and he collapses onto the carpet from where he’d half risen up.

Vegas holds on to him firmly as Pete spasms beneath him and simply makes a feast of Pete’s body,
licking him out so thoroughly that Pete’s arms give out and he ends up with his cheek pressed to
the carpet while his cock fills and his heart pounds a staccato in his chest.

It’s so different, the sensation, but even as he’s filled with embarrassment and his face feels like
it’s on fire, Pete’s toes are curling and he can’t help but lift his hips up into the tumultuous feeling.
Vegas seems to want to take his time because he doesn’t stop until Pete is almost desperate, until
his hole is wet and open and Vegas’ first finger slides straight in without lubrication.

“You’re so good,” Vegas says, biting gently at Pete’s left ass cheek. “So good for me, baby.”

Pete swallows hard but doesn’t answer. Then when Vegas finds that perfect place in him, he has to
bite his lip from crying out again.

“I need lube,” Vegas says, almost to himself, and then his finger is dragging out of Pete and he’s
rocking unsteadily to his feet again. “Stay there.”

Pete flushes and considers it when Vegas disappears from the room again. He could get up and
move somewhere else, let Vegas chase him over the house until they’re fighting and Vegas
eventually gets one over on him and it all ends in sex anyway.

Or he could do what Vegas says and stay here.

Pete swallows, feeling more ashamed than ever, and waits.

When Vegas rushes back into the room again, carrying the lube, his expression is utterly
incredulous when he sees Pete still laying there on the floor for him.

“Oh fuck, sweetheart,” Vegas says so softly that Pete actually turns his cheek so that he’s looking
away from the open doorway, unable to bear the sight of him.

“Don’t,” Pete warns, not really sure what he’s warning of even as he knows he’s close to the edge
of too much.

Vegas scrambles to join him on the floor and then he’s reaching under Pete to grasp at his cock,
listening to Pete’s hitch in breath as he strokes him, covering his cock with lube. Pete would
question him if he hadn’t already guessed that Vegas wants him face down like this on the carpet
and that’s the kind of material that can cause painful friction. Eventually he releases his hold and
then Vegas’ fingers are probing at Pete’s hole next, smoothly pushing into him to stretch him out
as quickly as possible.

Pete is panting against the carpet when Vegas deems him ready enough and nudges his cock up
into the place where Pete is open and waiting for him.

They both groan when Vegas slides carefully inside, all but pinning him to the floor with his
weight. He reaches down and drags Pete’s arms up from where his hands and wrists are being
crushed between his chest and the floor and Pete lifts his chin up, allowing it as Vegas rearranges
him to stretch his arms out, boxing Pete in by placing his forearms on either side of his head on the
carpet. Then he’s tangling his fingers with Pete’s own in the cuffs.

Vegas moans again when Pete doesn’t try and pull his hands free, and then he’s finally moving,
using his hips alone, grinding into Pete and rocking down with every thrust. A second later his
teeth are catching on the edge of Pete’s ear whilst he moves and Pete knows exactly what he’s
about to do next before he even starts to whisper to him.

“Did I tell you this is the best I’ve ever had it?” Vegas breathes into his ear in a low voice. “You
make me so hot, Pete. Your body is so warm. So tight.”

Pete is flushed all over now and the steady motion of Vegas’ cock thrusting into him is impossible
to ignore when he’s drilling steadily into Pete. Slowly working him up to that incredible fall.

“Do you like how we fit together?” Vegas wonders. “Has anyone else ever been so deep inside
you?”

“Vegas,” he manages, sounding breathless himself. “Would you- shut the fuck up already?”

Vegas laughs in his ear and grinds into him a little harder for that. It so good that Pete inhales
sharply, his eyes very nearly rolling back in his head at the sensation.

“You want it that bad huh, baby? Need me to make you come?”

Pete’s fingers tighten on Vegas’, bordering on painful but Vegas doesn’t say a word about it,
doesn’t even blink at the pressure it might be putting on his wrist. He’s too focused on enjoying
himself in Pete’s body. Of having Pete enjoy himself laid out on the carpet like this.

“Vegas-“ Pete starts, a feeling of being surmounted climbing at the way Vegas insists on
whispering these things in his ear. As if he hasn’t already won to have Pete like this beneath him.

Does he not see the victory even in this moment?

Without hesitation Vegas goes faster, harder, slamming his hips into Pete as if he’s chasing him to
the edge and punishing him for it. Pete digs his face further into the carpet and gasps, the pleasure
climbing as he’s overwhelmed by Vegas’ passion and his strength.

Vegas’ presses his forehead to Pete’s temple as if he needs to seal himself against Pete more firmly
and punches his hips forward once, twice just as Pete is rising, rising and then they’re both coming
at the same time, twisting and rocking together in a shared moment of ecstasy.

It's so overwhelming that Pete goes loose all over even with the full weight of Vegas soon
collapsing on top of him. They both lay there, breathing heavily as their bodies struggle to recover.
A moment later when Pete is dazed and lightheaded, Vegas slowly drags his spent cock out of him,
disappears again and returns with a wet cloth to wipe him down. Then he rolls Pete over onto his
back and cleans the mess of come across his thighs and stomach, idly dabbing at the come on the
carpet as if the idea of a stain there doesn’t bother him all that much.

Pete’s chest is still heaving whilst Vegas does all the work so he’s surprised when Vegas’ bodily
scoops him up into his arms and takes him back to the bedroom. The movement has Pete feeling
almost drugged when his head lolls against Vegas’ bicep as Vegas is depositing him carefully on
top of the mattress. Already Pete can smell the signs of rice congee porridge in the room. Vegas
must have brought breakfast here first before he went to find Pete in the office.
“Let’s get some food in you,” Vegas says as he goes and scoops up the two bowls left sitting atop
the trunk, gently lowering one in front of Pete.

Pete is too tired and dazed and come drunk to properly respond, scooping up the fork and spoon
and dipping straight into the sticky rice. It's still warm which is enough for him. He’s hungry,
starving even and he can hardly remember the last meal he ate. It’s not a hard leap to figure out
what has been draining all of his hard won energy lately. But it’s strange to think that vigorous and
frequent sex is the thing making Pete feel so weak at the moment.

He was right about fresh set of clothes. Pete spots a new folded pair of sweatpants and a pair of
boxers on the far corner of the bed for him to change into.

He ignores it for the time being though, food is more important, and Pete has never really been one
to be ashamed of his own nakedness. He’s usually more comfortable that way. The only issue here
being his nakedness only makes him that much more desirable to Vegas. But there’s not really all
that much he can do about it.

Pete is fairly confident that everything he does is desirable to Vegas. It’s almost astonishing how
powerfully attracted he is. Never in his life has Pete ever had someone want him this badly.

The congee is of course delicious and Pete tries not to think too deeply about all of the other things
that Vegas is also skilled at. He doesn’t want to have any positive thoughts towards Vegas than
what’s necessary but it’s hard to keep up that kind of rational distance when they’re alone and
trapped in this bubble together.

And when Vegas is going out of his way to suck Pete’s cock and make him come so many times
that he’s starting to lose track of it all.

“What are you thinking about?” Vegas asks and not for the first time, Pete wonders what it is
about him that Vegas finds so intensely captivating.

Is it purely because Pete won’t pretend to simper and accommodate Vegas’ every whim? Or is it
because Pete keeps fighting back?

“Nothing,” Pete says, around a mouthful of porridge because he has no intention of being honest
with him.

Vegas raises an eyebrow but returns Pete’s blank expression with a wry smile as if his response is
to be expected. It doesn’t matter to Pete so he goes back to finishing off his food, ignoring Vegas’
presence as much as possible.

They sit together eating silently and once again Pete is reminded by the domesticity of it and is
discomforted by his own instinctive response to the situation. He shouldn’t feel this calm sitting
next to Vegas, he shouldn’t be so at ease in his company.

When they’re finished eating, Vegas collects the bowls and returns to the kitchen and Pete finally
gets dressed, picking up the fresh pair of boxers and putting them on. It's a little too warm for the
sweatpants so Pete simply leaves them where they are. When Vegas comes back, he tosses the
Childhood’s End book at Pete which he catches instinctively and then Vegas is climbing up on to
the bed next to him, carrying his own book tucked under an arm. The splint makes it a little
awkward for him but Vegas cracks the book open and sits there reading quietly.

Pete watches him for a moment, perturbed and unable to articulate why before he eventually grows
bored of that and opens his book as well, picking up where he left off when the aliens arrive on
earth and take over to prevent humanity's extinction. It’s not really the kind of book Pete is usually
interested in but it’s better than laying around doing nothing so he wastes the rest of the day
finishing it off.

He stops occasionally for bathroom breaks but otherwise ignores Vegas next to him as best he can.
When he’s finished, Pete tosses the book atop the trunk across the room and drops down onto the
pillows, yawning and shutting his eyes.

Nothing else very interesting seems to want to happen which is fine by Pete. He dozes for a while
and wakes up to the sounds of Vegas cooking dinner. The dish is Khua Kling and Pete doesn’t
admit that it reminds him of his grandmother when they sit on the floor in the bedroom and eat
together.

When they’re finished and Vegas is cleaning up in the kitchen, Pete goes into the bathroom, hoping
to wash off the traces of everything they’ve done that day. Vegas wiped him down pretty
thoroughly but Pete still feels a little hot and sticky when he steps under the spray.

Pete’s eyes are closed, mind wandering when he feels hot hands on his waist. The touch makes him
jolt in surprise to find Vegas has snuck into the shower and joined him without Pete ever hearing
him approach. The grin on his face is positively delighted by the discovery. Pete is usually much
more alert than this.

“What are you-?”

Vegas twists and slips his head underneath Pete’s arms, trapping himself between the triangle of
Pete’s cuffed wrists without a word.

Pete looks down at him in surprise at where his wrists are now resting on the back of Vegas’ neck,
and he startles when Vegas takes hold of Pete’s hips and lifts him up until he’s straddling Vegas’
waist. Pete doesn’t drop back down fully, so he’s hovering over him but he’s familiar enough with
the intent of the position when Vegas’ fingers probe behind him.

“You can’t possibly-“ Pete trails off in a groan when Vegas slides two fingers into his body before
easing them out again and reaching blindly for the lube stowed in the shower cubby.

Then they’re returning and Vegas is enthusiastically fingering Pete, holding his weight with a
surprisingly minimal amount of difficulty considering his broken wrist. Pete pants into Vegas’ neck
as he's stretched open quickly. Then Vegas takes hold of his own cock and the edge of Pete’s hip
and starts to push him down.

Pete flushes but he can’t hold the position anyway, thighs shaking when he drops and suddenly the
head of Vegas’ cock is pressing against him, pressing in. Vegas’ hand on his hip tightens and he’s
moving in slowly even as Pete is lowering, gasping quietly at how deep he can feel Vegas in this
position when he finally settles onto Vegas’ cock.

Vegas hums out an unthinking noise of encouragement and presses his face against Pete’s chest,
both of his hands sliding up and over the shape of Pete’s ass before he’s rolling the flesh there and
squeezing.

Pete tenses up in surprise and Vegas moans at the sensation but doesn’t rock his hips upward like
Pete is anticipating. In fact he doesn't do anything else but hold the both of them under the spray,
lingering in the connection of their bodies. Pete’s cock is hard and flushed up between their
stomachs but he doesn’t pay it any mind, too deeply impaled on Vegas’ cock to notice anything as
the water cascades over them.
He’s distracted a second later by Vegas switching off the faucet and walking out of the shower,
carrying Pete whose legs are still around his waist and who is still full of Vegas’ cock. Pete’s
flustered enough by the whole ordeal not to say anything but when they enter the bedroom and he
sees the towels laid down on the bed in preparation of further messes, Pete feels the heat crawling
all over his face.

With the both of them still connected, Vegas turns around and sits on the towels on the edge of the
bed, Pete’s full weight coming down on top of him and the mattress as he ends up straddling
Vegas. With so many things happening at once, Pete is swept up in the fullness of Vegas in him,
the position of being on top and the unignorable call of his own arousal that it’s a couple minutes
of Vegas not doing anything, before Pete catches up and realises Vegas is intentionally waiting.

He tries to lean back to look down at Vegas’ expression but he’s just at the limit of the chains with
them around Vegas’ neck and Pete can’t move any further than this. They rattle from the
movement but, and it’s the noise that has Vegas finally looking up at him.

He’s grinning at him, sharp and aroused and undoubtedly excited, and that’s when the shoe finally
drops. Vegas put Pete on top. And he hasn’t moved since. As if he's waiting for Pete to be the one
to do something instead.

Pete actually laughs at him. He can’t help it. The sheer boldness of it, the entitlement, the utter-

“You’re insane if you think I’m going to- going to-“

He can't even say it. Pete is heavily flushed now and even with the both of them naked like this,
with Vegas inside him he still can’t form the words. Could he really be as repressed as Vegas
believes he is?

“Ride me, baby?”

Pete hisses out an angry sound, outraged that he would even dare to suggest it out loud. How
overconfident is he? Are the small victories truly not enough to satisfy him?

Vegas’ smile doesn’t waver. “No?” he wonders before leaning in and licking at Pete’s neck.
“Because it seems like you really enjoyed being on my lap before. And I think you want to come.”

That goes without saying. Anyone in the position would want an orgasm it's hardly a strong
argument. Even so, Pete’s arms and thighs tense and he goes to lift himself up and off Vegas’ cock
in a fit of exasperation at Vegas' nerve. But Vegas is just as quick, hands latching onto his hips to
force him back down.

“Uh-uh,” Vegas says, sweetly. “None of that.”

Pete gasps like the air has been punched out of his lungs. He doesn’t try to rise up a second time.
Not when Vegas is thoroughly enjoying manhandling him.

They look at each other in silence for a little bit longer. Weighing the clash of wills. Vegas’ smile
is simply infuriating.

“I could strangle you again,” Pete suggests, unable to bite back his derision. “You seemed to like
that.”

If anything the threat only has Vegas' grin deepening in amusement. He doesn’t seem perturbed by
the idea. “That’s fine,” he continues conversationally when Pete remains still. “I’ll wait.”
“You can wait?”

“Yes,” Vegas murmurs patiently, mouthing along Pete’s throat again, leaning into it when he
shivers. “We’ll just sit here and you can keep me warm. I’ll like that just as much.”

The thought has a thrum of heat pulsing in Pete’s lower belly but he refuses to give in to Vegas’
arrogant plans. Why should he make this a piquant moment for Vegas anyway? It doesn't matter to
him how much Vegas enjoys himself.

“You won’t last,” Pete argues, certain of this at least. “You’ll come and I won’t even have to do
anything. You always come.”

It seems like it should be strange to talk like this whilst sitting on his cock but Pete is well beyond
any kind of lingering shyness to be ashamed now. And Vegas is much too shameless to be cowed
at all.

“Hmm I don’t think I will, baby. I think you’re gonna ride my cock.”

Pete snorts and tucks his chin over Vegas’ shoulder instead, thinking he may as well get
comfortable whilst he waits for Vegas to fall to his own passions. “Like hell I will,” he grumbles,
closing his eyes and despite being wet from the shower, feeling an impossible warmth between
them.

He lets out a breath, releasing the tension from his body and resolves not to let Vegas have his way.

It's easy to allow his thoughts to wander like this. For all of his big talk Vegas isn't as sharp as he
presents himself; Pete finds himself surprisingly comfortable stuck where he is.

After what seems like seconds Pete is soon dozing, warm and relaxed, with a slick buzz of pleasure
reminding him he’s aroused and stiffly pressed up against hot skin.

When Pete drifts further, soon he’s dreaming of sure, possessive hands, dragging across his body
and Pete rocks into the sensation unthinkingly, immediately electrified by the fog of desire. He’s
still half asleep, sinking back into the haze of the dream as pleasure sparks across his skin and
Pete’s hips move again, grinding down against the pressure.

A low, familiar moan spills out at his ear and Pete jerks into waking, confused and overwrought as
his eyes open to the sight of Vegas’ broad shoulders, comprehending the hands on him are real, that
he’s in Vegas’ lap and still seated on his cock.

Pete flushes with understanding that he was grinding on Vegas for a second and Vegas couldn’t
keep his excitement at victory silent. Pete’s still hard and his legs are aching from being folded on
either side of Vegas’ thighs. There’s pins and needles in his hands from being tucked over the back
of Vegas’ neck for so long.

How long have they been like this? Why did Vegas have to choose now of all times for a battle of
fortitude?

Vegas lets out a sigh once he realises Pete has stopped moving. “And just as it was getting good,”
he says, exaggerating the disappointment in his voice.

Not only is Pete surprised Vegas managed to hold out so long, he’s now embarrassed and irritated
enough to change tactics. Swallowing first, Pete lifts his chin from Vegas’ shoulder, their skin
almost peeling apart because they’ve been connected for so long and then tilts his head in order to
put his mouth to Vegas’ ear.
“Don’t you want to fuck me?” Pete murmurs, making his voice low and breathy.

Vegas actually jolts beneath him at the startling words.

The fact that Vegas doesn’t immediately have a response to fire back tells Pete that he’s on the
right track. When he puts his mouth to the shell of Vegas’ ear next, teeth biting gently at his lobe
before releasing it, he actually feels Vegas’ cock twitch inside him.

Pete feels a rush of power for a second and decides to go for broke. “Ohhh Vegas,” he moans, in
the same false voice. “Fuck me. I need it. I need it so badly-”

He doesn’t even get to finish the sentence before Vegas is pumping into him once, and coming
hard. Pete grins vindictively into his ear for a second, triumph overriding sense as the tight grip
around Pete’s waist finally loosens.

Vegas is panting against him when Pete lifts his hands over Vegas’ head to finally free them before
slamming them into his chest, pushing hard enough that Vegas falls back against the mattress,
spent, and leaving Pete on top, still straddling him.

“You’re so easy,” Pete says sounding completely normal again and unable to resist rubbing salt in
the wound. “I told you that you wouldn’t last.”

Vegas huffs a breath and chuckles a little, reaching down and taking hold of Pete’s cock. “It was
worth it to have you rocking against me like that in your sleep. Even the begging was sexy.”

Pete flushes even as he leans into the grip of Vegas’ hand. “I wasn’t actually-“

Vegas only shrugs and resumes stroking him. “Still sounded pretty good to me. I’ll have you
begging for real eventually.”

If he hasn't done it before then Vegas really shouldn't hold out hope. Pete seriously doubts that he's
capable. “You really are delusional if you think you can get me to do- that.”

His voice stutters as Vegas’ grips tightens, twisting him just so in the way that Pete likes and he’s
fighting the rush of the end as it swells up inside him. Vegas smiles in understanding, and then he's
stroking faster, watching Pete’s expression as his chest heaves as he comes quietly all over Vegas’
stomach.

“You really love to deny me, don’t you?” Vegas wonders after a breath, sounding almost rueful as
he brings his hand now covered in Pete’s come up to his mouth and licks it.

Pete frowns at the sight, moving forward to try and climb off of him now they’re finished but
Vegas reaches out with his free hand, cupping the back of Pete’s neck and pulling him down for a
kiss.

Their mouths glance off one another before Pete is jerking back and looking flustered as he pulls
off Vegas’ cock, having to disentangle Vegas from the chain first before he can disappear into the
bathroom to clean himself up.

When he comes back, Vegas has tidied up his own mess with the towels and is waiting for him
under the sheets.

“Come here, baby,” he croons and Pete doesn’t even deign to give him a response, just moves over
to his side of the bed and climbs in.
He’s already sleepy when his head hits the pillow but Vegas slots up against him instantly,
throwing an arm around his waist and tucking his nose against the base of his neck. It’s a testament
to how out of control the situation is that this doesn’t even really bother Pete that much anymore.

That he’s able to close his eyes almost straight away and go to sleep.

Pete is sitting in the bedroom reading what Vegas was reading yesterday, a book called Dune by
Frank Herbet when the front door opens.

This is interesting for two reasons: one, Vegas is already in the kitchen cleaning up the breakfast
they’ve just eaten and two, the person who opened the door didn’t bother to knock which rules out
it being a body guard. Pete hears the murmur of a somewhat familiar voice, then Vegas as he
answers cagily in turn.

He may not be able to see anything but Pete can feel the tension ramp up as their voices do, and
suddenly there’s footsteps in the hall getting closer, coming for the bedroom.

There’s no time to prepare when the bedroom door slams open and Pete’s watches Mr Kan fill up
the doorway, attention caught by the commotion of his entrance. He might have been more
surprised at the aggression of it if he hadn’t already heard him coming. Mr Kan really possesses no
subtlety at all.

Pete doesn’t say anything because the sight he must make paints its own very poignant picture.
He’s still alive despite Mr Kan’s orders, chained to a bed, half naked as luckily Vegas hadn’t gotten
his hands on him yet today, with his chest and neck covered in noticeable hickeys.

Mr Kan doesn’t bother to ask questions and Pete doesn’t waste time wondering about where Vegas
is if his father is standing here, when Mr Kan draws his gun out, takes aim and goes to pull the
trigger.

It’s almost laughable after waiting for so long, just how easy it is to die.

“No!” Vegas shouts, and suddenly he’s right there next to his father, shoving at his wrist just as the
gun goes off.

Pete doesn’t even flinch when he turns to his right and sees the bullet hole just above the wall
behind him, mere inches from his head. If not for Vegas’ speed, he’d absolutely be dead right now.
And that's a strange thought.

He’s surprised for a second but no one is more surprised than Mr Kan who turns and looks at
Vegas like he’s never seen him before. It makes Pete wonder if this is the first time Vegas has
openly defied him like this. His expression is certainly suggesting that it is.

“He’s mine,” Vegas insists, reaching out and snatching the gun from his father’s hand, already
pushing him out of the room as if to physically bar him from getting to Pete.

There's no precedence for this. Pete closes the book he was reading and lays back down to stare at
the ceiling for a moment, heart pounding as he wonders whether he’ll be able to hear the
conversation when he quietly slides off the mattress, managing not to rattle the chains. Pete barely
takes a step towards the door before the shouting picks up, immediately putting his fears to rest. He
needn’t have bothered sneaking to the open doorway it’s almost impossible not to hear every word
they’re saying.

“Have you lost your mind?” Mr Kan is yelling. “I told you to clean this up. What’s the meaning of
this?”

“I’m keeping him,” Vegas says back, without raising his voice like Mr Kan but as they’re not out
of earshot, Pete can still hear him as clearly as if he were standing right next to him.

The finality of the words make him shiver. So Vegas really is serious about this then. If he hadn't
just said it to his father's face, Pete might not have ever believed it.

Although it's hard not to feel a little bit of relief. In that brief second when Mr Kan pointed the gun
at him, Pete was surprised that after everything his first thought was that he didn’t want to die.
There are parts of him still stubbornly holding on to life no matter what's happened.

“You’re thinking with your cock,” Mr Kan snarls. “He’s Kinn’s man. A bodyguard for the main
family. He’s nothing. You can’t have him.”

“Yes I can,” Vegas fires back. “Do you know the things I’ve done to him since he broke into the
compound? I’ve half killed him but he hasn’t said a single thing about the main family. Won’t
even admit why Kinn sent him over to spy on us. He’s unshakeable. Loyal."

“Not to you,” Mr Kan says coldly. “You’ll bring this whole thing crashing down on our heads
before we’re even ready.”

“They haven’t even noticed he’s gone,” Vegas argues back still determined to possess Pete in any
way that he can. “I have his phone and no one has tried to check in for days except his grandmother
and Porsche. The main family doesn’t give a shit about him and he’s one of their best. They don’t
deserve his talents.”

Mr Kan lets out an angry sound.

“Use your head, Vegas. They’re the ones who sent him how could they not have noticed his
absence?"

It sounds stupid when Mr Kan puts it like that but Pete is smart enough to know that Kinn truly
doesn't suspect that anything has happened to him. Vegas obviously lied too well. Or maybe Kinn
was distracted enough not to look at it too closely.

"Do you understand how precarious your situation is? There’s more than one person out for your
head right now and you’re shacking up with some useless bodyguard! One that instead of killing
straight away, like any real man would’ve done, you’ve gone and turned into your whore.”

Pete’s face flushes with anger but he can’t deny there’s some truth in the ugly words. Anybody else
and they would have killed him. That is the way of this world. The mafia isn't exactly known for its
forgiveness. It was just his luck that Vegas got to him first.

“Useless?” Vegas repeats quietly as if he can’t comprehend the words. “When was the last time
someone walked straight into our compound without a single one of our men noticing? More than
fifty well trained men. When was the last time someone got into the office and hacked us for
sensitive information, the kind of stuff that would hurt us? There’s no precedent for it- no one has
ever achieved this.”

Mr Kan scoffs at that. “I’ve seen the kind of garbage Chan and Big churn out every year in their
new recruits. He’s just like the rest of them- more incompetent than they're worth and always
bought off for the right price.”

“He’s nearly escaped now. Twice,” Vegas says. “He can't be bought. He’s smart. Resourceful. The
year he started I scoped the new recruits out like always and I didn’t notice him, Father.”

“What does that matter?”

“Look where we are now. If he could fly under our radar for so long and then do this much
damage imagine what he could do when properly guided. He could be our way in when the time is
right!”

“And you’re confident of his loyalty? Chained up like that?” Mr Kan sneers. “You really have
deluded yourself.”

Vegas is quiet for a moment and Pete genuinely wonders if that means his father actually got
through to him. That he was finally able to see reason for the first time ever since they started this.
Could his mind be changed after all?

Will this be the day that Pete finally dies?

“So be it,” Vegas says, and the certainty in his voice should terrify Pete. “But I won’t kill him and
since he’s mine nobody else would dare hurt him either. Not even you.”

There’s a very stilted pause. Pete can hardly believe Vegas’ own daring.

“This is truly what you intend to defy me over? Some no-name bodyguard? You have no guarantee
that he won’t betray you in the end.”

“His name is Pete,” Vegas says, with unwavering intent. “And no, I don't have any guarantees but
he’s my mistake to make. I’ll be responsible for the consequences.”

Mr Kan is silent while he digests this and it’s not a stretch to assume he’s shocked by the turn of
events. Pete is also a little surprised that Vegas was willing to go so far out on a limb and challenge
his father over this. Does Pete truly mean that much to him after spending so little time together?

“Yes, you will be,” Mr Kan says eventually, true anger and disgust evident in his tone. “I hope the
piece of ass in there is worth it.”

Pete presses his lips into a thin line to keep from responding even as a flush of anger rises on his
face.

He didn’t think his dislike of Mr Kan could deepen after all the things he’s done to go after his
own family, just for the sake of more power. But to hear Mr Kan talk about Pete, talk about him
directly using such grotesque words only makes Pete’s dislike of him feel pronounced, and more
personal.

The sound of his sharp footsteps echo on the floorboards as he moves towards the main door and
Pete is glad to know he’s leaving.

“The plan hasn’t changed,” Pete hears Mr Kan’s cold voice in the distance. “When I call tomorrow
I expect you to be there. Otherwise don’t bother to use the name Theerapanyakul ever again.”

If anything Pete is even more astonished at the silence that follows in the wake of that ultimatum.
But it’s possible that Vegas has given a non-verbal confirmation because a second later the front
door is slamming as Mr Kan leaves the safe house for good.
Pete wonders what is meant to go down tomorrow. Are they finally going to make their move
against the main family? And what will Vegas do now? Will he avoid Pete for the rest of the day?
He must know that Pete overheard their conversation, they were yelling loud enough Pete wouldn’t
be surprised if Vegas’ own guards caught wind of it.

He’s still mulling this over when Vegas strides into the room.

There’s a look on his face that Pete isn’t anticipating, something akin to relief and for a moment
Pete thinks Vegas might actually be checking that he’s alright. It leaves Pete feeling so uneasy that
he speaks first, wishing to head off whatever Vegas is about to say.

“He’s despicable,” Pete says shortly.

For a second Vegas is completely taken aback by the words. As if no one has dared insult his
father to his face before. It's very likely to be the case. Pete has just been through enough now that
the thought of insulting Mr Kan doesn't bother him in the slightest. What consequences can he face
chained up like this? Other than death which comes for everyone?

“Is that the first time you’ve fought back?”

Vegas looks at him again, really looks at him and Pete realises he’s said too much. That the object
of the question was very telling. Pete's own history is always working against him in some small
way or other.

“Not really, but it’s the first time that it mattered.”

It’s the kind of statement with heavy weight behind it and Pete understands his meaning entirely. It
mattered because otherwise it meant losing Pete. Allowing Mr Kan to kill him. Vegas really isn't
lying. Pete does mean something to him.

“I’d wondered why you never looked like you pitied me,” Vegas continues, eyeing Pete intently.
“At first I thought it was because you hated me too much but most people can still find sympathy
for people they dislike.”

Pete stares at him coldly and doesn’t speak.

“You know how to take a hit. I’ve seen the way you automatically bring your hands up to protect
your head first. Like a boxer does.”

Damn. Vegas really is much too observant for his own good. And Pete has been giving too many
details away that he should have protected with greater care.

“Who was it for you?” Vegas wonders.

Pete considers not giving him an answer because he doesn’t want to blur the lines between them
any more than they already are. They’re not confidants. Or friends or any kind of acquaintances.
They share a strange kind of personal intimacy between their bodies and that shouldn't entitle
Vegas to any personal information about Pete or his childhood.

But Pete has seen the dynamic between Vegas and Mr Kan for far too long not to say anything
now. It’s not something he can keep silent about when Vegas is openly attempting to discuss it
with him. No matter his opinions on Vegas, it would be a disservice to his own journey to deny it
now.

“My father. He was the boxer.”

Vegas looks at him intently, waiting for him to go on. Because he's right there's always more to it.
Pete sighs.

“The first time I came home from school with a black eye I was about eleven and he just wanted to
teach me how to fight, to win like a man. But then he lost his winning streak and kept losing. And
then the drinking and gambling picked up. He couldn't get work, we were in debt and then he was
pretty much always drunk. And he was never nice drunk.”

“Did you kill him?”

Pete considers the significance of why Vegas is asking the question. “Thought about it a couple
times. Mostly when he went after my mother. We were always in and out of my grandmother’s
house- that’s where we’d go hide out on his bad days. But we always went back.”

They're quiet for a moment, processing two very different things and then Vegas leans into him,
watching Pete closely.

“I could kill him for you.”

Pete doesn’t blink, can’t look away from the intensity in his eyes. He catches the distinction
straight away. Vegas isn’t offering to send someone out for him, he’s proposing to do it himself.
There’s got to be something wrong with Pete that he recognises intimacy in the gesture.

“He’s already dead.”

This seems to surprise Vegas but it's years old trauma for Pete. “Who finished him?”

“His liver,” Pete says. “Mostly. But fighting outside of the ring too. He made a few enemies for
himself.”

“What happened to your mother?”

“Dead too. She went first. Her health was- anyway my father sank deeper into the bottle after she
was gone. There was nothing good to hold on to anymore.”

There's a distance in his voice when he speaks and Pete can hear it, the way he's disassociating
from his own history. But sometimes that's what's easier. Safer.

“And you went to your grandmother then?”

“No,” Pete says and he can hear the admiration in his own voice. “She called the cops on him a
couple times and when that went nowhere she came to get me herself. He nearly fought her for it
too but she walked in carrying a bit of old plywood with some rusty nails sticking out of it and he
must have known from her expression he’d have to kill her before she’d back down. I guess he
didn’t think I was worth the trouble.”

Vegas doesn’t make any platitudes. He’s still watching Pete intently.

“Is that what you wanted to hear?” Pete asks. “That I’m just as fucked up as you?”

That’s enough to make Vegas laugh and break the tension. “Oh baby I’ve known what you are
since that first night. I see you. Just like you see me.”

That is not a comforting thought. But even Pete knows he'd be foolish to deny the similarities
between them. They are cut from the same kind of violence, the same lack of safety that they have
taken into themselves and made into a weapon.

“I’m not like you,” Pete replies, calmly. “My father doesn’t have any hold on me.”

What he's not saying hangs between them for a moment it. And Pete is a little stunned that Vegas
is taking his criticism so easily. “I can see the judgement in your eyes. You’d rather I keep
challenging him.”

“I don’t want you to do anything,” Pete says deliberately. “You should be capable of thinking for
yourself. But there’s no point beating yourself up because he’s an asshole.”

Vegas’ eyes are sharp. “I’m a loyal son.”

“And he appreciates that about you? Rewards you for it? Seems to me like every single thing you
do will never be enough.”

This is probably not a conversation they should be having. Vegas may have protected Pete from
his father but that doesn't mean that he has any intention of turning against him. He'd be stupid not
to step carefully here.

But Vegas still doesn't appear bothered. Does it not matter to him to have his loyalties challenged?

“He’s my father.”

“And what does that matter if he treats you like shit?" Pete demands, unable to stop himself from
pushing harder. "The way he sets you loose to carry out bloodied tasks then uses you as his
scapegoat when everything breaks apart and Mr Korn comes to clean up the mess. Face it, you and
Macau are just tools to him.”

It's laughable that Vegas could be so oblivious to his own situation, but he scoffs at Pete's words.
“You’ve been brainwashed by the main family.”

“And you’ve been brainwashed by your father,” Pete fires back, temper flaring at Vegas'
inflexibility. “At least Mr Korn has a code. What’s the use of power if your father has to destroy
everything- including you- to get it?”

“We’ve been living in their shadow for way too-“

“I know you’re smarter than this,” Pete interjects. “Do you really know how bloody a coup can be?
You’d weaken both families just to put yourselves on top? When there are so many other groups
who’d seize any opportunity to bring the whole empire down? Is this all you want to be- just your
father’s puppet? To watch him smash everything around him because he’s too reckless to reason
his way out of it?”

Before he can continue, Vegas' eyes flash and he reaches out and puts a warm hand on his upper
thigh. “You’ve got a lot of opinions, baby.”

Pete opens his mouth again but Vegas’ hand moves to his stomach, pushing him back into the
pillows and then he’s taking hold of Pete’s cuffs and dragging his arms up over his head. The
tension in the air is palpable now and Pete knows he's crossed a line. When Vegas advances on
him Pete doesn’t try to defend himself, he knows what the expression on Vegas’ face means when
he leans down and kisses him.

Pete’s eyes stay open for a second as Vegas lies on top of him but then Vegas tilts his head,
aligning their mouths again and deepening the kiss so that Pete’s lips are tingling when his eyes
slide shut.

He jolts a second later when he feels Vegas’ left hand on his ribcage but it’s merely resting against
his skin, Vegas is putting the weight onto his elbows because he still can’t fully use his wrist in the
splint.

Pete lets himself be kissed, thinking quickly about how he might have to try and get free if things
escalate. It’s a difficult position with his arms above his head, Vegas’ weight half on top of him as
he’s laying between Pete’s open legs.

He’s remains tense a few minutes later when Vegas is still kissing him and hasn’t tried to take it
further. He’s not usually content to slow it down like this. In fact Pete can’t ever remember a time
that Vegas hasn’t immediately gone for the prize, for nakedness and intimate touching but
eventually the strain in his body isn’t enough to distract from their joined mouths.

Pete’s heart is starting to beat faster and he can feel the warning flush of heat climbing onto his
cheeks. His skin feels overly warm and he knows sooner or later that the stirring between his legs
will be brought to Vegas’ attention on top of him. They're not the type to miss important details
like that.

Vegas’ tongue is sliding against his and Pete has completely lost track of whether he’s kissing back
or not. The warmth of the room suddenly feels ten degrees hotter and Pete’s fingers are twitching
above his head with the urge to move, to reach out and touch.

When Vegas drops hold of the cuffs and grips the edge of Pete’s jaw next, fingers sliding past his
ear and burying into his hair to hold him closer, Pete lets out a noise he didn’t even know he was
holding on to.

At the sound Vegas pulls back abruptly, eyes quickly scanning over Pete’s face which is probably
redder than usual. His eyes travel the swollen state of Pete's mouth, then down to the hurried rise
and fall of his chest as he shifts beneath the gaze. Vegas lingers for a couple seconds at the pulse
beating rapidly at Pete’s throat before finally settling on his eyes again and Pete can see the way
that his mind is working.

Taking in all of the information Pete accidentally just gave him and putting the pieces together.
Pete is too shocked at himself to do anything. He’d moaned. Right into Vegas’ mouth. There’s no
real hiding that once it’s happened.

“You like this,” Vegas realises, visibly surprised and Pete is too flushed to properly defend
himself. Frozen in place by his own embarrassment. “You like kissing. I should have realised with
how often you try to avoid it.”

“I don’t-“

Vegas kisses him suddenly, his hot mouth firm and lingering and Pete’s bottom lip gives under the
pressure even as his chin juts forward, instinctively leaning into the touch.

“Mmm,” Vegas hums against his lips as he pulls back to look at him again. “You do.” Vegas nods
once to himself as if decided and for a wild, desperate second Pete considers bringing the cuffs
down onto the crown of his head to stop him learning anything else.

But then Vegas’ lips are on his again, his tongue sliding back into his mouth and Pete gets swept
up in it before he can make the choice. It isn’t helping things that Vegas happens to be very good
with his mouth. Worse now that he’s figured out Pete enjoys it.
Five minutes later and Pete has moaned two more times, his erection now pressing resolutely up
against Vegas’ hip and Vegas has done little else but keep kissing him. More than once Pete has to
break off to scrape air into his lungs, panting, red faced and completely overcome but Vegas
merely uses those opportunities to put his mouth to Pete’s neck instead, sucking marks liberally
into his hot skin.

Pete knows he’s in trouble but his thoughts are sluggish and hazy and Vegas is evidently taking
advantage of Pete’s arousal now that he’s found a weak spot. He doesn’t move very far though,
coming back to kiss Pete again, tongue sliding straight into his mouth and deepening the contact
until Pete’s arms have come down on their own accord and they’re cradled at the back of Vegas’
neck, locking them together.

They’re kissing hard and fast and Pete’s lips are still tingling, the fiery rush of desire flying up his
neck and spilling heat into his cheeks as he moans and clutches at Vegas and kisses back for all
he’s worth.

Before he knows it Pete’s hands are moving and they’re burying themselves at the base of Vegas’
hair, shifting only so much as the cuffs allow and Vegas’ hips are beginning to move against him
too, rubbing their erections together in such a provoking way that Pete is very nearly going wild
with it.

Vegas pulls off and leaves Pete gasping, kissing the corner of his mouth, then his bottom lip and
Pete feels like he’s on fire.

“Say my name,” Vegas whispers to him, eyes dark and wanting.

Ignoring him is simple and Pete doesn’t answer, dragging Vegas back down so they can kiss again.
Vegas dives into him eagerly, seems to forget what it was that he asked for as Pete bucks his hips
up, starting a rhythm between them, hoping to generate the right kind of friction whilst Vegas
continues to work him up.

Then he leans back again, resisting Pete's movements and mouthing at Pete’s throat instead, licking
his neck first before nibbling at his ear. “Say my name,” he repeats, taking Pete’s mouth again and
kissing him so thoroughly that he forgets everything.

They’re rolling across the sheets, so earnestly tangled that Pete cannot separate their bodies and all
he can think about is the slick heat of Vegas’ kiss, the slide of his tongue as they meet together.
Vegas’ hand is trailing down Pete’s side until he’s reaching the waistband of his pants and leaning
up to create enough room in order to yank Pete’s boxers down. Vegas takes care of his own next
and then they’re skin on skin and everything is hotter than before and sparking pleasure through
every touch.

When Vegas’ fingers glance off Pete’s ass cheeks, wet with lube, Pete moans into his mouth and
wraps his leg across Vegas’ lower back, giving him more access so that it's easier to get him ready.
But Vegas doesn’t seem to be in any rush either. Is content to finger Pete slowly, grinding their
lower halves together as he kisses and kisses and kisses him.

Pete can’t describe the feeling only that he never wants it to stop. When Vegas rolls Pete over on to
his stomach he initially protests, not liking the idea of it being harder to kiss over his shoulder. But
Vegas leans down and cups his jaw, lingering for a long time as his fingers move and Pete is lost to
everything he’s doing. His cock is leaking against the sheets and Pete can’t help but move his hips
a little in tandem with Vegas’ fingers.

He’s up to two now and Pete can feel that he’s stretched enough for Vegas to put his cock in, idly
wonders why he hasn’t done it yet and why he’s simply extending this moment when they both
know he's ready. Maybe Vegas likes it like this, Pete thinks in a haze of heat, while he’s kissed
deeply, so turned on and receptive that it seems strange Vegas hasn’t seized his opportunity.

When Vegas has four fingers in him, and starts rubbing hard at that place inside Pete that makes
him feel like he could shatter, Pete loses his mind a little and drags his mouth free.

“Vegas,” Pete snaps, frustrated and aroused. “Would you just-“

His words dry up at once. The shock of it feels like a bucket of cold water over his head as Pete
truly comprehends the horror of what he was about to say.

Would you just fuck me already?

It hits him that he’s become so twisted up, being held as a prisoner for so long that begging Vegas
to fuck him when he’s teasing his body didn’t seem abnormal. That he would ever beg Vegas at all,
to demand fucking like it’s something he’s entitled to. Rather than it being something forced upon
him. Something to be fought against.

Pete realises it’s been some time now since he truly struggled against Vegas at all. The past few
days Pete has been letting Vegas do all sorts of things to his body. In the office he lay on the floor
and simply waited there for Vegas to come back and fuck him. And he let Vegas kiss him for so
long just now- Pete even kissed back. Was kissing back and moaning and giving Vegas everything
that he promised himself that he wouldn't.

What has happened to him?

Vegas seems to sense the danger, the volatile rage building up in Pete because he stops teasing
immediately, removing his fingers and quickly nudging at Pete’s left ass cheek, holding him open
enough to slot his cock in and push inside.

Pete explodes at once beneath him, crazed and violent as he throws his arm back and attempts to
elbow Vegas in the throat, fighting the simmer of desire within his body confusing his state of
wants. But Vegas is just as fast as ever, catching his arm, then pushing Pete on his side and
fastening the chains onto one of the hooks on the edge of the bed frame.

Something he hasn’t needed to do for a while.

Pete yanks hard on the cuffs, but he’s firmly secured and can’t bring his arms back to hurt Vegas
like he desperately wants to. With a snarl, Pete tries to drag himself forward, intending to use his
legs, his feet instead but Vegas pins him quickly one handed, wrapping himself so firmly around
Pete that the best he can do is kick at his shins. And he can’t get enough space between them for
that to be anything but a minor annoyance.

“Shh, shh,” Vegas says, softly, like he’s trying to calm a spooked animal. “I’m sorry. I went too
far. It’s okay. It’s okay, baby. Let me take care of you.”

There are tears in Pete’s eyes when he realises Vegas is gently rocking his cock into him, caressing
him soothingly even in the firm hold, placing open mouthed kisses along his neck. All of his
gentleness at war with the reality of the situation. Pete is still his prisoner. His captive. Not just two
people mutually seeking gratification in one another. Even if for some time now Pete has been
starting to believe it.

When he manages to find his voice again, Vegas still hasn’t let up the position, holding Pete
tenderly in his arms and thrusting unhurried and deliberately into him. As if Pete is his bed partner,
his lover, and not someone trapped beneath him.

Vegas is just as deluded as Pete has been.

“I should have killed you,” Pete whispers, hearing the waver in his voice and hating it. “When I
had the chance.”

He climaxes a second later, trembling and exhausted, held securely in Vegas’ arms.

“You should have,” Vegas agrees, sounding fond, and then he’s coming too, kissing the nape of
Pete’s neck.

Vegas doesn’t untie Pete, but he does pull out and gently clean him up. Pete endures it all in
silence, wishing desperately not for the first time, that he wasn’t restrained. That he could fight
Vegas like he wants to.

He’s vaguely aware of it when the bed dips again and Vegas slides quietly in behind him. He’s
never been so careful around him before but Pete is too angry to pay it any attention when Vegas
throws an arm over his waist, holding him close.

“I hate you,” Pete says in a voice not like himself. “I hate you so fucking much.”

Vegas makes a soft approving noise, and Pete is suddenly exhausted by him. How can he ever get
Vegas to feel any kind of regret or remorse for the situation when Vegas likes everything Pete does
to him?

Vegas leans in to kiss him again but Pete knows better this time and turns his head to avoid it. He
pauses only for a second before dropping a kiss to Pete’s jawline instead.

At that final kiss, as if Pete’s rejection means nothing to him at all, Pete sinks into the true
hopelessness of the situation. He hates that the warmth of Vegas’ body is reassuring. He hates that
his mind starts to drift, that he falls asleep as soon as Vegas does.

But mostly he hates how right it all makes him feel.

He never should have been as judgemental of Tawan and Porsche as he once was. Should never
have scoffed at the idea of Vegas compromising him too. Because Pete can no longer deny that his
emotions are completely unaffected. Vegas’ relentless pursuit of Pete’s body, his thoughts and his
feelings could only be held off for so long with them trapped in close quarters like this.

Unbeknownst to Pete, a part of him has softened towards him. He even told Vegas about his past,
and the man responsible for his terrible childhood.

Pete’s never told anyone about that. Despite his efforts to be unsympathetic to the everyday of
Vegas’ life, to ignore the intriguing inner weakness of him, the soft vulnerability, somehow Pete
has been swayed.

Enough to almost forget that they aren’t really together. That they’re not two consenting men
working out their sexual frustrations on each other’s bodies. Pete couldn’t believe that it would
ever get that far. That for a moment he would overlook that this wasn’t by his choice, that he’s still
chained up, still forced into it.

Vegas’ power is frightening.

Much more frightening than Pete should have realised. And Pete can’t begin to imagine how it
will worsen if he remains here any longer.

Now more than ever, Pete needs to get out. When Vegas merely leans closer, his arms tightening
securely around Pete and tucking him up against Vegas’ chest, he feels a burst of desolation so
strong that it makes his heart sore.

But he's too tired to fight back, just lets Vegas hold him until he falls asleep.

Pete wakes up to the distant sound of a phone ringing, a disorientating moment purely for the fact
that the warmth around him disappears as the weight in the bed shifts and Vegas disappears out of
the room to go and answer it.

Pete can hear the low murmur of Vegas’ voice in the kitchen, then the sound of doors opening and
movement until there’s the clip of his shoes on the floorboards and Vegas is re-entering the room.
He knows it's him just by the smell of him alone but Pete’s eyes flutter open to confirm the sight of
Vegas hovering over him.

Without a word he leans down and cups the back of Pete’s neck, kissing him on the mouth, long
and lingering enough that Pete’s heart thuds and it panics him enough that he pushes Vegas away
and the kiss breaks off. The tension in his wrists is gone and Pete realises Vegas must have
unhooked the cuffs from the bed at some point without him noticing. Probably when Pete was
asleep.

The reminder of last night is just as jarring. For a second he'd almost forgotten about what Vegas
had done. Where he'd confused him so much that Pete nearly begged for sex.

Vegas is wearing cologne and tastes of toothpaste and from how he’s dressed it’s obvious he’s
going to do whatever it was that his father demanded of him. He's as weak as Pete first thought he
was. Nothing has changed despite how convincing Vegas is at pretending.

He doesn’t immediately release his hold of Pete, instead he leans down again and to Pete’s
surprise, kisses him softly on the forehead.

"Don't," Pete whispers back, rattled at how it makes him feel.

The tone of his voice only has Vegas raising an eyebrow at him like Pete is a puzzle that he's still
trying to figure out. “I’ll be back soon, baby,” he promises and then his hand is sliding free of
Pete’s neck and he’s striding out of the room without another word.

Pete is tired enough that he lays back down, promising to rest for a bit before taking advantage of
being alone unsupervised in the safe house but he sinks back into the pillows instead.

When he opens his eyes again the room is warm because Vegas didn’t turn on the AC before he
left and the sun is streaming through the window. He’s hard in his boxers and thoughtlessly
wonders when Vegas might be back when the horror of the thought and the current situation sinks
in.

Pete sits up at once, blanching at the idea of missing most of this opportunity, and he scrambles out
of the bed and hurries out of the room, ignoring his erection in the hopes that it’ll soften on its own.
He’s moving so fast that he doesn’t see the bowl and tray Vegas set by the door and he trips over it,
the ceramic, and rice congee spilling across the floor as it shatters.
At the sound Pete stops at once, staring at the broken mess on the floor which thankfully he didn’t
step any further into and pauses, thinking deeply and suddenly remembering the words he said
yesterday to Vegas.

“Is this all you want to be- just your father’s puppet? To watch him smash everything around him
because he’s too reckless to reason his way out of it?”

Pete takes a step back into the bedroom and glances over at the huge section of rock sitting atop
the remains of his chain in the corner.

He’s still staring at it, when it finally clicks and the blood drains from his face.

This whole time he’s been approaching this the wrong way, trying to plan and reason his way out
of this situation, loosening the screws underneath the bed frame when the answer has been right in
front of him all along.

Pete didn’t need to think his way out of being attached to the chain. Sometimes it really is as
simple as smashing everything around him.

Heart pumping in excitement, Pete strides over and seizes a corner of the mattress, lifting it straight
off of the frame and heaving until it slides off completely and onto the floor space next the bed,
slumping at an angle against the bedroom wall. Once it’s free of the frame, Pete glances down at
the wooden slats of the bed screwed across it but he’s only really interested in one slat in particular.

He darts over towards the large chunk of stone and bends down to carefully lift it up.

It’s harder than it would have been for him a week or so ago but Pete manages to pick it up and
bring it over towards the frame. He’ll need some height for it to be effective, so Pete climbs on to
the edge of the bed itself, looking down at the slat and trying to imagine where the two points lie in
the wood where the metal loops have been screwed underneath it, positioning his aim for the loop
that he was unable to loosen.

Pete’s arms are beginning to strain when he lifts the large piece of rock up beyond his chest, trying
to get it higher than his own head so that gravity can do most of the work for him.

There’s a chance of wood flying up at him if it splinters but it’s a risk he’s willing to take if it can
get him free of the bed. Once he deems it high enough, Pete doesn’t just let the piece of stone go,
he uses his own strength to throw it down as hard as possible. There’s an ear-splitting crash as it
connects but when Pete opens his eyes it hasn’t smashed through the wood like anticipated.

It might need a few tries to succeed. When he goes to roll to stone back however, immediately
underneath there’s several fractures in the wood itself and Pete notes a significant chunk of it has
come away. Triumph rises in his chest at the thought that it might take one more try to break
through and that’s what powers him when he reaches down and manages to pick it back up again.

Pete’s arms are trembling with effort when he lifts the heavy rock above his head again and brings
the whole thing back down, closing his eyes at the last minute to shield them. The crash is just as
loud as the first time but Pete hears the satisfying noise of splintering wood and when he looks
down at the result, the stone has managed to obliterate the two slats of wood, the one he was
aiming for and the one next to it purely due to the diameter of the stone. Pete practically dives into
the wreckage, pulling the rock free and yanking up pieces of broken wood until he’s located the
two hoops still embedded in sections of wood, now infinitely smaller than its original appearance.

Some of it is so cracked and damaged that Pete manages to pull more of it apart, making the
wooden pieces smaller and smaller until one of the hoops pops free completely so that it is left
dangling on his chain like a bizarre accessory. Pete doesn’t bother to destroy them further, he
scoots to the side of the frame where the chain at his wrist is coming from and crawls underneath
the bed, coming out on the other side so that the chain is completely free of the bed frame entirely.

What matters most now is that the hoops are no longer connected to the frame, which means that
Pete is no longer connected to the bed. He can move freely around the house just as long as he
carries the hunk of stone with him. He can carry it outside if he wants to, but with something this
heavy ideally it would be best to get rid of it first.

Even better, maybe he can find something to-

Pete scrambles back to his feet, eyes catching on the board of tools and weapons hanging on the
wall and goes completely still. Then he’s springing forward and inspecting the sides of the board,
trying to see if it can easily separate from the wall or if it’s been drilled in.

To his utter astonishment it’s hanging on wall hooks and Pete is able to lift the entire thing up off
the wall, carrying it awkwardly to that he can lay it down on the open floor space between the bed
and the trunk.

And it’s so stupid but if it worked on the bed then why can’t Pete try and do the same thing to the
weapons board? It won’t matter much that they’re glued if the board they were attached to is
smashed to pieces. If anything it can’t hurt to try.

Not entirely sure of his success, Pete turns back towards the bed and scoops up the stone again,
climbing aboard the trunk this time to try and get the proper height. Then he tosses it down as hard
as he can, turning his face this time because of all the exposed metal and hears the satisfying sound
of them connecting.

The board must have been made of a flimsier wood than the bed frame because it shatters upon
impact, separating huge sections of the wood and sending pieces flying. Pete drops down and rolls
the stone off of the mess, noting that he accidentally put a huge dent in the baseball bat covered in
barbed wire but that’s not what he’s after anyway.

Pete carefully sifts through the splintered wood until he finds the bolt cutters. They’re undamaged
luckily but still partially connected to the weapons board so Pete picks up the axe which has come
free completely and uses that the hack away at the remaining pieces of wood preventing him from
getting at the cutters.

Eventually, he pulls them free with an audible gasp and Pete realises he never gave the bodyguards
a second thought, wondering if they were posted nearby and heard all of the noise of him smashing
up the room. With time possibly against him, Pete awkwardly rearranges the bolt cutters between
his wrists, using his feet and thighs to try and squeeze the opposite ends to bring them together.

It’s extremely difficult and Pete is red faced and flustered when he finally manages to snap through
one side of the iron link holding it all together. At the first sign of weakness, Pete redoubles his
efforts, trying to widen the gap until the link breaks entirely, pulling one wrist free of the other.

Unfortunately, Vegas learned from the last time so simply breaking the link between the manacles
at his wrist doesn’t automatically disconnect him from the long chain. Vegas actually made the
effort to connect both links together so that Pete’s left wrist is still tied to the chain that unspools
until it reaches the stone at the other end. He needs to break the connection to this one also. So
Pete brings up his dominant hand and uses that to reposition the bolt cutters again, still using his
feet and legs to apply pressure.
It’s much easier with the use of one unrestrained hand and with a final heart stopping snap, Pete
manages to detach himself from the chain entirely.

Once it’s clear he’s free, Pete shoots to his feet, bolt cutters still in hand and dressed only in his
boxers, with the two manacles still firmly locked around his wrists as bracelets as he slips out of
the room. As he moves he’s careful to avoid the broken ceramic and spilled food as he continues
down the hall towards the living room and kitchen.

He ignores the front door and goes straight for the second bedroom beyond the kitchen where
Vegas had kept his things, assuming there would be a change of clothes he can steal.

Pete doesn’t set the bolt cutters down whilst he searches, dragging out a fresh pair of pants and a
white t-shirt, quickly scrambling into both and keeping his eyes on the main door, careful to keep
the cutters in reach as he does so. He ignores the dress shoes and sandals on the floor next to him
because Vegas is a bigger shoe size than he is and since he won’t be putting on the dress shoes he
doesn’t want to be running around in sandals that will easily slip off again.

Everything is happening much too fast to process so Pete takes a couple deep breaths once he’s
ready to calm himself down and heads straight for the front door, bolt cutters in hand in case he
needs to use them as a weapon. There’s no plan, he’s not even certain where the two bodyguards
are posted or if there’s more than two currently patrolling the grounds.

All Pete knows is that he wants out.

It’s sheer luck that he glances out the window through the curtains before opening the front door.
And it’s for that reason that he sees the car coming down the main drive, the large gate slowly
sliding shut between them sealing the car in.

Pete doesn’t need to see him to know that Vegas is in that car. He’s frozen for a moment, knowing
that he can no longer exit through the main door when he remembers.

Vegas told him the laundry has a back door.

In a rush, he turns on his heel at once, running now with no concern for being quiet as he leaps
over the shattered ceramic and porridge and keeps moving until he reaches the laundry. The door
swings wide open and Pete immediately shuts it behind himself, eyes taking in every detail as they
fall on another door next to the washing machine.

He doesn’t want to immediately reveal that this was his exit and it’s clear that he needs to hide, not
give away his position by making an obvious run for it. So Pete reaches the door and opens it,
slipping quietly out on to the back deck and shutting it behind him for good measure. He’s about
three metres away from the gazebo now and he can actually hear the sounds of the garage door
opening at the opposite end of the house.

Vegas is about to park the car. Then he’ll walk into the house, see the mess and realise that Pete is
gone.

There's not much time left. He glances about the area, double checking that he can’t see any other
guards before he’s stepping quietly off the deck and landing down in the grass, then he’s quickly
ducking below the wooden platform, carefully tossing the bolt cutters as far as he can underneath it
to make it harder to find and harder to guess which direction he ran off in.

Then Pete is scrambling over towards the lake and quietly easing himself into the water. It’s looks
to be about midday now, and the brightness of the sun actually hurts Pete’s eyes as it reflects off
the water but he pays it no mind and moves as quickly as he can, submerging himself up to his
chest as he swims over towards the gazebo.

It’s partially in the water, the wooden lip of the deck jutting out over into open space and Pete
knows he can seek shelter there for the time being and they won’t be able to see him from above.

His heart is still beating fast so Pete takes a couple deep breaths and tries not to move too much,
unwilling to make any ripples that could be noticeable from above.

A minute later and he can hear Vegas swearing, the sound of his footsteps pounding on the deck as
he scans the area for his lost prisoner. He must be dialing the bodyguards on his phone because
he’s shouting angrily at them next and Pete can hear every word when Vegas chews them out for
not noticing that he escaped.

The uncertainty of timing is on Pete’s side here since he’s fairly confident Vegas has been gone for
a few hours at least. Without any witnesses they have no idea what kind of a head start Pete has
and it’s Vegas’ estimation of Pete’s skill that he automatically assumes that Pete is long gone. Has
been gone for hours now. After he’s visually inspected the area, he sends the bodyguards out to do
a more thorough search but Pete can tell from the fury in his tone that he knows Pete has already
escaped his reach.

In his precarious position, Pete has already decided to stay hidden in the water until nightfall no
matter how uncomfortable it may be. He doesn’t dare to move to soon and to alert the others to his
presence. It’s in his best interest that they continue to believe he is long gone.

When Pete hears those familiar shoes clicking across the deck, getting closer and closer still, he
sinks further into the water until his nose is just above the level, ready to go under the surface at a
moment’s notice if Vegas plans to peer under the deck. He’s expecting Vegas to go and sit in one
of the deck chairs on the other side but instead he keeps striding forward until he’s in the gazebo,
standing on the edge and looking out across the lake.

Pete who is still concealed underneath it, doesn’t dare to breathe. He’s so still it’s a wonder that his
heart hasn’t stopped in his chest.

Then he hears him, Vegas above and talking so quietly as if directly into Pete’s ear.

“Alright baby,” he says, and the words shudder over Pete’s skin as intimate as a lover. “Let’s play
a new game.”

For a horrifying moment Pete thinks that Vegas knows he’s there and that he’s actually talking
directly to him but a moment later he hears the flick of a lighter and the smell of smoke is wafting
across the open space.

They both linger there, Pete in complete stillness, Vegas still comprehending his failure as he
smokes a cigarette. For a moment Pete is surprised by his calmness, that after everything he would
take the loss of Pete so serenely but then Vegas is letting out an unexpected scream of rage. It's so
raw, so primal that it raises all the hairs on the back of Pete’s neck.

Vegas flicks the cigarette into the water without another word and then strides away, no doubt to
hound his guards for updates on the situation. First chance he gets, he will go after Pete himself.
He wouldn’t be Vegas otherwise.

Pete ignores the heavy drag of his wet clothes, the muddy squelch of soil beneath his feet and tries
to relax as best he can while he waits.
Now comes the hard part. He has to get outside of the walls first without being seen and then has to
somehow make it home without being captured again. All without having any money, phone, or
any kind of identification. Pete doesn’t even have shoes on his feet.

Not to mention the matter of where he even is. The Theerapanyakul’s have safe houses all over
Thailand, Pete could literally be in any province right now. Logically they can’t have gone too far
because Pete wasn’t drugged for that long when he first arrived here but it’s obvious that he won’t
be able to provide any further insights than that until he makes his way into the closest town.
Which won’t be easy to do under the cover of nightfall.

Pete knows he’s got a miserable night ahead of him but for the first time in a long time that doesn’t
bother him. He’ll get back to visit his grandmother somehow and soon. He’ll return to the main
family, tell them of his suspicions about the minor family and their plans for the coup and he’ll get
the remaining manacles off his wrists somehow.

And then he’ll have to be ready for Vegas to find him again.

Because listening to that harrowing sound he made, and the obscenity of his loss, only tells Pete
that this ordeal is far from over.
 I aired out my sheets 'cause they smell like you, I cleaned out the salt in my
wounds
Chapter Notes

Chapter title Skinnydipped by Banks

I've officially reached the end of my drafted bits so we are now in the 'writing train
tracks into existence as the speeding train approaches behind them' stage of this fic,
lol, so FYI chapters won't be posting as frequently.

Please be patient with me and I promise we won't go off the rails but in the meantime
enjoy this new chap! :)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Now the waiting.

The sheer agonising act of staying perfectly still when a person desperately wants to move, to wade
out of the lake which is starting to grow colder now that the sun is finally, finally descending
through the trees. To pass slowly through, when each press forward has the mud beneath the
surface turning to quicksand, and feels like every step might be the last.

Finally reaching the shoreline, only to stumble among the reeds and lotus flowers, hands sinking
deep into the sludge of the marsh like zone separating the lake and the perfectly maintained grass.
All in order to crawl, to claw a way up the grassy bank and move and move and move upward and
forward. Always forward. With each new step leaving the safe house behind, feeling the soles of
moving feet sink into soft grass before finally, finally throwing caution to the winds and running
like hell.

To want to do all of these things whilst being forced to stay still is the worst kind of trial in
patience.

So it’s a good thing that Pete’s job is literally an exercise in waiting.

It’s what they’ve been trained for. To stay motionless and upright for hours whilst remaining alert
and still prepared for anything. It’s a kind of skill that most people neither have the inclination or
the time to develop.

For Pete, it’s suddenly a skill he’s eternally grateful for when he remains underneath the gazebo
and waits.

And waits. And waits.

It’s been hours since Vegas returned and discovered Pete was gone. He’d since stomped through
the safe house, no doubt destroying things further in order to vent out his frustration. At least that’s
what Pete can assume from the kind of noises he could pick up from outside, before Vegas
eventually disappeared back into his car and sped out of the driveway, high powered engine
revving almost angrily as the tyres kicked up gravel around it.

Even Vegas’ exits are somehow an open declaration of violent displeasure.

If Pete is surprised by the intensity of Vegas’ emotions, at the thought of finally losing Pete- of
losing to Pete- he doesn’t allow himself to fully process it. Whilst he definitely has the time, Pete
knows now is not the moment to relax his guard and be swept up thinking about Vegas, about the
powerful, ongoing struggle between the both of them.

He doesn’t dare to lose focus when he’s not yet safe. When he’s still hidden among the stagnant
water and the chirping insects of the safe house. Those are the kind of thoughts he can dwell on
when this place, and Vegas, are both long behind him.

In spite of this resolution, Vegas is still at the forefront of Pete’s thoughts whilst he waits. Purely
because the threat he poses to Pete right now is immense. It doesn’t make much sense to worry
about the insects when there’s a tiger still prowling in his cage.

But Vegas hasn’t returned since he drove off and Pete suspects he’s out following the roads in the
area, hoping to somehow discover Pete on foot before he can stray too far. He’s obviously got his
work cut out for him in that search. No one can accurately pinpoint when Pete broke free or how
much of a head start he has on them beyond the assumption that he escaped as soon as Vegas left
that morning.

Pete is the most satisfied about that when he catches sight of the guards patrolling the area in a
halfhearted search for any sign of him. He spots Oat across the other side of the lake, and the other
guard, who he learns is named Tiw when Oat calls out to him in order to make sure he looks
underneath the wooden deck. Tiw gets close enough only once which forces Pete to sink
underneath the surface of the water and hold his breath for as long as he can.

It’s a good thing that’s another part of Chan’s training because Pete’s lungs have a much higher
capacity than before he started working for the Theerapanyakul family. By the time he surfaces,
quietly inhaling so as to not make too much noise, Tiw is already well out of earshot and Pete
settles back into position to wait until the two of them are finished their sweep.

He has no idea where Gear is or where the other five guards working for Vegas might be. Back at
the compound he knows for certain there were eight men in Vegas’ rotation so seeing Tiw now
makes him extremely nervous. Purely for the fact that it disproves Pete’s initial theory that Oat and
Gear were the only men on property.

If Tiw is here now what other guards might be lurking on the grounds? That kind of uncertainty
can drive a man crazy.

It’s also hard not to be critical of their technique as they search the property either; they’re not even
moving in a proper grid formation. They merely split the grounds up into two zones and stop
afterwards to drink some water when they’d finished with their respective areas. Rather than
doubling back again to ensure that the property was searched twice and thoroughly, they then turn
toward the safe house and disappear.

Big would never have allowed something like that to fly on his watch. Maybe it’s a good thing that
the main and minor families train their bodyguards separately.

Pete isn’t necessarily complaining about Oat and Tiw’s negligence but it’s difficult not to see the
error in their approach when he has nothing better to do than stay perfectly still and do his best not
to think of Vegas. Focusing on Oat and Tiw, if however briefly, is at least a distraction that keeps
him aware of their movements.

But he doesn’t see them again after that. Clearly they've given up. Although Pete thinks he hears a
car start up at some point, even if the sound travels from much further away. Not like Vegas when
he pulled out of the garage.

It’s too distant for Pete to feel confident that it’s the bodyguards leaving the property. And he
doesn’t want to make assumptions about their whereabouts when he’s not in the position to
confirm it himself. Not with the new added uncertainty of their numbers. Even assuming that
Vegas is still gone feels like a dangerous conjecture.

After the hours spent hiding in the lake, he doesn’t bother to look at his hands to see how wrinkled
his skin has become, that seems like a given and he’s still trying to limit his movements to avoid
creating unnecessary ripples.

Pete still hasn’t seen anyone since the guards did a final sweep of the grounds but even so he
doesn’t waver from the plan, knowing that waiting for dusk to settle around them is the best time to
move.

Automatically, Pete descends into that strange liminal space of alert stillness, a kind of state of flow
he usually achieves when posted on door duty or out on a stakeout. The hours trickle by and not
once does Pete relax, not even when the sun slowly succumbs to shadows of dusk.

When it’s time, Pete carefully swims out from underneath the gazebo, scanning the area and
listening intently for any signs of movement or the warning rumble of an engine. Somehow with
his father’s recent visit and Vegas’ loud trashing of the safe house, Pete suspects that Vegas won’t
be returning here anytime soon. It’s possible they’ve spent enough time away that Vegas isn’t in
danger of Mr Korn’s wrath anymore though Pete wonders what else could have happened to
redirect his attention elsewhere.

Grimly, Pete drags himself up the bank, gritting his teeth at the rush of water dripping from his
heavy clothes. The fabric is stiff when he grabs the hem of the shirt and tries to drag most of the
water out of it with thick fingers. After such a long period of not moving, Pete’s body feels
strangely weightless and unyielding. The pants are even worse but Pete doesn’t want to take them
off, would rather run the risk wet and dripping as he is.

The mosquitos are already out and the water isn’t as much as a deterrent as Pete hoped it would be.
He has to resist swatting them purely because of the risk of sound even if he can’t immediately see
anyone around to hear it.

He doesn’t climb on to the deck. Doesn’t want to leave any evidence of himself, which a water trail
is bound to do. Instead, Pete edges quietly around the safe house, ducking low and feeling taut and
uncomfortable as he squelches through the grass, droplets of water still trickling incessantly into
his eyes. He blinks away most of it and throws the rest of his hair off his forehead with the palm of
a hand, shaking his head to dispel what remains.

Despite the heat lingering in the air, Pete knows it’s probably not good for him to stay wet for
much longer.

When he reaches the edge of the house, Pete scans the area and turns again, following the side of
the wall as it leads him towards the front, near the main drive. There’s a garden on this side, an
obvious amount of effort for a landscaper and Pete weaves through it as best as he can, outright
trampling on plants when he can’t.

There’s a large clump of Ti plant’s blocking his way and Pete crouches down behind them,
listening carefully as he uses their cover to observe the main gate without being spotted, the
vibrant pink of their leaves still evident even in the dwindling light. To his surprise, there’s no one
posted at the gate anymore and Pete straightens a little further, rising up so he can better see the full
picture of the road.

The gate is shut. The guards aren’t posted there anymore and Vegas is still gone.

It almost feels too obvious. Pete doesn’t want to trust what the surroundings are telling him but
after a couple more minutes of crouching, where his muscles start to protest the necessity of the
position, Pete straightens up and pushes through the wall of Ti plants, striding forward until he’s
standing at the edge of the safe house wall, looking down toward the open driveway.

There’s no shouts of alarm. No movement whatsoever and Pete is forced to accept that everyone is
gone.

He steps down until his bare feet are crunching on the pebbled drive and then Pete turns left,
doubling back towards the main door of the house and more importantly- the garage.

He observes the house as he passes by since there was never an opportunity for a proper look when
he first arrived and Pete is forced to concede that it’s both modern and natural looking with its
wooden style. The unmistakeable result of time and money.

Pete’s eyes slide toward the garage, noting with disappointment that it's modest, more modest than
the Theerapanyakul family usually is. They do love their cars.

He was hoping for a two door garage and the possibility of a second vehicle. Maybe one they left
behind. There are a lot of cars that they don’t always drive every day. At least half of them have to
be in storage somewhere. Pete had hoped it might be the case here.

But that’s obviously a fantasy. And if there was in fact a second car. It would have left already with
the remaining guards who would have returned back to the compound.

Which leads Pete to his second concern beyond the issue of transportation; where on earth he is
right now.

Since there’s no one here anymore, Pete decides to leave by the main gate. He glances once at the
house before walking away, thinking of whether it’s been properly locked up and if there were
other things inside that might benefit him in a second search. A fresh set of clothes for one, but
Pete can’t bring himself to step inside.

Not after everything it took just to get out. So Pete sacrifices his comfort for piece of mind, striding
off down the long driveway toward the main gate without a single glance backwards.

Of course once he reaches it the gate is locked and the little guard room right next to it has been
shut up and sealed off.

No issue. Pete eyes the iron wrought gateway critically for the right footholds before he runs at it
and jumps, hands reaching out and catching hard on the metal, whilst his feet land against the
makeshift footholds below.

It’s more noise than he’d like so Pete scrambles over the gate quickly, not wanting to arouse
suspicion and it’s only when his feet strike the pebbles on the opposite side that his eyes turn
automatically to scan the surroundings and he catches the camera tucked up atop the pillar
supporting the right side of the gate.

The light in the corner of the camera tells Pete immediately that it’s still recording and he freezes
for a second, knowing that he’s just completely exposed himself.

But it’s very unlikely anyone would be monitoring this feed now that they believe Pete escaped
hours and hours ago. And if they did, by the time they manage to do something about it, he’ll be
long gone.

For a second Pete imagines Vegas watching this footage later on and is struck by an irrational
impulse. So whilst keeping up direct eye contact, Pete grins openly in pure triumph as he raises his
middle finger at the camera in a kind of mock salute, before darting out of the line of sight and
down the driveway.

In that moment he can hardly believe his own daring and whilst his heart is pumping wildly by the
time he reaches the first bend in the road, Pete doesn’t regret what he’s just done. After everything,
Vegas could do with a bit of humbling. Since eventually he will see the footage and realise from
the time stamp that Pete never got away first, that he simply waited on the property until the rest of
them left, hours and hours later.

It should be enough to boil his blood a little.

Vegas could stand to not get his way a lot more in Pete’s opinion.

The destination is as much a mystery to Pete as the direction in which the road leads and he
eventually stops running at the second bend in the path some 300 metres later. It’s clear this is a
private road and since he’s on foot and still not wearing shoes it’s probably best that he try and
conserve as much energy as he can. Not to mention reduce the chance to damage his bare feet.

Since Pete can no longer remember when he last ate or had water, his situation is only going to get
more precarious as the night wears on. He’s hungry but not weak so that at least will be
manageable for a day or two. It’s the lack of water and shoes which are going to be his biggest
concerns.

Not to mention where he’s going to sleep tonight.

The quicker he gets off the road the better. There’s no guarantee that Vegas won’t double back. Or
that someone might have already seen the footage of Pete climbing the fence and informed Vegas
of his whereabouts. Maybe Oat and Tiw were instructed to stay in the area in case Pete was spotted
again.

Without any knowledge of their whereabouts, distance between Pete and the safe house is of the
upmost importance. Absent a phone, they’ll have no way of finding Pete in the world once the
property is completely behind him.

So Pete pushes through his discomfort, shedding the wet shirt and wringing it out until it’s just
damp and not weighed down with water. At first Pete slings it over his shoulder, leaving his chest
bare whilst he walks in the hope that the humidity will be enough to dry it further but the
mosquitos are practically swarming now and Pete is soon forced to concede to their attack.

With a curse he throws the damp shirt back on, wishing that he’d gone for a long sleeved shirt
instead simply for the fact that there would be less exposed skin for them to get at.

Not to mention the remaining cuffs still visible on his wrists. Pete is going to need help to get back
to the main family home and people will definitely be less trusting of him if he looks like some
kind of escaped prisoner. That’s of course if he’s not willing to steal in order to return there on his
own merit.

Pete isn’t entirely ruling his options out just yet.

After ten minutes of walking, he finally leaves the private road entirely and it’s no wonder Vegas
had no concern about anybody finding them here. The property would have to be completely
isolated to be so far inland. It feels like there's nothing but forest out here. Even in the dim lighting
Pete can see there’s mountains in the distance behind them. They might not even have neighbours
after all.

There are no road signs when Pete reaches the main road so he doesn’t know if it’s best to go left
or right. That is, until he looks at the private road and observes the leftover tracks from the cars
when they initially turned onto it, the trail of pebbles and dirt indicating that the cars recently here,
Vegas and his guards, both turned right.

So Pete turns right, trusting the trail in their imaginary pursuit of him.

This must be the best direction if they automatically assumed that’s the way he went. If Vegas
assumed. Once again he’s overestimated Pete and in turn, made Pete’s escape easier by leaving a
trail to follow. Feeling certain of his choice, Pete walks carefully alongside the road, for safety and
to spare his bare feet the lingering heat coming off the road itself.

At least there’s a game trail beside it. Maybe the locals use this walking track to move around.
There could be a district or town nearby.

With his hopes already rising, Pete sets off into the dark.

He walks for about twenty minutes before the headlights of a car coming from behind light up the
road. Pete turns and very nearly dives into the safety of the trees alongside the path before he sees
it’s not a car but some kind of truck with a large tray on the back, big enough to transport livestock
or produce.

It’s very unlikely that the person at the wheel works for the Theerapanyakul family. A farming
truck hardly screams mafia.

Pete turns and signals at the driver but they’re already slowing down as they reach him. The man is
middle aged, in his sixties at least and Pete can see the way his eyes travel up and down Pete
before resting pointedly at his bare feet.

Heart in his mouth, Pete glances at the empty road and crosses the lane to approach the driver’s
window.

“Well hello! What are you doing out-?”

“Could you give me a lift please?” Pete asks, using polite language and gesturing quickly, lest the
man spot the cuffs as he offers a respectful greeting, with hands clasped together against his
forehead.

The man’s face is open, if a little confused, but nonetheless trusting. Thankfully his eyes doesn’t
seem to linger on the cuffs. He doesn’t recognise them for what they are. “Where are you trying to
go?”

“To the next town,” Pete admits. “I’m trying to get to the closest temple. One popular with
tourists.”

The man relaxes almost infinitesimally. “That’s Phra Prang Sam Yod,” he says and Pete’s heart
soars at the words, at the unexpected familiarity of the name.

He knows this temple, remembers that an image of it can be found on the 500 baht note. There’s
some link between the temple and the Ayutthaya Kingdom that Pete can’t quite remember but
that’s enough to determine he’s not so far out from Bangkok after all. Maybe only a couple hours
at least.

He’s probably in one of the Chaiyaphum, Lopburi or Saraburi provinces, certainly central north-
eastern Thailand. Lopburi feels the most familiar too him, unless he’s misremembering the
province.

If the temple name was completely unrecognisable then he’d have greater reason to be worried,
because there are a lot of temples in Thailand and it would only widen the area of possibility for
his location. But this is manageable, Pete can probably figure out where he is from the Temple.
Can find a way back to Bangkok.

It’s a struggle not to let the realisation show on his face. He doesn’t want to make the man
suspicious. And not knowing where he is, is definitely suspicious. The man obviously can’t read
him as well as Vegas does because he doesn’t comment on it. Pete is almost surprised to have
gotten away with it.

“It’s on my way home,” the man continues, gesturing at the passenger seat beside him. “I can drop
you there. I’m Anurak.”

“Thank you. My name’s Tao,” Pete says, intentionally stepping behind the truck so he can get a
look at what’s in the back first.

Gathering information is just common sense for Pete at this point.

It’s all different containers and pots of varying sizes but Pete can hear the distinct shifting sound as
the engine rumbles, can see the white traces of grain on the bed of truck. Clearly a rice farmer.
When he makes his way up the side of the truck, Pete opens the door and climbs in, quickly
stowing his right hand into the pocket of his pants as he sits down, partially concealing the cuff.

He nearly kicks a plastic wrapped pallet of water bottles resting on the floor of the passenger seat
by accident but manages to move his feet and avoid it at the last second.

When he shuts the door, Pete also lets his left hand fall down beside his thigh, carefully tucking it
out of sight. The old man, Anaruk, is still looking at him.

“Was it raining earlier?” he asks, noting that whilst Pete is no longer soaked, his clothing is still a
little damp and discoloured in some places.

Pete knows better than to lie and shrugs instead. “Took an unexpected swim.”

Anaruk nods, accepting that and switches gears from idling into drive and then they’re moving
along the road, further and further away from the safe house. As the distance grows between them,
Pete could cry from the sheer joy of it.

He never wants to set his eyes on that place ever again.

“Where are you from?” Anaruk asks after a breath of silence. “You local?”
“No,” Pete says immediately because he doesn’t want to be caught in a lie and can’t convincingly
act like a local for a town he’s never been to. “I’m from Chiang Mai.”

It’s better not to mention anything about Bangkok and the province of Chiang Mai has so many
districts and towns, no one would be able to pin down exactly where Pete is from. So it's safe
information to give out. If this man is local as Pete suspects he is, then there’s the possibility that
they’re aware of the rich mafia types who come into the area occasionally. Pete doesn’t want to
accidentally link himself to the Theerapanyakuls.

If the locals are aware of the safe house then they might be paid to maintain it when it’s empty.
The locals might be employed to clean the house or preserve the gardens and that means they’re
likely to sell Pete out if he reveals himself as an escaped prisoner or an enemy of their employers.

He doesn’t want to put Anaruk in the position of having to betray him, nor does he want there to be
any danger for the man once they go their separate ways. Vegas wouldn’t harm Anaruk for helping
him, but if he does somehow manage to track him down he would want to question him
thoroughly. He would want to find any clues of Pete’s whereabouts.

That’s a risk Anaruk hadn’t signed up for when he stopped to pick Pete up.

But it's a risk Pete has to take. He can't afford to stay on the road like that for much longer, not
after going so long without water. Pete doesn’t even realise he’s licking his lips for the second time
until Anaruk is going, “There’s water. Help yourself to a bottle.”

“Thank you,” Pete says gratefully before bending down and- careful to obstruct Anaruk’s view
with his back- reaches into the torn plastic and wiggles a bottle free.

He unscrews the cap and takes a quick drink before straightening and hiding his wrists from view
again, placing the bottle against the edge of the seat, perched between his thighs.

A second later there’s the sound of an engine booming through the silence and Pete tenses up all
over, recognising the sound. High powered. Expensive. He sees the headlights first, too far to see
the driver clearly, but enough to recognise the shape and colour.

And the speed in which it’s approaching, well beyond the speed limit.

Pete draws his legs apart and the bottle falls to the floor. Then he’s quickly bending down to
retrieve it just as the approaching vehicle whooshes past them, engine screaming, the headlights
lighting up the whole truck cabin as it passes by whilst Pete is still hunched over out of view,
counting to five in order to give it enough time to avoid being seen.

Anaruk is still quietly lecturing the driver for recklessness when Pete straightens up with the bottle
in hand. Then he’s glancing in the revision mirror, catching the taillights and the familiar licence
plate as his heart stops in his chest watching the car disappear out of sight. He doesn’t have to
guess at the destination.

Vegas obviously saw the camera footage. He must have been lingering in the area somehow to
have gotten here so fast.

It feels particularly ominous that there’s no immediate sign of Oat and Tiw following Vegas in a
second car. Pete waits on the edge of the seat, prepared to hide himself again if need be but no
other vehicles come screaming down the road to give chase after him.

Are they no longer here?

But if they aren’t nearby like Vegas was then where are they? Where did Vegas send them?

It’s impossible to relax with so many unanswered questions hanging in the air like this but Pete
especially doesn’t enjoy so many unknown variables in the situation. Hard to ignore the severe
disadvantage he’s at right now with no money, no resources and no one to contact in order to ask
for help.

Everything that happened will come out eventually but for now Pete has no intention of helping the
truth along any faster. In fact, the last thing he would ever want to risk for himself is for the truth to
reach the main family or their bodyguards. He’ll be pitied, seen as weak or even worse, completely
mistrusted as a new spy for the minor family.

Pete knows how quickly stories spread between the bodyguards and the last thing he needs right
now is to be whispered about. For he and Vegas to be whispered about together.

Obviously, Pete is building hopes on a flimsy stack of playing cards, one that Vegas will most
likely bring down upon them both when he inevitably tries to pursue Pete again. Previous
experience tells him that Vegas will not be subtle about it. At the very least Pete is operating on
borrowed time until that happens.

But something is better than nothing and the longer he has to try and pretend that everything is fine
and normal, the higher chance he has of actually believing it.

That is at least until the minor family tries to rip off its own life jacket, drowning the
Theerapanyakul empire altogether. Normal is a child’s pipe dream, one that Pete hasn’t had to
reach for in quite some time.

The extent of Vegas’ damage on him will continue to reveal itself in the coming days and Pete
knows, rationally at least, to expect some displays of emotional instability. To call his encounter
with Vegas an ordeal would be an impossible understatement. Whatever happens from now on,
Pete knows that he’s been permanently changed by all of this.

By Vegas. The mark he left on Pete isn’t something so easily washed away.

And how will he deal with Vegas moving forward? Pete already reached the conclusion that he
can’t kill him, to do so would blow up his life entirely, leave Pete and his grandmother to be
hunted down, punished and killed for it. And he can’t hide forever either, not with a man like
Vegas, so fixated and vicious in his pursuit, uncaring of the destruction he leaves behind so long as
he can achieve his goals.

And Pete, who wants to keep this secret, to hide Vegas’ desire for him from everyone else, his
sense of possession, his obsession.

Pete, who still wants to hide from Vegas’ desire, from the fear that something so powerful, so
hungry could swallow him up entirely. Pete, who now fears the power Vegas might still have over
his body. Pete, who wants to stop the minor family rebellion whilst having no real concrete proof
or knowledge of their plan, and an unwillingness to admit how he came to this conclusion of their
disloyalty.

Vegas is smart. Even if he may not know Pete has no intention of telling anyone what happened
between them, looking at the full picture he must already have concluded Pete is severely on the
back foot in all of this.

In what way can Pete fix any of it?

What a strange thought to have finally escaped his prison and still feel entirely powerless in the
situation.

Pete can’t speak until the truck reaches a turn that finally takes them off the main road and it’s a
relief to keep putting space between Vegas’ car. He’s tense all over and can’t relax at all until he
realises that the truck is accelerating, moving to merge on to a highway. Pete looks up and sees
sign 1, which tells him they’re joining Phahonyothin Road.

It’s one of the main highways in Bangkok which runs all the way north to the Burmese border.
Although Pete is certain he’s no longer in Bangkok, he continues to peer along the highway in
search of further signs but it's too dark to see anything clearly beyond the headlights.

It feels too risky to ask Anurak but it’s obvious they’re getting closer to town with the increase of
cafes, tea rooms and resorts all alongside the highway flickering past his vision. When they drive
past King Narai Hospital and Anurak turns right at the roundabout, Pete has a feeling they’re
getting close to the temple now.

From the signs Pete can see they’re in Mueang Lopburi District, one he knows for certain has the
station for the Northern Line train- the one that goes all the way to Chiang Mai.

“Where abouts is the station around here?” Pete asks, watching the people walk by on the
sidewalk, eyeing the motorbikes as they dart in and out around other cars.

“Down there,” Anaruk says, gesturing with his palm out, even as they turn right at the second
roundabout. “Just down the road from the temple. It’s about a fifteen minute walk.”

Eventually Anaruk pulls off the main road until he’s taking a dirt road which leads down towards
the temple ruins. He pulls up right where the sign says No Vehicle Access Beyond This Point.

“Here we are, Tao,” the old man says though it’s hardly necessary. Pete can see the towers of the
buddhist temple from here.

There are still people walking around which is a relief because Pete doesn’t want it to look like
he’s entering the temple when he shouldn’t be there. Not all temples are open late but he must have
arrived before the closure.

“Do you have the time?” Pete asks Anaruk, glancing over because one of the first things he noticed
is the man’s beat up looking watch.

Anaruk glances down at it. “It’s almost five o’clock.”

“Thank you.”

Pete bows his head, raising his hands to show his respect, before climbing out of the truck and
taking his bottle of water with him.

“Here take these,” Anaruk calls out before Pete can shut the door and a second later a pair of
sandals are dropping at his feet. “I’ve got another pair.”

“Thank you,” Pete says again, meaning it as he closes the truck door. He doesn’t know what would
have happened to him if Anaruk hadn’t picked him up. If he hadn’t taken him away from the safe
house before Vegas had arrived.

Pete owes him a great debt for his kindness.

The old man waves and pulls away from the curb and Pete watches his taillights for a moment
before he disappears entirely. Then he slips his dirty feet into the sandals. They’re a bigger size
than he’s used to but it’s better than nothing. Hopefully he won’t need to run in them anytime soon.

Once he’s ready Pete starts walking into the temple grounds, holding the water bottle loosely by
his side as he takes in the three towers of the Khmer temple ruins in the distance, each one
associated with a corresponding deity.

He hardly takes ten steps before something is snatching the bottle out of his hands. Pete glances
down to see a macaque scampering off with his water bottle and suddenly it comes to him exactly
where he is.

Lopburi. The City of Monkeys. Abruptly, Pete has a memory of his grandmother telling him of the
popular Monkey Buffet Festival present in Lopburi, how the locals view the monkeys as disciples
of Jao Paw Phra Kan, the spiritual protector of their city.

Pete stops for a second, watching the monkey until it joins a cluster of its friends, struggling to
hold back a laugh at the circumstances. Even Jao Paw Phra Kan doesn’t want him here.

He gets a hold of himself and moves towards where tourists seem to be naturally congregating. At
a booth there are people still lining up to get into the temple. He can read the thai script from
where he’s standing, the entrance fee to get inside for a foreigner is 50 baht, 10 baht for a Thai
person.

Which doesn’t do much for Pete who doesn’t have any money whatsoever.

This doesn’t matter much to him though. It’s one of the main reasons he’s here. Tourists love their
temples and it’s easy to steal from people when they don’t know how to properly secure their
possessions and already have their attentions focused on the sights around them. Their distraction
is a great cover for theft.

Although the monkeys might make the situation a little harder though. Most people at least know
to strap down everything they’ve got in case a macaque decides to snatch it from you. But not all
tourists bother to read up on travel tips before going to new places so Pete might still have some
luck here.

Which Pete notes straight away when he steps into line behind a foreigner with an already half
unzipped backpack. The man is speaking English to the group in front of him but his accent is
distinctly, exuberantly American. From his back profile, Pete would guess he’s in his late forties,
and he seems to be sweating profusely in the heat, his voice carrying loudly over the murmur of
other voices.

He should feel bad about stealing, but Pete has no compunction about it when he reaches a hand in
the half open backpack, quickly and carefully searching with a light-fingered touch until he finds
the man’s wallet.

It’s not a very difficult search since the man hasn’t even bothered to tuck it down into a side zipper
within the backpack. At least he wasn’t stupid enough to put things in the easily accessed pouch
right on the outside of the bag, but it doesn’t seem like the man has much common sense.

Pete flips open the leather wallet, ignoring the ID and the credit cards all for whatever cash is
there. It’s about 5000 baht by the look of it which isn’t much but is exactly what Pete needs to get
where he’s planning to go. He takes out the money, leaving 100 baht so the man can still get into
the temple and take a songteow back to wherever it is he’s staying in the new or old town.
They don’t cost more than 10 baht and the man still has his credit cards so he’s not completely
helpless. At least not in the same way Pete is.

Finished, Pete swiftly returns the wallet back to the man’s bag, but as he does his hand brushes
against what feels distinctly like a passport and then he has to resist a sigh. He takes a step closer,
careful not to press up against the American and alert him to his presence when he carefully pushes
both the wallet and the passport further down into the backpack.

If the man didn’t notice he left it partially unzipped then he’ll definitely notice when a monkey
takes off with his passport.

Once he’s rearranged them, Pete stuffs the money beneath the waistband of his underwear,
knowing better than to put anything in his pockets, even with the tight pants making it harder to
access the pockets with ease.

He waits a few minutes until spotting an old Thai couple leaving the temple and heading toward
the group. When they’re in talking distance, Pete steps out of line to approach them. The man is
going to notice his money is gone when he has to pay the temple fee and it seems foolish to stay
waiting behind him as that’s likely the first place he’ll look for the thief.

Pete makes an immediate beeline for the couple, trying to look as unthreatening as possible.

“Excuse me?” he calls, announcing himself politely with a wai. “My phone battery died, could I
please borrow your phone to make a call?”

The couple glance between each other before the old woman is nodding and withdrawing her
phone from her purse, smiling at him with gentle eyes.

Because of their age Pete is expecting something old and outdated like a flip phone so he’s a little
surprised when she hands over an Android. One of the Vivo models too.

“Thank you,” he says, and then he’s looking down and typing in a number that everyone at the
main family is expected to learn by heart the first week they start working there. It was covered at
great length in the introductory video. The important one that Porsche bragged about sleeping
through.

It’s the emergency line number and Pete is glad for it when Pol answers on the second ring. He
must be on shift in the armoury today.

“Hey Pol,” Pete says keeping his voice low and casual because he’s not entirely out of earshot of
the couple and he can’t move any further without them thinking he’s going to make a run for it
with the phone. “Can you get Chan?”

“I- yeah okay but why are you calling the emergency line?” Pol wonders, sounding distracted.
“What happened to your phone?”

It’s a testament to his patience that Pete manages not to lose his temper.

“I’m calling the line because I don’t have my phone and this is kind of an emergency. Can you
please get Chan on the line?”

“I yeah- okay, hold on.”

Pete listens to him shuffle around, hears the murmur of voices and then a moment later he’s
catching a familiar sounding voice in the background.
“Chan speaking.”

Finally. Pete exhales a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “Hey Chan, it’s Pete. I’ve
recently heard some concerning chatter about the minor family but I know the identity of the
traitor-“

“Let me stop you right there,” Chan says in his usual brusque tone. “We're already aware.”

That takes some of the wind out of Pete’s sails. He’d been so worried about explaining how he
came by this information without having to admit to being Vegas’ prisoner that he wasn’t
expecting the main family to already know it. How did they find out that the minor family is
moving against them?

“You already know? About- about Mr Kan-?”

“The traitors were Ken and Tawan. The minor family, though misguided, was cleared of any
wrong doing,” says Chan, in the kind of firm tone that brokers no room for argument. “Though
Vegas is on thin fucking ice.”

Pete actually pulls the phone away and stares at the screen for a second as if it will somehow
change Chan’s words before he puts it against his ear again. How can they possibly believe-?

Or is Chan not as loyal as he once thought?

“Where’s Big? Can I talk to him? He’s the one who suspected Tawan the first time around. He’ll
be able to help make sense of what I overheard.”

There’s the slightest almost imperceptible pause over the line that Pete knows predicates bad news.

“Big is dead.”

“What?” Pete gasps, stunned, covering his mouth with a hand as his voice drops lower. “I- he’s
dead?”

How? When? Why is he just finding out about this now?

Deaths amongst the bodyguards always hit hard even if they try not to show it. Why didn’t Vegas
tell him they’d lost someone so crucial? Surely he would have mentioned it at the very least to try
and rub it in Pete's face. Big might not have been Pete’s favourite but he was competent and he was
honest and he cared very deeply for the Theerapanyakul family.

It's why he was always so offended whenever someone went out of their way to insult them. No
wonder he took such an immediate dislike to Porsche.

Pete can’t believe he’s gone. How could it have happened to such a competent person?

“Tawan killed him.”

An idea ever more impossible than the last.

Pete feels like he should be sitting down so he can properly process everything being told to him.
None of it feels real. It seems unbearable to think that so many horrible things might have been
happening outside of his own imprisonment. Somehow it had felt so confined to Pete’s experience
in that dungeon. In the safe house.

It’s strange to think the world still went on without him.

“Fuck,” Pete says quietly. “I’m coming back to the main family house early. I’ll- I'll be there in a
few days.”

Logic tells him that he should go straight back, head Vegas off before he and Mr Kan can enact all
of their plans. Except Pete doesn’t know the extent of that yet and all he can do is warn them of his
suspicions. He can’t do much if Chan chooses not to take it seriously.

Pete is all too aware that respected as he is within the household, he doesn’t hold that much power.
Not like Chan. Not like Big did.

And after everything, the thought of dying and never seeing his grandmother again doesn't sit right
with him. Now that he’s warned the family, there’s enough time for him to return home for a few
days. At least until he can properly rethink a practical way to deal with Vegas without revealing the
truth of what happened between them.

The last thing Pete wants is for anyone else at the main family to know what Vegas has done. He
doesn’t want to be treated any different. Doesn’t want to be considered a compromised asset.

“Good,” Chan says, and is Pete imagining some of the relief in his voice? How many trusted
bodyguards are still at the main family house? “You’re lucky Mr Kinn even approved time off
with the shitshow going on over here at the moment.”

Pete winces a little at how seriously incorrect Chan’s assumption is. “Right. Look I’ve caught
wind of things from a couple sources whilst I’ve been out here. Things about the minor family.
About Mr Kan and Mr Vegas planning something. Still planning something.”

“Be very careful what you say next, Pete. Because Mr Korn wants to put the whole incident behind
them and we live to serve Mr Korn.”

So it's true, they really don't want to hear what Pete might have to say. How can they not see the
danger? Pete tries to master his emotions because he's not in the position to be commanding Chan
to do anything. He has no power here.

“I understand, sir," he concedes, knowing there's no other option. "I just- whatever needs to be
done to put everyone on their guard. Seems like now would be the time to do it.”

“Don’t worry Pete, we’re always ready for anything,” Chan says which is not the point he’s
making at all. “Just get back here.”

There’s no arguing with Chan about this. At least Pete has said his piece and he can only hope that
Chan takes the warning to heart.

“Yes, sir.”

Pete hangs up the phone and returns it to the woman with his thanks.

Then Pete turns to rejoin the line again, reflecting on the conversation. On the news about Big. By
the time he does the American man is already gone. He’s surprised there wasn’t a bit more of a
commotion once he realised he’d been robbed but Pete is just grateful that he has money now and
that he wasn’t caught stealing it.

He pays the fee to enter the temple and then makes his way towards the prayer hall. There are two
monks seated there and Pete takes up three unlit incense sticks from the pot near the open doorway
and lights them, kneeling between two old Thai men and a foreigner. As the temple is more of a
historical spot for the ruins, the place isn’t entirely set up for prayer but the sentiment at least is
still there.

He chose the place because of tourists, not worship. He wonders about Big’s funeral and how
many days ago they must have performed the funeral rites. Saddened by the thought, Pete kneels
three times and prays for Big’s next life, hoping that the wait to be reincarnated is short. He
doesn’t have any food to make a proper offering so Pete promises to try again when he’s back at
home in Nong Kwai as he sets the incense sticks down in front of the Buddha statue and leaves.

On the way out he makes a donation to the temple with more than half of the stolen money,
knowing he’ll have to make merits later on in order to repent for stealing. Then Pete excuses
himself and heads back out of the temple, walking back in the direction that Anaruk told him, lost
in thought, but hyperfocused on his surroundings until his eyes fall on the outside of the station.

Pete enters and glances over at the train timetable.

There’s an overnight train to Chiang Mai leaving in half an hour which is exactly what he's after.
Pete walks up to the counter and buys a 2nd class seat/ sleeping berth ticket for train 9 with the
stolen money. A 1st class ticket is more than 1500 baht and involves a sleeping berth in a private
carriage but Pete is not sure he could sleep even if he wanted and would rather not spend the
remaining money on a comfort he doesn’t need.

He suspects he’s supposed to have an ID in order to buy a ticket but he chats with the woman
behind the desk for a while, telling her he’s going home to visit his grandmother, and he can sense
that she likes him enough not to question any further on his lack of identification. He wonders if
she’d have been so lenient if he was a foreigner or if she’d spotted the cuffs carefully hidden
behind his back but Pete accepts the kindness without complaint and walks over to the correct
platform, before buying a bottle of water from a nearby vending machine and sitting down on an
available seat to wait.

He’s hungry and whilst there’s time waiting for the train and Pete knows for certain there are night
markets in the old town, he decides to forgo the option of food. A meal is included in the ticket he
purchased anyway and Pete would rather spend the time becoming familiar with the layout of the
platform and the people moving around the area, then to run the risk of exposing himself in yet
another location.

If anyone does show up here to search the station for him, Pete wants to be able to blend perfectly
with the crowd and board the train without being spotted and he can’t do that if he isn’t familiar
with the surroundings.

At this point Pete has the waiting part down anyway and it’s in no time at all that the train pulls
into the station. It’s ten minutes early in fact and despite vigilantly watching the area, Pete boards
the train without incident, carefully taking in his surroundings. But he makes it to his seat without
issue.

Luckily for him, it’s a window seat so Pete settles himself and looks out the window, taking
sparing sips of his water and watching the other travellers get themselves in order as they board the
train as well.

The 2nd class seats whilst having the option of converting the chairs into beds later on in the
evening are not in separate carriages like 1st class, they’re rows of face to face chairs in an open
plan setting. Whilst it’s a little more exposed, Pete prefers it this way as he can see everyone as
they approach through the aisle. His section it turns out isn’t completely full either, there are
several empty seats in the carriage, including the one opposite Pete which is a small blessing.
He doesn’t have the capacity to be near people at the moment nor does he feel up to the task of
small talk.

So he looks out the window, keeping the people moving about the carriage in his peripheral vision
whilst he scans the crowd alertly on the platform until the final whistle is blown and then the train
is finally moving, pulling away from the station entirely.

And Pete finally leaves Lopburi and the safe house behind him.

The trip is meant to take around eleven hours before they reach Chiang Mai.

Pete gets up once to use the bathroom and then he returns to his seat without interacting with a
single person. There’s a light meal and coffee included in the ticket pricing and whilst the food
doesn’t hold a candle to his grandmother’s cooking, Pete still enjoys the experience.

It must have something to do with being able to choose his own food from the menu and being
able to eat freely without his hands restricted. Although Pete is careful to try and keep the cuffs out
of sight as much as possible.

When he gets the Chiang Mai, the first thing he’ll buy is a jacket to try and conceal the exposed
cuffs on his wrists from view.

He’s not expecting to sleep but when the attendant comes to set up the bed he allows her to do so,
providing a mattress, pillow and sheets as well as a curtain which she hooks up for privacy. Pete
thanks her and slides the curtain across the makeshift bed completely before laying down. Once
comfortable, he glances up at the dark glass of the window for a while, watching the darkness slide
past as his eyes slide slowly shut.

Pete didn’t remember sleeping alone would be so cold.

His dreams are enticing, with a syrupy kind of seductive heat to them.

In it Pete is perched atop Vegas’ lap, his ass nestled against the cradle of his hips whilst Vegas’
cock is hard and stiff inside him. He feels precarious, unbalanced and has to brace his hands
against Vegas’ chest in order to anchor himself as they look at each other.

Vegas’ expression is dark and deep, his eyes an abyss of endless desire for him and Pete can’t look
away as he gently rotates his hips, rocking down steadily and feeling the rising buzz of pleasure in
his lower extremities with each shift.

He can feel the desperation in Vegas’ hands at his waist, holding him right there as if afraid Pete
will fly away at any moment, and it’s a frightening confirmation that no matter what he takes from
Pete, the hunger for him will never be satisfied.

But that doesn’t stop Pete from looking back at him, staring intently into Vegas’ eyes as he grinds
and rocks and sinks into the distracting pleasure of their conjoined bodies. His fingers flex, biting
into the flesh of Vegas’ pecs as if he’s afraid of letting go when his body locks up, pleasure
soaring, cresting-

And Pete wakes up with a disoriented gasp, the vivid contents of the dream becoming coloured
with shame as he sees the visible bulge in his pants, feels the lingering effects of dwindling desire
cascade through him in waves.

In all the things he might have anticipated, Pete hadn’t expected this. And certainly not in such
gratuitous detail. The greater features of the dream are still fresh in his mind and Pete flushes at the
realisation that his subconscious somehow put him on top of Vegas, actively chasing his own
pleasure in the kind of position that they never actually fucked in.

It's not worth thinking about but Pete doesn’t know where he lands in interpreting the meaning of
the dream. Is it a subconscious manifestation of his own desire? Or a warped memory following
Vegas’ twisted acts that allows Pete more agency in a way that he didn’t have before?

Neither thoughts are comforting and Pete doesn’t have the time nor the mental energy to properly
dwell on them. Not when there are so many more important things to do. It’s best, safer, that he
doesn’t think about Vegas at all.

Pete needs to stay focused.

So he sits up and crosses his legs, willing his erection to go down, glad for the privacy curtain as he
waits it out. He can hear the attendant moving around the carriage and once Pete is certain he’s
calm enough, he draws the curtain back to observe the other travellers. The carriage isn’t entirely
full anymore now that they’re so close to Chiang Mai.

Many of them have disembarked at earlier stations. Pete doesn’t mind, it just means there’s less
people to witness his movements.

It takes several minutes before his body is able to fully reach a state of composure, and Pete
stretches carefully in the seat, feeling his muscles pull from the position he’d been in all night as he
glances out the window into the early morning sunlight. His wrists are aching a little but he’s
grown used to it now and it's easy to ignore as he watches the countryside pass by.

The area is much more familiar now that they’re closer to Chiang Mai and the anticipation rises in
Pete the closer he gets to home.

He wonders what his grandmother is doing right now and feels a rush of eagerness knowing how
glad she’ll be to see him. When they finally arrive at the Chiang Mai Railway Station, Pete
disembarks and heads straight across the street to where a group of locals are waiting in their tuk
tuks to drive people to their hotels.

Pete walks up to a man resting against his tuk tuk, smoking a cigar and greets him respectfully.

“Could you take me out to Nong Kwai?”

It’s only about a twenty five minute drive from Chiang Mai but Pete expects these men are
hanging around in the hopes of driving tourists much further than that. The money is better that
way.

The man shrugs around a puff of smoke and gives Pete a subtle once over. “Straight to Nong
Kwai?”

Pete considers the question for a moment before getting an idea. “Actually,” he says, raising his
wrists up to show the man the cuffs. “Know any locals who could get these off me first?”
The man raises an eyebrow at the sight of them but doesn’t seem remotely perturbed. Pete exhales
a breath of relief at his lack of concern. Seems like the perfect man who won't ask questions.

An hour later, the driver has taken him out to a rural blacksmith who removes the cuffs for only
100 baht, though he grumbles at Pete the whole time, complaining about the state of the cuffs and
how they were good quality work before Pete half destroyed them.

It’s a man from Chiang Mai that Pete doesn’t know which is good because the last thing he wants
is word of this somehow getting back to his grandmother. The cuffs aren’t really so uncomfortable
for Pete to force any urgency in having them removed- he simply doesn’t want to give his
grandmother too much detail about what’s happened to him. Most of it she’ll be able to intuit just
from knowing him so well anyway.

But Pete would rather not put images in her head. The cuffs serve a distinct purpose and act as a
disturbing reminder. It's best to get rid of them.

Whilst the blacksmith works, nobody mentions the fact that Pete obviously didn’t put these
restraints on himself, and they don’t ask who did though of course Pete has a lie prepared in case
they do.

Pete accepts the complaints from the blacksmith without much offence, he’s just glad to finally
have the cuffs off his wrists when they finally leave and the tuk tuk driver takes him on to Nong
Kwai. As they arrive Pete asks to be dropped up the street from his house just to give him enough
time to scan the area first.

He pays the man triple for his trouble and the driver doesn’t seem all that perturbed by the money
either. Pete decides he likes his approach to life when he turns the tuk tuk around and disappears
off down the street, no doubt back to Chiang Mai to collect more tourists.

Pete shakes his unencumbered wrists out, not for the first time in the last twenty minutes and slips
in along the narrow walkway before his house, going the long way around to get to his driveway
because it will keep him out of sight.

It’s pure reflex that has Pete scanning his surroundings before openly approaching the house. And
that’s why he spots the car parked across the street first.

Pete crouches low, eyes narrowing as he tries to search for signs of life within the vehicle. The
windows are tinted but it’s the same make and model that the Theerapanyakul family uses. He
waits and watches the car for over an hour but there’s no movement at all until the passenger side
door randomly cracks a window and Pete’s close enough to pick up their voices.

“Damn what did I say? Don’t smoke in the car,” Oat is saying in a tetchy voice to Tiw who has
since jerked his wrist outside the opening in the window to let the smoke unfurl outside. “It gets
into the upholstery.”

“Sheesh fine,” Tiw says back and he takes a couple puffs of the cigarette before putting it out and
the window is sliding closed again.

Pete watches them in silence, surprised at the anger he feels to see them here of all places. He
should have guessed that Vegas would do something like this. Pete all but told him exactly how
important his grandmother is to him. It’s not such a leap to guess that Pete might come here first
before returning to the main family.

He realises how they came to arrive here before him, but suddenly their absence back in Lopburi
makes sense. They must have left straight for Chiang Mai after they finished their final patrol of
the safe house. Vegas obviously made a point to cover all of his bases.

Pete wants to be angrier at Vegas about it but the only person he can really blame is himself. He
gave this information to Vegas. Vegas, who of course would use it to serve his own interests.

Them being here shouldn’t be a problem. Pete knows the neighbourhood well. Can sneak around
the back of the house. There’s a Flame of the Forest, Kwao tree in the backyard. One that’s
branches are sturdy and high enough that Pete can use it to climb into his bedroom on the second
story.

Pete slips away from his position watching the car and moves an entire street over before he’s
sneaking through houses, climbing over fences and making his way into his backyard. He keeps
low and out of sight before quickly scaling the Kwao tree and reaching out for the bedroom
window. He purses his lips when it opens easily at his touch and Pete reminds himself to talk to his
grandmother about locking up the house properly.

Then he slips quietly into his old bedroom, sliding the window closed behind him before ducking
low and moving into the hallway toward his grandmother’s room, the main bedroom.

Pete sits down and waits, keeping out of sight of the windows, waiting for her to eventually find
him.

It’s too dangerous to go downstairs, the floor plan is all open space and there’s too many windows
for Pete to sneak down the staircase and avoid being spotted by the men outside. If they have the
same type of equipment Pete usually does then it’s likely they have listening devices and high
quality cameras and binoculars. Too many variables for Pete to go unnoticed.

So he sits down, resting his elbows on his thighs, forehead propped up against clasped hands and
waits.

It takes almost another full hour.

Pete slips into a sort of resting state, where he’s listening intently to the shuffle of his grandmother
downstairs in the kitchen, the clinking of the daliew as it hits the rim of the steel wok whilst she
stirs the Khao rad gaeng, Pete can tell what it is based on the smell of the spices alone. For a
moment he wonders why she’s making it so late in the morning.

His grandmother is usually an early riser. He can smell the rice being prepared to accompany it and
whilst he does feel hunger as a distant urge in his body, it is not relevant to the situation at hand.

Even with his head bowed, eyes closed, Pete is tense and alert, ready for the slightest indication
that there’s more than one person moving about downstairs. For any hint that Oat and Tiw know
he’s here and have come to try and subdue him before Vegas arrives.

But nothing comes. The house sounds like it always does, smells like it always does and his
grandmother is humming to herself, such a familiar, jaunty tune that Pete’s chest aches just to hear
it.

He listens to her downstairs, the scrape of the chair as she sits down, the clink of utensils as she
begins to eat and all Pete can do is wonder why she isn’t eating with Phailin down the street. Or
even Lamai from the community centre.

He wonders exactly how long she’s been eating alone for.

Eventually, he hears her slow, steady tread as she makes her way up the stairs and Pete is on his
feet in seconds moving toward the doorway so that he can properly greet her and silence her if she
tries to make a sound.

He shifts just out of sight so that his grandmother can’t see him until she’s stepped into the room
and then he’s moving toward her, slow enough that she can see the profile of his face, her eyes
widening, mouth open to exclaim at seeing him.

Pete reaches out and puts a hand quickly over her mouth. Tries to be as gentle as possible as he
raises a finger to his lips, only removing his hand when he’s certain she won’t speak. He strides
over to the bathroom next, ducking low to keep out of sight of the windows before he’s reaching
the shower and twisting the nobs to make the water run, loud enough to drown out the silence.

His grandmother follows him into the room, and Pete closes the toilet lid, quickly folding up a
towel and placing it atop the lid before gesturing at her to take a seat. She’s frowning at him but
does sit down whilst Pete turns to make sure that the pressure of the water is heavy enough to
disguise their voices.

Only once he’s satisfied, does he speak.

“There’s two men sitting outside watching the house, Yaai,” Pete tells her. “They’re waiting in
case I came home.”

Immediately she’s matching his tone, keeping her voice barely higher than a whisper. “What’s
happened? Who are these men?”

“They’re from the minor family. They’re after me because Vegas sent them.”

She’s still frowning but there’s a sense of brisk energy to her now like she gets once she knows
there’s a problem that needs to be solved. Pete won’t go into too much detail of what’s happened,
he doesn’t want to frighten her but she does need to know enough that Vegas won’t be able to
manipulate or use her against him again.

She has to know who Pete’s enemies are.

“He’s one of the Theerapanyakuls isn’t he? The eldest son of the second brother?”

He had told her about the family in only the most sparing of detail so it surprises him now that she
knows exactly who he’s talking about.

“Yes, he is.”

“What is his issue with you? Why is he sending these men after you?”

Isn't that a loaded question.

“I was caught breaking into the minor family compound. Vegas was- displeased to say the least.”

Pete knows he isn’t outright lying but he’s aware of how he’s limiting the details of the story. It’s
for the best, he knows, she’s better off not having too much information in the event that someone
decides to question her. It's only practical. Safer for her that way.

“And Mr Tankhun ordered you to do this?” she wonders, struggling to understand and catch up
with the situation. “I thought you hardly ever leave the main family house because that boy is so
frightened. Why is he ordering you to do this?”
It feels like a lifetime ago that that was in his job description. Pete doesn’t know if he’d go back to
the monotony of life as Tankhun’s bodyguard, watching TV shows day after day, trying to appease
Tankhun’s every whim and volatile moods. But Tankhun, though over dramatic at times, was
always good to him and he knows for certain there would at least be a lot less danger.

The main family house is like a fortress anyway. It’s the outside world that holds all the problems.

Pete sighs and sits on the edge of the bathtub. “I was recently reassigned to Kinn’s protection
detail. He thinks the minor family are selling classified information to their competitors.”

Well. They don’t think it now. Pete at least had the time to confirm it before Ken caught him in the
family compound. How did they go from knowing it was the minor family for certain to suddenly
putting the blame on Ken and Tawan and clearing the rest of all wrong doing? Mr Kan clearly did
some fast talking to have that explanation take root.

“I spoke to him, on the phone,” his grandmother realises. “The one who said he was your friend.
That was him- Vegas?”

Pete feels the flush of heat on his face at the memory. How it had felt to have Vegas’ cock in him
whilst he was trying to pretend that everything was normal and fine as his grandmother talked to
him. The humiliation of it. And the heat.

“Yeah, that was Vegas. He’s still got my phone too so don’t trust anything you receive from my
number from now on.”

His grandmother turns suddenly and disappears back into the bedroom, returning with her own
iPhone. She brings up the recent calls and shows the screen to Pete.

“You called me last night. Late. Whilst I was asleep. I was waiting for you to ring back.”

For a moment Pete feels grateful that he’s so predictable. Usually if he can’t get a hold of his
grandmother on the first ring, he waits a couple hours before trying again. Due to his inconsistent
hours, and the fact that he doesn’t always have a phone on him and his grandmother doesn’t like
talking on the communal one where everything can be recorded, she usually waits to hear from
Pete first.

Now he’s glad that it worked out in their favour. Vegas must have been desperate last night if he
was trying to ring Pete’s grandmother. Would he have told her that Pete was missing? Or would he
have made up another lie?

“That wasn’t me,” Pete says, letting out a breath of quiet relief. “Don't trust anything from that
number until I can get a new phone.”

She nods, setting her iPhone down on the sink counter and facing him again. Her eyes don’t trail
over his body but they don’t really need to in order to assess him. Pete always feels like an open
book around her.

“If you were caught-“ she starts, carefully pausing as if to full appreciate the horror of the concept.
“Then how did you escape?”

Now this is the hard part that Pete was anticipating. He looks down at his hands for a second, eyes
naturally drawn to the dried blood on his wrists, the scabbed wounds and raw lines of red wrapped
around his skin.

“It’s not something- I want to go over in detail,” is all Pete can say, hoping that she will leave it at
that.

His grandmother is quiet for a moment as she looks at him. He wonders if she will demand the
truth from him, if it's even possible to give it when Pete doesn't quite understand it himself.

“Whatever you had to do to stay alive, just know that it will never change how I look at you.”

Pete’s mouth falls open and his lip trembles with true emotion at the words. It makes him feel
weak and vulnerable, but Pete knows he’ll never move forward if he can’t extend the same
forgiveness towards himself for everything that he had to do to survive.

He clears his throat and doesn’t respond because that’s the safer option of the two.

“I came here to see you and check everything’s alright,” Pete tells her eventually. “Before I head
back to Bangkok.”

“You still want to return to them?” she says, surprised again. “Isn’t this Vegas boy trying to kill
you?”

“No,” Pete says firmly. “He isn’t.”

His grandmother is watching his expression very intently so Pete forces it into calm stillness.

“But then- why are those men-?”

“He was only having the house watched in case I came back, not to attack us. He just wants to
know where I am. You’re not in any danger. We have- an understanding.”

That seems to pique her concern, if from the way she blinks rapidly and sits up a little straighter.
“What kind of understanding?”

Pete isn’t sure he can answer that one truthfully himself but he can at least give an approximation
of it. Because it’s not a lie per se. He and Vegas do have an understanding now. Pete thinks he’d
have a much better chance of predicting his behaviour since they’ve spent time together in such an
intimate way.

“The kind where he wants something from me and has to play by my rules in order to get it.”

That at least is one hundred per cent true. He’s never going to be able to recapture Pete like he did
that first time. Everything has changed now. For the both of them. They can never go back to that
moment in time, the confusing, compromising bubble of the safe house ever again.

“What’s that? What does he want from you?”

Sex. Possession. Loyalty. Reciprocation. There are too many elements to choose from.

All Pete knows is that for some reason Vegas still wants him very badly. Enough to send his men
out after him, enough to chase him down in a speeding car, enough to place desperate phone calls
late at night to his grandmother.

And there is power in this wanting, Pete realises, he just hadn’t quite understood that he was in
possession of it.

He may not like the situation but at the very least he has a noted advantage over Vegas now. Pete
isn’t a slave to his own wants and needs like Vegas is. He has better control of his emotions.
“It’s hard to explain. I don’t know how to put it into words that you’ll be able to understand.”

His grandmother’s scoffs, then straightens her skirt with evident intent.

“You mean you don’t want to make me worry by telling me the truth,” she counters with surprising
intuitiveness. “Be honest now Pete. How much danger are you in?”

He had expected this in a way. His grandmother has always been the type to push back. Pete
admires that the most about her.

“None. At least not from him.”

The look she gives him is sceptical. She obviously needs more to be convinced. “What makes you
so sure?”

Pete doesn’t dare to tell her the truth.

“Trust me, I’m sure.”

They’re silent for a moment whilst she digests everything he’s just told her.

“I don’t like this,” she says, eventually. “Why do you need to go back to them? We’re not in debt
anymore. You could walk away right now.”

It’s true. It’s taken years of hard work, on both their parts, but they’ve managed to crawl their way
out of the debt Pete’s father sank them in to. His grandmother now owns the house they live in and
they have more than enough savings for Pete to quit his job and search for something else.

Although that’s not really the point. To Pete, it’s the principal of the thing that matters most to him
now. And he can’t in good conscience abandon the Theerapanyakuls when he has the power to
help them.

But that family includes Vegas, an intrusive thought warns, are you going to help him too?

Pete shoves the thought down deep and refocuses on his grandmother.

“I owe it to them,” he tells her with sincerity. “Mr Kan is going to try something and I need to be
there to stop him. To help the rest of the guards stop him. He wants to set their whole world on
fire.”

Her mouth purses with displeasure.

“Their world, Pete. Not yours. Not ours.”

The words are sobering and a good reminder. Try as he might, Pete will never truly be one of them.
None of the bodyguards ever will. That’s part of the cost of being amongst the Theerapanyakuls;
envying their power, their way of moving through the world, and wanting in some way to be like
them.

All whilst knowing it would never be possible.

There’s something powerful in that kind of longing, Pete can recognise it for what it is. But that
still doesn’t change how he feels about the situation.

“I promise that I know what I’m doing.”

His grandmother purses her lips but he can tell that she’s willing to let it lie for now. Although it’s
obvious this conversation is far from over.

“Are you hungry, lǎan-chaai?”

“Starving,” Pete admits, glancing over at the running water. “But I’d kill for a shower.”

His grandmother nods and climbs to her feet, picking up the towel and hanging it back over the
rack before she moves to the doorway. “You go ahead and keep out of sight and I’ll grab some of
your clothes out from your room.”

“Don’t peer out the curtains or anything,” Pete warns her. “It’s best they don’t know we’re aware
of them.”

She nods and shuffles quietly out of the room, shutting the door behind her. Pete doesn’t wait a
second, immediately stripping off Vegas’ clothes and tossing them into the corner of the bathroom
before he’s stepping into the shower.

He takes a second adjusting the water temperature and then he’s fully submerging himself in the
spray, letting his eyes fall shut and relaxing for what feels like the first time in weeks. It’s not
something that comes easy to him even now, Pete can’t help but expect the door to open, for Vegas
to appear somehow, to come crowding into his space.

Pete doesn’t know what to do with privacy now that he has it. Even limited as it is by the
knowledge that Vegas’ men are still waiting outside the house.

Determinedly, he tries not to dwell on it. To enjoy the hot water and the prospect of his
grandmother’s cooking. Although she regularly sends food to Bangkok, it doesn’t taste exactly the
same as it does when it’s fresh. Already Pete is looking forward to the next meal.

Whilst he tries to rinse his dirty feet and the smell of lake water from his skin, Pete is careful not to
examine his existing injuries too carefully. Each open wound is a memory taking him back to
Vegas’ dungeon, to the safe house and Pete wants to be in this moment now, safe, and at home.

Pete is self-aware enough to recognise that he’s stepping into another bubble again, and that try as
he might reality will soon set in. But for now the moment is good and Pete takes the moment to let
himself rest and recharge. His body and mind need it for him to be at one hundred per cent, and
Pete knows the best thing to do right now is to take care of himself.

A couple minutes later there’s the gentle tap of his grandmother at the door, letting him know
she’s left the clothes out for him and Pete reluctantly finishes up with the shower. If he’s in there
too long and his grandmother walks downstairs or something, Vegas’ men are going to realise that
someone else might be in the house.

Pete switches off the water and steps out, picking up a towel and quickly drying himself off.
Absent the dried blood and dirt, he still looks a sorry state with his injuries and although he knows
he should ask his grandmother for the medical supplies, he also can’t bear the thought of her
seeing the wounds on his body in their entirety.

He’s going back to Bangkok soon anyway. Pete will apply whatever creams he needs to then. For
now the injuries will have to wait.

He cracks the bathroom door open and grabs the pile of clothes off the wooden floorboards,
shutting the door behind him again. Pete dresses quickly, immediately noticing the difference
between his own clothing style, and what Vegas had put Pete in back at the safe house.
The sweatpants and boxers weren’t as loose as one would have expected from the material. Pete
almost thinks Vegas gave him a size smaller to properly showcase his- assets. Practically
everything Vegas wears is tight fitting and revealing.

When Pete drags on his loose pants and oversized shirt, he's struck by their opposing differences.
Would Vegas still find Pete attractive in his own comfortable style?

For a moment Pete is disgusted with himself by the idle thought. But he can recognise the validity
in it. As well as his own insecurity. Vegas had been so unapologetically attracted to him, that had
been the currency underneath all of their interactions. It’s not so surprising that Pete would wonder
at how that would change outside of Vegas’ control.

What would he think of a Pete being defiantly himself?

Pete can acknowledge the existing edge of fear within himself that worries of the consequence of
Vegas losing interest in him. No matter how disturbing that instinct might be, it’s one of survival
and Pete needs to respect it.

Thinking like that is what got him home. It’s what kept him alive.

Once he’s dressed, Pete returns to his grandmother’s bedroom just as she’s entering the room
carrying a tray with a bowl of Khao rad gaeng.

“Could you please get me a-“

Without a word, she hands him a plastic garbage bag as if she’d known Pete would want to get rid
of the clothes he’d been wearing immediately.

Pete has a moment of being completely understood and accepts it gratefully, before slipping back
into the bathroom. He scoops up the white shirt, pants and underwear and tosses them all into the
bag together. They still smell faintly of lake water too and Pete would go and toss them in the trash
himself right now if it wouldn’t instantly announce his presence to Oat and Tiw.

He comes back into the room and sets the bag down by the doorway before sitting cross legged on
the floor and accepting the bowl of warm food from her outstretched hand.

“Why are you eating breakfast so late?” Pete asks her as he gets comfortable and picks up a spoon
and fork.

“I woke up to strange men outside the house,” she replies as if the answer was obvious.

Pete glances down at the meal in front of him, realising suddenly that whilst this may be one of his
favourite dishes, his grandmother doesn’t always cook it very often for herself. When Oat and Tiw
first arrived she must have been expecting Pete. That’s why she hadn’t left the house and that’s
why she was cooking Khao rad gaeng when he first climbed through the window.

Maybe he never really convinced her with that phone call a week earlier. Maybe his grandmother
has known something was wrong all along.

For a second Pete is a little proud of her intelligence. To him it’s a sign that she’s still as sharp as
ever.
Which proves his point a second later when she bends down and picks up the medical box from
where she must have left it after bringing it up from downstairs. She sets it down in front of Pete
with a pointed thump and then sits opposite him, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

“Now are you going to let me take a look at you?”

Pete winces, baulking at the idea almost immediately. “No, Yaai.”

“Pete,” she says, the warning in her tone plain.

But he can’t do it. Won’t do it. Pete goes tense all over and refuses to look away from her eyes.

“Please,” he says quietly. “No.”

“Ah,” she exclaims, letting go of the medical box and leaning back in defeat. “You’re still exactly
the same. Won’t show me how badly you’re hurt because you think it will upset me too much.”

Pete will admit to there being a pattern to this. “It’s not really so bad.”

“Do you need to go to the hospital?”

He considers the question for a second. It’s possible his ribs aren’t doing too great, might even be
broken but he’s certain it’s not life threatening. Pete’s probably a little malnourished and
dehydrated too but all of these things are survivable. He’s definitely had worse.

“No, I’m good.”

“Well at least put some cream on those wrists,” she grumbles. “They look close to getting
infected.”

Pete accepts those conditions and finally returns to the bowl which he hasn’t eaten out of yet. He
scoops a generous amount of curry and rice onto his spoon and takes the first mouthful.

After so long the taste of memory is overwhelming. His grandmother’s cooking is one of Pete’s
greatest sources of comfort and he can remember exactly why as the flavour bursts in his mouth.

He goes still for a moment. Truly appreciating this first bite and Pete doesn’t even realise he’s
crying until his grandmother is reaching out and gently touching his cheek, wiping the wetness
away.

“You’ve had a hard few days haven’t you, khon dii?”

Pete lets out a laugh that sounds more like a sob.

His grandmother has plans to visit Wat Phra That Doi Kham for prayer and to make merits so Pete
agrees to go with her.

They separate once she goes to leave the house, and under Pete’s instructions she takes a tuk tuk so
that it will be harder for Oat and Tiw to follow her, and easy for the driver to lose the tail in the
traffic.

Pete waits a moment, watching from the bathroom window on the second story to determine
whether they will follow his grandmother or if they will break into the house to find any traces of
him.

He’s mildly impressed when the car door opens and Tiw climbs out first before Oat speeds away
and Pete watches as Tiw walks up the driveway, bold as anything as he moves towards the front
door.

Pete doesn’t wait for Tiw to break in.

He retreats back to his bedroom and climbs outside via the Kwao tree, taking the bag of clothes
with him because he doesn’t want Tiw to find the evidence to confirm his presence. Once he hears
the squeak of Tiw’s tread on the wooden steps ascending to the second floor, Pete drops down
from his perch on the branch and climbs quickly over the fence, slipping through his neighbour’s
property and stuffing the bag full of clothes in their rubbish bin before he’s making his way out on
to the opposite street.

He walks for a bit longer before flagging down a local taxi who agrees to drive him to the temple.

Once he arrives, Pete pays him and goes to find his grandmother in the crowd. She’s waiting at the
base of the Naga staircase and seems to have had no trouble getting rid of Oat who was following
her. Pete is glad they decided to avoid the winding road that leads straight to the parking lot. The
Naga stairs are the original way pilgrims used to walk to visit the temple and Pete always enjoys
the hike through the forest before the stairs lead up to the reclining Buddha statue and the rest of
the temple grounds.

They’re both quiet as they take the steps, appreciating the warmth of the morning, and the way the
sunlight reflects off the golden serpents lining the staircase. By the time they’re halfway, it doesn’t
escape her notice that Pete is struggling, nor that he’s out of breath first before they’ve even
reached the top.

His grandmother slows down for him, and Pete wants to feel embarrassed that he’s still tiring so
easily but mostly he just appreciates that they’re there together.

When they enter the temple grounds, there’s no admission fee but they do have to remove their
footwear, and afterward his grandmother moves almost instantly towards the market stalls,
chatting with the locals as they look over the offerings of fruit, garlands and beaded necklaces. Pete
selects several garlands of jasmine flowers along with his grandmother and once paid for, they
walk amongst the shrines, taking in the importance of each one with the appreciation of reverence
and routine.

The temple is quite popular with locals after a person prayed there and won the lottery, so even
though it’s still mid-morning, the area is packed with people. Pete moves towards the open air
pavilion and kneels to pray to Luang Por Tan Jai Buddha. He gives the garlands as offerings, lights
incense and prays once again for Big. His wish to the Buddha is that he can still make a difference
in the upcoming war of the Theerapanyakul family and it’s hard to feel pessimistic with his
grandmother by his side while they pray in the sunlight.

Afterward, they leave Doi Suthep mountain and a local driver takes them back down into Nong
Kwai.

His grandmother takes him to the street markets, where she purchases ingredients for dinner;
coconut, fresh shallots, chicken thighs and egg noodles before they stop to eat lunch. Pete seizes
the opportunity to have a lot of the local delicacies that he can’t always find in Bangkok. He hasn’t
had Krabong for a long time, the crunchy on the outside, flour and spicy paste coated on vegetable
strips, soft on the inside- it used to be one of Pete’s favourite snacks.

He buys the popular pumpkin Krabong as well as banana blossoms and devours them so quickly
that the vendor grins at him in appreciation. His grandmother also buys some Khao Lam for
dessert, and Pete is looking forward to the sticky rice stuffed inside the hollow bamboo, which is
meant to be eaten warm. From there they have an easy kind of walk back to the house.

They separate a street away so Pete can sneak around the back and from his position, he confirms
the same car is parked outside the house again. He’s careful not to be seen and when he’s back
inside, goes over the second story level of the house to see what’s been disturbed by Tiw’s earlier
break in.

He’s done pretty good actually. Pete only notices one drawer slightly ajar from his previous
searching and all traces of his presence are gone. He listens to his grandmother enter through the
front door, humming quietly to herself as she takes the fresh produce into the kitchen and starts
getting ready to make dinner.

Pete wants to go down and join her but he’s essentially trapped upstairs until the car is gone so he
lays on the wooden floor in his grandmother’s bedroom and picks up a book she’d left sitting on
her bedside table.

He’s still reading when she comes upstairs with the tray again, two bowls full of Khao Soi Gai.
Pete loves the crunchy fried noodles atop the dish but it’s the coconut based curry broth that really
gives it the best kind of flavour kick.

He eats like a man starved, and he and his grandmother talk quietly around their bowls, catching up
on the time spent apart and truly just enjoying the companionship again. Pete wasn’t lying when he
all but told Vegas just how important she is to him.

When they’re finished with dinner, his grandmother takes the tray downstairs and tells Pete to
shower, gesturing pointedly at the untouched medical box full of supplies.

Pete sighs and takes the box into the bathroom. He showers quickly once he can hear his
grandmother in the bedroom and when he’s finished, leaves the water running so as not to be
suspicious for the men outside. Then he’s slathering some cream onto his wrists and chests,
pointedly ignoring the fading bruises on his ribcage as well as the welt like marks all over his chest
and throat, which Vegas put there with his mouth and teeth.

Each touch is a memory, and Pete is blushing by the time he’s finished the task, because he’s
covered in hickeys, and it seems strange that a body can hold the marks of pain and worship all in
one place.

He cracks open the door to find a fresh pair of underwear and sleep shorts awaiting him so Pete
gets dressed and throws the oversized shirt over the shorts, not wanting his grandmother to see his
bare chest.

Once he’s done, his grandmother brings a set of her own clothes into the bathroom and climbs into
the still running shower. At least that way it will look like his grandmother has a penchant for
wasting water.

Pete is still going out of his way not to give Vegas’ men any evidence that he’s staying in the
house. Which is why he doesn’t go back to his bedroom. Instead, he climbs into his grandmother’s
bed, choosing the side he knows she doesn’t sleep on.
Whilst she’s showering, Pete borrows her phone to purchase a ticket from Chiang Mai to Bangkok
for tomorrow morning, using their shared account to pay for it. He buys a 2nd class seat ticket with
air con for train 7 to Hua Lamphong Railway Station in Bangkok and then sets an alarm to wake
him up with enough time to make it to the station.

When she emerges from the bathroom, Pete tells her he’s returning to Bangkok in the morning and
she takes the news with grace, though he knows there will be some sleepless nights of her worrying
about him in the future.

As she climbs into bed, Pete turns his back to her and tries to settle further into the pillows. They
don’t have air con at the moment, that’s the next big purchase for the house, but the fans are
blowing and keeping the room cool and Pete hopes it will be enough to curb his nightmares.

They say goodnight and a second later Pete feels her light touch as she softly strokes his hair.

The comforting gesture is not lost on him, and the exhaustion of the day finally creeps up before
he’s expecting it so Pete falls asleep under her soft hands.

In the morning Pete sneaks out of the house early and has a local driver drop him off at Chiang Mai
station. This time he’s carrying a backpack full of snacks, water, and a book to pass the time for the
long train ride back into Bangkok.

The car was still outside the house when he said goodbye to his grandmother and promised to get
in touch within the next few days to confirm he’s arrived safely at the main family home. Pete
doesn’t let Oat and Tiw see him as he leaves, but he doubts they’ll be there for much longer.

Once Vegas gets word that Pete is back in Bangkok, no doubt he’ll order their immediate return.

Pete has a sneaking suspicion they're going to be tailing him for some time.

The main family home looks completely unchanged when Pete finally returns.

He's expecting it to look different somehow but maybe that's a subconscious need for it to reflect
the way he himself feels changed.

Pete nods at the guards posted in the lobby, and by the alertness of their stances, he can guess
they’re expecting the arrival of an important visitor soon.

He waits for a moment at the reception whilst they bring up his file and confirm his identity, and
once he mentions that he lost his old pass to get back into the building, he’s being given a new key
pass which matches the rest of the bodyguards, giving them access to the living quarters, the gym,
the pools, the garage and only certain levels of the hotel.

Some bodyguards aren’t permitted in certain areas, but since Pete was last posted to Kinn’s detail
he’s one of the guards who are allowed almost everywhere.

The man at the counter smiles at him as he hands the card over and Pete strides towards the
elevator just as Chan steps out of it, clearly having been notified of his arrival.

Pete nods at him in greeting and Chan spins and matches his stride, all but escorting him back
towards the elevator. They enter the small space together and before Pete can select the level
where the bodyguards live, Chan reaches across him and presses the penthouse floor instead.

“Kinn wants to talk to you first.”

Pete doesn’t let any uneasiness show on his face. To some degree he’s been expecting it.

“Okay,” he says, smiling easily for a second before Chan turns to face the doors.

He wonders what kind of confrontation this will be. If Kinn is expecting to punish Pete or expose
him for lying about his real whereabouts the past week or so but it’s impossible to guess.

If what Vegas said about the text messages sent to his phone were true, then Kinn truly hasn’t tried
to contact Pete since Vegas sent that obvious lie requesting time off. The fact that Kinn hasn’t tried
to follow up on this situation only serves to confirm Pete’s suspicions that he still believes that’s
the story.

That Pete really did just take some time off to go home and visit his grandmother.

And until proven otherwise, it's the story that he's sticking to. For now at least.

“So you’re back,” Kinn announces, looking up from his tablet and watching Pete with an
unreadable expression as soon as he enters the room.

Pete swallows his pride, his anger, and meets his gaze squarely. “Yes, sir.”

There’s a pause when Kinn continues to look at him, taking in the details surrounding Pete. It takes
a second too long for Pete to realise he’d pushed the cuffs of his jacket sleeves up to his forearms in
the heat and that he’d neglected to drag them back down before entering the room.

Kinn is too smart not to notice the red lines around his wrists.

When his gaze flickers up, seems to linger on his throat, Pete realises he wasn’t too great at
covering the other marks as well. He should have borrowed his grandmother's makeup to conceal it
better. Such a simple mistake that Pete feels foolish.

“Where were you again?” Kinn wonders, a simple innocuous question that is probing as it is
accusatory.

Kinn knows how to sniff out weakness in the bodyguards. And at the very least, has great instincts
for secrets. Pete hesitates for the slightest second in his reply.

Is he asking for the truth because he truly doesn’t know it? Or is this simply a confirmation?

“Where do you think I was?”

This is the wrong response from the way Kinn's expression flickers, a wall of controlled unemotion
descending upon him. Pete feels distinctly opposed, like he's become an enemy in those few
precious seconds.
“Why are you evading the question?”

Can't Kinn just believe that he has a good reason? Of course not, because Kinn can't, or won't, trust
anyone. “Because neither of us want to hear the real answer.”

“Are you disloyal, Pete?” Kinn asks, cutting straight to the point. “Is that what I should think?”

The sheer stupidity of the question renders him speechless. Pete, not loyal? How could he have
gone through so much, done so much for the Theerapanyakuls and still have Kinn reach that
conclusion?

Pete’s expression is still, professional, the bodyguard on duty blending into the background look.
“No.”

They’re quiet for a moment, processing the tension in the air and Pete isn’t stupid. He can see that
his answer is not enough to satisfy Kinn. Should have realised the danger of not satisfying Kinn's
demand for transparency.

“I can tell you,” Pete offers after a pause. “But it will change things, and- not necessarily for the
better.”

This is not the right suggestion either. Kinn is openly frowning at him now.

“What do you want?” Kinn asks. “You’re back early for a reason and I want to know what that
reason is.”

Pete struggles to contain himself. He had expected push back from Kinn but not to this degree. The
way that Kinn is looking at him now, cold, detached, is the last thing he would have expected upon
his return.

“I just want to do my job,” he manages eventually. “Protecting the Theerapanyakul family. Chan
told me about Big and Ken and I knew I had to come back.”

There’s a notable pause whilst Kinn considers this, and then he flicks his fingers at the door, a clear
dismissal. Pete feels the urge to defend himself further but controls the impulse out of sheer
necessity.

“You’ll pass a physical first before you resume your duties.”

Pete nods, inwardly wincing. So he had noticed then. Kinn must have clocked his wrists after all.

“Yes, sir.”

He inclines his head respectfully and lets himself out of Kinn’s room, certain at the very least that
this will be an ongoing problem.

Kinn’s approach isn’t always instantaneous and straight forward. It’s often his second move that’s
worse. Pete has seen him play chess too many times to count to not have picked up some concept
of how he strategizes.

This confrontation is far from over.

Chan is waiting outside for him, and if Pete is surprised that he lingered to stay and talk, he doesn’t
show it.

Instead Pete picks up his backpack, and sets off towards the service elevators without another
word, Chan pulling up the rear behind him and catching up to Pete in several long strides.

Pete speaks first.

“How soon can I take a physical?”

Chan gives him a glance over. “You’ve been stood down by Kinn?” he wonders, surprise evident
in his voice.

That, somehow, grates even further. “Until I pass a physical, yes.”

Chan glances at him, then jerks an open fist at his ribcage without warning. Pete lifts his arm up,
catching underneath Chan’s extended wrist and redirecting his hand before he can make contact but
the movement overextends the muscles under his arm, pulling on his ribcage.

Pete winces even as Chan twists and locks onto Pete’s wrist, yanking it toward him as he pushes
the cuff of Pete’s jacket back further, exposing the wrist.

“You’ve done something to your ribs,” Chan says, whilst peering down at the red lines of his
wrists. “And these are from hand cuffs. Do you think you can even pass a physical in your
condition?”

Pete tugs his wrist free, moving the cuff of his jacket back in to place. “Yes,” he says firmly.

At the very least, Pete knows his own limits.

“Stubborn,” Chan notes and Pete can’t be sure if it’s a compliment or not. “Wouldn’t you rather
rest up and try to heal first?”

“Not with everything that’s been happening lately. You need all the hands you can get.”

Chan considers that as they reach the elevators and Pete presses the button to call for the lift. They
wait in silence together and Pete doesn’t try to push any further. Chan is not the kind of man to be
shoved into action, he likes to reach decisions on his own terms.

If Pete looks too eager, that might be another tick against him. One that he can’t afford with Kinn
already suspicious of his motives at the moment. Pete has no doubt that Chan will report
everything of their conversation, and his discovery of Pete’s injuries to Kinn anyway.

These are the kind of secrets that he can’t keep.

The elevator doors open and Pete steps inside. It’s only when he turns that he realises he stepped in
alone. Chan is still lingering in the hallway, watching him.

“Tomorrow. 0800,” Chan says, and Pete nods, trying not to let the relief show on his face. Then,
“I’ll be conducting your physical myself.”

Which means he won’t go easy on him. Chan is a total hardass. Pete nods again, accepting of the
conditions and selects the floor to the bodyguard’s living quarters.

“I’ll be there.”
It’s not like he has much choice anyway. Pete needs to be in the action if he’s to stop whatever the
minor family has planned and he can hardly achieve that from the sidelines.

Chan’s mouth presses into a thin line as the doors close on him but Pete knows him well enough
now to tell that he’s pleased even if he’s trying not to show it. He may be a hardass but Chan
respects effort and hard work, both things that Pete’s never been found lacking before.

He’s been eating well since he escaped the safe house. Has more or less been sleeping through the
night and resting whenever he can.

Pete can only hope he’s recovered enough to face Chan in the morning.

Failing the physical is simply not an option.

His new key card lets him into the room that he and Porsche share, and when he walks inside,
kicking off his shoes and leaving them by the door, Pete is somehow expecting to find Porsche
sprawled out over the couch or in the bedroom, but the apartment is completely empty.

Pete carefully picks his way through his side of the bedroom after he sets his backpack down on
the bed, searching for any obvious signs that things have been disturbed since his absence. Only
Chan or Big have access to all of the bodyguard’s room, and whilst Pete trusts Porsche wouldn’t
have any interest in his things, he wouldn’t put anything past Vegas.

He’s careful and meticulous in his search of the bedroom, but there are no concerning changes to
suggest anyone has been through his things and when Pete makes his way through the living room,
office space and small dining area there’s nothing alarming to be found there either. Besides of
course the alarming speed in which Porsche’s bedroom untidiness has already migrated into these
areas too.

Pete has just finished putting Porsche’s dirty clothes in the laundry basket in the bathroom before
he catches sight of himself in the mirror and realises he’s bleeding through his white t-shirt.

He quickly strips off his jacket, tossing it through the open doorway and onto his own bed, before
yanking the t-shirt off by the back of the collar and tossing that into the basket as well. His
altercation with Chan must have opened up one of the scabs on his chest because Pete is still
bleeding a little.

Distractedly, he wipes at the blood before deciding now is a great time as any to shower and clean
up. Pete changes his mind once he turns on the faucet, water spilling into the shower bath as he
sets the plug into the drain instead, adjusting until the stream is warm enough and leaving the
bathtub to fill up as he leaves the room.

Pete walks over to the dresser which holds his clothes and riffles through to grab out a pair of
boxers and another fresh t-shirt. Usually Pete would just walk around half naked but since he
doesn’t know when Porsche will return and he’s confident he doesn’t want anyone to see the extent
of his injuries, Pete takes the fresh set of clothes back with him into the bathroom and carefully
shuts the door.

Then he strips off his pants, then socks and underwear. By then the water is high enough for Pete
to climb in and get settled comfortably.
Pete scoots backwards until the spray from the shower is cascading over his back and then he’s
hunching over on bent knees, sighing as he tries to release the remaining tension in his body.

The conversation with Kinn could have gone better. Pete knows that.

He also knows that he could have told Kinn what happened to him. Kinn wouldn’t have been
entirely unsympathetic. But would he ever trust you again? A voice in Pete’s head asks him.

After what Vegas did to Tawan and Porsche? It's true the situation is a little different. He and Kinn
have only ever been boss and subordinate, certainly never lovers, but even Pete can admit there’s
still a certain kind of betrayal in this too. If Kinn had known what happened, could Pete honestly
say that his loyalties haven’t been tested? That he was never swayed by him?

Thinking of Vegas never seems to be a good idea so Pete tries to forcibly redirect his thoughts to
the physical tomorrow and maintaining his role at the main family house. There must be a way to
put Kinn at ease about him again. Pete might not be disclosing every little thing that happened to
him whilst he was gone, but he’s still trustworthy. And he can compartmentalise.

His time in the safe house was an entirely different world, one that doesn’t have to affect this one.

Pete can keep them separate. He has to.

The door slams open, Porsche half tumbling into the bathroom and Pete’s eyes open at the
commotion, meeting Porsche's almost automatically.

Porsche takes one look at him, hunched over his knees, head somewhat bent in a defeated position
in the tub and lets out a shocked noise as his eyes drop even lower. Pete glances down at himself as
if for the first time. At the bruises and hickeys still marking his throat, the lingering scabs on his
chest, some still bleeding sluggishly and the red lines from the cuffs at his wrists and wonders what
story is lingering behind his eyes.

Does Pete’s expression say it all?

“What happened to you?”

Pete shrugs and then smiles, a laugh breaking out of him like a sharp wheeze as if there’s
something wrapped around his ribcage, constricting the air supply. He rises to his feet quickly,
uncaring of his nakedness as he steps out of the tub, Porsche turning his gaze away to preserve
some kind of modesty between them. But Pete notes his eyes trailing down the rest of his body,
taking in all of the ways that Pete is physically changed by his time under Vegas’ hands.

He reaches out and drags his towel off the rack, throwing it around his waist and snatching his
shirt up off the counter. Throwing it over himself in spite of the water still dripping down his chest,
wanting to cover up as much of the marks as possible from Porsche’s keen eyes.

It’s clear that Porsche is still waiting on an explanation even as Pete lingers in the silence, not
saying anything to explain.

When he came back here Pete knew that his absence was going to be challenged, that his story
might be questioned at some stage, but he hadn’t expected to be put on the spot so soon. Porsche
only seems more upset by his lack of an acknowledgement of the state he’s in but Pete can’t
articulate it in any way that might be a convincing lie.

What explanation could he possibly give that Porsche would believe? He could say he was
attacked, jumped and beaten up by a low level gang but that wouldn’t explain the hickeys. And
telling Porsche that he was overpowered and fucked, is much too close to the reality of the
situation for Pete to comfortably speak about it out loud. The truth is always much harder to say
directly.

In his heart, he could no more explain what happened than Vegas could. To say he’s been tortured,
whilst true, isn’t even one facet of the whole story. To tell Porsche that Vegas forced himself on
him, kept forcing himself on Pete to the point that Pete almost wanted it as bad as he did-

How can Pete ever say any of that out loud? When he can hardly even admit it to himself? How
could anyone even begin to express the complexity of what he’s feeling after being at the hand of
Vegas’ every whim? Of falling prey to his endless desire? When after all his initial overconfidence
about not being tricked or seduced by Vegas, Pete still succumbed to him anyway?

The distress of it all must show on his face for a second because Porsche starts towards him in
alarm, as if he’s about to try to reach out and comfort him. A gesture that would be very ill
received at the moment. Pete is barely holding it together as it is.

“Pete-“ Porsche starts, looking over his body more intently and clearly trying to decipher further
injuries beneath his shirt. “Kinn said he spoke to your Grandma. She said you were-“

“That’s where I was,” Pete says firmly without lingering on Porsche’s eyes too long. That’s the
mark of a liar, checking the person they’re speaking to believes what they're saying. “I took time
off to visit my grandma but decided to come back earlier- when I heard about Big.”

Porsche’s expression twists and Pete knows there’s something unforgivable about using Big’s
death as a justification to fortify his own lies. But it’s the story he’s decided to stick to, despite the
overwhelming evidence suggesting something much worse has taken place.

It’s the only explanation that his pride can take. Pete can barely admit it to himself that Vegas
somehow still bested him, he couldn’t stomach the shame of having to explain that to someone
else.

Porsche merely frowns at the words. “You can’t expect me to trust that. Pete, look at the state of
you. Tankhun said he called her and she told him you never arrived home.”

Damn. His grandmother never mentioned that. Trust Tankhun to look past the surface of things.
He’s much more intuitive than others give him credit for.

“She’s confused. I was on vacation,” Pete repeats resolutely.

They stare at one another intently for a moment, and Porsche still isn’t backing down. It’s not in
his nature to give up and Pete can see him taking this further. Going straight to Kinn with his
questions and suspicions.

So Pete is forced to relent a little. “And that’s all I’m going to say. Please believe that I have a good
reason.”

He can tell by Porsche’s body language that the hint of truth is enough. He’s still agitated, still
unhappy with Pete’s secrecy, but seems to realise he’s reached the limit of what Pete will divulge.

“Okay, okay,” Porsche eventually surrenders, still eyeing him carefully. “I do believe you have a
good reason. But-”

“Where are the others?” Pete wonders, quickly changing the topic. “How’s Kinn? After Big? And
what did they do with Ken?”
“Ken?” Porsche repeats, looking surprised and Pete’s skin goes cold.

But they knew didn’t they? Chan said he was the traitor. Why does Porsche seem so surprised?
“Ken,” Pete repeats, suddenly remembering the prime reason for his falling into Vegas’ hands in
the first place. “Ken is-“

“Dead, yeah,” Porsche finishes for him, and that draws Pete up short.

“What?” he says, startled.

That’s news to him. How could he not have known that either? Chan never mentioned it on the
phone but it’s likely because Big’s death actually meant more to him. Big had been around for
years after all and unlike Ken, he hadn’t died a traitor.

“When?”

“Over a week ago,” Porsche says. “Mr Kan sent his decapitated head to the main family house
outing him as a traitor. He was the mole.”

That’s not entirely true. It was Vegas who was the one selling family secrets, Ken was merely
working for the minor family to help him do it. No doubt, Mr Kan found putting the blame all on
Ken to be the easier solution. In a way, it did neatly tie up their loose ends.

Disgusted though he is by what happened to Ken, Pete still feels a kernel of satisfaction at the
news. To think of the hell Ken was responsible for putting Pete through, a man who had born him
no ill will and had done nothing to warrant Ken’s ire, it feels justified to know that he didn’t escape
completely unscathed.

In spite of any regret afterwards, Pete had been right not to kill Ken when the opportunity had
presented itself. Karma always maintains the balance in the end.

“Seems like a lot has happened since I left,” is all Pete can manage, keeping his voice as even and
indifferent as possible.

Porsche simply nods, not picking up on the tension at all.

“Yeah, I mean I knew he was an asshole but I didn’t think he was that much of an asshole, you
know? Anyway, you hungry? Wanna get dinner?”

“Sure,” Pete agrees. Mostly because it’s a better alternative to talking about Ken any longer. “Let
me get dressed.”

Porsche nods and strides purposefully out of the room. A second later, Pete hears him switch on
the TV in the living room as he waits.

So Pete quickly dries himself off, slips into the boxers and goes to find a pair of sweatpants. He
picks up his jacket again too, just for the fact that it will hide his wrists from every other person
they’ll interact with in the main cafeteria.

He hopes Pol and Arm don’t pick up on anything. Pete will have a harder time lying to them,
purely for the fact that they’ve known him much longer than Porsche has.
An hour later, he and Porsche return to their room, well fed and intending to sleep. At least Pete is
intending to sleep, he’s under no impression that Porsche will be remaining with him in the room
for much longer.

First chance he gets he’ll be sneaking off to Kinn’s rooms, Pete is at least confident about that.

Pol and Arm were at dinner as he'd expected but Pete needn’t have worried about them. He was
careful not to show his wrists and his chest has stopped bleeding so he’s better at concealing the
most obvious evidence of what's happened to him. Porsche doesn’t expose him either for which
Pete is grateful.

So Pol and Arm treat Pete as if he’s merely returned from some much needed time off.

Some vacation it was.

He’s about to climb into bed when Pete stiffens at the sound of knuckles striking the wood,
knocking at his and Porsche’s apartment door. Before he disappeared into the bathroom a second
ago, Porsche had been lounging on his own bed but now he’s not in the bedroom.

When Pete walks out, he glances over at the lounge before his eyes slide to the empty table in the
dining area, whilst walking down the narrow path toward the door.

Porsche isn’t sitting at the desk either and Pete tenses up incrementally when he reaches the
doorway. He doesn’t think that Porsche is in any kind of danger. It’s very possible that he’s just
used the opportunity to sneak off for a bit of nocturnal fun with his new bedmate. It’s already
openly discussed amongst the guards that he and Mr Kinn are an item- Pete heard the news faster
than he’d heard about Ken’s death.

And the guards don’t tend to knock on the doors as a rule. They only extend that courtesy to the
bedrooms.

When he swings the door wide there’s a red box sitting on the floor with a black ribbon. It can’t be
anything dangerous because they screen all of the mail coming into the building- Pete only
receives his grandmother’s cooking because he has a deal with Som down in the mailroom to share
half of the portions with him first.

Apprehension growing even as Pete already has some idea as to who delivered the gift, he leans out
further into the hallway, turning to the left and right to see if he can see any sign of who would
have dropped it off. Was it another guard? Or did he somehow manage to send one of his men in
for this?

Pete leans down and picks up the box. It’s not too large, fits easily enough between his hands and
he knows he has nothing to fear in terms of incendiary devices or explosives. That’s clearly not the
kind of game Vegas is playing.

Once he’s sure no one’s watching- thankfully the camera points down the hall and swivels to a
new position every minute- Pete returns back inside, closing the door behind him. Whoever
brought the package placed it perfectly inside the blind spot against the door.

Pete walks back to the bedroom, choosing not to open it in the living space because there’s less
opportunity to hide it then if someone barges straight in. He can’t really make an accurate guess of
what it might be but he wouldn’t put it past Vegas to send him something crass like sex toys.

His steps are quick despite the calm reasoning of how to address the situation, and Pete just wants
to get it over with already and find out what kind of challenge Vegas has sent now. The door slams
under his hand he’s so agitated but Pete isn’t afraid of the noise when he sets the box down on the
bed and starts tugging at the black ribbon.

His heart is in his mouth by the time it unravels and he can remove the lid on the box. There’s
packing foam and in the centre the black screen of a switched off iPhone. In his surprise Pete
doesn’t hesitate to pick it up, turning it over until he recognises the perfunctory black case he'd
bought six months ago.

Vegas has returned his phone for some reason. Pete presses the button and it switches on without
any issues whilst he carefully checks over the screen and removes the casing to look for any bugs
or signs of damage.

But it looks exactly the same as it always did. The only difference is it buzzes in his hand, Pete
receiving a text from a contact that he doesn’t recognise.

First of all there’s fire emojis on either side of the name, which Pete doesn’t use, and there’s only
one letter:

It doesn’t take a genius to puzzle it out. When Pete finally unlocks his phone to read the message
his hands aren’t exactly steady. But it turns out Vegas’ message is short and to the point anyway:

Be seein u real soon baby

Obviously Pete doesn’t respond.

Instead he goes into the settings for the contact and blocks the number so Vegas won’t be able to
contact him again. He thinks the phone is clean but he’ll have to hand it over to the kind of expert
who can make extra sure before its usable again.

It’s only after he’s finished with his phone that he realises the box isn’t empty. There’s another
iPhone sitting in the box as well, underneath where his phone was carefully placed and Pete feels
something akin to dread when he picks the second one up.

There’s no passcode on this iPhone, and the backgrounds are purely factory setting wallpapers
when he unlocks it and goes to search through the home screen. There’s only two downloaded
apps: We-Vibe and Dust.

A quick google tells Pete that We-Vibe is an app for BlueTooth enabled sex toys which allows
long distance partners to control the toy's settings, which is nothing short of mortifying for Pete to
contemplate, and Dust is a secure, encrypted messenger app that deletes messages as soon as they
are read, deleting all evidence of the conversation.

Obviously, downloading these apps are Vegas’ idea of a joke.

This phone he’s a little more confused about until he looks through the contacts and discovers
there’s only two numbers programmed: his grandmother’s contact details and what has to be
Vegas’ number because he’s used the same fire emoji symbols and the first letter of his name
again.

The only real difference is there’s no message from Vegas on this one.

It’s clear that this is Vegas’ solution to the no-phone-unless-outside-on-assignment rule. Why else
would Pete need what is clearly a burner phone? He edits the contact and removes the fire symbols,
leaving only the V before he saves the settings and goes to block Vegas' number on that phone too.

Arm will have to check this one as well but Pete finds that he isn’t totally adverse to the idea of
keeping it if it comes back clear of any surveillance programs or malware. He doesn’t think that’s
Vegas’ angle- to give him a bugged phone. Not when Vegas already knows exactly where Pete is
and probably has a wide range of spies and men to spare who can tail Pete when and if he does
leave the main family home again.

But Pete knows how to keep his head down. He can hold Vegas off for as long as he needs to.

There’s no telling when Vegas will get bored but he’s bound to eventually now that Pete isn’t
literally chained to his bed. At the very least he’s going to discover how uncooperative Pete can
truly be if he tries to seduce him again.

And Pete is confident that he will try. Vegas is too overconfident in his skills not to.

Pete knows he won’t be able to relax until this problem has been sorted so he stows the two phones
into his pants and heads out of the bedroom. If he remembers the roster correctly Arm should be
the one on night shift in the armoury and Pete wants to find out just how dangerous Vegas’ gift
truly is.

No time like the present.

He finds Arm exactly where he expects to.

In the armoury, hunched over a monitor with his fingers clacking loudly across the keyboard. The
lateness of the evening doesn’t seem to have impacted his energy in any way. There’s a furrow in
his brow that speaks of deep concentration.

“Hey,” Pete says, entering the room and then having to repeat himself again when Arm doesn’t
react to the greeting. “Hey, Arm.”

Arm’s eyes snap up from the screen, blinking rapidly behind his glasses. “Oh hey Pete. What’s
up?”

“Are you busy? Could you check these two for me?” Pete asks, setting the two phones down on to
the table. “Off the books?”

Usually they need to log their use of tech and for what assignments to ensure that the guards are
following the rules but Pete has been here long enough to know how to find the people happy to
circumnavigate them.

Arm picks them up and raises an eyebrow at Pete. “This one is the standard phone issued to all
bodyguards when they start working here. What do you need it checked for? Is it not working
properly?”

“No,” Pete says, hesitating for a moment whilst he tries to formulate an explanation that will
satisfy Arm’s curiosity without also arousing his suspicion. “But it was out of my possession-
temporarily. And I want to check if it’s been tampered with.”

Immediately Arm jumps up and brings out one of the wands from one of the storage containers on
the left, the kind they use when sweeping a room and searching for bugs in the area.

“And you didn’t report it missing?” he wonders, returning to the desk as he activates the wand,
already passing it over Pete’s phone and the spare one but it doesn’t make a sound for either of
them.

“Kind of hard to without a phone,” Pete points out, watching Arm scan them carefully. “Didn’t
think it was worth calling the emergency line over.”

It doesn’t alarm him that neither of the phones pinged for bugs and listening devices. That doesn’t
mean they’re clear of all spyware though.

Arm, not deterred by this, returns to the monitor and connects Pete’s phone to it via a usb chord.

“I’ll run a diagnostic on it now, shouldn’t take more than an hour.” Arm picks up the second
phone. “What about this one?”

Pete shrugs. “I don’t know but they arrived together. I think whoever sent it wants me to be able to
contact them in a way that’s not so- traceable.”

Arm’s expression turns wry. “You mean they’ve got a problem with tracked phones and recorded
conversations?”

“Guess so.”

Pete smiles back, knowing it doesn’t quite reach his eyes but Arm isn’t watching him closely
enough to notice, already in the middle of hooking up the second phone to the monitor. Not many
people seem to pick up on it when he does it. And Pete isn’t trying to be false or deceitful, it’s
simply a tactic to conceal his emotions.

And that the conversation is affecting him, even if they are talking about Vegas indirectly.

“Who sent you these anyway?” Arm wonders, eyes glued back to the monitor again. “Seems like
they’ve gone to a bit of effort to be able to contact you.”

If that isn’t an understatement of biblical proportions.

“Not sure exactly,” Pete lies. “Maybe I’ve just got an admirer.”

Arm lets out a low whistle and starts typing rapid commands onto the program he’s running to
analyse the tech. “This second phone is actually encrypted. Now that’s a lot of effort to keep your
conversations private. Actually, you know it’s funny the style of the coding is just like-“

He trails off suddenly and looks at Pete with intent, all humour gone.

“Dam,” he says. “Dam encrypted this.”

Pete feels like he should be more on guard but he doesn’t recognise the person at all.

“Who?”

“He’s the minor family’s best tech guy,” Arm says, real alarm in his eyes now. “What are you
doing sending encrypted messages to the minor family?”

“I’m not sending anything,” Pete fires back, offended . “The phone was dropped at my door just
now. Check it if you don’t believe me.”
“Why is the minor family going to such great lengths to get into contact with you?” Arm continues,
seriously suspicious now. “Especially right after you returned from being missing for more than a
week.”

“I wasn’t missing,” Pete says, lying again. “I was home with my grandmother.”

But Arm doesn't seem too convinced. Pete didn't realise that the bodyguard rumour mill was
already in full force and working against him.

“Then who is it that wants to talk to you this badly? And about what?”

Pete wants to stubbornly stick to his silence but shrugs instead. There's no way in hell he's going to
admit that it's Vegas who seems to want him to have a phone in order to try and sext him or
something. He'd rather be labelled a traitor.

“You have to realise this doesn’t look great, Pete. Not with things so precarious with the minor
family at the moment.”

“I’ve done nothing wrong,” Pete says, an edge coming into his voice now. “And I’d rather die than
play spy for the minor family.”

That at least is true. By the way the tension slips out of Arm’s shoulders, Pete can tell that he
believes him. “But who is it trying to get a hold of you? Are they trying to blackmail you? Divide
your loyalties?”

Pete hesitates for the briefest second before deciding to give up a little bit of the truth. “You know
how Mr Vegas started acting when Porsche first began working here?”

Arm’s expression immediately clears with understanding. “Oh yeah when he kept showing up
everywhere and inserting himself into the situation. Trying to get closer to Porsche to win him over
when Mr Kinn was already showing interest in him.”

“Yeah,” Pete says, hearing the shortness in his tone at the reminder. “Well now I think he’s trying
to do the same thing with me.”

Arm’s eyes are so wide it’s a surprise they don’t fall out of his head. “Mr Vegas is trying to seduce
you?”

“I- you knew all along that he was trying to seduce Porsche?”

“Well yeah,” Arm replies, matter of fact. “Didn’t you?”

Pete’s so shocked by the directness of the question that he can’t immediately reply.

He hadn’t anticipated that Arm had understood the nuances of their interactions so clearly. He
definitely hadn’t given the impression that he knew what was going on between Porsche and Kinn
and Vegas. This added layer to Arm's perception of things has struck him a little speechless but
when Arm’s eyebrows only climb higher it kicks him into action.

“I don’t know but he’s obviously trying to do something. Can you- can you just check both of the
phones are safe to use without letting anyone else know where it came from?”

Arm stares at him for a long moment, considering.

“This a no questions asked kind of thing, isn’t it Pete? A favour.”

Seems silly to ask that directly when he’s already questioned Pete to the nth degree and the answer
is already pretty damning in itself.

“Yeah.”

Arm pauses and it’s not because he’s thinking it over and weighing the risk of being caught and
questioned. It’s because he’s trying to think of potential payment. Pete smiles at him in that
awkward way which comes off innocent and non-threatening while inwardly he’s grimacing at
what the cost could be.

Favours from Arm don’t come cheap.

“Alright I can do it if you take my door duty shift tomorrow afternoon,” Arm says. “Mr Kinn has a
meeting in the main boardroom from 3PM and I’m posted there for two hours.”

Pete hesitates to jump in and immediately acquiesce. He can’t show all of his hand at once. The
less interesting he makes what might be concealed on these two phones the better.

“I know you’re stood down for the rest of the day,” Arm adds in unhelpfully. “I saw the roster.”

They are permitted to switch shifts around so long as they report to whoever is leading the team or
assignment they’re rostered to prior to the scheduled shift. Pete could stand to be posted on the
door for a couple hours. If anything it will give him some time to think whilst avoiding Porsche
and still doing something at least a little productive for the main family.

Pete still hasn’t forgotten his suspicions about the minor family’s plans. It would just make sense
to be as close to the action as possible whilst he tries to figure it out.

“I have to pass a physical first,” he tries, still stalling. “In the morning.”

But Arm only raises another eyebrow at that. “Since when have you ever failed a physical in your
life?”

Well. Alright, maybe Pete is a bit of an overachiever.

“Fine,” Pete says, trying not to sigh. “I’ll cover your shift. Who’s the patrol leader?”

“Chan.”

Of course. But Pete knows Chan won’t question him picking up an extra shift since he got back
early. It won’t be suspicious since Chan already knows how hard Pete works. At the very least
Arm’s terms are acceptable.

Pete sits down in the chair next to him, preparing to wait out the results of the scan. He won’t be
able to sleep until he’s confirmed what kind of danger he’s in from Vegas first.

That definitely takes priority. With another sigh, Pete crosses his feet against the edge of the desk,
leaning back into the chair and staring at the computer screen, well aware that Arm is looking at
him out of the corner of his eye.

“You know what you’re doing, right Pete?” he asks, sounding concerned and he has every right to
be.

Pete is walking a dangerous line between loyal bodyguard and traitor. Arm would be a fool not to
recognise the signs. The silence of that accusation sits uncomfortably between them for a moment.
 “I know what I’m doing,” Pete says firmly, though he wonders how confident he’ll still feel once
he’s face to face with Vegas again.

Something tells him that will be an entirely different story.

One that he’s expecting to encounter very soon.

Because it’s not in Vegas’ nature to be patient. The arrival of these phones should be enough to
warn him of that. Despite everything that’s happened, Vegas wants very badly to talk to him.

And he’s not the kind of man who gives up easily.

But that’s largely irrelevant when it comes down to it. Because this time, Pete knows better. This
time, Pete will be ready for him.

How will Vegas fare against a Pete completely unrestrained?

If anything, Pete owes himself the chance to show Vegas what a colossal mistake it was not to kill
him before he escaped. In all his time in the safe house, he may not have figured out how to get
under Vegas’ skin, how to make him hurt, to suffer and regret ever keeping Pete as his prisoner.

But Pete’s always been a fast learner.

And he and Vegas have a score to settle.

Chapter End Notes

I know, I know, no Vegas in this chap. but lets be real poor baby Pete needed a break
( _ )
forget about the things you think I know, no secrets, you can't keep me in the
dark
Chapter Notes

chap title from Bring Me The Horizon's In the Dark

uh, please accept this chap as my early valentine's gift to you all i guess? (love is dead
lol)

Pete lingers in the armoury for another hour whilst Arm runs the analytic program on the phones.
It’s better than waiting upstairs in the room. They chat about fairly innocuous things but Pete
notices more than once how the directionless flow of the conversation often turns sharp, probing.
He may have agreed to Pete’s terms, might have taken his word at sight value, but Arm is
definitely trying to extract information from him.

Interrogate Pete for the truth.

There’s a wall suddenly between them that hadn’t been there before. An edge of suspicion, a kind
of tension that weighs heavy on their interactions, driving through the easy comradery that Pete
was used to.

He ends up picking through the guns in the inventory that are scheduled for maintenance, setting
down on the table and disassembling each weapon, cleaning them out thoroughly and inspecting
each piece before putting it back together again. Pete can feel Arm watching him carefully out of
the corner of his eye but he keeps his movements perfunctory and clean, palms open most of the
time to show there’s nothing else behind it.

He’s not certain that Arm truly believes he’s tampering with the weapons but suspicion has turned
the air sour in a way that Pete’s no longer confident of what Arm’s thoughts are anymore. As if he
suddenly believes Pete is capable of anything.

But having something to do with his hands makes it easier to submit to Arm’s questions, and
seamlessly shift the conversation when Pete doesn’t want to answer so he doesn’t stop going
through the guns by hand.

Eventually, Arm finishes his cross examination of Pete and the tech he brought with him and is
forced to concede that there’s nothing untoward on either phone, though that in itself is still enough
to trigger his mistrust. Pete isn’t sure how he feels about it either but once Arm has returned both
devices to him, he lingers in the space despite the late hour, prolonging the moment because it's in
such desperate need of repair.

But he can’t force Arm to trust him, not in their current circumstances and not when what little
evidence there is, is only another damning strike against him.
It takes a moment to recognise there’s a second layer to his reluctance to leave. Because Pete is
also avoiding returning to his and Porsche’s rooms. To the emptiness there. He’s trying not to
acknowledge the complicated feelings he’ll need to face at the thought of finally sleeping alone.

Pete thanks Arm, though no one could argue he hasn’t thoroughly paid for the service, and then
Pete is heading out of the hidden room and back into the lobby area of the weapons hall, nodding
once at Erika, the middle aged woman who mans the front desk. She returns the non-verbal
greeting, professional, silent and unseen and Pete can’t help but admire her style.

He trudges back, alone, to the service elevator that will take him to the right floor. Pete braces
himself as he eventually reaches his hallway, looking down the length of the hall in case there’s
another package waiting there but the space in front of the door is blessedly empty.

Although it’s naïve to believe it will stay that way for long. He can’t ignore Vegas indefinitely.

Pete lets himself into their apartment, but it’s devoid of the kind of usual noise that Porsche would
make if he was there. The TV is silent, no football games tonight, and he can’t hear Porsche
playing the music he likes to dance to when he’s in the mood either. Despite it being late, Porsche
who was a bartender and is used to being awake late hours, would definitely not already be
sleeping.

Pete pushes open their bedroom door to double check, unsurprised to see Porsche’s bed is
completely undisturbed. It hardly takes any deep thought to determine his whereabouts. Porsche
and Kinn are still in the hot and heavy stage of their relationship, Pete wouldn’t even really be that
surprised if neither of them resurfaced for another month. He doubts anyone else would either.

Despite the predictability of the circumstances, Pete can’t help but feel a flash of resentment
directed towards Porsche. He may have had his entire world shaken up by Kinn but instead of
falling apart, it largely seems to be working in Porsche’s favour.

Is it truly so easy to pursue one's desire in another man?

Immediately, Pete admonishes himself for the thought. His and Porsche’s situations are in no way
comparable. Porsche and Kinn came into it together but Vegas dragged Pete across the line. It’s
understandable that he might look at Porsche and Kinn, seemingly working things out, stumbling
along together and wonder why he’s in so much turmoil over a man who barely acknowledged his
existence a month ago and is now unable to comprehend the idea of being without him.

It’s smart to be on high alert for Vegas, to be thinking about him so often like this. How else can he
expect to survive if he’s completely caught unawares again?

It’s common sense to have Vegas lingering in the back of his mind, because he knows that Vegas
sending him those phones, sending gifts, is a sign that his interest in Pete hasn’t dwindled in the
slightest.

Not that Pete was expecting it to. Not really. That’s youthful, foolish, optimistic thinking. The kind
that can get someone killed. Although it might seem strange to him, that he’s awoken this
unrelenting obsession in Vegas somehow, it’s just not practical to believe it will all naturally blow
over on its own.

The best he can withhold from Vegas is his attention. And isn’t that what being here again will
achieve? The main family house is practically a fortress, and Vegas can only get inside if
welcomed. With the recent events between the two families that is seeming pretty unlikely. At least
for the time being. No doubt the minor family will worm their way back into Mr Korn’s good
graces but at least for now Pete has a guaranteed period of respite.

Except for the packages, Pete reminds himself. Somehow Vegas got those phones in here which
doesn’t bode well for the impenetrability angle. But it’s possible that was part of Vegas’ agenda
too, to show that he still has access to Pete.

Maybe so. But that doesn’t mean Pete can’t affect change himself. Withholding is its own form of
power in a way, though he knows there’s only so long he can keep it up without acknowledging
Vegas at all.

Vegas has proven that he’s committed, attached, and disturbingly devoted; implausibly so, and that
he’ll go to great lengths to get to Pete. It’s only a question of when.

Naturally, Pete would have Vegas on his mind at moments like this but that doesn’t mean it
extends beyond the practical, the ongoing threat to survival. He doesn’t have any sympathy for
Vegas and doesn’t dwell on an impulse to humanise or understand him. Pete isn't sitting around
longing for him, thinking about how their bodies came together so exquisitely.

Sex is sex, if Pete can even call it that, which he can’t really absent consent.

Vegas is only in his thoughts now out of necessity.

And why should he care what Vegas is doing right now anyway? Why should that be of any
interest whatsoever? Unless it’s a danger to him?

Pete’s become used to the presence of a warm body beside him, of sleeping together, that’s all this
feeling is. Of course it’s harder to extricate his emotions from those memories since he’s adapted
to that natural kind of intimacy.

Vegas did a lot of things to him that Pete was unfamiliar with prior to their time together. Surely he
can forgive himself for noticing the absence of these things now? It’s not completely unreasonable
that even after Pete is back here, with the main family, and life is working towards normal, that
things might also have changed.

Within himself. He can acknowledge that, even as at the very same moment he wants to deny it.

Pete peels the duvet back from where it was tucked into the mattress and slowly climbs into the
bed, easing himself down with the kind of slowness his injuries haven’t permitted when constantly
in the presence of others.

At first it was to hide weakness from Vegas, then it was to conceal from his grandmother and later
it was all about keeping up the front for Porsche, for everyone else, the pretence that nothing
strange has happened. With a jolt, Pete realises this is the first time he’s been truly, completely
alone, and not feeling like he was being watched or that there were expectations for him to act a
certain way in order to uphold the lie.

So he eases onto the bed with a quietly pained groan and tries to get comfortable in the stiffness,
wondering if the mattress was always this hard and he just never noticed.

He can sleep like this after everything. He will sleep like this.

Pete’s stubbornness can outlast anything.

He wakes up late in the night, disturbed by something.

Pete listens in the dark for several minutes, trying to figure out what it was that woke him but
everything has settled into the kind of blue hour silence of late night. The room is dark and layered
in shadow but each haze is familiar to him. There’s the occasional rumble of an engine far below,
the flash of city lights creeping beneath closed blinds. A glance at his bedside table tells him it’s
1:28AM and Pete’s not surprised to hear traffic still moving in the streets below.

If anything, he’d be more concerned if those streets were empty.

Pete rolls over on to his back with a sigh and stares at the ceiling for a bit, wondering if he’ll be
able to go back to sleep now that his eyes are open. He feels restless and off kilter, in a place that’s
usually familiar and comforting, and Pete doesn’t know what to do.

Is he really so changed after one week?

He’s rotating his wrists before he even notices the soothing gesture, the movement compensating
for the previous restriction, and even now it’s almost like he can feel them, the phantom sensation
of the metal cuffs, cold and aching down to the bone.

Even free of them Pete still feels restrained somehow, held down by the weight of memory.

Eventually his body gives in to the dark, to the cottony softness of the pillow, the relief of a sturdy
mattress. He’s thinking, I’ll close my eyes for a second while I listen, while I wait. While I figure
out what woke me up in the first place.

Pete thinks all of these things before his body makes the decision for him.

Sleep comes back, as if it never left and Pete sinks further.

He’s face down again and Vegas is inside him, like he’s always in Pete and the fullness of his
cock, the heat and the weight of him is a stirring reminder of exactly where they are and what he’s
about to do.

Take and claim and possess every inch of Pete as his own.

“Hands on the headboard,” Vegas commands, and Pete lifts himself up from the sea of pillows,
glancing unfocusedly, over his shoulder, hazy with pleasure at the way Vegas is now hovering over
him, reaching out and latching on to the metal rungs of the bed frame himself.

The strong line of his torso doesn’t seem to waver, as the muscles in his forearms contract and
resettle on either side of Pete’s head. When Vegas glances down at him, his eyes are knowing and
rapacious.

Pete flushes as he turns back and looks at Vegas’ hands, the flexor tendons visible as his fingers
shift around the metal before gripping it tight, locking in and finding real purchase. It takes a
second too long for Pete to realise why Vegas is bracing himself like this.

His first thrust is strong, so much more force behind it than Pete is expecting and he’s nearly
crushed face first into the headboard before he throws his hands out at the last second, wrapping
around the metal as well to keep himself from being pushed forward a second time.

“That’s it,” Vegas says approvingly, as he pulls back and fucks in again, hard, jarring a groan out
of Pete that makes his thighs tremble. “That’s it, baby.”

Then Vegas is pounding into him with a kind of ferocity that Pete is helpless against. He gasps, he
moans, he clutches at the bed frame for dear life, feels the muscles in his arms, warming,
quivering, weakening under the incredible pull of violent lust. He crumbles beneath Vegas’ potent
onslaught, becoming a boneless, twitching mess of pleasure as he cries out, Vegas’ pelvis slamming
solidly against his ass, sparking him into fire, into dust as he pants and thinks incoherently, that it’s
not enough.

That he wants more, wants it desperately, harder-

Pete jolts out of the dream in one disorienting slide, feeling the cloying tangle of the sheets against
his hot flesh, the inviting friction between his cock and the mattress. Pete punches his hips forward
once, humping the sheets before sense comes to him and he’s rolling onto his back, remembering
where the lust in his body has originated from, the source of the stiffness between his legs.

For a second he struggles with himself and the wanting, the pulse of it in the base of his leaking
cock like a chorus of need; want, want, want.

He surrenders, hand sliding across his stomach, wrapping around the base of his cock, grip
tightening in the urge to thrust into that constricting pressure. He’s lost in it, so lost, so close and
then there’s Vegas' voice on the remnants of a dream, low and soft in his ear, 'that’s it, baby'.

Pete wrenches his hand off even as the rush of orgasm tries to wash over him, a body in conflict as
he frantically tries to edge it back, too late, too late. He’s clenching his fists into the sheets, whole
body jerking up in a phantom thrust, fighting, fighting, until the pleasure halts just on that line,
plummets from a lack of stimulation and slowly, agonisingly begins to wane.

He can’t do it. Not with Vegas so fresh in his mind, his idle thoughts, in his dreams.

Is there nowhere safe from him? His pride can’t abide that kind of reality. Where he touches
himself and thinks of a man like Vegas, of a man who knows how to pluck his pleasure from the
carefully concealed prison of his body, even as Pete fights him at every step, trying desperately to
reinforce the bars.

For a second he glances at his cock, at how painfully hard he still is and close, so close to the brink
of relief.

But he’d love this, Pete thinks to himself. He’d love to know you’re struggling, wanting to come
but resisting because it would be because of him.

That’s enough to settle the matter. Pete won’t waver again. He glances at the time and it’s nearly
4AM now but that doesn’t bother Pete much when he climbs out of the seductive temptation of the
warm sheets, and shuffles, half stumbles toward the clinical coldness of the bathroom.

He strips off his boxers quickly, knowing he can’t wait for the ebb of arousal as he steps into the
shower bath. Uncaring of the time, he switches on the cold water and slides straight under the
spray, goosebumps erupting across flesh as the coldness hits every part of his body.

It’s a good five minutes under the icy spray until his erection finally, slowly, wilts. Then Pete sighs
and steps out, shutting off the water, grimly pleased and now wide awake as he wraps a towel
around himself and dries off. He slips into sweatpants and a work out shirt, both with the family
logo on them and feels somewhat bereft and listless in the apartment in spite of his victory.

Pete knows he can’t sleep now after the cold water thoroughly woke him and doesn’t want to
overwork himself before the physical at 8AM but there’s still a lot of unaccounted time until then.
Eating beforehand seems inadvisable too, though Pete isn’t usually very hungry as soon as he
wakes up anyway.

Suddenly he remembers the packet of iScore Blue tucked into the work blazer left hanging in the
closet. Pete strides over and rustles through their clothes in the dark before he remembers the light
and finds it almost immediately. Porsche mustn’t have realised they were there otherwise he would
have smoked the entire pack already, even though he complains Pete’s brand is too icy in the throat
for him. Clearly not a menthol guy.

Pete finds his cigarette lighter too and shuffles out through the door and into the living room,
everything still firmly undisturbed from when he last went to bed. He reaches the door and grabs
the key card out of the cradle which effectively turns off all the power in the apartment, finding his
sandals by the door and slipping into them.

The bodyguards don’t have balconies. Well, at least not the ones at Pete’s level. He’s pretty sure
that the head bodyguards have better digs and Chan and Big have entire rooms to themselves, with
nicer furniture, balconies, and their own mini bars.

It’s a second before his brain catches up with the thought.

Used to. Big used to have a room like that. Pete’s hit with a wave of unexpected sadness as he slips
out the door and moves quietly along the hallway. He doesn’t want to feel so disconnected from
Big’s death but it’s hard when he wasn’t there when it happened and didn’t get to grieve with
everyone else. When the funeral for him took place before Pete's return and everyone else went
and made their peace with his loss.

Pete wasn’t there for any of it.

It’s not the only thing leaving Pete to feel disconnected, cut off from everyone else in the
household right now, but it’s definitely a contributing factor. He hasn’t felt truly isolated in a long
while and he knows he has Vegas to thank for this uncertainty now sticking in his chest. For every
other way he no longer feels like himself.

Pete continues on and journeys all the way down to the lobby uninterrupted. This is his free time
now, Pete’s allowed to be out of the room although he’ll need to convince the night guard not to
report him leaving the property. They’re meant to get permission for that if they’re not on duty.
There’s an outside deck on level twenty two but that’s getting up there into the family residences
and Pete’s not allowed in that area unless he’s working.

It’s not a place for bodyguard’s to hang out and smoke.

That’s usually in the main driveway at the front of the building or the back alley with the loading
dock. But the door to the loading dock is alarmed at night and the front doors whilst locked still
allows access to those with key cards and clearance.
Which Pete has. And if he’s unable to get the satisfaction of an orgasm without his thoughts
immediately taking him back to Vegas, then he’s damn well going to have a smoke.

The guy in the lobby at the reception desk looks surprised to see him but Pete merely drags a
cigarette out of the packet and waves it at him by way of explanation. Pete thinks he should know
the guy’s name, he’s seen him on shift more than once before and he looks much older than Pete,
not the kind to be out in the field actually doing bodyguard work at his age.

He might be retired? Or maybe he’s hotel staff only.

There’s a button that opens the door after hours and Pete gently raps his fist against it, slipping out
through the glass doors as they slowly open up for him. He goes left and strides a little ways down
the drive, intentionally standing underneath the camera there so they can see he’s only smoking
and not doing anything distrustful in case they want to check up on him later.

No suspicious phone calls, meetings or things like that. It’s not out of the realm of possibility. Pete
has a feeling Arm might be watching him a little more frequently on the cameras after their last
conversation.

The thought still rankles somehow and Pete shoves the filter into his mouth with more emotion
than usual, cupping his fist around the lighter as he flicks his thumb down and the wick ignites. He
inhales, watching the end of the cigarette as it catches alight and then he’s shoving the cigarette
lighter back into the pocket of his sweatpants and finally inhaling a deep mouthful of smoke into
his lungs.

For a second his lips tingle, as the heat of the smoke passes into his throat and then he’s just
enjoying the moment in the semi darkness. There’s city lights everywhere but the sun hasn’t risen
yet and it’s this strange state of non-being where he can still hear the traffic from the main road, the
noise of cars passing nearby but it can still feel devoid of life somehow, a world in hibernation.

Pete likes these moments, being apart from the world and still in it and he gets through his
cigarette that way, just taking in what is and letting it fill him.

And then, gradually focusing on his surroundings with a little more than absent detail, he finally
looks out and notices the car.

It’s parked at the end of the driveway, facing him as if by intention. There’s no headlights, no
engine running but Pete can see the outline of a shadow in the driver’s seat, the barest hint of
another person lingering in the dark like him.

He’s not alone here.

It takes a second too long for Pete to recognise the model. He drops the remaining stub of his
cigarette out of pure surprise, but it doesn’t matter all that much, Pete is almost down to the filter
anyway.

That’s Vegas’ car.

In a flurry of panic, Pete wonders if he knew somehow that he would come. That he would be out
here. Does Vegas truly understand him so well now? Did he guess that Pete was dreaming about
him? That he was almost touching himself to the very thought of him?

Pete extends his foot and crushes the remains of the cigarette, stamping out what little heat exists
between them. His sandals make a louder noise connecting against the paved stone than he’s
expecting but he’s still watching the car, not entirely concentrating on his feet.
When the shadow in the car doesn’t move, Pete starts to wonder if he’s truly losing his grip on
things. If it's all in his imagination. But it does look a lot like Vegas’ car and why else would a
person be simply sitting there, unmoving at such an early hour? Would another enemy of the main
family be that blatant?

Who else but Vegas would dare to watch him out in the open like this?

For a second Pete contemplates approaching the vehicle but he’s still injured, doesn’t have his
phone or any kind of weapon besides a cigarette lighter and can admit he isn’t in the best condition
to be seeking out a confrontation right now.

When he glances around himself, Pete comprehends he’s standing under one of the hotel lights
lining the drive and hanging just above his head, and that he’s in the most well-lit section of the
driveway right now, surrounded by a ring of light.

The shadow in the car can probably see him very clearly. A lot more than Pete can see them.

Unexpectedly there’s a sound like a car door opening but Pete is already turning, making for the
hotel doors in two long strides as he fumbles for his key and taps it against the little mechanism
right on the wall next to it. He watches the light go from red to green and it feels like cowardice
when he rushes into the lobby as soon as the doors open, careful not to expose his back for too
long.

He whirls about and glances behind him as the doors close at a painful snail's pace but there’s no
one standing there, no dark apparition pursuing him into the building. If he went and poked his
head out, he’s sure that shadow would still be there in the driver’s seat, watching him.

Pete doesn’t think the cigarette helped after all.

With nothing left to do, Pete heads back to his room and watches TV for a few hours, though he
knows in light of what happened downstairs and in his dream that he’s not really taking anything in
like he should be.

When the sun has finally risen, light filtering in through the living room, he decides now is a great
a time as any to get ready. He redresses, putting on underwear and gym clothes that are less like
lounge wear and starts going through the necessary stretches.

Pete is halfway through his routine when there’s a knock at the door. He glances down at the
coffee table, considering, before deciding abruptly against it. He knows to be extremely wary after
yesterday as he approaches but when he opens the door it’s followed by a sense of déjà vu.

There’s another package in front of the door, in the camera blind spot and when he peers out into
the hallway its devoid of any other living person or witnesses. Pete stares at the box for a moment,
wondering if he can just leave it there, ignore whatever Vegas has sent to him this time. Whatever
desperate tactics he’s resorting to for Pete’s continued attention.

This one is substantially bigger than the last one and it’s obvious that Vegas hasn’t bothered to
send him another phone after Pete never responded to his message. There’s no sound coming from
within the box but it’s not like Pete is expecting Vegas to send him a bomb or something dangerous
anyway. Nor does he think their mail screening process would let something like that slip through.
Even though he understands all of this, Pete stares at the package for an unreasonably long time as
if trying to will the whole thing out of existence without having to interact with it at all.

And most importantly how is Vegas even able to keep sending him packages like this? Does he
have people on the inside? Is he really so determined to prove that Pete can’t hide from him? Not
even here?

Practicality eventually subdues his reluctance. He has to go to the sparring mats soon for his test
with Chan and he can’t run the risk of leaving it out in the hall, completely exposed for someone
else to uncover or rifle through. Word spreads fast here and the last thing he needs is an open
connection to Vegas.

So Pete bends down and picks up the package.

It’s heavier than he’s suspecting, no ribbon or bow this time thankfully, and Pete makes the
decision to open it in the bedroom, closing the door behind him and crossing through the living
room to get there. He makes a beeline for his own made bed and sets it down on the edge of it,
already mentally preparing himself for something disturbing as he lifts the lid.

It’s not what he's expecting.

At first Pete has no idea what he’s looking at. There’s two oddly shaped devices placed carefully
on either side of a dispenser bottle of clear liquid.

It takes a beat too long for the shoe to drop and that’s even with the clear labelling declaring the
bottle to be lube. Evidently this package has a theme.

Pete turns and inspects the devices more intently. One is blue, in a kind of L shape, thick and oddly
curved before it tapers down until reaching the base of the handle. The other one is black and a
significantly smaller, miniaturised version of something. The design is different too, thicker in the
middle with a pointed tip and two curved handles at the bottom- obviously designed for gripping.

Pete might not have immediately clocked what they were upon first glance but the bottle of lube is
a pretty big hint.

Sex toys. Vegas has sent him sex toys. These are meant to- meant to be-

Pete feels heat flush into his face even as his legs shift.

Does Vegas honestly think that Pete will ever use these? That he’ll just ignore who sent them, lube
them up and stick a toy inside himself? He can’t possibly understand Pete’s self-control if he
thought sending something like this would ensure practical application.

Did he not make a point to comment on how repressed he believed Pete was with all of his sexual
urges? What makes him think Pete would abandon all of these hang ups, his very real issues with
Vegas, for the brief, gratifying experience of pleasure?

What on earth is Vegas thinking? Pete is staring so intently at the box full of sex toys that he could
almost believe it's a hallucination.

“What’s this I’m hearing about you taking a physical this morning?” Porsche demands as he
stomps into the room unannounced, slamming into the privacy of the moment like a battering ram.

Pete’s head snaps up, still perched over the open box of sex toys, the lid held frozen in hand where
he hadn’t thought to move or place it down on the mattress next to him. There’s no time to slam it
back on top of the box either, Porsche is already stopping right in front of him with a raised
eyebrow, completely side-tracked from his irritation as he peers down to inspect the contents with
curiosity.

“Well hello there,” Porsche says lifting the blue sex toy out of its resting place with a big grin and
a complete lack of embarrassment whilst Pete almost cringes away from him. He’s barely
accepting the existence, the sheer presence of these sex toys, the last thing he can cope with is
watching someone handle them. “This is a pretty good prostate massager.”

Porsche is nodding to himself, almost in approval, still smiling and perfectly titillated by the
discovery and then he’s noticing the smaller black one next and picking it up as well. “Oh and a
mini vibrating plug too!”

Then he’s catching Pete’s shocked expression with a sly grin. “Trying something new are we?” he
wonders with an edge of innocence that is blatantly false. “Or are these a gift from an admirer?”

Pete sputters out a few half-baked words which doesn’t remotely constitute a response. He feels so
severely out of his element that it has robbed him of all defences. Pete isn’t so traditional that he’s
resistant to all things off the beaten path, but this is a bit too much for him to accept so early in the
morning and with Porsche there as his witness.

“C’mon now, Pete don’t be shy.”

Porsche’s smirk, and the reason he seems to know a lot about these anal sex toys hits Pete all at
once and he’s, if possible, even more embarrassed. He'd rather not have any mental image of
Porsche and Kinn in sexual congress. Kinn, who is still very much his boss.

“An admirer,” Pete spits out because it’s closest to the truth and easier to sound convincing that
way. Then his thoughts circle back to what Porsche called the sex toys. “The prostate-” Pete starts,
before breaking off and rubbing at his face with a groan. “Is that the thing inside a man that makes
everything a hundred times more intense when it’s touched?”

He’s aware that his denial of intimacy has led an already mediocre sexual education into an even
narrower state of woeful ignorance. How could something in his body give such great pleasure and
Pete not even know for certain what it is called?

“Uh huh,” Porsche tells him without blinking. “A lot of guys can come from stimulating that
alone.”

Pete doesn’t doubt it. In fact, he thinks there’s a distinct possibility that’s already happened to him
before. But thinking about it in any great detail in front of Porsche, who’s watching him closely, is
completely out of the question.

“Right,” Pete says, feeling foolish and naïve. “Right.”

Porsche sets the toys back into the box and claps Pete on the shoulder affectionately. His
expression must be beyond discomfited.

“Hey, don’t feel bad. How were you meant to know that if you’ve never been interested in anal
before? It’s not like most guy’s talk about it.”

“Right,” Pete says, again at a loss for words as he sets the lid firmly back on to the box, hiding the
contents from view.

By the time he’s looking up again the smile has started sliding off Porsche’s face, ready to be
replaced by a frown. “Hold on,” he says, thinking deeply. “You’re newfound interest and those
marks, injuries- the ones I saw all over your body, did this admirer do all of that?”

Not good. Pete gives him a blank look at that question, heart beating faster in his chest and
Porsche’s expression only hardens further.

Time to extract himself from the situation as cleanly as possible or this is about to become much,
much worse.

“I have to be down in the sparring room in five minutes,” he says, quickly stuffing the box full of
sex toys under his bed, because that’s the only space he has available in his thoughts right now,
tucked away and out of sight. Then he’s heading straight for the door.

But Porsche quickly swoops in and blocks him. “Which leads me back to my initial question, what
the hell are you thinking doing this in your condition? Do you want to be back at work that badly?”

“I know my limits,” Pete tells him, a little more coldly than he means to. “You don’t need to worry
about me.”

It seems laughable to say such a thing given his current situation but Pete knows he’s in crisis
mode, trying frantically to convince everyone else that he’s not standing knee deep in a boat that’s
sinking.

“Are you sure, Pete?” Porsche pushes, frowning more deeply, so much that his whole countenance
changes. It’s always strange to see a Porsche so completely serious. “Because you’re kind of giving
me a lot of reasons to.“

Pete can’t defend himself there. How can you fight the truth?

“You won’t explain your injuries or- or those lovebites, and now there’s a person suddenly sending
you sex toys and Arm said you weren’t on vacation, you disappeared-”

“Porsche,” Pete says sharply, sounding not at all like himself, worse so at the mention of Arm who
also no longer trusts him fully. “Not now.”

Then he goes, before Porsche can make things worse.

He’s still agitated when he reaches the gym, passing through the line of weight lifting and exercise
machines as he disappears into the open doorway of the training room.

Chan is already there waiting, alone, and in the midst of stretching and Pete is grateful suddenly,
that they have a policy that physical exams are always one on one. No crowds permitted.

Pete doesn’t want an audience for this.

“Morning,” Chan greets him, eyes sweeping over Pete and noticing straight away that he’s
flustered when he dumps his water bottle and jacket into one angry pile in the corner. “Do you still
want to go ahead with the exam?”

“Yes,” Pete responds, barely managing to keep the coldness out of his voice. He takes a deep
breath, and then another, resettling himself in preparation for this.
Now is not the time to let his temper get the better of him.

Chan finishes up with his stretches, rotating his arms and shoulders a couple of times before
sinking into an open stance, the air changing with sudden anticipation.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

Pete nods once and steps into the ring. He doesn’t strike first, that not his usual nature and he
wants to figure out what kind of style Chan is going for since his knowledge is so vast. He’s trained
in just about everything Pete can think of: Muay Thai, mixed martial arts, Sambo, Krav Maga-
basically the elite of the elite.

Chan wouldn't be responsible for instructing the other guards otherwise.

A one on one with Chan is daunting on a good day. Even more so with Pete’s injuries. For a
moment, he has a flash of apprehension as they circle one another, the notion that he might have
actually bitten off more than he can chew. Chan will not show any mercy.

Why was he so determined to face him now?

Of course Chan strikes first as Pete wanted and from the jump it’s clear he has no intention of
playing nice. His first attack is weighted, nasty, aiming immediately for the fragile side of Pete’s
bruised ribcage. His potentially broken ribs. But Pete is just fast enough, pivoting in a fluid spin
that brings him right back into Chan’s space, leaves Chan open for the blow he delivers straight to
his stomach in answer.

The grunt of paint Chan lets out almost sounds approving but Pete is already drowning in himself.
At the offence of Chan going straight for his injury, exploiting his weakness, just like Kinn, just
like Vegas until he’s nothing but a cornered animal.

If Chan won’t play nice why should Pete?

Chan’s bigger than him, but not faster, not like Vegas. He’s got a sports injury, a busted knee from
his brief stint in a boxing ring and Pete aims for the right side of his head, for the vagus nerve
whilst Chan lifts his hands to effortlessly block him.

It's a feint because Pete is already moving, fluid and twisting into the next sequence as he drops
and kicks Chan’s weak knee out from under him. He goes down like a shot, rolling to the side into
a safe retreat as Pete advances after him and then pays for it when Chan gets in a hit to his solar
plexus, Pete staggering back as the wind is knocked brutally out of him.

He fends of Chan’s next two strikes and then catches a glancing blow to the head that was meant
for his temple. He lashes out for the base of Chan’s throat next but Chan is still moving, still a
threat and Pete catches at his chin instead, Chan reeling back suddenly from the strength of the
blow.

Pete takes the opportunity and dives at him as Chan whirls, his knee crashing upward, sharp and
powerful and Pete knocks him aside, darts in a circle before wrapping his arms around Chan’s
throat from behind, kicking at the back of his weak knee as they both go down hard. Then kicking
at his other leg for good measure.

Chan grunts again as his bad knee takes the brunt of his weight and collapses again but he’s trying
to break the headlock Pete has him in, trying to fight how it's firmly constricting his air supply
even as Pete's own chest heaves with the effort of it.
Chan gasps and tries again to rise underneath him, but Pete strikes at his unprotected leg and he
can’t find purchase. He tries to roll them next, wanting to bodily throw Pete off of him but Pete is
already expecting that and compensates his weight, squatting down to make it harder to
overbalance. He then hooks his leg around Chan’s ankle, denying him the sufficient leverage to
push off, effectively pinning him to the mat as his forearm presses harder against his Adam’s
apple.

“Do you yield?” Pete demands, his voice a kind of rage fuelled shout.

When Chan hesitates, Pete squeezes his arms tighter and that’s the moment when finally, blessedly
Chan taps against his forearm, the universal sign of surrender.

Immediately Pete relinquishes the hold and steps back, untangling them and allowing Chan to gasp
as he drops forward, large rattling breaths as he scoops air back into his lungs. Pete steps well out
of Chan’s reach, entire body thrumming with relief when Pete watches him slowly climb to his feet
without attacking again.

This fight is over.

“What was that?” Chan asks, already straightening, turning to face him. “You’re usually much
more controlled. It’s what raises your skill well above the other guards.”

Pete is so out of breath that he can’t even speak. He shrugs instead, non-committal. Although he’s
aware it comes off petulant.

“Who were you fighting, Pete?” Chan asks to the silence. “You were trying to punish someone.
Who was it?”

“No one,” Pete says, sullen.

Vegas. Vegas. Vegas.

“You’ll report to the doctor,” Chan says after a moment. “Get those busted ribs looked at and what
other injuries you’ve been hiding.”

Pete doesn’t answer straight away. It’s not ideal for the situation he’s currently trying to keep
conceal.

“Do I have a choice?”

Chan looks at him like he’s truly seeing Pete for the first time and not the watered down, safe
version Pete has always shown them.

His expression doesn’t give much of a hint or a verdict on Pete’s abnormal behaviour but he can
still sense a steady undercurrent of faith, of respect. Chan isn’t like the others, quick to suspicion
and mistrust, he’s almost as rational as Pete. So despite what Pete is clearly hiding, Chan is secure
enough not to immediately erase years of experience and trust all without explanation first.

Pete is profoundly grateful for that and can feel the shame of the fight washing over him in the
interim, overwhelming the fire still within him. He can see what he was just now. The lack of
control, the snap of vindictive cruelty.

For a moment, just a moment, Pete thinks of his father.

“You passed the physical which is the only requirement for getting back in the field. I can’t force
you to do anything.”

That’s a relief. He can’t keep side stepping each question about what happened to him for much
longer and Pete is all but chaffing under the close attention. There’s a reason why Pete chose the
profession where his main role is to fade into the background.

Even so, he still manages to nods his acquiescence. It’s as expected really.

“But that doesn’t mean I can’t advise you. Whatever thing you’ve decided is more important than
your physical health, trust me, Pete, it’s not worth it.”

He can only nod again, tight, clipped, expression shuttered. He can see the exact moment that Chan
recognises the wall Pete has put around himself and the rest of the conversation. Usually it’s more
subtle than that, hidden behind bright smiles and an easy going kind of seriousness.

Pete hasn’t felt visible like this in a long while.

Vegas has stripped him bare, exposed him like a raw nerve. To cover the vulnerability he’s feeling,
Pete bends down and scoops up the water bottle at the edge of the mat, turning his profile on the
side to Chan as he takes a drink. The water slides down his throat, cool and refreshing as he
swallows. Chan must notice Pete isn’t relaxed enough yet to entirely give him his back, that he
doesn’t trust to leave himself more vulnerable.

“Your style has changed,” Chan observes once Pete has finished wiping his mouth. “It’s more
vicious than I remember.”

Pete knows he should regret it, but instead he’s tense, defensive. “Is that a problem?”

“It could be. If you sacrifice more control for brute force.”

Chan’s right, he’s allowing his emotions to cloud his judgement in the kinds of arenas where
emotions should never be the driving force. Fighting with that kind of anger in him is only the tip
of the iceberg. Pete nods, without speaking, taking the advice as it was meant to be received
because Chan always has their best interests at heart.

Pete nods stiffly, aware that he’s too upset to carry on the conversation at the level Chan expects.

“Trust me Pete, at the end of the day nothing can ever truly compensate for control. Not rage or
violence or revenge.”

He thinks of Vegas’ unrestrained desire, his out of control attachment, his wild longing.

“I believe you.”

Pete makes his way into the lunchroom afterward, stomach rumbling and very determined now to
eat a full meal. He’s run out of his grandmother’s care packages but she promised to send him more
food before he returned to Bangkok so he and Som can expect to be enjoying her cooking any day
now.

Som is one lucky bastard. The food here in the lunchroom always leaves a little to be desired. But
at least the coffee is alright.
Trying not to focus on the last time he had her amazing cooking, Pete approaches the buffet and
helps himself to rice porridge, an omelette, and a surprisingly large cup of coffee from the machine.
He doesn’t necessarily feel tired, despite the interrupted and lacking degree of sleep he's had but
the caffeine will help with the general functioning of his body.

Not to mention the ongoing alertness.

Although, Pete is very aware of his surroundings and the potential for unwanted visitors at all
times anyway. Coffee is just an added bonus.

Pol joins him at the table as soon as he sits down, through a yawn, complaining about the new TV
series that Tankhun is currently obsessed with, and the shadows under his eyes tell Pete he must be
stressed out. Tankhun usually gets deeper into the TV watching when he’s too anxious to sleep.
Pol might not need to state it in such obvious terms, but it’s clear the tensions between to two
families are getting to his charge.

Probably getting to all of them. Pete's not the only one tense around here lately.

They’re talking about Korean dramas, which Tankhun has a penchant for at the moment, when
Porsche rocks up, with a glowering expression and a notable hickey sitting high on his throat.

“Hi Porsche!” Pol says brightly, not immediately picking up on his body language.

“What’s the matter?” Pete asks, seriously, already tensing up as he rests his spoon and fork back on
to the plate and fully turns toward him.

Porsche slinks into the booth right next to him, directing his anger immediately toward Pete.

“You didn’t tell me you were lying to Kinn too,” he hisses, in a low, admonishing voice. “Now I’m
being interrogated about you as well.”

Pete’s stomach drops as Pol glances between them both with open curiosity. All those dramas have
left him with way too much of an avid interest in people’s personal lives. Pete hasn't forgotten that
Pol is usually the one who knows the most gossip in the household at any given time. He talks to
just about anyone.

“What did he ask?” Pete returns, in the calmest manner he can manage, keeping his voice at a low
volume so much that Pol leans over the table to try and hear him better.

“He wanted me to tell him what I think happened to you. Whether I’ve seen any odd behaviour
from you that no one else has.”

At once Pete’s confronted with how many pieces of the story Porsche is already in possession of.
He’s seen Pete fully naked, seen all of his injuries out in the open as well as the love bites Vegas
sucked into his skin. He was there this morning when he received those sex toys. Porsche thinks
that Pete has an admirer, when Kinn knows all too well how lust and desire can wear away at
loyalty and allegiance.

“What did you tell him?” Pete hisses, unaware he’s fisted a hand around the fabric of Porsche’s
shirt until he’s glancing down at it.

Porsche looks surprised at his vehemence as he’s tugged forward and then Pete is dropping his
hand away, glancing around the lunchroom in case anybody else noticed his reaction.

“I’ll tell you what I told him,” Porsche says, sounding truly upset now. “I’m not spying on my
roommate. If you want to know what’s happening you’ll have to talk to him directly.”

An impossible result. Pete has every right to feel sceptical of that. Why would Porsche go against
his lover for Pete who he’s known for such a short amount of time? Why would he risk that kind of
tension in his newfound relationship?

“That’s what you said?” Pete wonders, still impossibly tense and disbelieving. “Why would you do
that?”

There must be something in his voice that softens Porsche because the anger seems to fade from
his eyes and then he’s squeezing in closer and throwing an arm around Pete’s neck.

“Not everything in this life is normal to me,” Porsche says. “I won’t let it be normal. Everyone can
mistrust each other in here but I won’t spy on my friends.”

Pete feels a flutter of something small and helpless, something grateful. He doesn’t look at
Porsche, doesn’t respond, staring intently down into his plate as he reaches out and picks up the
utensils again.

Pete hurriedly eats another mouthful as Porsche squeezes him again then releases his grip, letting
his wrist dangle off the edge of Pete’s shoulder, not pulling his arm back. It should be a casual
touch but Pete’s doesn’t know how to accept physical contact from other men anymore.

He knows he shouldn’t be so wooden and rigid but he can no longer control the tension in his own
body. Now it betrays him at the most inopportune moments.

“So you passed the physical right?” Porsche wonders, and out of the corner of his eye Pete sees his
gaze drop down to where the worst of his fading bruises had been on his ribcage.

Pol catches Porsche staring and frowns, not understanding the context. Pete is too busy chewing,
but nods in a neutral kind of fashion without adding any detail.

“Golf said he saw Chan limping earlier,” Pol volunteers, smiling with the kind of smugness that
can only be borne of seeing a friend getting one over their superior.

Pete clears his throat a little, almost accidentally choking on what’s in his mouth at the rumour. He
definitely didn’t do that much damage to Chan, did he? Pete knows he targeted an old injury but
certainly it wasn't enough to warrant him limping afterward? Guilt wells up in his chest at the
image.

That’s the downside of gossip travelling so quickly through the main family household, it may not
always be one hundred per cent accurate but there's a thread of truth somewhere.

“Pete,” someone calls, and they all turn at once to see Kiw striding into the lunchroom, eyes falling
on their table. “Your grandmother is on the main phone.”

Pete drops his cutlery with a clatter and he’s up and standing on the seat itself, throwing a hand
down on the back of the booth and using it to swing out and over the back of it before Porsche can
even think about getting up and letting him pass. His shoes smack against the floor as he lands but
Pete is already up and straightening, nodding at Kiw in quick thanks and striding out towards the
main common room.

There’s a line when he gets there because there’s pretty much always a line and Pete smiles and
grimaces and ducks his head in apology as he passes them all for the front. They usually leave it to
the guards to place calls out. Friends and family know not to ring the main line unless it’s for an
emergency.

Heart in his throat, Pete accepts the hands set and puts the receiver straight to his ear.

“Grandma?” he says, urgently. “Are you alright? What’s wrong?”

“I’m alright,” she says, sounding perfectly normal and Pete sags a little against the desk,
desperately wanting to rub at his eyes all of a sudden.

He can’t ask the direct questions that he wants to. After all, the family records these conversations,
a fact his grandmother well knows. But why else would she have called him if there wasn’t a
problem?”

“Phailin had a fall,” she explains. “I may not be around much in the next few days.”

Pete winces again. “How bad? Is she in the hospital?”

“Yes, a broken ankle so far and I think the doctors are a little worried about the state of her hip.”

It’s hard not to feel especially worried for Yaai Phailin. She’s one of his grandmother’s closest
friends, made easier by the fact that they live down the road from each other. Falls at their age are
especially dangerous. “What happened?”

“Her family came over to visit and she tripped over one of her grandson’s toys.”

Ouch. It's lucky she didn't break more than that.

“Do you think she’ll be alright?”

“She’s tough,” his grandmother insists. “It won’t keep her down for long.”

That's certainly true. Pete spent most of his teenage years more afraid of Phailin's wrath than his
own grandmother's. An angry grandmother can be frightening, especially a surrogate one. “Are you
alright too? You sound- tired.”

“I am, Pete,” his grandmother says. “Those birds roosting at the front of the house have been
keeping me up.”

Pete knows instantly who she’s referring to. “There’s two of them right? Black and grey feathers?”

He’s actually describing the colour of the car Oat and Tiw have been sitting in, but his
grandmother doesn’t seem to have any trouble understanding him. They know how to dance
around a topic without outright saying it.

“Yes, those are the ones.”

Pete thinks carefully for a second. “Are- they still bothering you? With the noise?”

“They were but when I went to the temple this morning they had flown away in the night, can you
imagine?”

“I can imagine,” Pete responds, feeling relieved. “And I’m sure they won’t be back. Those kind of
birds like to migrate.”

At least there's one less thing he has to worry about. Since Vegas has already been sending him
gifts here he obviously knows Pete is in Bangkok and it's pointless to leave some of his men
outside Pete's house in Nong Kwai.

Finally. Pete didn't like the idea of them still being there, watching her.

“That’s good news!” she says firmly. “I’m just about to head out to the hospital now but I thought
you’d better know about poor Phailin.”

“I hope she's okay. Take care of yourself too,” Pete says. “I’ll be in touch when I can.”

“Goodbye, lǎan-chaai.”

“Oh wait hold on,” Pete says, remembering. “That problem I had with my phone is all fixed now.
Next time I’ll ring you from that number.”

He can’t explain how he got his phone back but at the very least she should know it’s safe to
contact him again.

“Wonderful! I’ll look forward to it.”

“Bye, Yaai.”

Pete hangs up and quickly steps back out of line, gesturing for Uan to go ahead. He’s glad that she
told him about Oat and Tiw finally leaving, even if the news of Phailin doesn’t bode too well. But
she has no shortage of friends and family, and his grandmother too. Pete’s certain she’ll be well
taken care of as she recovers. That doesn’t mean he won’t still worry about his grandmother as
well.

Once he’s out of the way, Pete hurries back towards the lunchroom where Porsche is now sitting in
front of his breakfast, evidently chewing before he brings Pete’s coffee to his mouth and takes a
generous sip. Pol meets his eyes and gives him a kind of awkward smile as if he tried to defend
Pete’s breakfast but ultimately lost the battle.

Porsche looks perfectly pleased with himself when he turns around and grins brightly up at him.
Pete slides into the booth and snatches the coffee mug out of his hand, flicking Porsche on the
forehead as he sits back down.

It’s a wonder there’s anything still left on the plate.

The rest of the day passes in a haze.

Pete goes to the firing range with Porsche and Pol for a few hours before they return to the
lunchroom to eat again. Eventually, Pol disappears for his next shift with Tankhun and Porsche
inexplicably vanishes without any real explanation. But Kinn seems to vanish during that time too
so Pete doubts any of his guards are all that concerned with their whereabouts.

He finishes his lunch alone before returning up to the room again. Pete means to lay down for a
brief power nap but when he wakes up a couple hours have passed and he only has fifteen minutes
for a quick shower before rushing out for Arm’s shift.

He visits the armoury first because he hasn’t been given a gun back since he returned and now that
he passed the physical there’s no official reason to keep one from him. He goes with the gun strap
over his shoulders, tucked beneath his blazer and stores the glock in the holster under his left arm.
Pete reports to Chan on level 20 with five minutes to spare.

“You’re not rostered on,” Chan notes, eyeing Pete down expressionlessly.

But Pete knows how best to respond to that scrutiny. Chan hasn't been able to make him nervous in
years. “I’m covering Arm’s shift.”

Chan merely nods and doesn’t question further. Luckily because this isn’t the first time Pete has
covered shifts for the other guards. Suddenly Pete is feeling glad that he’s been so accommodating
in the past. At least this way he can get even with Arm without raising any red flags with Chan.

“The meeting is already underway. I need you to relieve Tinn in the West corridor.”

Mentally, Pete is already reviewing the layout for the that floor before Chan’s instructions sink in.

“You want me stationed at the main point of entry?” Pete confirms, feeling a sudden sense of
apprehension at being so visible after his return.

Pete has been doing his best to stay under the radar and the main doors is the furthest from it.

But it’s the first shift he’s done since returning it only makes sense that he’d feel a little jumpy.
He’s almost tempted to ask who Mr Kinn’s meeting is with but only certain guards are privy to that
kind of information, ones like Chan. The best he can do is wonder.

Chan nods but his attention is already on the bodyguard behind Pete, Guitar, now stepping up for
his assignment probably to relieve another guard same as Pete, so Pete makes his way over to the
service elevator without another word.

At least this shift is only a couple hours. By rights it should fly by without issue. The only trouble
being the first day back at work always tends to drag on more than it should.

Once he’s at the doors, Pete presses the button to call down the elevator and waits, automatically
scanning the empty hall before looking out through the floor to ceiling glass windows opposite.
Pete doesn’t particularly like this section of the building. The rest of the bodyguards call it the
sniper’s walk for a reason.

Feeling more exposed, Pete darts into the open space as soon as the elevator opens, reaching out
and selecting the right floor. He considers waiting for Guitar but after listening intently for a
second and deciding he can’t hear his tread on the carpet, Pete allows the doors to close.

The hallway he steps out into when the doors open again is an entirely new space. There’s guards
posted every metre and a half along the corridor in the type of formation Pete knows doesn’t allow
for blind spots. It must be an important meeting being conducted then. Pete nods at the first
bodyguard who catches his eye, Beam, then turns and continues down towards the meeting room.

Tinn is posted there just as Chan stated, looking a little bored but nonetheless alert which is
admirable since Pete doubts there’s been any signs of life since the meeting first started. Unless it
counts when the maid stopped by to deliver tea and coffee.

There’s bound to be a least five bodyguards inside the room but that’s when it devolves into little
more than a popularity contest. Mr Korn and Mr Kinn only select their most trusted guards to stand
inside and overhear their private conversations. Nothing but unwavering loyalty gets a bodyguard
in that room.
For a guy like Pete only focused on earning money to provide for his grandmother and otherwise
keeping his head down, he hasn’t quite earned that level of trust yet. That’s for the guys who have
literally been around for years.

“What happened to Arm?” Tinn asks once he realises that Pete is here to relieve him.

“I’m covering his shift as a favour,” Pete explains, stepping into the position besides the main door
that Tinn just vacated.

“Do you lose a game of stud poker?” he wonders, and he mustn’t know Pete very well because he
doesn’t like to gamble.

Arm, however, has a bit of a reputation for being extremely good at stud poker so it’s not so
unusual to assume that’s why Pete is covering for him. Rather than explaining, Pete merely shrugs
in answer, expression turning sheepish and that’s all Tinn needs to confirm his assumption is
correct with little to no effort on Pete’s part.

Tinn merely nods sympathetically at the news and throws a hand up in farewell, jogging off
soundlessly back towards the service elevator, no doubt moving like that to shake off the
discomfort of standing perfectly still for so long.

Pete nods at Guitar's arrival who soon relieves Jeab standing opposite him and takes up the post on
the other side of the main door and they settle into the correct position, Pete relaxing his stance a
little before going still.

Then it’s just a matter of waiting and watching.

And Pete is more than happy to redirect his focus into nothing for a couple hours.

The door opens almost an hour and a half later, finally signalling the end of the meeting, and it’s
the first new sound in so long that all of the bodyguards immediately stand up a little straighter,
ready for a change to the monotony of standing still and silent.

“…if we’re not clear now on what’s acceptable in the casino we’ll be hearing from them.”

The stiff bodyguard stance Pete has been standing in for that hour and a half, and mentally dozing
throughout, suddenly snaps back to attention.

Pete knows that voice. Knows that voice intimately. That voice has whispered all sorts of filthy
and depraved things in his ear, whilst doing all kinds of unimaginable things to his body.

It’s him. Vegas.

Vegas is here in the meeting room. Was in the meeting room all along and Pete had absolutely no
idea. Had no conceivable way of preparing himself. Of course he’d thought the confrontation
between them was coming but Pete wasn’t expecting it so soon. Vegas only sent the phones
through last night. Was twenty four hours enough to push him to the limits of his patience?

Pete should have expected it though. Vegas is uncommonly motivated.

It takes all of Pete’s training not to react at the sound. To ignore the instinct to turn his head and
look into the dark eyes that held the power of his life or death in his hands. Held the depths of his
pleasure too.

What frightens Pete the most is the way his body responds, coming to life with a kind of
anticipation that he can only barely conceal, shame colouring the rest.

It’s not fear making his heart pump blood faster, tightening his muscles, driving heat into his gut.

It’s excitement. Pete wishes he didn’t understand why but it’s like his body is conditioned to
physically respond whenever Vegas enters the room, because that’s almost what always happened
every time Vegas fucked him. He’s grown used to associating the presence of Vegas with the
heady promise of explored pleasure, the assurance of an orgasm.

Pete hears him approach first, those smart shoes striking the clean tiles before the first hit of his
aftershave is reaching his nose and making Pete's legs feel weak. Abruptly Pete’s back in that safe
house in Vegas’ bed, on his stomach, on his knees, on Vegas’ thighs and Vegas is pressing his
body up against him, pushing inside him and all Pete can smell is the intoxicating scent of that
damn aftershave.

When he catches the first glimpse of Vegas out of his periphery vision, Pete’s heart turns over,
rigid as a stone.

He’s suited in all black, red dress shirt tucked inside and unbuttoned so low Pete can see most of
his chest and the necklace of fading bruises from the chain being wrapped around his throat. The
redness of the fabric so deep and vivid like he’s an animal signalling toxicity to other predators.

As if there are any other existing predators to a man like him.

His hair is slicked back and Pete is doing his best not to remember how it looks when Vegas is
sweaty and dishevelled. How a single strand would often fall against his forehead and soften him
when the darkness in his eyes wouldn’t.

He’s smirking because he’s already seen Pete although he’s impossible to miss posted on the
doorway Vegas is literally about to stride out of. Despite Pete’s surprise, Vegas looks perfectly at
ease, triumph hiding behind his eyes. He seems to know that Pete is viscerally aware of his
presence and is attempting to ignore him anyway.

As if it’s all part of some quaint little game they’re playing together, a trivial distraction to pass the
time and not the tension of several days worth of waiting and waiting finally coming to a head.

Vegas slows his stride deliberately once he’s in striking distance and throws Pete a flippant glance,
as if the moment carries no weight between them. As if Pete never beat him. Never let Vegas
break him down before he escaped that safe house. Escaped his bed. As if their recent time
together means absolutely nothing to him.

That in itself is another surprise. Pete had expected anger, he’d expected unpredictability, even
carnal hunger but not the cold, indifferent way Vegas’ eyes slide off of him.

How could he be so calm in this moment?

But why wouldn’t he? Pete thinks bitterly. Vegas has clearly done all of it and more to others
before him.

Why should Pete be any special? Before he can process the implications of that a memory is rising
to the forefront of his mind, the awful scream Vegas let out when Pete finally did escape. That
primal moment when Vegas fully comprehended that he’d lost him, that for once something didn’t
actually work out in his favour.

It was the very first time that he heard Vegas sound like that. When every other thing Pete did to
spite him had only seemed to bring genuine delight.

If he’s looking for certainty, Pete is more likely to take that chilling moment hidden under the
gazebo as something real, something indisputably true rather than the act Vegas is putting on for
him right now. At the time Vegas hadn’t known that Pete was there in the water, had no idea there
was a witness as he vented the very real feelings of loss and failure.

This now has to be another smokescreen to try to cover up his hurt.

And Pete has hurt Vegas, he realises, by leaving him after everything they’ve done together. For
days Pete has been waiting to see him, had assumed that someone here would have immediately
reported his return. They’ve got to have more than one spy talking to the minor family. And with
the way that Vegas is obsessed with him, Pete has no doubt that word reached him as soon as Pete
strode right back through those front doors.

If he’s being honest with himself, Pete is surprised that Vegas hasn’t done anything more than
return his phone with the burner in one neat package and the sex toys in another. But even so these
few days of quiet have been puzzling. Pete was almost expecting Vegas to break down his and
Porsche’s door.

And for Vegas to be acting like he is right now, doesn’t speak to Pete of a plan well executed but
of an opportunity presenting itself. How could Vegas have predicted that Pete would cover Arm’s
shift? Unless Arm himself is the spy, but Pete doubts that. Arm has a little sister with leukaemia
and is using every pay check to assist with his family’s medical bills. The minor family could have
offered him more money but Pete doesn’t take him as the kind of man to risk his sister’s health
over the possibility of more cash and the potential of being executed as a spy.

It’s all too flimsy for Pete to take it as anything more than a coincidence.

Vegas is closing in on him now and although Pete had a second to expect the approach, he isn’t
prepared enough when Vegas flicks those dark eyes of his over Pete’s face.

They hit him like a physical blow, until they’re lowering meaningfully, trailing down the rest of his
body as if inspecting his own property. Pete stops breathing at the possessive glint in those eyes.

For a second he’s rooted to the spot by the power of that ownership. Maybe Vegas isn’t so good at
playing unaffected after all.

Maybe Pete isn’t either.

Their gazes lock and Pete knows he’s a perfectly blank mask to everyone else. At least until
Vegas’ smirk widens, like he knows what Pete’s thinking, what he’s hiding, as if he can see
through it all without having to expend any effort. A breath passes before Vegas reaches out and
trails a finger suggestively down Pete’s chest, drawing a hot line of ownership that spears into him
like a knife.

He should have expected that too but Pete quivers at the touch, his shoulders jerking upward in an
obvious startle response.

It’s been a while since Vegas has made him jumpy like that. Pete had almost forgotten how
squirrely he’d been when first tailing him, those few times that he kept getting caught. Usually he
has a better handle on his flinching.

It normally comes out when someone puts a large hand on his shoulder when his back is turned.
Pete got a lot better at not flinching eventually but there are still some moments that trigger
memories in him, memories that make him feel like a young kid again, small and defenceless.

Pete sees Vegas clock the reaction, notices how his eyes narrow before he draws away and even in
retreat, the weight of that sole finger is astronomical.

It’s worse because Pete can’t explain why he reacted like that. Because he was looking right at
Vegas when he touched him.

Is this just what he can expect to happen now whenever he and Vegas cross paths? Will Pete go to
pieces every time that Vegas is in the same room?

The last thing he ever wanted to show Vegas was weakness.

“Hey baby,” he says next, loud enough for Beam and Guitar to hear. Loud enough for Kinn to
hear. That familiar term is enough to sap all the strength from Pete’s limbs. “Miss me?”

Fury overtakes Pete for a second, and he lets it pour out through his eyes. The thought of what he
could do to Vegas now if they had a moment alone together and he’d been better prepared for it.
Because he’s not restrained now. He’s recovered his strength and wants to know for certain who
would walk away from a well overdue physical confrontation.

If he had just two minutes alone with him-

Vegas laughs at his expression, withdrawing, and Pete can feel the violence in every muscle of his
body even as he succeeds in holding it back. Because the consequences would be too great if he
lost control of himself now. If he does something to Vegas seemingly unprompted, all of his poorly
calculated excuses will fall apart.

Kinn would demand an explanation for Pete’s extreme reaction to Vegas. Because the only reaction
Pete could have now is apoplectic.

So Pete doesn’t respond even as he realises his body is trembling with unchecked rage.

He can’t respond. Because he’s already well aware of the answer to Vegas’ question and the
underlying wretchedness that goes with it.

In the moment, Pete can only hate every part of himself that knows without a doubt that if he’d
answered ‘no’ then in some way he’d be lying.

“What was that about?” Beam asks in a hushed voice once Vegas is being escorted away by Guitar
and Aod who was on post further down the hallway. He waits until the group are almost out of
sight and certainly out of earshot.

“Mr Kinn had me tailing him for a bit,” Pete whispers back in a level voice once he can find it.
“Guess he didn’t like it.”

It's a terrible excuse, flimsy as hell but Beam inhales a sharp breath through his teeth and doesn’t
question Pete on the details. They all know Vegas’ reputation anyway.

A second later Kinn is standing in the doorway, drink now in hand with thoughtful eyes locked on
Pete alone.

That can’t be good.

“A word, Pete?” Kinn calls and then he’s stepping back, gesturing at Beam to close the door
behind them once Pete steps obligingly into the room.

Kinn walks over to the long table, now empty of guns, laptops and any paperwork that might have
hinted what the meeting was about and sets his glass down, retaking the closest seat. Notably,
there's no invitation for Pete to join him.

Pete swallows his apprehension, thankful at least to see the room is now empty when he
approaches and stands at the edge of the table.

“Why did Vegas say that to you?” he asks, direct as always.

At least Pete had time to prepare his answer for this.

“He knows that I broke into the compound,” Pete explains, which is technically true after all.
“He’s- less than pleased that I got away with it unpunished.”

Kinn merely cocks his head at him and raises an eyebrow.

“That’s an unusual way to show it.”

Pete merely shrugs. “Not for Vegas. Not after what he did to Tawan. To Porsche.”

It's the perfect bait. The only distraction that will work on him and like expected, Kinn sits up a
little straighter. “What did he do to Porsche?”

“The GHB,” Pete says, slowly and very, very carefully. Bodyguards aren't meant to speak out of
turn. “At the auction. You must have suspected it was him who drugged Porsche even if he didn’t
admit it.”

He admitted it to Pete but since Pete has no way of explaining that without disclosing he and
Vegas have interacted more than he’s pretending they did, he can only hint at the truth.

Kinn isn't stupid, he knows what kind of person Vegas is.

“Does Porsche know?” Kinn wonders after a beat. “Does he know that it was Vegas?”

Pete considers the horror of the question for a second. And the realisation that follows, because
that's one thing he and Porsche now share, the experience of Vegas forcing himself upon them. It
was only with Pete that he was successful.

“I don’t know. Have you asked him?”

Kinn doesn’t respond and Pete takes that as his dismissal, bowing politely and exiting the
boardroom to return to his post. It's an agonising wait but five minutes later Kinn comes out of the
room and tells them they can all go and that they’re now off duty for the rest of the night. Aod and
Guitar are already downstairs leading Vegas and the rest of the group out of the building and Pete
knows he has luck to thank for that unexpected arrangement.
When he takes the elevator back down to the bodyguards living quarters, it’s with the intention of
ducking into his room to change out into work out gear. Now seems like a perfect time as any to
sweat out some of his feelings in the gym about the encounter with Vegas and how dissatisfied he
feels.

It's not the proper confrontation that he wanted. Vegas truly can glide through any situation
perfectly unscathed.

When Pete strides into his and Porsche’s room, he looks up automatically, eyes scanning the open
area as he steps though the doorway. And it’s for that reason that he sees Vegas coming at him out
of the corner of his eye. There’s no weapon in his hand but all of Pete’s instincts are screaming at
the danger anyway.

Pete dodges his outstretched arm as the door automatically closes behind them, sealing them off
from the escape of the hallway with a sense of soft finality.

Already Pete is shifting, intention burning in every muscle of his body. He had planned to keep up
the pretence that nothing had happened between them. But of course Vegas comes tearing through
all of his careful control. All of the carefully laid excuses. Pete should have known Vegas wouldn't
be able to resist.

If Vegas truly wants this confrontation, then so be it.

Immediately Pete takes advantage of the space left from Vegas’ extended arm, ducks underneath it
and pops him once in the jaw, clipping Vegas hard enough that he goes sprawling back several
steps into the office area.

It’s too narrow to fight there but Pete follows after him anyway, adrenaline pounding through him
at the thought that he’ll have his chance against Vegas after all. The need to dominate and punish
pulsing through his blood, thrumming under each layer of skin Vegas ever put his hands on.

Pete is all vengeance, anger coursing into his limbs, giving them strength at the thought that Vegas
would be arrogant enough to break into his room, to think he could bring Pete to heel or dare to try
and touch him again. He knows now is the time to finally prove himself not so helpless. He’ll
never be able to move on otherwise. And the hurt surging within him all at once demands to be
satisfied.

This fight was a long time coming.

Vegas recovers quickly, catching himself on the desk table and Pete remembers he knows how to
take a hit just as Vegas springs at him, knocking the desk chair aside and catching Pete’s hands and
forcing them behind his back, and holding them there securely. They’re locked in what could
almost pass as an embrace, the both of them chest to chest, Vegas’ pressed so firmly against his
body that their faces are almost touching while Vegas restrains Pete’s hands, holding onto his
wrists tightly.

“Let’s talk,” Vegas whispers, sounding surprisingly unsteady. “I just want to talk.”

Then he shows his true colours a second later when he leans down without any warning and pushes
his mouth onto Pete’s. It’s worse because they both know it’s his weakness, and Pete’s heart is
slamming against his rib cage from the heat of his mouth. It takes just a second too long to resist,
his lips parting under the sureness of Vegas’ own.

The familiarity of that kiss almost succeeds in driving him to distraction.

But Pete quickly jerks back, wrenching away from him before reeling forward and headbutting
Vegas hard instead. Vegas’ hands flex against Pete’s as he recoils and he uses the opportunity to
pull them free, shoving roughly at Vegas and putting much needed distance between them again.

Vegas’ eyes are dark when he straightens up to his full height. “We’re really going to do it like this,
baby?”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” Pete growls, shaking his wrists out to increase the blood flow in his
hands. “And I will, if you don’t leave.”

Vegas merely rubs a hand steadily over his jaw where Pete hit him.

“So violent. Are you angry I let you go so easily? Or are you mad because you missed me?”

Pete ignores both questions. Neither are worth his effort when Vegas only wants to bait him with
his delusions. “There’s no cameras here,” is what Pete replies. “And I did promise to make your
life hell.”

Vegas throws another punch, blindingly quick and Pete jerks back as he’s struck in the stomach by
Vegas’ other hand. The problem is Vegas is too fast, and he knows how to fight dirty. But Pete
knows how to fight too, probably has a few moves that even Vegas doesn’t know, and he’s
infinitely more motivated.

The proceeding scuffle is quick and brutal. And Pete was right, Vegas is quick but Pete is better
trained and knows how to move in small spaces. More than once he sees Vegas’ eyes trail over
items in the apartment that could easily be used as blunt instruments, as sharp weapons but each
time his attention refocuses back on Pete and he never makes a move to pick any of them up.

Despite his fury, Pete doesn’t touch them either. This should be physical. It's only right that they'd
use their bodies to communicate as they’ve done so many times before.

From those glances Pete learns very quickly that Vegas isn’t trying to mortally wound him. And
it’s easy to intuit that Vegas hasn’t abandoned his previous fixation on the fucked up encounter he
labelled a relationship.

It's almost simple to catch hold of Vegas' forearm, bringing it behind his back, twisting it high
enough that it’s close to break. Vegas tries to bend and catch him with his other arm, but Pete kicks
at the back of his knees, overbalancing him.

When he hits the floor, Pete seizes his other wrist, jerking it down into the same position as he
climbs atop Vegas, pinning him to the floor with his weight and wishing he was carrying handcuffs
when he holds Vegas’ wrists together to prevent further movement.

Vegas doesn’t try to fight him any further once he's bested, just gently flexes his hands in Pete’s
hold before accepting he can’t break out. Then he turns his head to the side like he’s trying to look
back and see Pete’s profile as if he still plans to carry on a normal conversation this way.

Which he proves a second later when he says, "Will you talk now?”

“You’re pathetic,” Pete says, meaning it.

“Or is this how you wanted it?” Vegas wonders, pushing his hips back with a kind of calm
steadiness that Pete doesn't understand.

What he's implying is- is- Pete can hardly assemble himself around the image: him as the sexual
aggressor, Vegas as the one forced to take it. He pushes the idea away before it can take furious,
possessive hold. Even in this position, Pete can’t believe Vegas has the audacity to turn it all back
on him.

“I never wanted any of this. You’re the one breaking in.”

Vegas is quiet for a second. Pete can’t believe how composed he seems to be right now. He’d
assumed a cornered Vegas would be infinitely more vicious.

“Really,” is what he says eventually, drawing out the words in a slow drawl. “So that’s your gun
poking into my lower back then.”

Pete freezes and glances down at himself, noting with some degree of shock that Vegas isn’t
actually lying for once. He’s hard as a rock, his erection nudged up against Vegas and he can’t
believe he didn’t notice his own arousal in the heat of the moment. The worst part is Pete can’t
even remember when it shifted.

Was it as soon as he and Vegas were fighting? Or was it when Pete finally bested him?

Distinctly horrified at himself, Pete finally lets go and scrambles off of Vegas immediately.

Now that he’s no longer pinned, Vegas merely rolls over onto his side, cushioning his head on a
clenched fist as he turns to look over at Pete, unfazed. The both of them sit in the honesty of the
moment, just looking at each other. Pete feels most of his anger abate, staring at Vegas’ utterly
calm expression as if Vegas drew the rage out of him and absorbed it without blinking.

“You sure are something,” Vegas says, breaking the silence first. “You know my men were
positive you wouldn’t be able to get out of those restraints?”

That hardly counts for anything. In all the time Pete’s observed them, Vegas’ bodyguards have
done very little to impress him.

“You shouldn’t have been so overconfident,” Pete says coldly.

“True,” Vegas, agrees. “I can’t say I’m that surprised though you definitely gave my bodyguards a
good run around. I actually think they’re pretty impressed with you.”

“Pretty low sending them after my grandmother.”

Vegas looks at him sharply and Pete presses his mouth into a thin barrier of silence. Why is he
even talking to him right now? This is exactly what Vegas wants.

“They were instructed not to engage. I just wanted to know when you arrived, though I may as well
not have sent them for the lack of intel they gave.”

Although he's pleased to know neither Oat or Tiw ever spotted him coming and going from the
house when he was home, Pete still doesn’t bother to respond.

“You were there, right? I know you wouldn’t have been able to resist. She means too much to
you.”

It sounds distinctly wrong coming out of Vegas’ mouth like that even if it's the truth. Pete feels
wary, cagey. He doesn't want to talk about his grandmother. He doesn't want to talk to Vegas at all.

“I was there.”
Vegas nods, unsurprised. “You really are skilled.”

“Or your bodyguards need better training.”

“Are you offering?”

No way in hell he’s dignifying that with a response. Vegas must be out of his mind.

“Where were you hiding on the property anyway? I know I had them search before they left.”

Pete’s not sure that he wants to answer. He doesn't want to remember being back at that place,
being in Vegas' arms.

“The camera at the gate truly was a nice touch,” Vegas continues, watching Pete very intently and
sensing his discomfort. “I even heard some of them laughing about it afterward, ‘the balls on this
guy!’ one of them said.”

From his tone Pete can guess the guards weren’t laughing for very long.

“Interesting kind of challenge, for a man who’s pretending he’s above it all. Who went running
straight back to the man who left him for dead with such devotion.”

“Ah.” Suddenly Pete can hear the petulance in his tone, can finally see the source of Vegas’ deep
rooted bitterness. The reason why he first tried to act indifferent at the sight of Pete outside the
meeting room, with Kinn trailing out behind him. “Kinn doesn’t know.”

Vegas’ blinks once before his eyes narrow.

“What?”

It’s a wonder he’s surprised by this considering he was the one who sold Kinn the lie in the first
place. Did he truly not know this? Pete assumes he would have made a point to know everything
going on in the main family house upon Pete's return.

“He believed the lie you gave him and I didn’t correct it.”

It seems strange to be so honest. Pete doesn’t know why he’s telling Vegas this. Maybe it’s another
way to protect himself, to have Vegas help him continue the lie. He doesn't want Kinn to know
what he's done to Pete either. Because Kinn will find some way to use it against him.

Vegas is silent for a moment, processing the news.

“You should have told him,” Vegas says, to Pete’s utter surprise. “He’s a very suspicious man,
Kinn. He’ll know when you’re withholding. It’s dangerous for you to lose his trust. He’ll cut you
out if he decides you’re even the slightest bit disloyal.”

Why the hell would Vegas be interested in giving him advice? Advice about the inner workings of
a cousin he seems to actively despise the most.

“So you’re saying I should have told him everything? Why? Did you want to brag about it so
badly?”

For a second Vegas' expression flickers, turns perplexed. “Brag about what? Losing you?”

It hurts him somehow, to hear the raw truth in Vegas' voice. To hear the underlying rhythm of
want, want, want echoed in him too. Is he not satisfied with what he has already taken from Pete?
“You got what you wanted,” he says sharply, and when Vegas meets his gaze his stare is so naked,
so open that Pete wants to tear his eyes out.

“Oh, Pete, you really have no idea what I want.”

A shudder passes through him at the intensity in his voice. Pete doesn’t like the sound of that. Less
so when Vegas lunges for him again without warning.

Pete tries to dodge out of the way but Vegas has already crushed him bodily against the side of the
couch, lips crashing down on him as Pete lets out a growl of frustration into his mouth.

He manages to get an arm between them, pushing Vegas back and following after him, Vegas’
warm hands tangled in his hair, still kissing as Pete slams him to the ground, pinning his shoulders
down with the length of his forearm. Vegas’ head smacks satisfyingly against the hard floor and
Pete’s biting down before his thoughts can reassemble.

Then he jolts at the touch of Vegas’ hand at his hip, and Pete is shoving it away, ducking his head
so that Vegas’ is forced to release him completely or yank at his hair.

Vegas lets Pete slip through his fingers and when Pete rolls off of him, Vegas is already rising
automatically, instinctively turning towards him as Pete pulls away. Struggling to separate when
Vegas only wants to tangle them further.

They’re quiet for a second, and Pete sees the fresh blood at the corner of Vegas’ mouth, a trophy of
how hard he bit him.

“Why did you come here?” he wonders, though Pete can see the intent in Vegas’ eyes, already
knowing in his heart what the answer will be.

“Thought that would be obvious,” Vegas replies, not even bothering to wipe the blood away. He
licks distractedly at his bleeding lower lip for a second and then after a beat when Pete continues to
stare at him, adds, “because I’m not done.”

There’s nothing more horrifying Pete can drum up then that answer. A chill shivers through him.

“You’re not done? It’s not your fucking decision. I’m not your prisoner anymore.”

The look Vegas directs upon him almost pins him in place. “You’ll always belong to me, baby. No
matter how far you run.”

What’s terrifying is Pete thinks he might be a little bit right about that. There’s always going to be
some part of Pete connected to Vegas, the parts that Vegas stole.

But if Vegas can simply dig his claws deep into Pete like this without a thought to the
consequences, than why shouldn’t Pete be able to wound him right back?

“You think this is all it takes? That you can just convince me into fucking? I don’t want you,
Vegas. You disgust me.”

The expression Vegas shows is blank, indifferent and Pete know he needs to try harder if he wants
his hits to land.

“You may think you’re a good liar but the only one you’re convincing is yourself,” Vegas says.

He's torn by the futility of the conversation and his frustration at Vegas, both preventing him from
cutting as deep as he'd like. Then it comes to him suddenly, the exact right thing Pete needs to say.

“Your father was right. I belong to Kinn. Not you.”

What he really means, is that he’s loyal to the main family still. That no matter what, Pete won’t
ever betray them and while that is definitely true that’s not enough to truly sink in for Vegas. It’s
not an insurmountable distinction he can’t get past, would never truly be enough to deter him.

He needs more than the reality of Pete’s unwavering loyalty, he needs the threat of another lover
tied in with that. There are many people in the main family Pete could have used to get his point
across but the way Vegas openly resents Kinn, his own cousin, always does feel a little sharper
than everyone else.

Kinn is the weapon Pete can use to hurt him. As well as his father. And that declaration should do
it. Pete left it vague enough that Vegas can interpret that statement any way he wants. Any way his
obvious insecurities will tell him to.

But when his face spasms horribly for a second, real anger finally clouding his eyes like a sudden
roll of thunder, Pete knows, finally, he hit the mark. Kinn was always his weakness, Pete was
never looking close enough to notice it.

Vegas’ silence speaks volumes and for a second Pete is bewildered by the twinge of sympathy that
follows, the baffling realisation that Vegas somehow believes him. Why is his own cousin such a
threat to him? Does he truly resent not being the Theerapanyakul heir? If that’s so why isn’t he
after Tankhun? Why would Kinn, the middle child of the family pose such a threat?

Or is it simply that when Tankhun had shown he wasn’t capable of leading the family, that they
passed Vegas over as the next option?

Vegas simply sits there, simmering and unmoving. But it’s just the kind of distraction he’s looking
for. Pete moves towards the coffee table, snagging the spare gun he’s concealed beneath it. Then
he draws it on Vegas, aiming at his chest.

“Now I want you to get the fuck out.”

Vegas looks at Pete, then at the gun and rolls to his feet. Except Pete merely adjusts his aim from
his position on the floor so that he’s in line with Vegas’ heart again.

“You wouldn’t,” Vegas says confidently, taking another step toward him.

Without a word, Pete takes the safety off. Vegas goes still, re-evaluating the situation again,
intently scanning Pete’s face to figure out how determined he is.

“Get. Out,” Pete repeats steadily. “I’m done talking. You take one step closer. I will fucking shoot
you.”

Vegas just continues to look at him so Pete decides to twist the knife. He's finally learning now
how to hurt him, Pete can only get better at each attempt.

“I was there in the water. Right underneath the gazebo you were standing on. You were so close, if
you reached down you could have touched me. But you will never touch me again.”

Vegas doesn’t respond but Pete see him physically react to the words.

“I heard the sound you made too,” Pete says. “Are you so desperate, so worthless that you mistook
imprisonment for affection?”

It’s harsher than he intends but Vegas merely smiles at him in a thin kind of way before, finally, he
obeys. Backing off but still facing Pete, always looking directly into his eyes. Vegas won’t ever
shy away from anything. Not even cruelty. And especially not this.

“I didn’t mistake anything, Pete.”

They watch each other even as Vegas backs up until he reaches the front door. “This isn’t over,”
Vegas calls over his shoulder as he turns to open it. “You know it’s not. We have unfinished
business you and I.”

Then he steps out into the hallway and disappears without another word. Pete lets the door fall
closed in the sudden silence of the room before he’s springing up and rushing to lock it behind
Vegas, glancing out the peephole to watch his retreating back.

He puts the safety back on, thinking he’s probably going to have to sleep with it under his pillow
moving forward. Then his legs are collapsing out from under him and Pete is staring down at his
lap, at the gun in his hands, and feeling a bone deep exhaustion that wants to drag him under.

Right where Vegas is waiting for him.

“I know,” Pete eventually replies, though by then there's no one around to hear it.
 I guess I owe you for most everything, like the way I feel and the curse you
bring
Chapter Notes

chap title is Nerve by the Story So Far

*also me, slapping the roof of this fic* this bad boy can fit so much trauma into it

enjoy!

The worst part is having to turn away from the door after and pretend that nothing is wrong.

Pete takes the gun he’s not supposed to have, and which he managed to smuggle out past Arm’s
impossible scrutiny last night and goes back into the bedroom to stow it under his pillow.

He’s still wearing the shoulder strap under his blazer, with the glock that was given to him before
his shift and Pete knows he needs to return it. They do inventory at the end of every day and
they’re bound to notice if this one doesn’t come back since it’s signed out under his name. The
other one he simply took so whilst they’ll probably realise it’s missing soon, it’s very unlikely that
they’ll be able to figure out the culprit.

So many bodyguards are ducking in and out of the armoury every day and there aren't cameras in
there. The inventory system is their only way of keeping track of their weapons.

He walks back into the living room and makes sure to straighten his clothes so he’s no longer as
dishevelled and then he’s stepping out into the hallway, bracing himself in case of another surprise
visit from Vegas, but the hall is empty.

It's easier not to think about the gun in his blazer, because if he does he'll be tempted to draw it out
and there's a reason he didn't do that when Vegas attacked him. This gun has his name written all
over it. Anything that happens to it will be traced back to him.

Pete heads down towards the armoury again, rechecks his weapon and then goes to meet Pol and
Arm in the main cafeteria for dinner. Som intercepts him before he can sit down and he’s being
handed an entirely different bowl of food than what’s being currently served.

It’s a little blatant for him, usually he just eats his grandmother’s food up in his rooms but Pete is
so exhausted that he doesn’t even protest, just grins at Som and takes the offering for what it is. It’s
Khao Soi and it’s been months since he’s last eaten the dish. It’s not as popular here yet in
Bangkok, but in Chiang Mai it’s impossibly loved.

For a second he's surprised she still had the time to cook and send this through, with Phailin
probably still in the hospital. But he's grateful, Pete's always grateful for her efforts.
He eats like he’s ravenously hungry and then nearly sobs into his noodles at the first bite, when the
thought of his grandmother still making this for him, for caring about him so deeply, reaches a
place inside that hasn’t been touched in a while.

Porsche joins him at the table, and whilst he seems surprised by the emotional intensity of Pete’s
reaction to the noodles, he decides not to comment on it. Pol and Arm join them not much later,
and Pol looks so enviously at Pete’s meal as opposed to his own that Pete takes pity on him and
lets him have a bite.

He waits patiently for his bowl to return and then he doesn’t look up again until it’s completely
empty, letting the conversation flow around him as he ignores the temptation to lick the bowl
clean.

“Why haven’t you spoken to Tankhun yet?” Porsche asks eventually, staring at Pete as if he thinks
he won't notice. “He keeps telling everyone you’re dead.”

Pete sets his spoon down with a clatter and then tries not to wince. He’s been avoiding going to
visit Tankhun since he returned mostly because of his lukewarm reception from Kinn. Pete doesn’t
trust himself not to give the game away entirely, because he’s spent the most time as Tankhun’s
bodyguard and of all of the Theerapanyakul siblings, he always seems to understand Pete best.

And that feels dangerous to him right now. He can't have people seeing right through him. Pete
still wants to hide. Which is probably why Tankhun is insisting he’s dead. He’s probably taken
great offence to the fact that Pete hasn’t come to see him yet.

It's almost surprising that Tankhun hasn’t at the very least come to find him himself but if he was
guessing, Pete would assume he wants to simmer on his anger for a couple more days. Then he’ll
probably get confrontational, appearing unexpectedly at the gun range or the main cafeteria or in
the gardens somewhere with his loud voice and even louder outfits.

The problem is that Pete has a feeling Tankhun will know what’s going on as soon as he lays eyes
on him and Pete’s not ready to face that yet.

“I’ll find him,” he says eventually, but doesn’t actually specify when. “You know how he gets.”

Pol nods solemnly because he does know. Both he and Arm are still working for him. Arm is even
head bodyguard now after Pete was transferred permanently to Kinn's detail. They understand what
it's like to deal with Tankhun's moods, his mystifying tantrums which conceal a greater pain that
the rest of the family have long since turned their eyes from. It's no wonder he fights so hard for
attention, when it's been so denied, when Tankhun doesn't fit the image they have of their mafia
family.

To understand all of these family politics means it's difficult not to feel protective of him. Tankhun
might not go many places but he’s the liveliest Theerapanyakul of the bunch.

And Pete can’t get away with ignoring him for much longer.

He takes his empty bowl and his cutlery over to the kitchens, chatting briefly with the kitchen staff
for a while before heading back out and finding the others.

Porsche has inexplicably disappeared again so Pete says goodbye to Arm and Pol and heads on
over to check the roster again. It’s been updated since he last saw it, Pete is expected to be on
Kinn’s detail from 10AM tomorrow until 6PM and Pete smiles to himself, glad that he’s being put
back on shift, and for one of the longer ones too.
That seems like good news even if it doesn't quite settle the unease lingering in his chest. He walks
back up to his rooms alone, tense and expecting another unwanted visitor.

But it’s undisturbed when he steps inside. There's no one there.

No Vegas this time around. Pete sighs, and changes out of his work clothes, settling into the last of
his nightly routine. When he slips underneath the sheets, wearing nothing but his boxers, he
glances automatically over to Porsche's bed. Then he rolls onto his side, facing the wall instead.

He closes his eyes to the emptiness of the room.

Pete climbs out of bed early in the morning, from disrupted sleep that heavily featured a man he’s
trying not to think about and glances over at the empty bed opposite again before staggering to the
bathroom to brush his teeth.

Still no Porsche. But why should Pete expect him here anyway? Of course he'd prefer to spend his
time with Kinn.

With a sigh, Pete bends down and washes his face too and when he steps out to get changed into
gym clothes, the roots at his hairline are a little damp. He throws on a sweatshirt to hide his wrists
and a pair of basketball shorts and finds his dirty sneakers tucked in the back of the cupboard.

Pete sits on Porsche’s untouched bed so he gets his shoes on and can’t help but think that things
must be going very well between Porsche and Kinn for Porsche to be disappearing as much as he
does. He's not sure what to think about that but it does feel strange to him somehow that a
relationship between two men can work without being riddled with dysfunction and mistrust.

But that might be why he should observe Porsche and Kinn more closely. Maybe they can give
him some idea of how it all works.

Once ready, Pete makes his way straight down to the gym which only has two other guards inside
that are currently working out. He has a second to find that odd that it would be so empty at this
time, barely past eight o’clock. But it ends up being a good thing though because that means
there’s less people to witness when Pete overexerts himself.

He's halfway through a stretch that accidentally tugs at the muscle surrounding his ribs, and Pete
nearly collapses against the nearby elliptical machine. So blinded with tender pain that he can’t
stand upright for a second.

After it passes Pete is sweating and panting, and generally feeling so weakened that he’s forced to
give up on his routine. He wipes down the machine he was using, deposits the towel into the
allocated bin for laundry and returns to the main cafeteria for breakfast. Only he can't find Som to
discover where he's stored the food from his grandmother, so Pete is forced to resort to the
cafeteria menu.

As he's sitting there at the booth, moving gingerly so as not to inflame his injury again, Pete can
finally admit to himself that his mood has greatly soured.

So he eats a lacklustre meal and goes back to his room to shower and get changed before heading
over to the armoury to collect his weapon and phone. Surprisingly he finds Porsche there, and they
head down to the main lobby to meet Satang and Khom, the guards who are rostered on with him
whilst Porsche discloses Kinn’s schedule for the day.

Beam and Guitar are already at the garages sorting out the vehicles; the group will be taking two
cars today.

The Mercedes and one of the SUVs.

Pete doesn’t comment on the increased guards, he understands why it’s necessary. He also doesn't
comment on the fact that nobody gave him Kinn's schedule until day-of. That's something the
bodyguards usually sit down and go over the night before to properly plan the outing.

It feels strange to be excluded from the things he was involved in before. When he was a trusted
part of the fold. But Pete swallows his feelings on the matter, ignores his wounded pride and does
his job.

They’re debt collecting today and Pete slips into the ugly work like a second skin, helping Kinn
put the fear into these men under the thumb of the Theerapanyakuls, using violence when they
can’t.

Porsche is always grim on days like this but whilst he doesn’t do anything to interfere with the task
at hand, he very pointedly doesn't assist in any way either. Pete isn’t bothered by this. He knows
Porsche has a history of being in debt and of being hunted by men like these. It's too much to ask
of him.

Nobody questions him on it either. As Kinn’s lover, and a known favourite of Mr Korn, Porsche is
afforded certain liberties.

By midday they’ve finished up with six different pitiful men and their miserable circumstances and
now Kinn has turned his attention back to the casino, following the last emergency meeting they'd
had with Vegas to discuss an important issue. Porsche tells him on the drive over that they’ve been
having trouble balancing the books lately, because one of their dealers has been stealing from the
casino, and by extension the Theerapanyakul family.

Pete is surprised by the audacity of this person. They’re certainly brave to have done something
like this. Everyone employed there knows who owns the casino and just how dangerous they are.

Satang drives them out to a club in Sukhumvit district that Pete doesn’t recognise and it soon
becomes clear that this is where they’ve tracked the man down to.

Of course once they'd figured out it was him, the dealer had run.

Pete wonders how they tracked him down so quickly. They must have more spies than he realised.

Once they're parked and out of the cars, Satang and Guitar fan out to block the main exits but Pete
doesn't remain behind with them. Since he's part of the advance team, he goes to enter the building
with Kinn, and Porsche at his side.

There’s muscled security at the door but they recognise Kinn immediately because they step aside
respectfully and he’s swept into the building without another word.

Kinn leads them up a staircase, seeming to know his way through the establishment and Pete keeps
close to his left side whilst Beam guards the right, Khom bringing up the rear of the group and all
three of them are ready to move at a moment’s notice.

He doesn’t like that they didn’t get a chance to scope the place out first but Pete will have to settle
for a sweep of the room once the situation allows for it.

They walk through double doors and suddenly the lighting changes, their quiet conversation
overcome by sensuous music. So it’s that kind of establishment. Pete is only a little surprised, since
they’re not in any of the red light districts but this seems like an exclusive kind of club, high end.
For elites only.

Kinn takes several steps into the open space and then pulls up short but Pete’s attention has already
shifted to the mix of other guests, other threats already in there with them.

He spots Vegas straight away because it’s become instinct now to track him whenever he’s in the
room. He’s seated himself in the booth opposite in the club, the one that faces the entry and where
people’s eyes are naturally drawn when they walk into the low lit room. The lights are especially
dim in this establishment, ensconced by red glass which gives off an enflamed shadow to the
ceilings and the walls that is eerily reminiscent of Vegas’ dungeon.

This of course, is intentional on Vegas’ part.

The hazy lighting also affords an air of privacy, along with the curtains tucked on the side of each
booth which can be drawn across as needed for the private sessions.

Only three of the booths are currently open to their inspection, and Vegas is of course seated at the
one in the centre.

He’s smirking, arms thrown wide over the back seat of the booth like he owns the place and his
eyes zero in on Pete immediately, seemingly solely focused. On him and him alone.

But Pete’s eyes have already finished flicking over Vegas’ first, assessing the threat before finally
resting on the image of the man kneeling between Vegas’ spread legs instead.

The bobbing motion of his head is a pretty good indication of what he’s currently doing.

A tremor of stillness passes through Pete at the sight, subduing every last one of his thoughts.
Despite what he wants to feel at the sight: disdain, apathy and complete disinterest, Pete is flooded
with an anger that he can’t even begin to describe.

There’s a sense of deep betrayal in the gesture, a mockery of their supposed connection that Vegas
insisted was so important when Pete was all but chained to his bed almost a week ago. There’s heat
rushing through Pete’s blood before he processes what’s happening in himself, then he takes a
quiet breath, scrambling for a serene oasis in the middle of this desert of unexpected turmoil.

All of it stemming from Vegas’ flimsy performance.

And it is a performance, Pete knows that innately. Vegas wanted him to see this. He wanted Pete to
react negatively at the sight of him with someone else. He wants Pete jealous.

He wonders what brought this out. Was it the ignored text messages? The fight in Pete’s
apartment? Or was it the last few words Pete said to him, those sharp needles he’d finally
drummed up to wound Vegas once and for all?

He doesn’t need to give it much thought. Vegas is so painfully transparent sometimes it makes
Pete sick to look into him without any effort.

And it’s very clear right now what he is trying to say.

You hurt me. But I can hurt you too.

Rationally, Pete doesn’t want to feel like this but that doesn’t lessen the bite of it in the moment.
Nor the face that Vegas makes when he locks eyes with Kinn and gestures dismissively over to the
booth on his right. Pete’s eyes follow the flick of his wrist, past that empty booth and on to the next
one where the curtain is slightly pulled back and there’s a man sprawled across the seat there,
already tied up, gagged and looking terrified.

The casino dealer. So it was Vegas who caught him after all.

Kinn makes his way over to the man without another look at Vegas and Beam and Porsche follow
after him but Pete stays where he is watching the man between Vegas’ legs, sucking him off,
executing the one thing he never got from Pete. Vegas wasn’t stupid enough to put his cock
anywhere near Pete’s teeth while he had him as his prisoner, no matter how responsive to the sex
Pete later became.

This is a barbed gesture. He’s trying to show that Pete’s escape isn’t a blow still smarting at his
pride, that the idea of Pete belonging to Kinn means nothing to him. As if he has no complicated
rivalry with his cousin or delusions of ownership over Pete.

It’s a wonder he’s so committed to the pretence. As if the new toy he’s got to play with will be
enough to satisfy him instead.

But what Vegas has failed to account for is that in all the time spent with him in such close
quarters, Pete has been watching him too and learned to understand how his mind works. So no
matter how intent he is on acting unmoved around Pete, cruel with indifference as he shows off
other lovers, all he has really succeeded at is making his desires more plain.

If he wanted Pete to believe he was truly interested in this man, then he should have tangled a hand
through his hair and kept his eyes down, solely focused while the man was blowing him. From the
first glance, Pete can see that the man’s hands aren’t even on Vegas’ thighs either. The fact that the
only place where their bodies are touching are Vegas’ cock and the man’s mouth tells Pete it’s
entirely control driven.

Or transactional.

The man is about Pete’s size, with a nice physique and he doubts he’s keeping his hands to himself
because he wants to. Vegas is in charge. He likes to believe he's in charge, and the man is
obviously just doing his best to follow instructions.

If he wanted Pete to think this was only for his pleasure he should have chosen a different kind of
man. One that wouldn’t be on his knees in a strictly obedient, kind of disinteresting fashion.

Vegas would want one who’d fight back, one that wouldn’t simply relinquish control because he
demands it out of a shallow understanding of his own self. Vegas doesn’t want things handed to
him like soft overripe fruit, indulgent and unresisting, merely something for him to sink his teeth
into.

In some way he wants to be denied, withheld, teased. Vegas wants something hard, unflinching, a
pit at the centre, a knife hidden in the dark. Something, that when he reaches out with all his
sharpness and pointed teeth, doesn’t recoil from him, but bites back.

It strikes Pete all at once how perfectly he’s set himself up for failure right from the beginning.

He’d been forced to concede to those moments of control, when Vegas’ cock was inside him,
working their bodies towards pleasure filled ends, but had never fully, never truly surrendered.

Pete had always resisted, fought, bared his teeth and left his marks on Vegas too, on his throat, his
wrist, all the while repressing, stifling, obscuring himself from Vegas who wanted nothing more
than to peel him open.

For a man like Vegas, perpetually denied love from his own blood, the mystery of a Pete
withholding in nearly every way, would have proven an irresistible promise of more. A greater
intensity of rapture if he’d prevailed. All of it a heightened risk and reward for Vegas, who had
long ago redirected the pain of rejection into fuel that burned like a bright flame of relentlessness.

Pete hadn’t realised, had only done so out of preservation of self, a final layer of fortification from
the threat of being broken, subdued and conquered.

He should have looked closer at the source of Vegas’ obsession with him, should have turned it
over and picked it apart cleanly in the logic of his mind. Because Pete would have come to this
realisation sooner, would not be facing the ramifications of it right now while a stranger is sucking
Vegas off and Vegas still only has eyes for him.

If this were lust driven, Vegas wouldn’t still be staring at Pete. He’d be gripping the man’s neck
and holding him down, concentrating on the path to his own release. He’d be making that noise he
always does when he’s close, not watching others alertly from across the room.

There’s nothing genuine about any of it.

He’s so desperate for Pete’s attention that he’s organised this meeting, all so he can show off some
nameless man servicing him. As if he wants Pete to feel discarded or inadequate somehow.

But out of the two of them Pete’s not the one driven by rejection. He’s not the one desperate and
lashing out, clumsy and destructive, all in the hopes of garnering a reaction.

Pete’s never seen a more blatant cry for his attention.

For a moment he considers just how wretched Vegas really is.

And then he laughs. At the unbelievably fucked up reality of the situation. At the fact that Pete
unintentionally made himself the perfect lure, one that misdirects and masks so much of himself
that Vegas could chase forever and still not uncover all of him because Pete would resist until his
last breath.

And worse, the fact that even though Pete can clearly see through Vegas’ poor attempts to win a
reaction from him, the effort is somehow still working.

Pete’s not jealous.

He doesn’t want to be in the man’s place, on his knees and compliant, paraded about like a trophy
for Vegas to show off his power. But even so, Pete knows enough about himself to recognise there
is real anger in his heart. That whatever is going on between them, seeing Vegas with other lovers
still strikes a visceral chord of resentment within him.

Pete can no longer deny that this thing with Vegas has left sentiments of possession in him too.

There’s safety in that laugh when it leaves him because no one can hear over the music to
recognise the lack of actual amusement in it. But Vegas’ eyes narrow across the room anyway,
noticeably attuned and immediately sensing Pete’s scorn. He’s too barefaced though so that smirk
doesn’t drop from his mouth, Pete only sees the curve of it deepen in his cheek.

Anything else would be a concession. And he’s too proud for that.

Pete is already looking away from him, over towards Kinn who is in the booth now with the casino
dealer, knowing that his body language is enough to broadcast a clear dismissal.

It will have to do for now.

“I’ll do a perimeter check, Mr Kinn,” he says into his earpiece, jaw clenching through barely
gritted teeth and then goes off to do just that.

Khom who is standing nearby watching Pete, nods and goes off to check the other side of the room
as well without a word.

Pete is quick about it, weaving through the bodies and dodging the single waitress carrying trays of
cobalt blue shots. It has to be a speedy sweep since he’s only left Beam behind with Kinn but he
and Khom can cover the ground quickly.

Vegas would have watched him go too. And he would have understood that this is the best
opportunity to get Pete alone again.

But Pete is banking on the man servicing Vegas being capable of keeping him preoccupied for a
little longer. Not to mention Kinn. Pete doubts that Kinn is going to wait around patiently whilst
Vegas gets sucked off and there are family matters to deal with.

No matter how brazen he is about it.

The familiar task helps separate his focus from Vegas and all the confusing feelings that go with
seeing him in person and Pete finds the distance helps reclaim a sense of calm while he works.

Pete is smooth and efficient, slipping through a crowd of older business men, analysing the faces
of passing customers for any recognisable ones or hints of danger. He estimates he has at least two
minutes before Vegas and Kinn butt heads and the shit hits the fan but at least Kinn will keep
Vegas well distracted while that’s happening.

The crackle of his earpiece interrupts Pete’s sweep. He’s just finished inspecting the corner booth,
tucked far out of sight from the centre of the room when he hears Beam’s voice.

“Anybody have eyes on Vegas?”

Khom is already responding, “He was just here a second-“

Pete whirls around just in time for Vegas to crowd him quickly into the booth.

Damn. He really does move fast when properly motivated.

Pete reaches up and immediately switches off his ear piece, knowing he can’t afford the distraction
as he backs up immediately, positioning his body language to defence. The distance between them
grows wider as he leaps up onto the circular table bolted into the floor behind him, simply to take
the higher ground and eliminate any chance of tripping over it.

Or providing Vegas an opportunity to push him down on top of it. The glint in his eyes tells Pete
that he would and Pete knows better than to give Vegas an opportunity to get on top of him.

Vegas looks at him expressionlessly for a moment, as if he thinks Pete can’t see the excitement
lurking in his eyes before he catches the edge of the curtain and slowly drags it across their section,
sealing them off from the rest of the bar. There’s a throb of anticipation in his gut and then Pete’s
heart is knocking against his rib cage at the significance of the simple act.

How the world quickly narrows down to the two of them just from the unassuming drag of a
curtain and Vegas looking into his eyes, is enough for Pete to find alarming.

Under the dim lighting, something heavy settles deeper into Pete's limbs now that they’re alone
together again. He wonders why the feeling is less akin to dread than he wants it to be.

There shouldn't be so much expectation in the air, so tangible it’s a wonder neither of them can
physically see it. Pete has his gun concealed in the usual arm holster but doesn’t immediately move
to draw it. Something tells him it won’t quite work as a proper deterrent like the threat did last
time, and Pete wants to see what Vegas is planning to do.

He obviously wanted him here alone for something. He could have sent Kinn here alone to deal
with the casino employee. Vegas didn't have to come to the club as well. He obviously has his own
motives for this.

“So tense, Pete,” Vegas says, as if he has the right to have this casual conversation with him.

There’s a narrow space between the table and the semicircle couch, just enough for one person to
edge around and sit down without knocking their shins. It’s not an ideal area for fighting. But Pete
thinks it’s not exactly a fight that Vegas wants from him right now.

Pete retreats nimbly, dress shoes settling on to the seat before perching atop the back edge of the
couch and sitting down. He doesn’t know what Vegas is planning but Pete would rather have the
wall at his back while he figures it out.

Things don’t usually go so well when Vegas is behind him.

He rests his forearms across the edge of his thighs to give off the impression that he’s relaxed
before eyeing Vegas as if he’s ready now to offer his attention.

If Vegas wants to pretend then why shouldn’t Pete do the same? Why shouldn’t he have his own
performance too? Playing at unbothered will only make Vegas feel more inconsequential to him.

For the moment Pete doesn’t speak either. Only because he knows that will annoy Vegas the most.

A second later Vegas steps towards him, mouth turned down in a way that tells him he was right.

“What? Nothing to say?” he wonders, and Pete refuses to flinch when Vegas edges around the table
and stops right in front of the seat, still tall enough that he can look directly into Pete’s eyes.

“Nice performance,” Pete mutters before he can censor himself.

He hadn’t meant to make a comment on the man because he knows Vegas sorely wishes for it. For
some hint that he managed to get under Pete’s skin. An acknowledgement of their awareness of the
other.

Pete doesn’t think it’s something that needs to be stated anyway. It would be impossible not to be
aware of him.

Vegas grins in confirmation. “I thought Kinn might appreciate a little show.”

It’s ludicrous to think he’d plan such a thing for his cousin. Is his still so unaware of why he’s even
acting like this? Of why it’s so important to get a rise out of Pete and no one else?

Vegas is so much the opposite of self-aware that Pete actually snorts at the words. “Kinn. Right.”

“Ay has a very talented mouth,” Vegas continues, the comment going completely over his head as
he watches Pete very closely for the effects his words might be having. He’s too focused on driving
the knife in to consider any kind of self-introspection.

A common theme for Vegas.

Pete doesn’t look away from his dark eyes. “I’m sure.”

Vegas shifts, not appearing to enjoy Pete’s calm demeanour or his even tone, which is exactly the
reason Pete is putting so much energy into appearing unaffected. That the possibility of them alone
together has completely unmoved him. As if he’s forgotten that every other time that’s happened
recently, excluding their last fight, the both of them have usually been naked and skin to skin.

Pete is doing his very best not to dwell on those memories. It’s easier not to think of Vegas’ hands
ever on him.

“Still,” Vegas says conversationally, as he watches Pete with heightened intent. “Not as good as
your mouth would feel on my cock, baby.”

And there it is. He’d known that Vegas would come to the point eventually.

Pete breaks eye contact then, turning his head to the left as his heart pumps faster in his chest.
Which turns out was exactly the moment Vegas was waiting for.

Suddenly he’s reaching out, striking fast as always to take hold of Pete’s chin like he’s done so
many times before. Always whenever he wanted to hold Pete down and kiss him.

Except this time Pete is fast enough, blocking the side of Vegas’ wrist to deflect the touch. Pete
stands up so that he’s towering over Vegas next and stares down into his eyes, refusing to back
down or cower from him.

“Maybe,” he agrees, just to spite Vegas with the possibility. “But I guess you’ll never know.”

He sees the flash of anger in Vegas’ eyes and knows that now is the best time to leave before it
devolves into another fight. Even if Pete is waiting for another opportunity to sink his teeth into
him. To unleash the budding violence swirling around them.

But he resists, controls his urges and Pete manages to edge carefully around him, expecting Vegas
to try again. Except he doesn’t move, stubbornly watching Pete as he moves further away from
him.

He doesn’t make it halfway to the curtains before Vegas speaks up again. “Has he fucked you yet?
Is that how you finally proved your loyalty?”

The question is so blunt, so crass that Pete recoils in disgust. “You think I want-?”

He remembers himself at the last second, and trails off before reaching Kinn’s name but already he
can see the damage is done. Vegas is not so irrational now that he can’t read the true honesty of
Pete’s reaction.
Fuck.

“So you were lying,” Vegas says, thoughtfully. “I should have realised. You were cutting at the
one thing I- very clever, baby.”

“I wasn’t lying,” Pete mutters, not looking at him. “I do belong to the main family and he is a part
of that family.”

“You implied-“

“I didn’t imply anything. You jumped to that conclusion all by yourself.”

Vegas nods like he understands the game and smiles at him. “So you do know how to use my
weaknesses against me.”

“Like you’re not using mine?”

They stare at each other in silence for a moment. Then Vegas takes another step forward. “Have
you not noticed how well we complement each other, Pete?”

“No,” Pete lies, turning back towards the curtain again, heading for the exit.

“No? Then have you started touching yourself while you think of me? Did you use the toys yet?”

Pete pulls up short at the question, provoked and stunned that Vegas would dare to ask him such a
thing. He slowly turns around and isn’t surprised by the avid look on Vegas’ face when their eyes
meet again.

Almost unwittingly, Pete’s gaze drops to Vegas’ dark trousers, spying the significant ridge in the
front and reaching two conclusions. One, that Vegas must have ditched the man sucking him off
almost as soon as Pete went to check the perimeter, without even trying to chase his orgasm first.
And two, despite the impression he wanted to give the first time he saw Pete again, Vegas does in
fact, still want to fuck him.

Enough that he’s willing to play games even now. Trying to make Pete jealous.

Pete shivers at the realisation and doesn’t respond. But Vegas merely takes that as encouragement
to keep going.

“Have you put your fingers inside yourself yet?” he asks him, taking another predatory step closer.
“Have you realised they’re not enough to replace my cock?”

Pete keeps his expression blank and sinks into the safety of indifference. He won’t give Vegas the
satisfaction of a reaction. The confirmation of it. That Pete has hardly been able to even think about
touching himself without drowning in memories of Vegas first.

“Aren’t you bored of this?” he asks Vegas instead, feeling shaky despite the steadiness of his voice.
Flustered somehow and like he needs to escape.

The question doesn’t seem to perturb Vegas in the slightest. “No.”

“You should be,” Pete counters. “Because I’m not like everyone else- I won’t play your games.”

Vegas just looks at him, dark and intense. “Who says I was playing?”

This is going nowhere, Pete decides, and he doesn’t want to be caught alone with Vegas. He can’t
afford any further questions from his colleagues. Not with Porsche already suspicious. And now
there’s the added danger of Vegas becoming such an open book about his interest in Pete.
Everyone will notice it eventually.

It's safer just to cut to the point.

“Then why not be upfront then? What do you want?”

Vegas raises an eyebrow at him. “You, baby.”

Pete grits his teeth and doesn’t respond. Vegas steps closer again and the muscles in Pete’s legs
tense up, in preparation of movement.

“You think I don’t know that you want me too?” Vegas continues, pressing his luck by inching
forward as if he’s trying to find the boundary between them. “That I can’t see how aware your
body is of me?”

“You don’t know what I want,” Pete says quietly. “You don’t know me at all.”

Vegas has the arrogance to laugh at that.

“I know you better than most people. All that time we spent together, baby. I’ve tasted nearly every
inch of your skin, filled places inside you that you never ever knew were-“

“No,” Pete interrupts sharply, his expression hard and resolute. “You don’t know me. Just a
distorted version. You only know the Pete that was under your control.”

It’s a risk but Pete has to know, has to find some way to confirm whether his suspicions are correct.
His words seem to draw Vegas up short, and Pete can actually see the thought processing across
his face. Pete isn’t sure that the threat has increased or lessened when Vegas considers the point.

“Do you think that’s what I want now?” Vegas asks softly. “To control you?”

And it’s there right in front of him. Pete lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Don’t
you?”

“No.“

This answer, this truth, if anything, is all the more frightening. Pete’s first assumption had been
wrong after all. Vegas might have believed at first that forcing himself on Pete had been about
control, about winning, and triumphing over him but Pete should have seen the roots beneath that
shallow assessment.

The handcuffs, the restraints, had enabled Vegas to feel safe enough to seek out what he truly
desired; a bond of sexual intimacy. If it had truly been about control, then why would bringing out
Pete’s pleasure have mattered at all? Why would Vegas have been aroused by the times when Pete
overpowered him, when he refused to be controlled and when he showed signs of mutual
participation?

If it had solely been about control, then why would Vegas have slept in the same bed as him? Why
else would he have done things like that if not for seeking intimacy from a person who he knew
could never abandon him? When Vegas has been abandoned all of his life.

What else was that noise, that raw scream, he’d made if not a loss of that intimacy between them,
which had been protected by the confines of the safe house? And the hint of more, the hidden parts
of Pete, the repressed pleasure, all of these things would have confirmed Vegas’ opinion that this
was beyond a fleeting moment to explore but something of permanence to be actively pursued.

Then Pete turned it into a challenge with his escape, a new battle of wills, a game that promised
sharper passion and desire.

It’s no wonder Vegas is looking at him like all of this back and forth is merely foreplay.

“Then what do you think this is?”

Vegas doesn’t seem to understand the question. He can only talk in absolutes. And maybe he’s just
as evasive about his own emotional yearnings as Pete is about his physical ones.

“You keep making guesses at what you think I want. But what do you want?” Vegas asks instead
in a surprisingly forthright way.

There are so many things that Pete is briefly overwhelmed by the question. Why does he even care
about this? Why does it matter so much to him what Pete wants?

Vegas sinks closer again, voice lowering. “If you tell me I can give it to you.”

Ah. Of course. There’s something heated there now, intent. And Pete wonders at the ease in which
Vegas shifts the tension back towards the physical, and the promise of mutual gratification.

It seems obvious now, why Vegas would still be pursuing this so diligently. The muted sexual
intimacy of the safe house where Pete was still resisting, still concealing would have tempted and
tormented Vegas but would never have been enough to fully satisfy him. Not when he knew Pete
was dampening his reactions, and there was always the possibility that their shared intimacy could
be deepened, intensified.

Every time Pete pushes back and actively resists, stepping behind that heavily fortified wall is he
not powering Vegas’ resolve to get around it? To finally find the way to the very core of him?

Pete opens his mouth and then hesitates, wondering how to reach an end to this. How can he turn
Vegas away completely? Is the only way to make him lose interest to strip away Pete’s very last
layers of protection and give himself over completely? When there’s nothing left to hide, won’t
Vegas finally be bored of him then?

He shifts, confused and out of sorts and it takes some time to realise why he’s feeling so unsettled.

Vegas is nearly always touching him. Upholding any sense of physical connection that he possibly
can. When Pete realises this is the longest time they’ve been alone together since the safe house
without Vegas’ hands on him and that’s what is keeping him on edge, he’s humbled by his own
conflicting desires.

Is this what the rest of his days will be like? Just waiting for Vegas to touch him again, and feeling
almost disappointed when he doesn’t?

Pete is finally beginning to understand the depths of the danger here.

“Is this it?” Vegas asks when Pete still doesn’t respond, stepping forward and without another
word, dropping to his knees in front of him. Pete swallows and looks down almost out of reflex,
then wishes he hadn’t. “This what you wanted? What you need?”

He’d forgotten that Vegas has learnt how to tempt and torment him too.
Pete barely has a second to register what’s happening before Vegas sways toward the button of his
dress pants, hands settling on Pete’s hips as his eyes remain intent on his crotch. In a panic, Pete
catches hold of Vegas’ hair above the base of his neck, yanking him backwards and away from his
own cock at the last second, tilting his head up so Vegas is forced to meets his eyes.

The gesture isn’t really needed though. Vegas would have looked at him anyway.

“Oh?” Vegas wonders casually, like this is normal thing to do with Kinn’s bodyguard. “Don’t want
my mouth, baby?”

It’s another sly tease because he knows that Pete, who was half hard before, a common reaction to
being in close proximity to Vegas, is now fully erect and straining against the fabric of his pants.
Vegas is close enough to witness this first hand.

Pete’s grip on him doesn’t waver even though he’d be lying if he tried to suggest the offer wasn’t
tempting. It’s been so many days now since his last orgasm and with all the erotic dreams and close
proximity to Vegas, he’s been in a much more elevated state of arousal.

He could do it. It would appease some of the anger in him at witnessing Vegas with someone else.

See, an ugly part of his mind wants to declare, they say he can’t be controlled, but he’ll kneel for
me.

It’s another realisation that Pete should have seen coming. Just how emotional and physically
compromised he’s become. He can no longer remain rational in Vegas’ presence. All of that
carefully maintained distance and restraint, and Pete is no longer certain he can master his own
desires anymore.

But even so Pete has made a habit of fighting his own pleasure for far too long now to suddenly
give in because Vegas is offering a picture of submission. And that’s all that it is really, a picture.
A fantasy.

After the show out there in the other booth, Pete would be stupid to take this as genuine.

“So what?” Pete demands, real fury in his voice. “You’ll just suck me off now and we’ll call it
even? Do you even hear yourself?”

Vegas is smirking at him like he knows that Pete is hard without having to touch him. Without
even having to look. The advantage he has from knowing Pete’s body so intimately is
overwhelming.

And the unruffled composure, the utter ease he’s exhibiting under Pete’s steady hand is even more
aggravating.

How dare he look so peaceful at Pete’s mercy?

“That wasn’t a no.”

Anger coils through his hands as Pete’s grip contracts at those infuriating words. “Like you give a
shit about no,” he fires back, yanking tighter at the strands of hair caught between his fingers in a
fit of emotion. “You just take what you want.”

A bolt of heat passes through the both of them, Pete can see it reflected back in Vegas’ dark eyes
and suddenly he wants to lean forward. Wants to close that distance between them for good.
“No,” Vegas corrects, wetting his mouth with his tongue so that Pete’s eyes are forced lower to
watch. “I take what’s mine.”

Pete lets out a hiss of anger and constricts his grip again, making it painful. Vegas doesn’t even
blink but Pete knows that he’s excited by his rage. He wants Pete to unleash his fury on him. Same
as that time with the chains Pete held around his neck, when he snapped his wrist; he knows on
some level that Vegas will like it.

“Are we equals in this?” Pete demands. “Or am I the toy you discard when you grow bored of it?”

It's a question Pete hasn't thought to ask before. But after the display in the booth out there he has
to know.

“You’re not a toy,” Vegas says simply. “You’re Pete, baby, mine.”

Pete tugs again. “And don’t I have the same claim? Or are you the only one free to seek your
pleasures in obedient strangers?”

Vegas’ eyes flash then, a warning, as he comprehends the full meaning of the words. There are
things he understands about this after all. The displeasure in his expression seems plain to Pete.

“So it did bother you,” is what he says instead.

Pete’s fury is rising, beyond safe levels and he knows he’s a second away from losing hold of it,
from a complete explosion of heat and frustration. He no longer has any sense of who has the
upper hand anymore, the tension between them so fraught, so intertwined.

“I’m not yours, Vegas,” he snaps. “What you’ve done to me doesn’t change that.”

There's no chance for his reply before there’s a ripple of fabric and suddenly Porsche is stepping
inside the booth where they’re both frozen in a drastically unfavourable position.

Not to mention it's literally the last person that Pete would hope to see right now.

Porsche immediately pulls up short at the sight of Vegas on his knees, locked in an intimate hold
with Pete who’s still got his hand buried at the base of Vegas’ hair, compelling him to look up at
him.

At first it had been about keeping Vegas’ face out of his crotch but Pete can acknowledge this
rapidly devolved into a struggle of will. Into the tantalising act of just holding Vegas still, of
having him under his power for once.

Porsche glances between both of their expressions, and the position, and his eyebrows lift
spectacularly.

“Nothing going on, huh,” he comments and even without any trace of it in his tone, Pete still feels
the accusation.

He’s wincing instead of a reply, knowing there’s no wriggling out of this now.

Porsche already had too many pieces of the puzzle to begin with, this was just the final fragment
large enough to give him a full picture. They’ll have to talk as soon as possible, since from the way
Porsche is looking at them now he’s well beyond having to guess what’s going on. Pete will need
to prove that he’s not a traitor, though from the expression on Porsche’s face that might not be what
Porsche needs explained right now.
“Do you mind,” Vegas says coldly in English, hardly turning towards Porsche, and Pete notices he
doesn’t actually try and pull out of his grip, hating the flutter of pleasure that unleashes. “Get the
fuck out.”

The chill in his voice is as surprising as the swift dismissal. After the honey he’s been spinning for
Porsche ever since he joined the bodyguards, the starkness of his changed attitude is enormously
glaring. The fact that Porsche isn’t shocked by his rudeness is just another tick confirming Vegas
must have truly burned that bridge during the whole Tawan thing.

Pete can admit to being startled by this. It was obvious that Vegas had Porsche on the hook for a
while now so he wonders why Vegas suddenly dismantled all the trust he’d gone to such trouble to
build.

Did he already get what he wanted from him?

It can’t have been sex. Kinn is too possessive for that to have happened and the two of them still
remain together afterward. Not to mention Porsche doesn’t seem the type to stray between cousins.
Even if at times Porsche may seem too trusting, there are always limits.

But what was it that Vegas wanted from Porsche anyway? Or was it all truly just to stir things up
and mess with Kinn?

What disturbs Pete the most, is the little thrill in his chest at Vegas’ clear removal of Porsche after
he was so noticeably panting after him for weeks on end. It’s such an unforgivable reaction that
Pete feels a little frightened of himself. Porsche is his friend, has done nothing to warrant such
disloyalty. Why should it matter to him that Vegas is no longer interested in Porsche?

Because he doesn’t need him anymore, Pete reminds himself. Not since he’s hooked you.

He shivers just as Porsche glares right back at Vegas before turning to meeting Pete’s gaze, the
emotion on his face plain and perplexed. When his attention drops back to Pete’s hand again, Pete
suddenly releases his hold on Vegas’ hair and steps away as if doing so will make the position
seem less suspect.

It does nothing to dissuade the questions in Porsche’s eyes.

“It’s fine,” Pete tells him, smiling blankly before he can stop himself. “Just- just give us a minute.”

Porsche hesitates for a split second longer. But then he goes, the curtain sliding back into place
behind him with a sense of horrible finality. Pete regains his composure, swallows and turns back
to stare down at Vegas on his knees.

“This won’t happen again,” he says, in a cold voice. “This whole thing is between you and me. Not
Kinn. Not Porsche. Don’t start bullshit just to get my attention.”

The look Vegas shoots at him is heated and sullen.

“I wouldn’t have to resort to this if you answered your damn phone. Why else do you think I sent
both of them back to you?”

Pete inhales sharply at the confirmation. He’d known immediately that was the reason for Vegas'
gifts but to hear it said aloud feels more shocking somehow. Because after everything, Vegas truly
does expect to just continue where they left off.

“Don’t bother to contact me at all because I’m not going to respond.”

What will be enough? What is it going to take to sever this connection between them for good?
How can Pete stop him? How can Pete stop himself?

“So, what? You’re going to go back to being the perfect little body guard? One that hides behinds
subordinate and lets weaker men dictate your life?”

Pete is too surprised to speak. Is that how Vegas truly sees him? As wasted potential?

“Do you honestly think you can go back to suppressing every desire, all that want left sitting
unfulfilled in your body?" Vegas pushes, eyes trailing all over the body in question like its own
kind of caress. "Will you really ignore your own needs like before?”

At the mention of sex, of his own pleasure, Pete’s hackles immediately go up. This is the last thing
he’d ever want to discuss with Vegas. To be challenged on his own restraint is almost laughable
and the expression on Pete’s face turns defiant.

“I can try.”

“Trust me, baby,” Vegas replies. “You won’t be able to forget what I’ve awoken in you that
easily.”

Pete takes a step away from him. “We’ll see.”

Vegas nods as if accepting the terms and then he’s rocking back to his feet, crowding against Pete,
slinging an arm around his waist and dragging their lower halves together.

Instantly, Pete throws a forearm up between their bodies, pressing against the line of Vegas’
collarbone, gripping at his shoulder whilst he digs his elbow into the opposite side of Vegas’ upper
chest for purchase. It will offer enough momentum to push Vegas back as well as adding pressure
against his wind pipe.

But despite that Vegas is still leaning in, the both of them panting before Pete is turning away,
Vegas’ mouth dragging against his cheek instead as he leans in closer to Pete’s ear.

“Guess we will, baby,” he murmurs, all heat and promise and then he’s grinding hard against Pete,
rocking their hips together as the friction sets Pete’s body on fire after so long anticipating the
touch.

He makes a noise he thinks, one that’s strangled and full of yearning, and undoubtedly a moan but
Vegas pulls away before Pete is expecting, the dark glint in his eyes hinting at anticipated triumph
when Pete automatically takes a step after him.

He stops following once his mind catches up, the flush of humiliation making his cheeks warm as
he crosses his arms and quickly reassembles the wall around him again.

Pete watches expressionlessly as Vegas smiles at him like he knows what Pete is doing before
slipping out around the curtain and disappearing back into the club. At the sudden emptiness of the
room Pete feels bereft all of a sudden, as if he’s never watched Vegas walk away from him before.

He has, but this is the first time it’s stung like this.

Pete barely has a second to consider why he’s feeling so shaky before Porsche is slipping back into
the space, looking determined.

“Alright the truth,” he says, without letting Pete make any excuses. “Or I swear I’ll take this
straight to Kinn.”

Pete flinches at the threat.

“That’s what this has all been about, isn’t it?” Porsche continues. “You’re trying to hide this from
everyone but mostly you’ve been trying to hide it from him.”

Now that the moment is here it’s so much worse than he thought it was. “Look I know that
seemed- strange,” Pete says casually, taking a step forward, as if he’s planning to talk his way out
of the booth. “But it’s really nothing to worr-“

Porsche merely raises a hand up to stop him, expression hard and unmoving.

“It’s him,” he says. “Isn’t it? Your admirer.”

Pete steps back in surprise, the back of his calves hitting the edge of the curved seat and then his
legs seem to come out from under him without permission. Porsche keeps approaching before he’s
reaching Pete’s side and sitting down on the couch too, body half turned towards him in a gesture
of trust and openness.

And Pete finds the lie he already had half-ready in his own defence has withered away at that
sincerity.

“You never went to visit your grandmother,” Porsche prompts again when Pete is silent for too
long, almost surprised at how seamlessly it all fell towards the truth.

He has no doubt that Porsche has been putting the pieces together all this time but somehow he
didn’t think it would come to this so quickly. Porsche has clearly had his suspicions ever since
Pete’s return. And Pete’s own abnormal behaviour probably hasn’t been helping the situation.

Pete sighs and focuses on his hands, which are steady. Steadier since Vegas dropped to his knees
for him, but Pete is trying his best not to think of that.

“Not at first. Technically I did go to her after- after I escaped,” Pete agrees, knowing he can’t say
any more than that.

He’s prepared to answer Porsche’s questions but it’s not a story that he can tell. He can’t just lay
out everything that’s transpired during these few weeks. If he gives every moment, every detail his
full attention then he’s not sure he’ll be able to look Porsche in the eye ever again.

There’s just too much that should remain unsaid.

Porsche reaches out and takes hold of his hands, bringing them gently into his lap as he pushes
back the sleeves, exposing the marks on his wrists.

“And these, these are from being cuffed, aren’t they?”

Pete hesitates. “Yes. I was chained up for most of it.”

“What did he do to you?”

It’s a more impossible question to answer than the last. Pete can only give the smallest
approximation of the truth and shrugs, keeping his expression still like water.

“Anything he wanted. I was completely at his mercy.”

Porsche frowns and accepts the horror of that truth. “Torture,” he decides, heavily.

The thought that that could have been all it was almost makes Pete want to laugh. And even now
he’s still tempted to simplify it. To let Porsche understand what he thinks, leaving only a shallow
kind of half truth. But seeing as Vegas is refusing to let go of this obsession, it’s probably important
that Porsche have the necessary facts.

And it’s true that Pete needs an outside perspective on this now that he’s no longer confident he
can control himself against Vegas.

His grandmother knows some things but maybe he needs someone at the main family house too,
someone that can know the truth without acting on it. Pete needs a confidant, and whilst he likes
Porsche, it’s impossible not to recognise the advantages first. That right now Porsche is the one
with the most power against Kinn, as his lover who Kinn wants to keep in his bed and therefore has
afforded more influence over.

And that Porsche's constant struggle to heel under the Theerapanyakul name, the stubborn
insistence to treat everyone the same despite class or money or status means he’ll listen with the
least amount of judgement. Pete can at least be truthful without worrying he’ll lose Porsche’s
respect.

“At first,” is what Pete finally manages to say. “But when I wouldn’t break like he wanted he- he-“
Pete has to take another breath before continuing. “He changed tactics.”

There’s a furrow in Porsche’s brow that tells Pete he doesn’t understand what he's trying to imply.
“What kind-?” he trails off immediately in disbelief. “Those hickeys. What was- ?”

“What do you think?” Pete counters, evasive on the details. “He had me tied to his bed, naked and-
and-”

Porsche inhales a sharp breath, the shock on his face plain. “He raped you?”

Something in Pete settles at that as if in relief that they’re now on the same page. “Among other
things.”

Although it still feels wrong to hear the words spoken out loud. Pete wants to cover his face all of a
sudden and Porsche almost looks like he can’t handle the rest. “There’s worse than that?”

It’s funny that Porsche can still be as naïve as he thinks Pete is some times. Of course there’s worse
than that.

Pete considers whether or not he should actually say it but the shame crawling through him is
enough to warrant the truth. He can’t keep carrying around this guilt forever, it’ll slowly eat at him
until there’s nothing left.

“It wasn’t about pain. He- he made it enjoyable,” Pete admits, flushing hard and struggling to keep
the influx of sense memory at bay. “Made me come every single time. He knew how to bring all
the pleasure out of my body. More than I’d ever-“

Pete breaks off then, swallows.

“I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of confirming what he was doing to me. I can be very
good at repressing my reactions, so every time he was- it was about trying to draw me further out.
What he wanted was reciprocation not domination.”
“And- that’s what happened. That’s what he doing to me.”

Porsche’s eyes are so wide that Pete almost wants to laugh again.

“But- but-“

“I know it means nothing,” Pete says, hearing the sharpness in his own voice. “It’s not consent no
matter how much I- it was all just another layer of manipulation. He wanted me confused about
wanting him. And angry.”

This is a surprise to Porsche for some reason. “He wanted you angry?”

“He liked the challenge,” Pete admits, before correcting himself. “He liked when I challenged him.
When I fought back. When I argued. I fascinate him.”

“And now?”

Pete smiles grimly. “Now he’s obsessed. He thought what he was doing was about control, about
making me submit to him but that’s not actually what he wants.”

Porsche looks like he wants to be sick. “Then what does he want?”

“Intimacy. He likes that I see right through his bullshit, that he can’t quite control me like he does
everybody else. He wants me more because of it. And I think- I think that’s what he trying to do
instead of just forcing and taking. Now he’s trying to seduce, to bring me to his side willingly.”

Porsche actually shudders at the words and Pete briefly wonders at the calmness in his own voice.
How can he say this with such detachment?

“How did you escape?” Porsche asks. “If he’s so obsessed then he wouldn’t have wanted to give
you up easily.”

Ah, that. “His father showed up at the safe house. Vegas had to leave for a few hours to do
something to appease his temper. It was the second time he'd ever the left the house. That’s when I
realised there was an opportunity to smash my way out.”

Porsche looks at him like he’s finally comprehending the depth of what Pete went through. They
sit in silence for a moment, the honesty as heavy as a lead weight.

“And what was that just now?”

Pete baulks at the question and turns to meet Porsche’s eyes.

“What I walked into a second ago, with him on his knees in front of you. Your expression-“

Pete feels the flush of heat warm his face. Porsche doesn’t need to describe his expression to him,
Pete is already fairly confident he knows what it was.

Pleasure. Pete had been savouring the moment much longer than necessity could have dictated.
The feel of Vega’s silky hair, tangled and held taut between his fingers. The look in Vegas’ eyes
when he lazily tilted his chin up and stared at him indulgently, letting him take what he wanted.

The power in that was intoxicating.

“I don’t know,” Pete admits. “My body is primed to react now. Whenever he enters the same
room, I just- “ he takes a deep breath. “He doesn’t need to do anything and I’m already
overwhelmed with wanting him.”

Porsche nods thoughtfully without any condemnation on his face and Pete can't hide his relief at
that. He'd been right to choose him.

But what will they do with the truth now? Pete’s aware that he’s just put Porsche into a precarious
situation. Will he even be able to withhold this information from Kinn?

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Porsche says gently. “You were restrained the entire time. A
prisoner. How could you have fought him off?”

Pete licks his lips and considers the words, turning them over in his mind until he can figure out the
wrongness of them.

“I’m not ashamed that he raped me,” he says. “I’m ashamed because I liked it. I liked all of it.
And- and- I wasn’t always completely restrained.”

Porsche raises an eyebrow.

“There were- opportunities,” Pete admits, wanting to cover his face again. “That I could have taken
at times to try and fight him. To stop him.”

Pete rubs a thumb idly over the bruising of his wrist as he looks up and meets Porsche’s eyes again.

“But I didn’t always take them.”

“You were gone for days,” Porsche insists. “The strain it would have put on your mind and your
body... It’s okay, Pete. You can forgive yourself for what you had to do to survive.”

Pete feels wetness at the corner of his eye and brushes it away distractedly. “But he wasn’t going
to kill me. I knew that after his father ordered him to and he didn’t follow through. When he took
me to his safe house instead, I knew I wasn’t in danger of dying, with him so fixated. It was just-
easier not to fight. More enjoyable to let him-“

He inhales sharply at the meaning of the words he doesn't say, feeling the unsteadiness in his chest
as he falls silent. Why is he like this? Why after everything does he still want Vegas just as badly?

Porsche is practically trembling with anger. “He’s a monster,” is what he says eventually.

And Pete can only feel more ashamed.

“No,” he says. “It’s me that’s fucked up. It’s all I can think about, the things he did to my body.
How effortlessly he wrought pleasure from it. I’ve been dreaming about it, almost every night
since. Dreaming about him. And I know first chance he gets he wants to do it all over again.”

“We’ll stop him,” Porsche promises, sounding firm and unwavering and true. “We’ll kill him.”

Pete smiles, too bright, and feels that everything within him is breaking. “That’s the thing, Porsche.
I don’t want to kill him. I want to let him.”

He sees the shock that Porsche doesn’t manage to conceal in time.

“There’s something wrong with me,” he admits quietly, to Porsche and to himself. “To still want
that after everything.”

“No,” Porsche argues. “You’re not wrong. So what if he made it feel good? So what, Pete. Is he
the only person capable? You’re not tied to him, you could do the same with literally anyone else.”

A smatter of shock runs through his body at the consequences of that. “You don’t understand. He’s
obsessed-“

“Who cares?” Porsche protests. “It’s your choice. It’s your choice, Pete.”

His choice isn't the problem here. It's the consequences of it.

“You don’t get it. Even if I could think about someone else, he’s so consumed by me it could end
very badly. If he found out he would kill them. Did you see that show out there? That was for me,
and all because I implied I belong to Kinn and he took him as a sexual rival and wanted to hurt me
because of it. Vegas is too unstable, too possessive, to allow something like that to happen without
reacting violently."

Pete knows all of this is true but he's also aware that Vegas isn't completely alone in this.

"In his mind I belong solely to him. And he’s too smart to miss my attraction, my desire for him.
He already knows it.”

Yes, he already knows it. Has known it for some time.

Is that why he’s been able to pursue Pete so diligently no matter how Pete tries to reject him?
Because he can sense the fire brimming under the surface?

Porsche considers all of this very carefully. “Are you afraid of him?”

“No,” Pete says, meaning it. He may be afraid of his own feelings, of what Vegas can bring out of
him, but he doesn’t actually fear Vegas. Not in the way that most people do, that Pete probably
should. “But I don’t want the death of an innocent person on my conscience.”

“Okay, okay. Then why don’t you try other things. With yourself.”

Pete stares at him in confusion. How can Porsche think that’s going to help? When every time he
even considers touching himself, thoughts and memories of Vegas are rushing to the forefront of
his mind. It’s time he started acknowledging Vegas isn’t the only one obsessed.

“Yourself and- toys.”

If there was any realisation more disturbing it was this, the fact that Porsche and Vegas seem to
share the very same idea, the same solution to address Pete’s sexual self-discipline. Pete flushes a
deeper red but doesn’t deny the possibility.

After today it seems pointless to continue to deny himself, with his body already working so
diligently against him.

“You mean the sex toys he sent?”

Porsche flinches back with a curse. “Aw fuck. Why?”

“He sent them because he thinks I’m repressed and wanted me to use them. That’s why he had so
much fun loosening me up, drawing it all out of my body. It’s the ultimate challenge for him-
fighting me for my pleasure.”

“Well, it’s no wonder you feel conflicted about the whole thing. Who would be able to hold out
against someone like that? Someone who takes pleasure from giving it to someone who doesn’t
want it?”

Pete frowns. “But I did want it. In the end.”

“Are you sure? Because It sounds like you’re saying your body wanted it, not you. If you remove
all the mind fuckery and the control and the violence, did you really want it in those
circumstances?”

Oh, Pete realises. “No. But I don’t think I would have ever thought about it otherwise.”

Porsche merely shrugs then. “Who can know? Maybe you might have in normal circumstances.”

Pete remembers that image he’d once had of himself on top of Vegas, a fantasy of what it could be
like if he’d been able to chase his own pleasure, if they’d sought mutual gratification together and
it hadn’t been used as a weapon against him first.

Suddenly he’s able to expand upon it as if he’d lived another life instead, one where he’d just been
a man sitting at a bar and Vegas had come up and sat down next to him. If they’d talked for a
while, nursing their drinks, and Vegas had come at him with his usual intensity, his open desire
flirting along Pete’s bare skin.

How he would have reacted then?

Would Pete have taken that leap and gone home with Vegas in that universe? And if he hadn’t
been brave enough, if he’d said no would Vegas have let him leave?

It takes a second for him to realise Porsche is talking to him.

“- and the doctor thinks you’re recovered enough to be back on duty?”

“What doctor?” Pete wonders, sighing. “I couldn’t go to the main family because I wouldn’t be
able to explain the injuries without it being reported to Chan or Kinn. The cuts on my chest are
mostly healed now anyway. I’ve been cleaning them regularly and my ribs aren’t too bad.”

Porsche’s mouth is twisting in a strange way before he openly winces at him.

“What I mean, is have you been tested since you got back?”

Pete has a very strong sense of foreboding, as his shoulders tense up. “Tested?” he repeats,
frowning through his misunderstanding. “For what?”

“STDs,” Porsche says bluntly. “Sexually transmitted diseases. Did he wear a condom every time?”

Pete jack-knifes to his feet as if he’s going to run straight out of the booth. All to escape the
embarrassment of this conversation but Porsche snatches at his upper forearm and catches him
before he can get very far.

“He had me tested,” Pete remembers, astonished that he could have ever forgotten about it. “Then
after that he stopped.”

“How do you know that?”

Pete’s chest feels tight, uncooperative all of a sudden.

“There was a doctor- he took samples.”

It’s not the right answer because he makes that face again. Porsche’s expression is honestly
worsening by the minute. Pete just wishes he would stop wincing like that because it’s not helping
whatsoever.

“And-“ Porsche starts, trying to be as gentle as he can as he stands up also. “You saw this doctor’s
credentials? There was proof he was who he said he was? You saw these results too?”

Pete feels all the blood drain from his face. After all of his clever rationality and scheming how
could he have been so stupid about this?

“Fuck,” he says bitterly. “I have no proof of any of it.”

Why didn’t he question it further at the time? Why didn’t he demand Vegas show him that text
he’d received? Or asked more questions about that doctor? Instead he’d taken it all at face value,
like an utter fool.

“Do you think he’d lie about that?”

Vegas could lie about anything if properly motivated. But what would be the motive here?
Unprotected sex would have put the both of them in equal danger regardless of whether the doctor
had been legitimate or not. But even so, Pete doesn’t dare to be certain.

How could he be?

“I have no idea.”

Porsche is gripping him tighter now, with greater urgency. “Then we have to go, Pete.”

He’s suggesting it like it’s some simple thing. Pete’s on assignment right now and short of faking a
critical illness they’re not going to be able to slip out of this club without drawing attention. And
suspicion.

“I hate this,” Pete groans. “Do you know how innocent I was before-”

He trails off and places a hand over his face, trying to assemble his thoughts into something
practical.

Porsche is right. He needs to find a doctor and get tested. Needs to make sure that Vegas hasn’t left
other kinds of permanent marks on him. He shouldn't have neglected his health like this but it was
so much easier not to focus on his own body. After Vegas had spent so much time turning it
against him.

“I didn’t know any of this stuff either,” Porsche counters soothingly, still firmly not letting Pete go
as if he thinks he’s now a flight risk. “Kinn talked me through a lot of it.”

“I-“ Pete glances back at the closed curtain and rubs at his face again. “Were you interested in all
this? Before Kinn?”

“Sort of I guess? I’d fingered myself once before just to try it.”

Pete almost asks him how it was before deciding that’s too much of an intrusive question.

“Well?” Porsche wonders after a beat. “Did he put on a condom? I’m guessing from your reaction
that he didn’t.”

“He wore it the first couple of times,” Pete admits. “Then- he stopped and never used them again.
He obviously liked it better raw-“

Porsche coughs and Pete’s words trail away in mortification.

“You need to get tested right now,” Porsche says firmly without telling Pete that he's been an idiot
about this. It seems obvious to him now. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“How am I supposed to do that?” he wonders in utter despair. “I can’t go to the doctors back at the
main house. They report to Mr Korn and I don’t want the family to know.”

Porsche looks at him incredulously. “Pete, they’re going to figure it out eventually. They’re
halfway there already.”

He inhales sharply and has to resist the urge to put his head between his knees. The expression on
his face must be pretty bad because Porsche seems to relent as he grips at him, squeezing in a
pacifying gesture.

“But okay. I can get you out of here. We’ll go right now.”

Pete nods, still squirming with embarrassment. “I could go to the bathroom- pretend to be sick-“

“I think it’s better we make the excuse about me,” Porsche offers wisely. “Kinn is scrutinising
everything you do at the moment.”

It’s a bitter thought but one that Pete is forced to accept. He swallows and nods and tries not to let
himself be swept completely out to sea. This is already so overwhelming.

“Okay," Porsche continues now that he's certain Pete is on board. "So I’ll tell Kinn I have to go and
buy some medicine for Porchay and that I’ll take you with me as backup.”

It seems- plausible. Not the worst lie Pete's ever had to tell before. So Pete nods, knowing he
should thank Porsche but finding the words too dangerous for him at the moment. If he allows any
more concessions the careful dam holding back all of his emotions is simply going to crack under
the pressure.

And Pete needs to hold it together if he’s to survive Vegas. A Vegas who knows that Pete is
currently at war with himself. Over his desire. Over his feelings. Over the tangle of confusion
Vegas knows how to incite in him.

“Can you really do this for me, Porsche? Without telling Kinn?”

Porsche’s mouth twists.

“He can’t know. Otherwise he might try and confront Vegas and that won’t end well. I don’t want
Kinn to think I’m a spy. Or that this will affect my job.”

“Won’t it?” Porsche asks. “What I walked into- didn’t seem like a typically professional encounter.
And I don’t think he’ll stop trying to get to you either. Vegas is relentless.”

Pete feels the heat on his cheeks at the implication. “It’s early days. We’re still establishing the
boundaries while we circle each other. He has to curb his desire because he knows I won’t go down
without a fight and he can’t go against his father.”

“Do you think he wants a fight?” Porsche asks. “Or to fuck?”

Pete hates that this is the exact question he asked himself when they were in the same room again
after his escape.

“I don’t know,” Pete says. But that’s not the answer he’s thinking.

Both. It’s both that Vegas wants. And Pete is no longer confident that he’s not going to give it to
him.

It all happens very quickly after that.

Pete switches his ear piece back on, finishes up his sweep and goes over to join Khom and Beam
by the main entrance. He knows he’s taken much too long on his rounds and Kinn catches his eye
immediately as he takes up his post. He's obviously dealt with the dealer in Pete's absense, because
the man is no longer visible.

Pete is so distracted about Vegas and Kinn that he doesn't even spare a thought to wonder if the
man is dead.

The expression on Kinn's face is unreadable but Pete knows a threat when he sees one.

Pete doesn’t look away and neither does Kinn. It’s Porsche who saves him, swooping in and
throwing his arms around Kinn’s neck with a wild grin, breaking their eye contact as Kinn
immediately redirects his focus to Porsche and starts talking to him.

With the moment broken, Pete wants to exhale a quiet sound of relief but he doesn’t react. Instead,
he glances watchfully around the room, assessing any new changes in his absence.

Another one of the booths has dragged a curtain across it but everything looks more or less the
same. It’s still the same frazzled waitress rushing across the floor, this time carrying a full bottle of
expensive vodka and a tray of empty shot glasses. He glances at the height of her heels and has a
moment to wonder why she’s the only person on the floor.

This is meant to be a high end establishment. It seems strange there would be only one person on
the waitstaff with so many customers demanding quality service.

“Where were you?” Khom asks, curiously, interrupting his thoughts.

Pete doesn’t stop watching the area but shrugs at the question. “Talking to Porsche.”

That, at least, is the truth.

A second later, Pete has his answer. He’s looking down the length of the bar where another woman
is serving the customers drinks when the door that must lead into the back room opens and a man
exits, hastily adjusting his uniform and evidently trying to pull himself back together.

His face is flushed, and he seems perturbed, almost annoyed and it takes a second too long for Pete
to understand why. The bartender says something to him, seems to gesture to a booth and the man
nods, scooping up the tray she’s left waiting for him and hurrying into the fray next.

When he half turns and Pete sees the back of his profile, he realises with a jolt it was the man on
his knees with Vegas’ cock in his mouth.

Ay, Vegas called him.

The blood rushes to Pete’s face and his fingers twitch for a second with the urge to go and
approach this man. But what would he say? Would he ask if Vegas forced him or if Ay was
compensated generously for his efforts? Would he want to know if Vegas came in his mouth after
all? If Ay spat or swallowed?

Disgusted with himself, Pete turns away from the man and tries to focus but it’s not coming to him
as easily as it used to.

Nothing seems to these days.

Half an hour later when they’re making their way to the exit, Porsche seems to decide it’s the
perfect time to make his move. Pete, unfortunately, would have done it a lot more differently and is
forced to relinquish his hold on the situation once he realises what's happening.

He might have warned Porsche off if he could catch his eye but Porsche isn’t looking at Pete, he’s
looking at Kinn.

“I need an hour,” he announces abruptly. “I have to go and buy some medicine for Porchay. He’s
not well.”

He’s smart about it Pete realises. Doesn’t even mention the need for backup, already knowing that
Kinn will do it for him. Kinn is looking at his phone too, reporting back to Mr Korn about the
success of the mission, not giving Porsche his full attention.

Which is another good sign. Maybe Porsche timed it perfectly after all.

“Take Satang then.”

Of course he would never have suggested Pete as an option. Porsche doesn't back down though.
“Pete can come with me.”

That makes Kinn look up. “Porsche-“

“I don’t trust Satang.”

Satang, takes this comment without even blinking and Pete’s mildly impressed by the
professionalism even as he feels a flash of unease. He doesn't want Porsche to make more enemies
in his efforts to help him.

There’s a pause when Kinn looks at him and Pete can almost read the response on his face. And
you trust Pete?

Porsche sees it too, and nods as if responding.

“Fine,” Kinn relents. “One hour. That’s it.”

“We’ll be quick,” Porsche promises, holding out his hand expectantly.

Because they took two separate cars, to accommodate all the bodyguards. Beam tosses him the
keys to the SUV. Kinn will take the Mercedes and the rest of the guards will go with him.

Porsche catches the keys, winking at Beam in one movement, before leaning over to kiss Kinn
once on the cheek. Then he's taking hold of Pete’s arm and swiftly dragging him out of the
building.
They don’t speak until they’re in the car and even then Pete doesn’t really have much to say. The
situation feels much too surreal.

“Where should we go? To the nearest hospital?”

Pete considers the practicalities of that question. He doesn’t have much experience with having to
sneak out to medical practices. “No hospital," he decides. "They’ll have protocols that make them
obligated to call in the police. I figure that would include sexual assault. Unless I make up a story
about what happened.”

“I don’t think you should lie to the doctor,” Porsche says carefully. “They can’t treat you properly
if you don’t give them all the relevant information.”

“Then a medical practice. Somewhere small. Easier to- threaten them that way.”

Porsche looks surprised for a second. “Threaten them?”

Does he not realise the situation they're in? “I’m not going to give them my real name. They’ll
probably guess that we’re mafia and doctors don’t generally enjoy dealing with us.”

Porsche’s expression turns grim but he doesn’t argue with him. He understands what needs to
happen here.

“Do you have a personal phone?” Pete asks. “One not given to you by the family?”

“Yeah,” Porsche says and a second later is rummaging through his jeans in order to hand it over.

Pete looks at it for a second, mistrusting. “And you’re certain the family hasn’t touched this? That
they’re not paying for it?”

“It’s a burner I bought about a month ago,” Porsche explains with obvious patience. “Kinn told me
to get it so I could keep in touch with Chay.”

That, if anything makes Pete more suspicious, but he’s willing to trust if Porsche is. At the
minimum, he certainly can’t use his company phone to search for nearby medical clinics. They
check over their search history at the end of every assignment.

Pete finds something nearby that accepts walk ins and should be enough for what they need and
when Porsche pulls out of the car park he directs him using maps. Pete glances behind himself
once to look for the Mercedes but Kinn and the rest are already gone.

It doesn't seem like they’re being followed.

He’s trying his best not to view that as a bad sign.

When they step into the clinic only about six of the seats are full which Pete takes as an extremely
good omen.

He walks over to the receptionist and requests a new patient form to fill out. She tells him there’s a
thirty minute wait and Pete merely smiles back, buttoning up his jacket so no one will spot his gun
when he takes the form and a pen from her and returns towards the waiting area.
Porsche is hovering at his back practically the whole time, looking desperately like he wants to fill
the silence but is trying his best to be considerate.

Pete ignores him and fills out basic details, writing down a fake name that he’s used before and
inventing a new home address. He puts down a fake contact number, a made up emergency contact
and a fake birth date.

The only truthful things he writes down are the year he was born and the questions about his health
information.

Porsche is watching him fill out the form over his shoulder and even though Pete sat as far away
from everyone else as physically possible, Porsche still lowers his voice when he starts to talk.

“Is any of that true?”

Pete shrugs. “Some of it.”

They wait until three of the patients have gotten up and disappeared into the long hallway and then
Pete returns to the desk to hand back the form.

When she asks for proof of identification suddenly Porsche is there sliding about 1500 baht over
the counter with a bright smile and a wink.

The woman is flustered for a second, but she’s young enough not to be bothered by the
evasiveness. Merely shrugs and takes the money even though Pete wouldn't say it's much of a
bribe. Pete doesn’t comment though as they return back to their seats to wait.

Eventually, the name he gave is called and Porsche actually snorts out a laugh as they both get up
to walk down the hallway together where a man who introduces himself as Doctor Kunakorn is
waiting for them.

He looks surprised to see the two of them but doesn’t question it when he gestures into the room.

Pete walks in first, tensed, as he quickly takes in the layout first. There’s a desk and two chairs for
the patients to sit in as well as an exam table. Pete steps into the corner closest to the open doorway
and pointedly doesn’t take a seat.

Porsche strides straight past him as if there’s no issue whatsoever and sits down in one of the
patient chairs, looking much more at ease then Pete feels. Doctor Kunakorn glances between the
two of them before closing the door and going to sit at his desk as well.

“What can I do for you today Mr Saetang.”

He says this to Porsche, naturally assuming that he’s the one who is meant to be the patient today.
Pete unbuttons his jacket and steps forward with a sigh.

“Before we start, I want you to guarantee no police involvement.”

Doctor Kunakorn couldn’t be more surprised. “No police?”

“The reason I’m in here is because I was attacked by a powerful man in the mafia. Involving the
police will only endanger me.”

The suspicion on Doctor Kunakorn face is evident. Already Pete can tell this is not going well. The
temptation to turn on his heel and walk straight out through that closed door is hard to resist.
“We’ll pay you to keep your mouth shut,” Porsche interjects. “Just know if you tell anyone else
what was discussed here today. Well. We have powerful friends as well.”

Pete doesn’t bother stretching for his blazer to casually fall away and show off his piece. He pulls
the fabric back and displays it openly directly to the Doctor.

This is no time for subtlety.

“Okay,” Doctor Kunakorn says after a breath when he stares blankly at Pete's gun. “Okay. I agree
to your terms. What are you here for? Gunshot wounds? What’s the extent of your injuries?”

Pete considers the doctor for a moment before reminding himself that this is necessary. Porsche is
right, he should have thought of this when he first escaped. Not just because of his minor injuries.
But because of what else happened between them.

On some level, Pete is willing to admit to himself that he didn’t want to think about it more than he
had to.

“I was held captive by a man for a week while he repeatedly beat and raped me. I need whatever
check-ups and tests follow that.”

Doctor Kunakorn gawks at him for a flat second before he manages to regain his composure. “Of-
of course. We’ll do a blood work and an STD screening. Do you have any physical injuries?”

Pete tries to reassess himself again. He hasn't properly checked in with his body in a while. “Few
bruises. A broken rib maybe two. And some minor cuts on my chest which are mostly healed.”

“When did you escape your attacker? When was the last sexual assault?”

That’s a difficult question because it's another part of the things Pete firmly does not think about.
He has to take a moment to go back in his memories. It all blurred together so quickly.

“Escape was four days ago. The last- assault was the day before that.”

The day he nearly begged Vegas to fuck him. Pete won’t forget that so easily.

Doctor Kunakorn’s bushy eyebrows nearly disappear into his hairline again. “Can I ask why it took
so long for you to seek medical care?”

“I was in hiding for a couple of days,” Pete explains. “And I didn’t realise I had to worry about
STDs on top of everything else. I’ve only ever been with women before.”

Suddenly Doctor Kunakorn’s demeanour changes, becomes business like. “Well the same rules
apply no matter what is taking pace between whichever genders and genitalia. Those in the
penetrative role should wear condoms to prevent the spread of disease.”

Pete feels a flush of anger. “I’ll remember to tell him that the next time he’s raping me.”

Porsche’s hand reaches out and catches at Pete’s arm again, squeezing in silent comfort whilst
Doctor Kunakorn’s face seems to drain of all colour.

“My apologies, I misspoke.”

This is going exactly how he thought it would. Pete’s mouth presses into a thin line and he reminds
himself again that this is necessary. This is necessary. He's been so stupid about his own body.
“Let’s just get this over with.”

The quicker they do this the quicker Pete can leave. And he very desperately wants to leave. He’s
never liked hospitals especially, and being in them for too long always makes him antsy.

“Before we begin I will need a brief account of the assault that took place then I’ll examine you,
document any injuries and perform the necessary procedures to collect evidence if you wish to
consent to a collection kit.”

Pete is immediately resistant to the idea. “I don’t need to document or collect evidence. I have no
intention of reporting him. I just need the screening test.”

Doctor Kunakorn seems to take it all in stride. “Very well but I still need more information about
the nature of the sexual attacks so I know what kind of tests to conduct. Can you clarify this?”

Pete sighs and doesn’t glance in Porsche’s direction. “It was anal only. Him penetrating. Me-”

Well at least Pete doesn’t think he needs to paint a picture.

Doctor Kunakorn nods and leans forward when Pete finally sits down next to Porsche.

“Between one to ten how would you describe your pain level? Have you noticed any blood in your
stool? Can you feel if there was any tearing?”

Pete blinks in surprise at the question. “Oh. No pain. No blood. No tearing.”

He can see the flicker of surprise on Doctor Kunakorn’s face before he manages to properly
conceal it. “Was there prep beforehand?”

What? Pete glances over at Porsche in confusion.

“He means were you stretched properly first before he put his cock in? Were there fingers first?
Toys? Did he use lube?”

“Yes,” Pete says, flushing. “He’d spend so much time with- yes.”

It horrifies him a little to consider the possibility of tearing. Yes, at the time he had prepared
himself for the worst but to hear it so explicitly laid out for him, Pete can’t help but feel relief that
things never escalated to such a degree between them.

“Okay so we’ll be taking a blood and urine sample today as well as an anal and cheek swab. Even
though you’ve stated this is not an area of concern, a cheek swab is how we can test for STIs like
chlamydia or herpes.”

“He sucked me off,” Pete admits. “A lot. Is that another area of concern?”

“Yes, it will be covered in the screening and I will also do a physical examination of your genitals
and anus for any signs of irritation, discharge, sores or rashes.”

Pete nods, uncomfortable with the realities of the human body for a second before being resigned
to it.

“Thank you. Now can you please remove your clothing? You can leave the underwear on for now
if you’d prefer. I’ll start with a full body inspection of your existing injuries before we get to the
samples.”
Pete glances over at Porsche. “Do you want to stay?”

Porsche is staring at the doctor with a hard expression and Pete knows he’s thinking of the gun
tucked into the back of his jeans. “I’ll stay.”

Resolved, Pete removes the blazer first, then the holster strapped over his arm. He double checks
the safety is on the gun secured inside before placing it onto his vacated seat.

Then Pete tugs his dress shirt out of his pants and starts to unbutton it, exposing his marred chest
beneath the fabric as he toes out of his black shoes. He drags the first sleeve off his wrist, wincing
a little as it rubs against the skin and then he’s more gentle when he pulls his right hand through
the other sleeve. He folds the shirt neatly and puts it back on the chair with the blazer and his gun.

He goes for the zip of his pants next and removes them, carefully folding them on top of the rest
too so they won’t be wrinkled when he leaves later.

By the time he places everything on the chair, the doctor has approached him.

“Can you lift your arms up please?” he asks, gesturing at his chest.

Pete nods and does as instructed, slowly, so as not to strain on his ribs, and tries not to notice that
the man smells of cigarettes. He’s dying for another smoke just to get rid of some of the jittery
feeling in his legs.

At least, he doesn’t smoke Marlboro, Pete doesn’t want to be reminded of Vegas right now any
more than he has to.

“Hmm,” Doctor Kunakorn says inspecting his chest closely. “These are almost completely healed.
Not infected. Have you been airing them out?”

“Every night,” Pete says. “I haven’t had them bandaged for a few days now.”

“Good, good,” Doctor Kunakorn says still looking at his body closely. “What was the skin cut
open with? These don’t look like regular knife wounds.”

“A whip. A belt.”

Porsche winces again and Pete does his best to stop looking at him and focus on the doctor.

“Ah I see. And which part of your ribcage was hurting the most?”

Pete gestures without looking at his left side. “Here. One rib definitely broken, not sure about the
two beneath.”

It's pretty self explanatory to Pete who has had his fair share of ribs broken in the past. His father
always knew where to hit for maximum damage and in the kind of places that can stay well hidden.

“Okay, I’m going to feel along the area and then apply some pressure,” Doctor Kunakorn warns
before he’s grabbing a pair of medical gloves from a nearby box on his desk and slipping them on
with surprising speed.

Pete nods and remains expressionless when the Doctor returns and touches his left side with the
pads of his fingers. The pressure hurts of course because the rib is broken and he’s probably badly
bruised the rest. But Pete doesn't show any reaction to it.

“Yes, you’re right,” Doctor Kunakorn agrees after he’s finished. “L5 definitely could be fractured.
I’d say some minor bruising on the L6 and 7 but I’d like an x-ray to be sure.”

“Fine,” Pete agrees, because that’s going to get him out of here faster.

He’s trying not to grit his teeth too much. Trying not to inhale too deeply to catch the smell of
those cigarettes again.

“You can put your arms down,” Doctor Kunakorn says, eyes moving at the last second as he seems
to lock on to Pete’s wrists. “Hold on. Give me your hands please.”

Pete puts them into the man's outstretched palm and lets his mind drift while the Doctor Kunakorn
inspects the damage without directly touching the wounds. They seem to sting a lot more than the
cuts on his chest. But that’s probably because it’s easier to irritate them with his clothing when the
wounds are still so fresh.

“Hmm, these however, aren’t looking too good.”

Pete glances down as Doctor Kunakorn lifts and turns his hands in order to inspect the red marks
on his wrists which have been rubbed raw more than once in the cuffs. They’ve scabbed and some
of the wounds have peeled since Pete last looked at them.

And he can’t look at them often because they always remind him of Vegas. Doctor Kunakorn
glances at the similar situation with his other wrist, asking him to turn them so he can inspect the
damage better and only tuts at him once he’s finished.

“You’ll need some antibiotic cream for these ones, they’re showing the early signs of infection.
And you won’t be able to wear restrictive clothing for a while.”

Doctor Kunakorn glances over at his uniform. “Doesn’t the suit rubs against the wounds?”

Pete stares him down, unblinking. “Yes.”

For a moment Doctor Kunakorn is watching his blank expression very carefully. “You seem to
have a high pain tolerance.”

He’s not the first person to notice that. Pete only shrugs. “Didn’t do me any favours.”

“The wounds on your chest shouldn’t scar too badly however which is good. Did you apply
something to help with the healing?”

Pete squints for a second, sifting through vague memories. “He rubbed cream on them at some
point.”

“And what about the wrists?”

Pete shakes his head. “I was always in the cuffs then. I think it got worse after I broke out of the
first ones. Yes, the second pair were tighter, more constricting. So it rubbed against the skin.”

“Did you ever apply anything to them once the handcuffs were removed?”

“Once, I think,” Pete admits, recalling the cream he'd briefly applied at his grandmother's urging.
“I've been hiding them mostly. And I don’t really like to look at them.”

Doctor Kunakorn seems like he wants to lecture him again but manages to resist the second time
around. “That could be the cause of the infection. They need to breathe too.”
Pete doesn’t defend himself because it's unnecessary. He’s alive. He survived and escaped. That’s
all that matters. The rest is just minor irritation. His body can handle greater punishments than this.

Doctor Kunakorn nods and glances down at the form on his desk which Pete filled out earlier and
that the receptionist must have given him. He picks it up and turns to display it at Pete.

“Is any of this true?”

Pete shrugs, unblinking. “The general stuff. Height, weight, age-“

“Weight?” Doctor Kunkorn repeats glancing down at the page and then looking at Pete again.
“This number you put down- was that your average weight?”

Pete takes a second to read the page and then realises what he’s done.

“Oh right.”

“Do you think this is still the same? I would say you’ve lost several kilos. Can you step onto the
scale over here?” Doctor Kunakorn asks, pointing out the scales tucked into the corner of the room.

Pete does as he’s told and isn’t surprised to see that Doctor Kunakorn is right.

He's looking down at Pete's socks and makes a confirming noise at the result before returning to
the form and crossing out Pete’s previous weight with his own pen, writing down the new
measurement. “We can assume that’s from malnourishment. I doubt you were being fed regularly
in those conditions.”

“No. Mostly not.”

Pete doesn’t admit that he was putting weight back on, that he has put some weight back on since
Vegas started cooking for him. It’s not an important detail.

“Alright I’ll give you a B12 shot while you’re here for your immune system but you’re going to
have to be very careful with your diet in the next week or so. Only eat the sort of healthy
nourishing foods you’d have after the flu or a stomach bug so you can get your energy back.”

Pete nods as the doctor continues looking him over.

“You’ve got a lot of fresh bruising here,” he notes, gesturing at Pete’s hips. “Did you sustain a
couple of falls too?”

Pete shakes his head and stares straight ahead. “It’s where he usually put his hands.”

“Ah,” Doctor Kunakorn says eloquently. “I can give you some creams to help with the bruising.
But it looks like the rest of the marks on your chest and back are already fading.”

“The bruises are older. He gave up on the beatings,” Pete explains. “Once he started fucking me. I
don’t need the cream- it’ll fade.”

“Alright,” Doctor Kunakorn says. “Are you ready for me to inspect your genitals and take the
swabs?”

Doctor Kunakorn removes the gloves he was wearing and quickly replaces them with fresh ones as
he sits down in his own chair and swivels toward Pete. But he hesitates before removing his
underwear, glancing over at Porsche again.
When he realises that Porsche is instead staring at the posters above Doctor Kunakorn’s desk as if
they’re the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen, Pete realises he’s trying to protect his modesty.
He feels another wave of gratitude toward Porsche when he bends down and removes his
underwear, adding them to the pile on his chair.

Doctor Kunakorn has zero reaction to seeing him naked and even so Pete still has to focus on
breathing normally while the doctor inspects his cock.

“Can you lift your penis please?”

Pete obeys, then with his balls so the doctor can fully inspect the area too.

"These are electrical burns," Doctor Kunakorn says faintly with a delayed kind of surprise as he's
looking at Pete's testicles. "How on earth-?"

"Car battery cables," Pete explains watching out of the corner of his eyes as Porsche winces and
Doctor Kunakorn swears quietly under his breath.

"I'll give you another antibiotic cream for those."

After that the doctor is quick and doesn’t waste any time lingering anywhere he shouldn’t.

“Everything else looks good. I’m not seeing any visual signs that would cause any alarm but of
course the tests will tell us more definitively.”

That's okay- probably. Pete doesn’t want to think about this anymore but the Doctor isn’t really
giving him much choice.

“Alright I’m going to insert this here for the anal swab.” Doctor Kunakorn lifts up a small stick
about the size of a cotton swab.

“Can you turn around, please?”

Pete nods and obeys, feeling exposed and refusing to glance down at Porsche as he tries to steel
himself.

“This should be quick and painless but let me know immediately if you experience any
discomfort.”

It happens fairly quickly and systematically. There’s nothing inherently sexual about it for which
Pete is grateful. It’s all very- clinical.

“Everything looks fine. No tearing as you said. Very good under the circumstances.”

Pete refuses to respond to that either.

The doctor seals the sample away into a clear plastic bag and instructs Pete to put his underwear
back on. When he’s finished, Porsche finally turns to look at him just as the doctor instructs Pete to
sit down on the bed for a moment. A second later he returns with cream which he applies to Pete’s
wrists before carefully wrapping them up in fresh bandages.

He then sets another slim travel size tube of cream on top of Pete's clothes with a pointed look and
no further explanation. That cream Pete will prefer to apply himself.

Then Doctor Kunakorn takes a blood sample, bandaging up his forearm before he gives Pete the
B12 injection in his upper arm too.
He then puts a separate type of cream over the wounds on Pete’s chest which sting a little before
the doctor wraps them up as well.

“You can put your clothes back on, though I’d recommend rolling your sleeves up on the shirt so
they’re not chaffing on those wrists. And take the bandages back off again as soon as you can
change clothes.”

Pete delicately wriggles back into his pants before throwing the shirt over his shoulders and
awkwardly fitting his wrists through the sleeves. Even after so many days away from the safe
house he’s still moving stiffly when he goes back to the seat to step into his shoes again. He
pockets the small tube of antibiotic cream for his balls then focuses on his wrists again. Porsche
helpfully rolls up the fabric on his right arm as Pete rolls up the left sleeve and then all that remains
is to button up the shirt and tuck it back into his pants.

The gun and holster, which are in Porsche’s lap- Porsche mustn't have liked them in such reaching
distance of Doctor Kunakorn- remain there while the doctor beckons Pete back over for the cheek
swab. Once that’s finished he hands Pete a small container.

“You know what to do with this one,” Doctor Kunakorn says. “Bathroom is the next door on the
right. Then we’ll do the X-ray.”

So Pete leaves the room to go piss in a cup and by the time he’s returned, Doctor Kunakorn has all
the samples lined up and has Pete confirm his name (which is made up) and date of birth (which is
only correct in the birth year) match the labels attached to them.

Then the doctor leads him to a separate room down the hall for the X-Ray. There’s a separate
nurse who stands behind the protective wall with the doctor whilst the X-Rays of his chest are
taking place but she ignores Pete and Pete finds it very easy to ignore her.

It’s all relatively painless, if a bit monotonous. But the X-Ray confirms that the one rib is broken
and the other two are just badly bruised.

When they return to the office, Porsche is fiddling with the straps of the gun holster like he’s
considering taking it out and using it.

Doctor Kunakorn loses some of his steam at that and only seems to relax when Pete collects the
gun back from Porsche and slides his arms through the straps again, picking up his blazer from the
chair.

“You should have your results in a week or so,” Doctor Kunakorn says. “Can you give me a real
number to call so we can discuss them?”

Pete and Porsche exchange glances but the Doctor has clearly realised that the details Pete gave at
the front desk are entirely false. He’d be an idiot not to.

At the question Pete still hesitates to answer because he only has his work phone which is tracked
and the burner phone Vegas gave him that he doesn’t know the number for. He glances over at
Porsche for help, and then Porsche is listing out what must be the mobile number for his own
burner phone, Doctor Kunakorn writing it down on a pad of paper, thankfully, instead of putting it
into the system.

“Is this your number?” Doctor Kunakorn asks Porsche when he's finished. “I won’t be able to
discuss any of the results with you.”

“It’s mine,” he admits. “But we live together so when you call I can just give it to Pe- Mr Adithep
Saetang here.”

Pete snorts, more out of surprise that Porsche remembered the fake name rather than anything else.

Doctor Kunakorn redirects his attention back to Pete. “Can I ask what sort of work you do?”

At the question Pete goes tense all over. He can’t answer that. Why would Doctor Kunakorn even
want to know?

“I don’t need specifics just how labour intensive is it? And how much stress does it put on you and
your body?”

He relaxes, but only by a small margin. “There’s a lot of standing around,” he admits. “But I need
to be in top shape, ready for anything at a moment’s notice. It can be stressful. Sometimes life-
threatening.”

He won’t say more than that. Safer not to. Doctor Kunakorn nods in appreciation that Pete gave
him any kind of answer beyond stony silence.

“I want you to take a month off.”

“A month?”

Is this man insane? What justification would Pete use to take more time off after so much suspicion
already surrounds him?

“My normal recommendation for your level of injury would be two months but I know you won’t
obey that. So one month to heal, rest and regain your strength. If you can request a transfer to
something with lighter duties during this period I would suggest you do so.”

Pete is just about ready to lunge at the doctor before Porsche speaks up.

“We’ll do what we can.”

“See that you do.” Doctor Kunakorn turns to stare at Pete directly. “I’ll need to see you again for
another check-up in two weeks.”

Pete wants to grind his teeth together but Porsche nods on his behalf.

“I’d also like to request you reconsider reporting your ordeal to the police. It’s very possible your
attacker has done this before and is likely to do so again. Others may have also reported him.”

“I doubt it,” Pete replies coldly. “He usually kills them when he’s done.”

The alarm on Doctor Kunakorn’s face is plain. “I’d also recommend talking to a professional about
what you went through. I have several therapists on speed dial. All of them very discreet.”

“No,” Pete says, finally smiling and it’s as false as he can make it. “Thank you.”

He knows the smile probably alarms the Doctor the most. Porsche stands up whilst Pete struggles
back into his blazer and then he’s getting up too and moving towards the door without waiting for
Porsche.

Doctor Kunakorn passes Porsche a card out of the corner of his eye but Pete pretends not to notice
when Porsche accepts it and follows. Pete moves quickly and efficiently down the hall and he pays
the receptionist in cash for the visit. She accepts the money without any comment.
It’s only when he’s outside, blinking and adjusting to the fading sunlight again, that he turns
around to look at Porsche.

“What was it he gave you?” he asks, as they walk back to where the SUV is parked.

“Therapist’s business card.”

Pete spins and holds out his hand. “Give it to me.”

There’s cars speeding past on the road beside them and the sound of one honking angrily in the
distance but Porsche ignores all of this in order to stare at Pete’s expression. He doesn’t give him
the card.

“I’ll hold on to it for you.”

Pete sighs and walks towards the SUV, climbing into the passenger seat when Porsche unlocks it.
He waits until Porsche has closed the door and is getting comfortable in the driver’s seat before
looking out the window.

“Well at least that’s over and done with,” Porsche says carefully to the weighted silence.

Pete tries not to be pessimistic but he’s in a very bad mood.

“Until I have to come back in two weeks.”

Porsche reaches out distractedly without looking at him and pats at his arm. “Don’t worry we’ll
figure something out.”

He doesn’t answer because he’s finding that very hard to believe right now. Porsche is busy
starting up the engine so he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Good news about your injuries though,” he continues, stubbornly positive. “And- everything else.
That doctor was surprised too. That there wasn’t more damage- uh internally- considering what
you told him.”

“I’m not,” is what Pete says back. “Vegas doesn’t want broken toys. Where’s the fun in that?”

Porsche shudders a little and sits there in silence, seemingly forgetting he’s in charge of their
vehicle. Pete glances behind them and sits up a little straighter, suddenly prompted into action.

“Let’s get back,” he says. “I’m pretty sure someone’s following us.”

Porsche turns around to look immediately and with absolutely no subtlety. “Where?” he demands,
squinting hard as if they will magically pop up in front of him.

“The guy on the motorcycle parked two cars back. Think he’s one of the minor family’s guys.”

“Do you think it’s-“

“Yeah,” Pete breathes. “Vegas is watching me very closely.”

He wonders what Vegas will think when his man reports seeing them at a clinic together. Pete
knows it’s one of the men on Vegas’ rotation, not Mr Korn's or Mr Kan’s because he recognises
him from when he’d been in the compound. Pete knows all of their faces but he’d only learned a
handful of their names. Gear, Tiw and Oat. The rest are a mystery to him.
Like the man perched on that motorbike watching them.

Pete decides not to think about it anymore, he’ll have to wait and see what happens.

At his urging, Porsche pulls quickly out into traffic and then they’re heading north, away from the
main family home. “I want to drop by my house first,” Porsche says before Pete can ask. “Check in
on Porchay before we go back.”

“Sure,” Pete agrees because after everything Porsche has done for him he very well can’t say
anything else.

Especially not his already existing doubts about Kinn truly believing Porsche’s lie or pointing out
that the longer they take to return to the main family house, the longer Kinn has to become even
more distrustful.

Surely Porsche has taken all of these things into consideration. They should probably stop and buy
some medication too, to add weight to Porsche’s story but Pete wants to get this done as soon as
possible. The less detours the better. They’ll have to just take the risk. Pete wants to remain hopeful
about the situation but the uneasy feeling doesn’t leave him, not even when Porsche drives through
the family gates and parks in the driveway.

Already Pete is scanning the area automatically when they climb out of the SUV so that’s why
when Porsche bounds towards the front door, he catches the taillights of a familiar car on the street
before they roll past.

Pete’s stomach drops as he spins and darts towards the house, already with some idea of what he’s
about to find there. It’s a common thing the bodyguards do for the Theerapanyakuls when they
only expect to be in a place for a short period of time.

It’s an alternative to parking and signalling their position to those that could be enemies, instead
they have them circle the block until Kinn or whichever Theerapanyakul calls them back.

But it’s not protocol to leave Kinn completely unguarded, especially not after the brush with death
he had months ago which brought Porsche into his life. Pete’s eyes are scanning the area, trying to
think of where he’d be stationed if he had to be there on duty but Kinn still wanted privacy-

He spots Satang tucked up against the side of the house wall, in a perfect position to watch the
driveway, the rest of the open garden and the side wall which leads to the back yard.

And Satang is standing there looking right back at him.

Pete nods, once, keeping his expression bland and unconcerned as he rushes in through the sliding
door that Porsche left wide open.

“Hey Porsche,” he says, keeping his voice steady because he knows they have an audience now.
“Is your brother-?“

He trails off once he enters the living room and spots Porsche’s brother, Porchay sitting on the
couch, with his hands balled up into fists on his thighs, looking very stiff and upright for someone
who should be sitting comfortably in his own house.

But the source of his discomfort quickly reveals itself in the companion sitting right next to him.

Kinn’s expression is cold when he shifts from Porsche to Pete.

“The three of us should talk,” is what he says, no time wasted on greetings.

It’s not a request.

Pete doesn’t let himself feel cornered because he should have known better.

He should have said something to Porsche that it all seemed too easy. A story bought without
questions when Kinn is anything but. It hits him all at once, the absolute danger of the moment and
how much trust he’s put in the man standing in front of him.

Porsche, who now knows everything, and is at risk of being at odds with his partner if he doesn’t
tell the truth.

This was a terrible mistake. One of many Pete has made in succession today. He can’t believe he
was stupid enough to put anyone, let alone Porsche, the boyfriend of his boss, in this position. It’s
such a miscalculation its almost laughable.

Pete is literally coming apart at the seams now. What other foolish mistakes are left for him to
make?

He can feel the dread rising in his body, the sweat on his palms even as he leaves his expression
open and relaxed as if he’s not a second away from diving through the nearest window and running
for cover as fast as he can. But what’s the point of that really? When he can never outrun the truth?

Pete doesn’t respond because he doesn’t need to, Porsche bristles immediately on his own and his
anger seems to take up the whole room.

“Did you- follow us?” Porsche loudly demands, taking a step towards Kinn. “How the hell did you
get in here?”

Kinn’s expression doesn’t shift at the rudeness. If he’s even remotely surprised by Porsche’s anger
he doesn’t bother to show it.

“You brother let me in.”

Probably not willingly though. Both Pete and Porsche seem to turn their attention to the brother in
question and Porchay smiles weakly at them both.

“Then why does he look so uncomfortable?” Porsche demands, gesturing at Porchay’s awkward
demeanour. “I bet you bullied him into it.”

If Pete had to wager a guess, Kinn most likely used his charisma, the sheer intimidation of his
presence to get Porchay to let him inside. There aren’t many who’d say no to a Theerapanyakul.
That’s probably why Porsche was so appealing to Kinn in the first place.

And maybe that’s why you’re so appealing to Vegas, a voice whispers in his mind.

Pete’s expression wavers for a second before he regains control of himself again.

“Porsche, he really-“ Porchay starts to say, scratching uncomfortably at his face and looking like
he wants to smooth out the tension in the room before it spikes any further.

“Don’t defend him,” Porsche barks, cutting his brother off. “I bet he played upon your good
manners too.”

For a second Kinn is actually speechless as Porchay jumps up, frantically waving his hands out in
front of him. “No, no. It’s not like that.”

Porsche slings and arm around his shoulders and physically drags him away from Kinn like he’s
pulling his brother out of a street full of incoming traffic.

“Don’t worry about it, Chay. Just go upstairs for a bit, okay? And we’ll talk after.”

Porchay glances around at them all. “I let him in because he’s your boyfriend and you texted to say
you’d be here soon-“

“It’s okay, really,” Porsche promises, softer now and Pete feels like absolute shit for dragging him
and his little brother into this. “Don’t even worry about it.”

Porchay nods, glancing anxiously around at the rest of the group before he leaves the room.

What Pete wants to do first is maybe suggest they all calm down a little, but he doesn’t dare say
something like that in front of Kinn and he’s not confident Porsche would listen to him either.

The problem with being in the room with the both of them, is that the masks Pete wears around
Porsche, the teasing, silly, light-hearted friend and the other around Kinn, the serious, respectful,
obedient bodyguard, are almost fundamentally opposed.

Pete is struck by the sudden realisation that he can’t carry both of them at once. But how can he
choose without sacrificing the objective of both? Because at the core of it, Pete has always known
what he was doing acting in such different ways, wearing so many camouflages.

In the end it has always been about shielding himself. And it’s probably why Vegas wants to
expose him so badly.

Kinn is silent until they hear Porchay’s light tread on the staircase, and it’s absolutely certain that
he’s out of earshot. Pete wouldn't put it past Porchay to linger on the staircase, trying to listen to the
incoming argument. He cares deeply about his brother and Porsche is visibly upset right now.

“Well?” Kinn says to the both of them. “Are you going to explain what you were doing that was so
important you needed to lie about it? And why of all people, it had to involve Pete?”

Pete can’t speak. The tone in how Kinn delivers his accusation says enough. Not to mention how
he doesn’t even look over at Pete as he says it.

He recognises instantly what it means. To be so deliberately dismissed. The tides have truly turned
against him now. Vegas had been right to warn him of what was coming after all.

Porsche’s mouth falls open but Kinn continues as if the reaction doesn't matter to him. “I believe I
was perfectly clear on this situation. Until I can be confident of-“

“You certainly said a lot of things that I never agreed to,” Porsche fires back, folding his arms and
making a conscious effort not to raise his voice. He doesn’t want his little brother to overhear them.
“Don’t mistake me as some henchman you can order around, Kinn.”

“Where. Were. You.”

He's not playing around here. Pete knows how serious this is even if Porsche lets out an angry
sound next.

“We snuck off for a quick fuck,” he snaps in such an openly crass way that makes Pete cringe. “Is
that what you want to hear?”

Finally, Kinn seems to realise he's not going to get anything from Porsche and so he turns to look at
Pete instead.

Pete wouldn’t describe his expression as friendly. Why the hell did Porsche just say that? Has he
not already seen how possessive Kinn can be?

“If it’s truly so innocent what you were doing, then why can you tell me?”

The pressure in the room is almost overwhelming but Pete isn't going to waver and he's glad to see
Porsche won't either.

“Because it’s not mine to tell!”

Damn. Pete stands frozen at the implication as Porsche winces openly at his impulsive words. “Ah
fuck,” he mutters, shooting a stricken look at Pete for a second. “Forget that.”

Pete winces too but holds to his silence.

“Alright fine. I’ll be more direct,” Kinn says, settling back on Pete again. “I no longer have any
conviction in your loyalty towards the main family, Pete. Can you understand why?”

Pete doesn’t look away from his sharp eyes. “I can.”

“And are you willing now to tell me what it is you’ve been hiding?”

It’s all right there. There couldn’t be a better situation for Pete to finally come clean and tell the
truth. He’s already done it once today. What’s another truly?

But that first time took too much out of him, then the trip to the doctor’s office and now, imagining
the look on Kinn’s face once he knows- Pete feels oddly paralysed. And so conflicted it's robbing
him of breath.

“I can’t,” he admits, feeling more helpless than ever. “I can’t.”

Kinn starts to frown and Pete knows there will be consequences for this. The kind that will cost
him his job.

What will he do if it comes to that? He’ll lose the income to support his grandmother and their
house. He’ll lose the protection of the main family. There will be nothing to keep Vegas from him.

What can Pete do?

“Then I can’t trust you. And if I can’t trust my own bodyguard-”

“Don’t,” Porsche interjects, sensing the direction this is going. “If you can’t trust him then trust
me.”

“That’s not enough. I need a bodyguard who won’t question my authority. One that’s reliable.
Compliant. What use is Pete to me like this?”

It hurts but Pete can’t fault him for the logic. Whatever is going on with him right now is a blind
spot for Kinn, and those are usually the kind that put the family in danger.

“You can’t just get rid of him,” Porsche argues, stubbornly refusing to back down no matter how
irritated Kinn is becoming. “He’s not- he’s not disposable. The things he’s done for your family-“

“I no longer trust him.”

“Then give him to someone who does trust him!” he shouts. “Who values him. Give him to
Tankhun. He won’t be leaving the main family home then and you can be sure he’s not up to
anything.”

Pete tries not to react at the suggestion though he’d be lying if he said it was an ideal solution.
Working for Tankhun is fine, if a little dull and repetitive. At least working for Kinn got him out of
the main house on occasion.

But Kinn doesn’t trust you to be unsupervised anymore.

Pete feels like a disobedient child being sent away to stay with a relative who can keep him out of
trouble for the time being. Then he remembers Doctor Kunakorn’s insistence that Pete shift over to
light activities and he realises this is a solution that Porsche had already come up with, right back
in car on the way over here. Maybe even in the doctor’s office.

“Why do you need to be involved in this?” Kinn asks Porsche, and some of the distress is now
creeping on to his face. “Why does it have to be you?”

“Because Pete’s my friend,” Porsche says, firm in his decision. “And I trust that he has good
reasons not to want to tell you personal things that pertain to him.”

Kinn doesn’t answer right away but he looks at Pete again, expression turning resolved.

“I want to talk to Pete alone.”

Surprisingly, Porsche takes a step in front of him, blocking Pete from his view.

“No.”

Kinn’s expression somehow worsens. “No?”

“You’re just going to do what you did to my brother. You’re going to try and find some way to
pressure him into giving you what you want. Because you don’t know any other way except to
control.”

He’s angry now and Pete can sense this is going in the kind of direction that can only be explosive.

“Porsche," Kinn says, looking dangerous now. "This doesn’t concern you.”

“I think you’re gonna be very surprised with how much this does concern me if you think you’re
firing Pete.”

Surprisingly something in Kinn relents at that, and he lets out a sigh. “I’m not- I never said that.”

“Then what’s wrong with putting him on Tankhun’s detail instead?”

Kinn looks at Pete, really looks at him. “You won’t tell me, will you? Do you understand how this
will affect your standing with the family?”

He’s tense but if he can’t tell the truth then all he can do is this.

“I- accept the consequences.”

Kinn rises to his feet, and stares at him as if for the last time. “Then I wash my hands of you.”

Pete’s heart feels like it jolts out of his rib cage as Kinn turns and starts heading for the door. But
Porsche doesn’t have the patience for a dramatic exit and reaches out for Kinn’s sleeve, catching
him with surprising force.

“What the hell does that mean?”

Kinn pointedly doesn’t look over at Pete again. He hardly even locks eyes with Porsche. This is not
a great sign. “Pete will move over to Tankhun’s detail.”

It’s more than he expected and despite his misgivings, is an acceptable outcome. One that’s
survivable. At least Tankhun won’t see him as a threat like Kinn does. And Pete, still keeping his
silence, nods his agreement.

“You will switch rooms,” Kinn continues, eyes only on Porsche. “And you are no longer permitted
to leave the main family home together.”

Immediately Porsche drops hold of Kinn, backing away in disgust. “Like hell I will,” he fires back.
“You don’t trust him and you don’t want him on your detail. Fine, I accept that. But there’s no way
I’m letting you use that as an excuse not to trust me.”

The space between them narrows, becomes intimate and Pete quickly looks away from them,
fading into the background.

“Porsche-“

“No. You either fucking trust me or you don’t. Take a guess which one ends with me still in your
bed after.”

The silence then is sharp as a blow.

“We’re going to keep discussing this,” Kinn says, quietly. “In private. Pete, go and report to Satang
outside. We’re heading back.”

Porsche, undaunted in challenging Kinn, only shakes his head at the command.

“I need to talk to my brother first. Which was what I was going to do before you rudely inserted
yourself in here.”

Kinn opens his mouth, looking taken aback but Porsche just steamrolls over him. “You think you’d
have better manners when you’re filthy rich and in the mafia,” he mutters before he’s storming off
towards the stairs without another word.

Pete, uncomfortably aware he’s now alone with Kinn, quickly bows and slips out the sliding door
to join Satang without maintaining eye contact for very long. He was right to stick to the stoic,
bodyguard role. It’s more clinical, distant.

He rushes outside and goes to stand next to Satang without a word. They don’t speak about the
situation. But the both of them stand there and pretend they can’t hear Porsche and Kinn’s raised
voices as their ‘discussion’ continues further.

Pete wants to cringe at the sound, thankful they’re far away enough that he can’t distinguish what
they’re saying. Somehow after everything he still has the urge to run back in there and come clean
but another part of him remembers Vegas didn’t start this rivalry on his own. To some degree Kinn
sees Vegas as his enemy as well.

He can't have that same affiliation then no one will trust him. He'll become one of the minor
family's men. One of Vegas' men. And that's simply not acceptable.

Eventually Porsche comes storming out into the garden, his face transformed in dark anger and
when Porsche gestures at him, Pete jogs over and follows after him as he stomps over to the SUV.

Pete can see that his silence is more acceptable here so he climbs into the passenger seat without a
word, and doesn’t comment when Porsche reverses so wildly that he nearly hits the side of the wall
on the way out past the gate.

They go on like that in stiff silence until the main family house is getting closer and Pete can’t bear
it any longer.

“Are- are you alright?”

“I’m really fucking angry,” Porsche says honestly. “But at Kinn, not you.”

Pete hesitates, then decides for the truth. “I thought this might happen if I told you but I did it
anyway and that was- selfish. I’m sorry.”

Porsche finally looks at him, and he seems even more indignant than he did before. “Please don’t
say that. Not about this okay? You really, really don’t need to be sorry for telling me.”

“But it’s made everything more fucked up-“

“Everything is already fucked up in this place,” Porsche says darkly as they reach the private
garages and one of the guards, Jirapat, waves them on in as the door opens for them. Porsche
drives the SUV in and parks it, with greater care this time, switching off the engine and turning to
face Pete more fully. “Or did you really not notice that?”

Pete doesn’t answer immediately, thinking over a response. “Sometimes it’s easier- not to notice
things.”

Porsche smiles at him, but it’s grim, with little humour in it. “Yes, I can see how someone like you
might find that easier.”

Right. That's deserved. Pete looks away and steps out of the car and then Jirapat is rushing over to
them, already chatting happily at Porsche and the conversation is over.

That night, of course, Pete dreams of Vegas again.

He’s in his bedroom, sitting on the edge of the mattress and whilst everything about the room is
familiar, down to the patterned duvet and the posters hanging on the wall, there’s a sense of new
anticipation in the air that Pete can almost taste.

And suddenly Vegas is there too, kneeling, and between Pete’s splayed thighs and it comes to him
that he’s naked and hard, and Vegas is right there and inches away from his cock.

Pete inhales sharply or maybe the room itself becomes sharper because Vegas is smirking at him,
that slick, infuriating grin as his fingers dance across Pete’s thighs, stroking up towards his
hipbones, bypassing where he’s hard and throbbing with want.

A flicker of anger rises up to meet that smirk and then Pete’s hand is reaching out, scratching,
tearing, tightening in Vegas’ hair at the back of his skull, not kind, not nice, not even gentle and
then he’s holding him, feeling the thrum of power in his fist.

Vegas’ eyes are dark, always dark, as he lick his lips and lowers his head down, mouth wet and
open as it eases over Pete’s cock.

He can’t help himself, he groans, loud and long, and then every sound Pete kept hidden from him
is spilling out all at once like there’s nothing there to keep it at bay anymore.

Vegas sucks and sucks and Pete cries out for him, his grip tight on the base of Vegas’ skull as he
holds him right where he wants and moans and moans and moans.

The danger crackles around them but Pete likes it, likes the taste of it, the warning of the edge
spread out before them.

The sight of Vegas’ dark head moving between his legs, the sharp, possessive hook of his fingers
as they press up inside, right where Pete wants them as he shudders and gasps and holds Vegas
down, makes him take it-

Pete wakes up abruptly.

He's still hard but that's easy to ignore when he glances over at Porsche’s bed in the dark. Because
for the first time since he returned the space is no longer empty. After dinner, Porsche had simply
followed him back to the room without another word about Kinn and then they hadn’t talked about
him for the rest of the night.

Kinn hadn’t showed up to collect Porsche either which only tells him his pride is too hurt to do so
just yet.

It must have been a bad argument then, and Pete is intuitive enough to realise not all of it was
purely about him.

He looks at Porsche’s sleeping form a little longer but the noises he made mustn’t have been loud
enough to disturb his sleep. He watches Porsche breathe for a minute, noting the way he’s shifting
more than usual underneath the sheets, as if his dreams are fitful too.

Pete swallows the guilt and quietly leans over the side of the mattress, fingers searching in the dark
before they close over a familiar edge. He drags out the box as quietly as he can, careful as he lifts
off the lid and spots the burner phone still hidden there. His work phone is currently sitting
downstairs in the armoury, waiting for his next assignment, but when Pete hadn’t really known
what to do with the burner phone he’d stuffed it back into its original box.

Then stuffed that box under the bed. Just as he’d hidden the box of sex toys shortly after.

He turns the screen away from Porsche’s side of the room, worried the brightness might wake him
up when he presses a button on the side and the screen lights up. It’s only been a couple days but
since he switched it off before he’d put it back, the phone hasn’t lost any of its battery.

He quickly lowers the brightness of the screen and navigates to the contact list, finding the one that
only has the one letter: V.
Pete selects the contact and scrolls to the bottom of the page where there’s a section that offers
‘Unblock this Contact’.

A second later his finger is hovering over those words, staring, comprehending the implication of it
for a good thirty seconds before he reaches out and taps the screen again, then saves the new
settings.

He locks the screen again, checking the phone is set to silent before he’s shoving it underneath his
pillow, like a secret to be hidden from sight as he reaches down and puts the lid back on the box,
pushing that underneath the bed too.

Everything carefully compartmentalized and concealed.

He’s flushed and panting when he’s finished as if he’s been caught somehow in the midst of doing
something shameful. Eventually, he tries to calm himself down, sinking back onto the pillow
again, forcing his eyes shut and trying to drift back to sleep as if nothing has happened.

He might not be able to feel the shape of the phone underneath the pillow, but Pete knows it’s
there.

And he knows what it means. What he's just done.

It’s a long time before he can go back to sleep after that.

 can you feel my love? do you know my pain?
Chapter Notes

Chap title is Natural Born Killer by Highly Suspect

man it's been a while thanks for being patient with me! can sum up the past month as
below:

me: why do i still feel so shit after being sick like a week ago?
my doctor, one visit and a blood test later: oh that's because you have walking
pneumonia :)
me: fuck
also me after taking prescribed medication to get rid of it: and why do i still feel so
exhausted?
my doctor: that's normal! lethargy is a common symptom post infection! rest up, bestie
me, in my brain and writing fog era:.. yay

lol anyway, hope you all enjoy!

Pete wakes up earlier than usual, frowning at the unexpected sense of strangeness. A hint of
trouble in the air.

He lifts his head up off the pillow to find Tankhun standing at the edge of his bed. Dressed in a
pantsuit so vibrantly drenched in colour it makes his eyes hurt like someone has suddenly thrown
open a curtain in a dark room and splashed a mixture of paint on everything for good measure.

But it’s not the outfit that’s the issue, it’s the way Tankhun’s arms are folded reproachfully across
his chest in one flagrant stance of disapproval. With Arm and Pol hovering awkwardly at his back
like neither of them want to be here for the imminent scolding. And it’s especially the sinking fact
that Tankhun’s expression is nothing short of thunderous.

Uh oh.

Pete had known there was a grace period on his avoidance of the eldest Theerapanyakul son, and
that there was a very narrow window in which Tankhun would tolerate the behaviour. When he
might even have forgiven the offence.

But they’re clearly well past that now.

Pete sits up in alarm, arm spreading out disjointedly as the back of his hand accidentally catches on
the alarm clock on the bedside table, sweeping it to the ground in a loud crash.

At the sound of commotion Porsche is rolling out of bed and onto his feet at once, hands raised and
blinking around the room in search of threats before his half-asleep scrutiny falls on the
unexpected trio standing like a wall of displeasure in their bedroom.
“Aw Tankhun,” he complains, rubbing at his eyes before crashing back onto the bed again. “The
fuck- whyyy?”

Porsche groans, like this is the biggest inconvenience to ever happen to him before seizing the
open blankets and rolling himself up in them, facing away from the group as if to somehow erase
them from existence. Pete has to appreciate the tactic even as Tankhun clicks his tongue and waves
him away with a flash of neon pink nails, ignoring Porsche completely as he turns back towards
Pete’s bed.

Evidently he's only interested in directing his accusations at Pete.

Which is, deserved, rightly so.

That doesn’t mean Pete is looking forward to it. Out of all of his brothers, Tankhun’s temper is the
most- explosive.

“Did you really think you can keep avoiding me like this?” he wonders, voice steadily rising in
pitch at the end like he’s winding up towards a shrieking match. The way Arm and Pol are already
grimacing tells Pete he’s on the mark. “In my own house?”

Yes, that did seem ill advised in hindsight. Pete winces too and sits up fully, pushing the sheets
away from his chest as he shifts to his knees and bows his head a little into a contrite looking
gesture.

He waits for the hot-headed reaction. The long winded spiel about disrespect and the audacity of
all men before Tankhun will inevitably redirect his rant towards a detailed list of every single one
of Pete’s wrongdoings and how they will never be improved upon until he eventually tires himself
out.

Pete is well experienced in Tankhun’s unique way of dealing with things.

But the silence stretches out a beat too long and Pete finally looks up, catching that Tankhun’s
attention is no longer focused on his face. He’s looking at Pete’s exposed chest, at the faded
bruising and slow healing wounds, the visible redness on his wrists because he’d removed the
bandages before showering last night and left them off as per Doctor Kunakorn’s instructions.

Pete is just a second too slow dragging the sheets up past his chest again to shield it from view.
He’d relaxed around Porsche since telilng him the truth, hadn’t considered they would end up with
unwanted visitors like this. Otherwise he would never have gone to bed shirtless.

“Out,” Tankhun says abruptly, and when Pol and Arm blink through their confusion, he flaps his
hands behind himself as if physically shooing them out. “Get out! In the hall. Now. I want to talk to
Pete alone.”

Arm’s expression is openly curious, calculating, and Pete regrets that so much of his body was on
display when the both of them quickly depart the room.

Tankhun glances over at Porsche’s lumpy form in the sheets as they wait for the apartment door to
close and then Pete is too busy mentally preparing himself for the approaching confrontation that
he doesn’t speak when Tankhun walks up the length of the bed and sits down beside him on the
edge of the mattress.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Porsche grumbles unnecessarily from his side, without bothering to roll
over and face them. “This is my room.”
“Oh shut up,” Tankhun snaps, before the anger on his face is clearing somewhat as he looks at
Pete, the expression making way for something else as he reaches out and takes hold of Pete’s
wrists, just above where it’s raw and scabbed over.

Then he looks at Pete for a second. Really looks at him.

And finally Pete can’t bear it any longer. He opens his mouth.

“It really isn’t-“

“Whatever lie you’re thinking of telling me, forget it,” Tankhun says sharply, cutting off Pete’s
excuses at the knees. “I called your grandmother when you vanished.”

Oh. Right. He did do that. This was a conversation that Pete really shouldn’t have put off for as
long as he did.

But knowing that and acting upon it are two very different things. Denial is an infinitely safer
corner to hide out in.

Pete’s expression tightens with the automatic instinct to conceal. “That was just-“

“Do not say it was a misunderstanding,” Tankhun warns. “Or I’m going to slap you. I spoke to her
and she didn’t know where you were. Your own grandmother couldn’t tell me where you were.
And now suddenly Kinn wants to get rid of you. So don’t try and pretend nothing has happened.”

Pete sighs, and finally acquiesces. He knows when he’s beat. This is something that he no longer
has the power to hide any longer. It was well out of his hands as soon as Tankhun walked through
that door.

“So who was it? Which bastard did this to you?”

Pete can be impossibly blunt when he wants to but somehow the directness of Tankhun’s question
is too much for him. His mouth turns dry, the words swallowed up beneath his tongue.

He knows he should accuse Vegas, that he deserves every consequence that might befall him but
it’s difficult to take that final step. Even now Pete truly can’t stop getting into his own way.
Especially after he’s struggled so long to bury the truth.

Porsche lets out an aggravated sigh from across the room when Pete is too seized up by his own
indecision and stubbornness to answer. When the silence lingers for too long around them in spite
of Tankhun’s encouraging squeeze of his forearm.

“Think back on who has been acting erratic recently and take a guess,” Porsche grumbles by way
of answer.

Tankhun drops his hands and reaches out in a blur of movement to quickly snatch at Pete’s
shoulder, gripping so tightly that his bright nails bite into skin. Then he’s looking Pete over again
more intently, lingering on the bite marks bruised into Pete’s chest and shoulders, the almost faded
hickeys sucked into the skin of his throat.

“Vegas,” he says quietly as if to himself, and then repeats it loudly enough that Pete jumps in
surprise. “Vegas?”

With some very real trepidation, Pete slowly nods, lowering his eyes and staring at his knees
tangled beneath the sheets as if they’re a safer target of his focus. He’s not sure that he wants to see
Tankhun’s reaction right now.

Especially when Tankhun relinquishes him and leans away at the confirmation.

“Oh Pete,” he says gently after a strained pause. “You little idiot.”

Pete’s eyes snap up, just as Porsche rolls over to face them, sitting up abruptly and staring at
Tankhun as if he’s not quite certain he heard correctly but his protective instincts have been
activated anyway.

Pete’s not so sure he heard right either. Is he- somehow blaming Pete for this situation? What on
earth could Tankhun possibly mean?

Whatever the explanation, it’s definitely not the response he was expecting.

But Tankhun is already on his feet again, pacing between the beds in a fit of open agitation before
he's spinning back to face them. “I warned you. I told you. How many times did I say that you
needed to stay away from Vegas?”

Pete’s mouth falls open at that and he glances over at Porsche who’s still hidden away in the
blankets, only his head and neck visible, but his eyes are very wide with confusion and surprise.

It’s true Tankhun had been very vocal about his dislike of Vegas, had ranted many times about
how they ought to stay away from him. But he’d always said this to literally anyone who would
listen. Which by manner of proximity usually ended up being himself and Arm and Pol.

Pete can admit that of the many tirades he’s been audience to of Tankhun’s over the years, this was
one he hadn’t taken all that seriously. Not when he wasn’t working for Kinn yet. When he wasn’t
even on Vegas’ radar and it seemed unlikely he ever would be.

“What?” Porsche wonders, asking the question for him.

Tankhun lets out an impatient sound and shoves at Pete’s shoulder this time when neither he or
Porsche show any sign of understanding.

“You, Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham, are exactly my cousin’s type,” Tankhun declares with such
simple conviction that Pete is shocked by it. “Why do you think I kept telling you not to go
anywhere near him?”

Porsche makes a sound of astonishment or disbelief, Pete isn’t sure but neither of them seem to be
able to comprehend what Tankhun is suggesting. “So you’re saying- you’re saying,” Porsche tries
a second later. “What? That you somehow knew all along it would turn out like this?

Tankhun snorts with obvious derision. “Please,” he scoffs, raising one hand up. “Vegas
Theerapanyakul, unstoppable force.”

Then he gestures pointedly at Pete with his other hand. “Meet immovable object.”

Pete flushes and opens his mouth. “I’m not-“

“Oh forget it,” Tankhun demands. “You’re literally the most stubborn man I’ve ever met, don’t
deny it. Once you plant your feet there’s no moving you.”

He straightens up, ready to defend himself but no words come out and Tankhun nods almost
triumphantly at his silence. As if it only confirms his theory. But Porsche is moving along the
mattress, expression shifting, even as he ripples with anger.

“Is this amusing to you? Do you even know what Vegas did to him? Or have the marks on his
chest not already told the full story?”

Tankhun turns at the allegation, his demeanour becoming colder. “I assume he did something to
cross the line because he’s always crossing the line. And then Pete gave him absolute hell for it.”

“He chained him up and raped him, Tankhun,” Porsche practically spits as Pete cringes at the
volume of the words. “Vegas did a lot more than cross the line. He burned it to the ground.”

Tankhun’s face twists for a second and Pete’s surprised by the unwavering steel uncovered there.
Even more so when he meets Pete’s eyes again, thoughtful and considering and not shying away
from the truth.

“He did more than that though, didn’t he? I can see it in your eyes.”

“He wanted me to like it,” Pete says simply. “Still wants that.”

And then doesn’t say anything further.

Tankhun only nods, unsurprised and undaunted and Pete appreciates that he doesn’t ask if Vegas
ever succeeded. If he ever woke something up in Pete that should have stayed dormant forever. It’s
not an answer that Pete wants to give.

“Vegas thrives on opposition. On defiance. Of course he’d be taken with you. You’re utterly
irresistible to someone like him.”

Pete’s mouth twists down but he doesn’t argue the fact. From the way Vegas has been acting it
would be reckless to even think of refuting Tankhun. The pause in the conversation only hints
further at that confirmation and nobody has anything to say to that. The implication of horror is
powerful enough.

“You escaped I’m guessing?” Tankhun asks eventually. “But you were there just long enough to
give a taste of what it could be like.“

Pete flushes at the implications of that but of course Tankhun is right. And he knows it too because
he’s nodding in response to Pete’s flat expression, seemingly able to weave the rest of the story
together himself.

“So Vegas isn’t able to let you go.”

He shivers then. Because that truth sends a chill right through his blood.

How does Tankhun seem to understand the situation so plainly? When Porsche first had to be led
by the hand? Pete always figured Tankhun had avoided Vegas out of revulsion, out of desire of
self-preservation. A better instinct not to know him. He had never guessed that it was because
Tankhun understood him all too well.

Pete always knew that he was smart and well informed even secluded in this house, on the
outskirts of the main family. There’s a certain advantage to it, to being so thoroughly ignored and
underestimated, Pete understands that very well.

What other things does Tankhun seem to know that he shouldn’t?

“Just how infatuated is he?” Tankhun asks, cutting so cleanly into Pete that he may as well have
used a knife.

Pete is very aware that he’s visibly wincing now.

“Beyond all reason.”

Porsche snorts out loud as if to remind them how much of an understatement that is. What's
happened since can definitely attest to that. Pete tries not to think of the 'gifts' still hidden
underneath his bed.

“Even after you got away?” Tankhun double checks, frowning. “Even when keeping you alive was
more of a risk to him?”

“It was already like that.”

“How do you mean?”

Pete hesitates, unsure of how to explain it. “Before he disappeared for a while, when his father sent
him to the safe house. He’d found out somehow that I was there at the compound, so Mr Kan
commanded him to kill me.”

Tankhun goes very still at this information. Pete has to fight the instinct to keep silencing himself.

“Vegas… disobeyed his father?”

“He let Mr Kan think he’d killed me, and then snuck me out of the compound to go with him. Near
the end of it Mr Kan showed up at the safe house and from his reaction he’d had no idea I was
there the entire time. Tried to kill me as soon as he saw me. Vegas- intervened.”

Porsche flinches at the casual way Pete delivers those words. “You never said it like that before,”
he says. “That he openly defied his father for you.”

It's an exceedingly thoughtless statement and Pete just looks at him. “It doesn’t mean what you’re
thinking it does. And there’s plenty of reasons why I didn’t go into detail about the entirety of the
experience, Porsche.”

Porsche grimaces and doesn’t press further but Tankhun is pacing again as if trying to wrap his
head around all of this new information. From the way he's frowning, the assessment is not looking
good.

“This is bad. He must be very serious about this to have gone against his father,” Tankhun warns.
“I didn’t even think he was capable of that.”

Pete really doesn’t want to think about it too deeply right now. The more important he is to Vegas,
the more frightened and out of control he feels. It can't really be like this. Vegas doesn't really feel
that way for him.

“He’s obsessed,” is what Pete says eventually, steering away from any emotion. “He’s sending
gifts, getting his men to follow me. And I don’t know how to lose his interest.”

“You can’t,” Tankhun agrees with a certain degree of grimness. “When something catches his
attention, truly catches his attention. Vegas doesn’t just move on.”

As if Pete hadn't already discovered that for himself.

“You’re talking as if you’ve seen it before,” Porsche interjects, looking more than a little
concerned. “So he’s definitely done this with other people? Other men?”

Tankhun eyes flicker towards Pete before swiftly veering away. A dangerous thought lingering
that Pete can't quite read. “No I meant, that’s the way he is with his hobbies. His diversions.”

“The torturing,” Pete clarifies helpfully for Porsche and Tankhun nods.

“I’ve never seen him like that with a person before but it wouldn’t surprise me that he’d bring the
same intensity to it.”

The silence weighs heavily over them as each of them comprehend the significance of that. Pete
should be glad that they're taking it so seriously but all he feels is uneasy. It still feels wrong to
bring this out of the shadows. To discuss it openly in the daylight.

“If this is truly his first time feeling this way then I don’t think Vegas can be normal about the
situation.”

Pete wants to grind his teeth at the conclusions they’re drawing from this conversation. Because he
especially disagrees with it. “This isn’t about feelings,” he insists, trying not to recoil at the idea.
“It’s about slaking his sexual desires under exhilarating conditions. It’s purely physical. A thrill.”

“One that he can’t be normal about,” Tankhun pushes as if it matters whether Pete agrees with his
assessment or not.

Porsche springs out of his sheets with a fractious laugh and suddenly he’s on his knees, yanking a
box out from under Pete’s bed even as Pete cringes, seeing his intention and even trying to throw a
hand out to stop him. Porsche merely waves him off and rips the lid away, exposing the unused sex
toys to Tankhun’s eyes.

“Safe to say that’s already been firmly established.”

Tankhun’s mouth falls open as he bends and picks up the box, ignoring Pete’s utter mortification at
the situation. “Vegas sent these?” Then his eyes flick up and catch Pete’s, locking him firmly into
place. “Why?”

Is it not obvious? Pete takes a deep breath to try and calm himself, struggling to ignore the steady
heat rising on his cheeks.

“Because he wants me to use them,” he explains, since it’s the simplest answer. “He’s trying to
reprogram my previous- restraint.”

Tankhun merely raises an eyebrow at that.

“Pete’s sexually repressed,” Porsche clarifies with such confidence that Pete bristles at the words.
“And Vegas enjoys it when he’s having a very good time.”

“Porsche,” Pete hisses, trying to warn him into silence before glancing back at Tankhun. But
Tankhun has lifted out the blue prostate massager- why is everyone immediately drawn to that
one- and then he’s inspecting it with avid interest.

Pete scrambles up off his knees and scoots around the both of them, already eyeing the open
doorway as a means of escape. A second later when he hears a distinct buzzing sound, Pete is on
his feet and darting out the door.
He’d have kept going out of the room and into the hallway too if the phone carefully concealed
under his pillow didn’t suddenly start to ring.

Pete whirls about in horror, and he’s locking eyes with Porsche, catching the open curiosity on his
face before he’s diving back towards the bed. Only problem is Porsche is closer and has much
more of a head start. So Porsche lifts up the pillow and snatches up the phone at once, going still
when he sees the contact placing the call.

Pete is on the mattress and hovering over his shoulder but the V is unmistakeable.

Porsche turns to look at Pete, wide eyed, shocked, and then, with no poker face whatsoever, he’s
still rotating and meeting Tankhun’s gaze as well. Pete sees the exact moment that Tankhun sees
the caller ID because something hardens behind his eyes.

“Turn it off,” Pete says urgently, unable to reach out and do it himself. “He’s got them connected
via Bluetooth.”

Tankhun blanches and quickly turns off the sex toy and then Pete is snatching the phone out of
Porsche’s hands and rejecting the call.

He’s highly aware that this needs further explanation.

“How do you know that?” Tankhun demands.

Pete rubs at his face and stuffs the burner phone into the drawer at his bedside table. “I had to
google the few apps he installed on the phone. One of them is meant to make it easier for a partner
to control the sex toy long distance.”

Tankhun’s expression is only worsening. “Have you used this?”

Pete suddenly doesn't know how to breathe.

“Aw c’mon Tankhun,” Porsche interrupts. “Look at his face. Do you honestly think he’s shoved
that up his ass? That’s the first time it was turned on.”

Pete lets out a cough and wants to hide his expression but there’s nowhere to run. He's as trapped
here as he has been everywhere else. But that doesn't change the fact that he needs to explain
himself. Can’t have Tankhun thinking he's untrustworthy.

“That’s not- it’s not at all like- he’s just-“

At his fumbling, Tankhun lets out a low groan. “This is even worse than I thought. You’re literally
the perfect distraction. The perfect foil.”

Pete wants to let out his own groan of frustration. “I’m not trying to be.”

“It’s not your fault, Pete. But that’s not necessarily the point.”

He wonders if Tankhun means for that to be comforting but the effect is lessened by having to
watch him place the sex toy back into the box and shove it carefully under the bed out of sight.

When he straightens up again he’s all business.

“So this is the source of the issue, is it? And Kinn doesn’t know because he’s the one who sent
you over to the compound in the first place. And with their history you can’t trust him to be an
impartial judge of the situation either. Not while Vegas is still making advances on you.”
Pete hesitates and then nods, though he’s tensing up at the questioning, already wanting to push
pause, to redirect the attention away for a second so he can gather himself. But Tankhun is in his
usual state of intensity, winding up with no intention of holding off.

“And no one else but Porsche knows the truth because of the ongoing rivalry with the minor
family. Not to mention the fact that they’ll naturally assume you’re a spy or that your loyalties are
now divided if word gets out.”

Unfortunately, this is a correct assumption. Pete actively wishes it wasn’t but has long since
relinquished any sense of control of how this is going to play out.

“So Porsche is now fighting with Kinn because he’s protecting your secret while Kinn assumes
you’re actively moving to betray him. Which also makes Porsche unhappy since Kinn is a beast
when he’s mistrustful and Porsche doesn’t like being controlled. Do I have all that right?”

Pete blinks at him, astounded. Porsche has sprung out of the blankets and looks like he wants to
tackle Tankhun to the ground and whack him a few times for that knowing condescension behind
his eyes.

It surprises Pete for a second, the thought that not even Tankhun is completely immune to the
Theerapanyakul arrogance. But he finds his voice quickly, if at the very least to distract Porsche
from his goal.

“Is this- why you didn’t want me to transfer to Kinn’s detail?”

At the time, after Kinn had come to him with his offer Tankhun had shouted about it so much that
Pete’s ears had actually ached afterward. He’d initially thought that Tankhun’s extreme reaction
was purely because he liked Pete, that Pete’s temperament was perfectly compatible to his own.
Tankhun wanted capable bodyguards but he also wanted the ones he could keep in line and that
hadn’t bothered Pete in the slightest.

Each of the men in the family were always trying to exert their power in some way or other,
Tankhun’s approach was probably one of the least offensive methods. But he’d never once
considered that Tankhun’s tantrum had been rooted in something else. Had it actually been about
protecting Pete somehow?

“Partially,” Tankhun admits. “And because I was annoyed that Kinn had snatched you out from
under me without even bothering to ask first. I didn’t like the fact that I couldn’t watch out for you
when you transferred. And Kinn has never understood Vegas well enough to recognise he should
have kept you out of his path.”

Pete resists the urge to tell Tankhun that he volunteered for the mission. Kinn had never forced him
to go to the compound. And he’d known the risks even if there were some elements of danger he’d
been naïve about.

“I tried to explain it more than once,” Tankhun mutters, flicking his hair off of his forehead in a
decidedly effeminate gesture. “But he didn’t take me seriously. Nobody ever takes me seriously.”

Pete looks at him for a second, the bright nails, the rainbow of pigment saturating the suit which
clings tightly to the waifish, delicate angles of his frame and feels as if he’s truly staring at him for
the first time.

Tankhun has always been considered the least dangerous of his brothers, his slim and soft looking
figure, the crippling anxiety and the high pitched tenor of his voice all working against him.
They’ve blamed him for not handling the life they’ve all been born into, outright ignored him once
his inability to cope against the multiple, terrifying kidnappings he went through as a child revealed
itself when the depths of the damage became unignorable. He wonders if Tankhun’s obsession
with gaudy, eye catching fashion is his own way of reclaiming his power.

A way to fight back after knowing they’ve disregarded him as the Theerapanyakul heir and to stop
them from discounting him further. Understanding how easily he could be swept into the
background and struggling, making them look.

Suddenly Pete thinks he understands Tankhun better than he did before.

“You know they’re planning something, don’t you?” Pete asks. “You know the minor family is
working against us.”

Tankhun’s eyes narrow. “What have you learned?”

“Nothing,” Pete says bitterly, wishing he’d thought to question Vegas further when he’d been so
certain Pete would never escape. “Except that something’s coming and Vegas and his father are at
the heart of it.”

Porsche is incredibly alarmed by this.

“Why didn’t you say anything before?”

The tension is so thick between the families now you could almost taste it in the air. But Pete’s
mouth still presses into a thin line at the accusation. “I don’t have anything concrete and I couldn’t
explain where I got the information without making myself a target.”

Tankhun hesitates for a brief second as if debating whether to reveal what he knows.

“It’s been discussed, our concern about the growing animosity between the families. My father is
keenly aware there’s been- unrest recently.”

Unrest. Pete wants to laugh outloud. Hints of a coup brewing on the horizon speaks of a lot more
than simple unrest. The minor family is gunning for a total power upset and it's clear they won't be
brought to heel any longer.

“It’s worse than that,” Pete tells him. “Vegas was talking like there was going to be a shift in power
as if the minor family would finally claim their birthright.”

Neither Tankhun or Porsche seem to take the news well. “But no specifics? He really didn’t give
you anything?”

There hadn't really been all that much opportunity for spying when he was Vegas' prisoner. Pete
tries not to lose his temper at the question.

“He left the safehouse to go and do something for his father. Some important step in their plan but I
never knew what it was.”

Pete could ask but would Vegas tell the truth? Or would he lie? Would Pete be able to tell the
difference? He's not entirely confident that he would be. There's always room for doubt.

“And you haven’t learned anything since?”

“He hasn’t mentioned their plans since I got back here. He’s been- distracted by other things.”
This piques Tankhun’s interest. “Distracted by what?”

“By Pete. Obviously,” Porsche says with meaning. “He’s been solely focused on toying with him.”

Pete would argue that he hasn’t made it easy but that’s not relevant to the conversation they’re
having. What does matter to him is what can be done about it. Pete can't go on like this for much
longer.

“So what are you going to do about the situation ?” Tankhun asks. “The plan can’t be to hide out
with me forever. It’s only going to grate on you eventually just like it did last time.”

Pete grits his teeth. “It’s fine for right now.”

“And the doctor did tell him to take on lighter duties for a month,” Porsche pipes up unhelpfully
from his side of the room.

Tankhun stiffens. “You saw a doctor? In here?”

“No,” Pete says quickly. “We found a nearby clinic. Encouraged the doctor to be discreet.”

Tankhun nods but Pete can’t tell if it’s approval of their cautiousness. Or understanding of why he
couldn't trust the main family doctors. “You seem to have an answer to everything.”

It’s exactly the kind of thing Kinn would say and Pete feels the slightest trace of a threat behind it.
A sense of Tankhun trying to provoke him, solely to see what kind of reaction he can get. But
Pete’s borne Kinn’s scrutiny for too long to outwardly respond to the attempt.

And Pete does his best not to take Tankhun’s pragmatism personally.

“I’m- dealing with the situation as best I can.”

“And Vegas?” Tankhun challenges again, driving at the core of the struggle. ”He’s not someone
you can put off indefinitely.”

That’s a truth they all know intimately. Pete is painfully aware that Vegas isn’t the type of person
one simply deals with.

“I’m figuring it out,” Pete insists a little stubbornly.

“You’re scrambling Pete,” Tankhun retorts and the bluntness of the words is inescapable. “Without
a plan or a hope of holding Vegas off.”

“So what can I do?" he wonders a little desperately. "When he’s unstoppable?”

Tankhun makes a face at that. But it's true. Nothing Pete has managed to do so far has even
remotely succeeded in putting Vegas off. He's the danger that just keeps coming no matter what
you try to do to avoid it.

“Nobody is unstoppable, Pete. Not even him,” he says firmly. “Just leave it with me for now. I
need some time to think about this. Come and see me later at 4PM.”

Pete frowns. “What’s happening then?”

“That’s when your shift starts. Send me your number for that burner phone too.”

Oh right. Pete's new detail. It leaves him feeling more helpless than ever but Pete knows better
than to do anything more than nod his obedience. To agree to pass on his number like he gave it to
Porsche. He notices the flicker of relief that briefly crosses Porsche’s expression and realises that
he doesn’t actually want to carry the responsibility of all of this.

Of course he wants to help Pete but he’s smart enough to know that Pete needs more than he can
offer and whilst he does have power, Porsche might not have what he needs to pull this off. So he
wasn't able to hide that flash of release as the burden of the problem shifted, even if it is into
Tankhun’s hands.

Pete understands. He’s intimately aware that this situation is not easy and Tankhun already has a
vested interest in going against Vegas. Especially after he’s done it before.

They have a very different relationship than Kinn and Vegas do, being the two eldest sons. It might
even be the source of their animosity, Pete knows that Vegas is dying to step up, would jump at the
chance to take Tankhun’s place, to have been the heir before Kinn took over.

There’s a lot of bitterness between them that Pete can’t entirely sense the origin of.

It’s all so complicated.

“And don’t tell anyone else,” Tankhun says sharply. “Especially not Kinn.”

Pete quietly agrees but Tankhun has already spun on his heel and stormed out of the doorway. The
bedroom suddenly feels smaller, more quiet when the apartment door slams behind him.

Porsche sighs and flops back onto the mattress with a relieved sigh.

“Could have been worse,” he says eventually but Pete isn’t so sure he agrees.

“I’m- going to have a shower,” is all he can manage in response and then he’s riffling through his
clothes and scooping up a handful of fabric and disappearing into the bathroom.

The door shutting between them sounds like a miracle.

But it’s still hard not to feel like the walls are closing in around him also.

When he emerges from the shower, Porsche is dressed and waiting for him, perched sleepily on the
edge of the bed.

“Well that’s not nearly enough time to jerk yourself off,” Porsche announces unnecessarily and
Pete physically cringes away from him at the suggestion.

It’s not- he wasn’t-

“Wow, I didn’t realise you were so prudish about this stuff.”

Pete’s face is reddening as he strides over to his side of the room and slips into a pair of sandals. “I
can’t help it,” he admits. “It’s- it’s- embarrassing. Shameful.”

Porsche raises an eyebrow at him. “Sex is fun. Should be fun,” he amends carefully. “Did you
always feel this uptight about it? Or is this a recent development?”
He's aware that his relationship with sex and pleasure has been- less than ideal. “I dated my high
school girlfriend for three years,” Pete admits. “There was a lot of outside pressure- an assumption
that we’d be married soon by everyone else. Especially her family. A lot of guilt too when we
didn’t- when we fell apart.”

Porsche is still looking at him like he's trying to understand. “And what about others? Who else
have you dated?”

Pete doesn’t respond.

“Okay so you haven’t dated. What about hook ups? Did you do that?”

Pete continues to stare at him as Porsche only gets more agitated.

“When was the last time you had sex? A year?” Then when Pete winces. “Years?”

It’s easier not to answer. Although Porsche is making his own assumptions anyway. “Fuck,
Tankhun was right,” Porsche breathes. “You really are the best kind of challenge for Vegas.”

“I- I’m not some experiment for him to test his skills on,” Pete sputters, thrown by the thought.

Porsche waves his hands out in a warding gesture. “Sorry I’m not saying it right. What I mean is I
can understand where his obsession comes from if he likes to be challenged. Because you are a
stubbornly challenging kind of person.”

Pete decides to let it go. “I’m choosing to believe that’s a fucked up compliment.”

“Sure is,” Porsche grins. “Are you hungry yet? Cause I’m starving.”

And then Porsche jumps up and leads them down to the kitchens.

There’s an unfortunate moment when they pass Kinn on the way out of the guards common area
looking very much like he was prowling through the dining hall a second ago in search of Porsche
because he's was absent from his bed last night.

The disapproval in his face at the sight of them very quickly confirms Pete’s suspicions.

He inclines his head politely as they pass but Porsche is unable to be civil and his hand is coming
up to cheerfully flip Kinn off as he strides forward. Pete’s entire body ripples with embarrassment
at the open, public confrontation he's witnessing but Porsche isn’t done there.

As they pass each other he leans over and smacks the back of Kinn’s head as if he’s a scathing
grandmother handing out discipline to children.

Immediately Kinn stops walking and it’s purely because it’s the three of them alone in the corridor
that he doesn’t retaliate. Although Pete would argue it’s a very close call. The silence suddenly
feels physical. Almost violent. At the sudden weighted tension in the air, Pete’s thigh muscles
spasm with the instinct to run.

When Kinn slowly turns his profile to look at his angry boyfriend, Pete very nearly bolts.

“Porsche-,” he tries, sounding irritated and upset and Pete is already edging further along as if he
can somehow get out of earshot of their approaching fight.

“Don’t even,” Porsche snaps, whirling on his heels and stalking over to where Pete is frantically
retreating, seizing on to Pete’s bicep with surprising strength and dragging them both out of the
hallway without another word.

Pete waits until Kinn is out of sight to speak again. “Why the hell did you do that?” he hisses,
trying to keep his voice low and drain the look of horror from his face before any of the other
guards get wise to it.

Porsche is visibly incensed and scowls at the question. “Why do you think? I’m mad. I wanna kick
his ass.”

It seems laughable now that Pete thought Porsche and Kinn’s relationship could be held to a
different standard than what’s happening with him and Vegas. Pete can see they’re just as riddled
with dysfunction, which is not at all an encouraging thought.

“Okay but maybe don’t do it when I’m nearby? He’s going to blame me enough as it is anyway.”

Porsche seems too angry to listen to him so Pete decides to drop it. A second later he grabs
pointedly at his elbow, jerking his arm free of Porsche’s tight grip.

“Oh right, sorry,” Porsche mutters, tone still layered with hostility and the remnants of his
resentment. Pete knows not to take it personally and looks around the room, trying to spot Som
somewhere in the sea of matching colours and uniforms.

He finds him sitting with Kantee and Ek and Pete heads over to their table without waiting on
Porsche. He probably needs a moment to himself anyway.

“Morning,” he greets them before turning to Som. “Do you have my-?“

Som grins and gets to his feet, leading Pete past the bistro area and into the kitchens. “Your
grandmother sent a great haul this time,” Som says appreciatively and Pete ignores the flicker of
bitterness that brings out. The fact that the rules here are so restrictive that he has no choice to
share with another bodyguard that he’s not actually that close with.

They’ve definitely bonded over his grandmother’s cooking though.

Som leads him deeper into the kitchens until they’re reaching the food storage areas, the rows and
rows of heavy duty fridges. Som walks all the way to the last one on the row, the one bodyguards
clearly use to store personal food because Pete sees a whole stash of it when Som opens the door
and gestures at two containers sitting there.

“I’ve left the rest of them in the freezer,” Som explains. “So they’ll keep longer and we can defrost
them whenever we want.”

“Good thinking,” Pete agrees, picking up the two containers to inspect the contents.

The first one looks a bit like Gaeng Hang Lay Moo and the second one is half sticky rice and Kai
Yang Nong Krob.

Pete can already taste the slow cooked pork so he picks up the container of Gaeng Hang Lay Moo
and heads over to the microwaves stacked up in the corner.

“Did you already eat?”

“Yeah,” Som says, eyeing the container hungrily. “But I won’t say no to more.”

And Pete is especially thankful at the sizes of the containers too so they can properly store larger
portions. Although he notices it’s not the same ones his grandmother usually sends when he opens
the microwave and places the Gaeng Hang Lay Moo inside.

“Did the food arrive like this?” Pete wonders as he presses a few buttons and then selects start to
reheat the food. “They used to come in different packaging.”

Som only shrugs. “Still tastes delicious to me.”

Pete nods in silent agreement and fetches out two bowls for the both of them, along with the
necessary cutlery. By the time he returns, Som is sitting on the edge of the metal bench top and is
watching the microwave intently.

“Must be the perfect role for you,” Pete laughs. “Working in the mailroom.”

Som grins back without any trace of shame. “It definitely improved once you started working
here.”

Pete smile deepens at that and they sit in companionable silence to wait out the food.

Once it’s ready, Pete cracks open the container and divvies up the ginger curry between the two
bowls. He can already smell the tamarind, the Indian spices and his mouth is salivating when he
passes one bowl to Som and picks up his own.

“Thanks Pete!” Som says, smiling with anticipation as he hurries out of the kitchen and back to his
table with a parting wave.

Pete moves the now empty container into the sink, resolving to wash up once he’s finished eating
and then heads back on out to find Porsche.

He’s hunched over in one of the booths by the window, looking outside into the street below as he
takes enthusiastic gulps of coffee, tearing into some kind of pastry with his fingers.

Pete automatically takes the seat beside him, obstructing visibility of himself from the street view.

“Did you sleep alright last night?” Pete asks, well aware that Porsche usually craves sugary things
when he’s more or less sleep deprived.

Porsche becomes a little guarded at the question and shrugs. “Just thinking a lot. Took longer to
fall asleep than usual.”

Worrying more like. Pete nods and sets his bowl of curry down, then he’s shifting the spoon over
to his dominant hand and stirring through, watching the pork shift around in the spices and blowing
on the surface so that he can start eating as soon as possible. He’ll burn his mouth if he can’t be
patient.

But even that small discomfort would be worth it.

“What do you want to do today?” Porsche asks, once Pete is eating and having a full out of body
experience because of his grandmother’s culinary capabilities.

“Hmm?” Pete responds almost absently, lost in the taste. The pork is fatty and juicy with the slight
sourness of the tamarind offsetting the other flavours and Pete honestly wishes he had a bigger
stomach.

“Let’s do something,” Porsche decides. “Blow off steam- the gun range!”

Pete hesitates only slightly, considering his injuries and the kickback a gun can give once it’s fired.
“Sure.”

He’ll be careful and since he’s limited to non-strenuous activities this is at least something vaguely
physical. It’s better than nothing. He’ll take it. Porsche grins widely and Pete tries not to think too
deeply about his sudden desire to shoot something.

It’s probably a good thing Kinn is giving him space.

They sign in at the doors as only a select number of people are allowed on the firing range at once
for safety reasons.

Only the Theerapanyakuls are allowed the special provision of reserving the whole area for
themselves.

Pete moves straight over to pick up the equipment, grabbing two pairs of ear muffs and plugs, just
as Nok is approaching and handing over two cases where the guns they’ve requested are stored.

Pete asked for a pair of Glock 17s since they’re almost standard issue and he’s not in the mood for
frills or more firepower right now. There’s an empty table in the lobby area by the back wall and
Pete takes both cases over and sets them down, along with the ear protection gear.

Without waiting for Porsche, he opens up the closest case and inspects the dissembled gun,
systematically checking and confirming all of the parts are in the case and undamaged. Chan
insists that the guns on the firing range are always disassembled first, to encourage their speed in
reassembling them, and to be familiar enough with the process to make routine maintenance,
repairs or part replacements almost second nature to them.

Only once he’s finished his check does Pete pick up the barrel first, the bottom of the slide facing
towards himself as he inserts the barrel muzzle into the slide. Then he’s pushing the barrel back,
hearing it lock into alignment with the ejection port.

He picks up the recoil spring assembly next, fingers moving deftly as he quickly reassembles the
gun.

Pete is in no rush, Chan normally has them field strip their guns and reassemble them under a
timer. It usually takes less than ten seconds once your hands become familiar enough. Pete’s best
time ever recorded was 6.5 seconds but he takes his time now, fingers sliding over the familiar
pieces with a quiet kind of focus.

Out of the corner of his eye, he’s also watching Porsche do the same and whilst it’s mechanically
done, following the steps he’s been trained in, it’s not exactly seamless like Pete. He fumbles the
pieces more than once. Actually drops the magazine on to the table.

Pete is finished and already placing the ear plugs into his ears, gun safety on and facing away from
both himself and Porsche on the table, when he reaches down and picks up the ear muffs next,
easing them over his head and muffling the sound in the room even further.
He waits until Porsche is done too and then the both of them are entering the shooting gallery,
walking over to the targets on the left hand side of the room, furthest from Jeab, Satang and Beam
who are clearly finishing up on the opposite end. Pete can see their targets are riddled with bullet
holes.

Pete takes the target in the corner and Porsche steps up to the target on his right. Then he leans
around the wall separating them and throws a hand in front of Porsche’s face to capture his
attention before signalling the OK first.

Porsche nods and then Pete is lifting his gun into position, taking the safety off and taking a breath
to centre himself.

It’s been a while since he last fired a gun, Pete isn’t expecting perfection. He’s already anticipating
how he might be a little rusty.

Porsche fires first. Well before him and when Pete glances at the target he realises he doesn’t have
much to show for the impulse. The shot went too wide. A couple inches from the outer circle, just
inside the upper arm of the silhouette. At worst he’s clipped his target in the shoulder.

Pete doesn’t comment, he refocuses on his own target and lines up his first shot before gently
squeezing the trigger. He’s ready for the recoil but it still passes through his muscles with a ripple
of pain, the tension and resistance pulling at the bruising of his ribcage before he lets out a breath
and readjusts his aim, firing off another shot in the vital kill zone areas. Head and heart.

Once he’s done firing, Pete stamps on the button that brings the target closer to inspect and from
there he can see the limits of his accuracy. The shots were good, maybe slightly off centre but he’s
happy with the result.

When he looks up again, Porsche is firing in quick succession and Pete leans out and watches him,
waiting until he’s done before moving over to the table and tapping him on the shoulder.

Pete gestures for him to remove the ear muffs.

“You want help?” he asks, gesturing at the wildly inaccurate shots. Porsche managed to land most
of them within the silhouette but his margin of error is particularly wide.

Porsche nods and then Pete is flicking the safety on his gun, stowing it beneath the waistband of
his sweatpants.

“You need to raise your support hand higher on the frame,” Pete points out, reaching over and
nudging the hand upward until its in the correct spot. “And you’re slapping the trigger.”

Porsche snorts at the serious way Pete delivers those words. “Slapping the-“

“It’s what we call an abrupt trigger pull. You’re disrupting the pistol’s sights at the last second
which makes an inaccurate shot. Once you have the sight lined up you need to pull the trigger with
steady minimal pressure.”

“Talk dirty to me,” Porsche says almost automatically but he’s listening to Pete’s advice and when
they put their ear muffs back on Porsche’s next shot is much better.

They grin at each other and then Pete nods and goes back to his own target.

Then he puts a couple more bullets in the target, the familiar stance, the weight of the gun, the
sound as the bullet discharges, all soothing something agitated in Pete with the precision of it.
Hours later when they’ve long since eaten lunch, returned back to their rooms and watched a game
of football on the TV, Pete stands up and heads back into the bedroom to get dressed into his
uniform, sliding his lighter and a packet of cigarettes into his pocket.

Porsche, who isn’t technically on duty anymore doesn’t bother to get dressed, just sticks to the
pants and casual shirt he’s already wearing.

But he does frown at Pete's sleeves when he comes out into the living room, fully dressed and
ready to go.

“Shouldn’t you not be wearing that?” he asks. “I thought Doctor Kunakorn said your wrists had to
breathe.”

This is technically true but Pete still needs to wear the uniform, still wants to wear it. His wrists
will be fine for one night. He’ll figure it out tomorrow.

“I’ll roll them up later,” Pete lies.

And then it's time to go.

4PM

He can already hear Tankhun’s loud voice ordering the others not to spill on the floor when Pete
steps up and taps lightly on Tankhun’s door, nodding at Phichit who’s stationed like a silent
phantom in the hallway.

Tankhun immediately opens the door for them, glass in hand.

“We’re drinking tonight,” Tankhun announces firmly and unnecessarily. “It’s been decided.”

Pete glances at Porsche who steps into the room and then immediately downs a healthy mouthful
of alcohol offered to him by Tankhun but it’s a simple decision for him- he’s not technically
working at the moment. He doesn’t need to ask what’s in his drink.

Pete can practically smell the rum in the air and when he glances over at the coffee table, he spots
the opened bottle of Sang Som waiting there with a bucket full of ice and a variety of mixers, not to
mention a selection of snacks already littering the remaining space. It looks like they’ve already
opened up a bag of fried shrimp chips because Pete can see some crumbs scattered across the table
too.

So it’s to be that kind of night then.

Tankhun doesn’t indulge very often.

“I’m on shift,” Pete says automatically, sensing he’s already on the back foot here.

“Nonsense!” Tankhun insists in a commanding way that seems ominously absent of any
friendliness as a drink is abruptly shoved into Pete’s hand. “I brought Jirapat to cover you.”

He says it loudly enough that Jirapat joins them from the other room and Pete has a split second to
wonder why it seems like Tankhun was hiding him in there. But Jirapat smiles widely at both Pete
and Porsche and goes to take up the post by the doorway.

Pete nods at him and relaxes only marginally, aware of the fact that he’s been cornered. At the very
least it should be safe in Tankhun’s rooms and Pete could probably stand to have a carefree night.

“Go on, go on,” Tankhun insists again, gesturing at the drink in Pete’s hand. “Relax! Have some
fun.”

Despite the questionably demanding way Tankhun is going about it there’s no real reason why he
shouldn’t. Vegas isn’t currently in the building and now that Tankhun is aware of what’s going on
that means there’s more people to notice if he does make an unexpected appearance. More people
to help Pete protect himself too.

It’s hardly going to amount to much danger, drinking in Tankhun’s room.

Slowly, Pete takes a sip of the rum, tasting the soda water and hearing the clink of ice as it rattles
around in his glass. It’s a meagre swig at best but Tankhun smiles in unmistakeable victory before
he’s crossing the length of the room and dragging open the doors to his wardrobes in one carefully
curated flourish.

Porsche, who doesn’t know the depths of Tankhun’s fashion interests, raises an eyebrow in
question but Pete, who is painfully well versed in this pastime, lets out a low groan.

“Mr Tankhun you really want to-“

“Of course,” Tankhun says. “What’s the point of having all of these expensive outfits if I don’t get
to dress you up in them?”

This was definitely his least favourite thing to do when trapped in Tankhun’s room for hours on
end. But he knows for a fact Pol and Arm can act as buffers and he can always throw Porsche upon
Tankhun’s mercy as a last resort.

Tankhun does usually prefer to fashion outfits for new guards. It’s more fun to play with dolls he
hasn’t dressed before and Pete has always been painfully aware of the purpose of the deed.

They really are solely there for the entertainment of the Theerapanyakul family. Their playthings
in all kinds of ways. In the end it just depends on the type of man wielding that power over them.
Pete's thought it many times before, but to him money truly is the root of all evil.

“Fine,” Pete sighs, stepping forward like a man on the execution block. “Just nothing too- intense.”

“Boring you mean,” Tankhun scoffs, tossing his head disdainfully as he drags out a chrome purple
shirt and places it against the chest of a surprised looking Porsche just as Tankhun double checks it
matches his skin tone.

When he lets out a snort as his answer, Pete shrugs at Porsche’s dumbfounded expression and they
watch as Tankhun puts the shirt back and then he’s disappearing deeper into the wardrobes without
a word. Porsche’s eyebrows go up again but he hasn’t figured out yet that Tankhun has a walk in
closet that could double as a second bedroom.

Pete takes another sip of his drink and doesn’t move, knowing better than to follow Tankhun into
his den of frivolous and uncomfortable fabrics by now. Once he’s got a selection of possibilities,
Tankhun will be back to find them so they can try them on. There’s no escaping his fashion shows
once he has his mind made up.

Pete glances over at Pol and Arm who are finishing up a game of air hockey and tries not to be
aware of how Arm is still pointedly ignoring him. But Pol’s huge grin when he’d entered the room
had been greeting enough for the both of them.

He can see from the tensing muscles in their necks and shoulders that they are very familiar with
what is happening on the other side of the room and are somehow hoping to escape Tankhun’s
notice with their diligent game play.

Pete wonders at the futility of their optimism. It’s certainly never worked for them before.

4:38PM

“I hate this,” Pete groans, looking down at himself. At the gaudy pearls sown into the material of
his shirt like a ripple of white. “I’m sure this is very important and special fabric but I want to rip it
apart with my bare hands.”

Tankhun’s head pops up from where he’s helping Porsche step into a pair of pleated yellow pants.
“You’ll do no such thing, Pete.”

“I don’t know,” Porsche says, zipping his pants up and admiring himself in the full length mirror.
“I think I look pretty hot.”

Pete is already unbuttoning the shirt, trying to be as delicate as possible because he doesn’t have
the baht to pay Tankhun back if he does accidentally destroy it.

“New game!” Tankhun declares, tossing a see through black shirt at Pol’s face and gripping his
glass more tightly. “You change an item of clothing after I’ve put it on you, you drink!”

“Are you trying to give me alcohol poisoning,” Pete grumbles, but accepts the light blue button
down shirt from Tankhun, thankful that it’s at least not overly eye catching.

Then he squints and refocuses. “Are these sleeves- puffed?”

He squints again, regretting downing his first glass so quickly but it had been necessary once the
parade had begun.

“You don’t wear it you drink,” Tankhun repeats, switching between two pairs of sunglasses that
barely resemble sunglasses the shapes are so unique and off-putting.

When he returns to the table to refill his drink, Pol is hiding behind the bucket of ice, still clutching
that see through black shirt.

He takes Pete’s cup and quickly pours him a fresh drink, scooping out more ice and layering the
rum with soda. Pete grabs a handful of shrimp chimps and feels a sense of vindictive pleasure at
the hope that he’s leaving crumbs all over Tankhun’s precious outfits.

Arm, who is tucked up in the corner near Porsche and Tankhun, dressed in a yellow and black
western styled cowboy shirt and a pair of white fringe pants like the kinds of frills that go over the
side of cowboy boots, except completely covering every inch of the pants.

Pete snorts with laughter before he can stop himself and Arm’s eyes find his, sensing the direction
of his amusement. He turns and quickly accepts the new drink from Pol just to avoid looking at
Arm for much longer.

“You can’t keep hiding,” Pete whispers pragmatically. “He’ll find you soon enough.”

“Pol!” Tankhun shouts excitedly. “Where did Pol go?”

Pete isn’t really surprised to hear a grown man whimper but he would have expected it less in these
conditions. Quickly, to avoid giving up his hiding space, Pete heads back on over to join the group
again.

Tankhun’s eyes glint when he sees him and Pete glances down at himself and realises he got
interrupted between removing the pearled shirt and putting on the blue puffed sleeves.

The shirt covered in stitched in pearls is unbuttoned deep, all the way down to his navel and Pete
abruptly realises that he’s exposing the bruises and the scabs on his chest.

Nearly everyone in this room has seen them by now, except for Jirapat and Pete hurriedly sets
down his drink and twists so he’s not facing anyone. A second later, Tankhun is pushing another
shirt into his hands.

“You’re no fun,” he sniffs, storming off to terrorise the others and Pete looks down at the new long
sleeved shirt which isn’t showy and ostentatious. It’s simple and dark blue and soft like satin and
Pete is oddly reminded of the kind of flowy shirts Vegas wears when he carefully strips off the
white pearled shirt and replaces it.

Tankhun continues to fuss and boss and demand everyone keep changing until they’ve met some
kind of unspoken criteria of his, including pulling Pol out of his hiding place and stripping him out
of his work uniform too. Pete is practically chugging his second drink just for the need to escape
the intensified demands of the situation.

Tankhun waits impatiently until everyone is completely dressed and then eyes them over one last
time before smacking his hands together in satisfaction. “There,” he says, sounding satisfied. “I
couldn’t have you all looking like suits where we’re going later.”

Pete very nearly spits out his drink. “We’re going somewhere?” he demands, suddenly regretting
all of the rum he’s been imbibing.

“We’re going to Hum Bar tonight,” Tankhun announces. “To see my good friend Yok.”

Porsche splutters at that. “Your good friend?” he seems to mutter under his breath, and thankfully
Tankhun doesn’t pick up on it.

When nobody shows much enthusiasm, Tankhun spins and faces them all, hands on his hips.
“What’s wrong with Hum Bar?” he demands. “We’ve had fun there before.”

Pete glances at Pol and tries not to wince. “It’s probably better I don’t leave the main family house
at the moment.”

“Nonsense!” Tankhun insists. “Jirapat is coming and he’s completely sober. Plus we’ll be bringing
four other guards to watch us as per my father’s orders.”
Pete is a little surprised by that. Increased security details are never a good sign. Porsche meets his
eyes and then whispers under his breath for Pete to hear. “Lots of exits at the bar if things get
risky.”

He can acknowledge the truth in that and short of being the reason the night is ending prematurely,
Pete doesn’t really have a good argument not to continue.

“Great!” Tankhun says, tossing back the rest of his drink. “And now- for the shoes!”

The fact that he seemingly is unable to hear the chorus of groans that follows that announcement is
frankly impressive.

Pete glances down at the black material of the pleated wide leg pants he’s currently sporting and
wonders how Tankhun is going to find shoes to match. He can only hope he’s not the correct size.

But previous experience tells him he’s not so lucky.

5:57PM

“Alright,” Tankhun says, now that they’re dressed to his specifications and everyone has refilled
their drinks again.

Pete makes sure to transfer his cigarettes and lighter over to the new pair of pants he's now wearing
as well as the knife he'd originally hidden in his work shoes. Now he's ready for just about
anything.

They’re sequestered around the coffee table when Tankhun brandishes a deck of cards out of
nowhere with a strange, almost magnetic glint in his eye. “Who wants to play Pok Deng?”

Arm takes one look at the deck of cards and smiles.

6:29PM

Pete is coming out of the bathroom when he nearly runs into Arm coming toward him. He flinches
back but Arm just grabs at his forearm, dragging Pete into Tankhun’s bedroom and away from the
shouts and the chaos going on in the living room.

“What?” Pete wonders, reacting a little slowly because of the rum.

He doesn’t think Arm is going to attack him though.

“Tankhun said we’re not allowed to ask about your injuries,” Arm says, watching how Pete
immediately tenses up. “But we’ve been through too much together for you to keep lying to me. I
want the truth. Now.”

Pete glances at the door and back at Arm before rubbing a hand across his face.

“It’s- complicated.”
“I’ve got time.”

He sighs then, picking up that Arm won’t be letting this go anytime soon. “I got caught spying on
the minor family,” Pete admits.

Arm nods slowly, not understanding the implications.

“I was in the minor family compound when it happened.”

That brings him on board quickly enough. “You were a prisoner?” he demands, before lowering
his voice. “That’s where you were?”

“They moved me to a safe house before I escaped and made my way back to Bangkok- but
essentially yeah.”

Arm is silent for a moment, processing all of this.

“Who?” he wonders after a beat. “Whose prisoner were you?”

Pete makes a face. Hesitates. “Vegas.”

“Fuck,” Arm hisses. Then “Fuck.”

Pete nods as if in understanding but before he can ease away from him Arm reaches out a second
later and squeezes his shoulder. “But you’re still with us?” Arm wonders, checking always
checking. “You’re with us, right?”

The implication is obvious. Pete doesn't have to try very hard to interpret his meaning. The rivalry
between the main and minor family runs deep.

“Yeah, I’m with you.”

Something in Arm finally relaxes at that and Pete realises that whatever test this was he somehow,
finally passed it.

“Arm, Pete,” Tankhun calls out. “Where the hell did you get to?”

Arm grins then, maliciously. “Better get back out there so I can wipe the floor with you guys.”

Pete snorts but doesn’t doubt it. He's never been much of a gambler.

9:34PM

“Go and bring the car around,” Tankhun orders, abandoning his cards on the table and cursorily
checking his phone before flicking his fingers at Arm, Pol and Jirapat.

That’s definitely not a three person job and when Pete watches them drop their cards, game now
forgotten as they swiftly obey the command, he feels a sudden strong sense of foreboding.
Especially when Tankhun sloppily fills up three glasses with rum and hands one to Pete, flicking a
significant look over at Porsche as he does so.

Pete feels a twinge of unease that he fights to ignore when they down the shot together just as the
others leave them alone in the room.

“Heyyy Pete,” Porsche says suddenly, as if its apropos of nothing and Tankhun hasn’t literally just
prompted him to act less than thirty seconds ago.

“Yes?” Pete says, responding warily as he turns to him.

“Tankhun wants a favour.”

He is definitely not liking this. “Depends on the favour.”

Tankhun helpfully refills their glasses again and nudges at Pete’s wrist intentionally. He downs the
next shot without much thought. When Porsche just stares at him, Tankhun seems to lose his
patience with the slow approach.

“You need a hickey.”

Pete splutters and tries to choke on the last mouthful he swallowed. “What?” he gasps, already
flushing at the suggestion. “Why?”

Tankhun is already filling up their glasses again out of the corner of his eye.

“Because I need you to,” Tankhun says as if it’s that simple. “And I don’t want to be the one to do
it.”

Pete glances about the very empty room and his eyes settle on the only other person present.
“Porsche?” he demands, truly shocked now. “You want Porsche to give me a hickey? Because-?”

Tankhun looks at him with surprising coldness for a second before he shrugs.

“Not for anything untoward,” he says as if those two things aren’t already exclusive in the making
of a hickey. “I’m pissed at Kinn too and I want to mess with him.”

“But,” Pete tries, frowning now, and Tankhun taps at his wrist again, clucking with annoyance that
Pete isn’t drinking fast enough. He downs another mouthful and tries to gather his thoughts.
“Shouldn’t it be on Porsche? How does giving me a hickey mess with Kinn?”

Porsche briefly flicks a glance at Tankhun as if looking for an answer to that question too and Pete
realises Porsche isn’t in on the details of this plan either. It’s his intoxication that’s got him reacting
just a little too slowly because Pete is starting to see him register his surprise at what they’re
discussing.

When Tankhun goes to pour again, Pete reaches out and places his hand over his own glass to
block him.

“Why are you asking this?” Pete wonders, tone changing abruptly as he locks eyes with Tankhun.
“The truth. No bullshit.”

“A test,” Tankhun settles on eventually. “I want to make sure of something before we leave.”

That's not much of an answer either. “Make sure of what? Tankhun-”

“Yes or no, Pete,” Tankhun demands. “Do you trust I have a good reason?”

“You can’t expect him to agree if you won’t tell him,” Porsche points out reasonably. “And don’t
think I didn’t notice you not asking me either.”
Pete winces at Porsche’s words but Tankhun was never the one known for cruelty. If he’s
requesting something like this, Pete knows it’s for a legitimate reason. Even if he has a sinking
feeling it has something to do with Vegas.

But at the end of the day Pete has made this bargain, he’s put his trust in Porsche and now
Tankhun and that means he can’t close himself off completely with doubt and suspicion every time
something doesn’t sit right.

However bizarre the request, there’s intention behind it. A plan. And Pete could probably do with
more of Tankhun’s scheming. He’s much stronger than anyone has given him credit for and Pete
could use some of that at the moment.

Although it definitely detracts from the effect when Tankhun pouts a little. “You won’t do it if I
tell you.”

That’s not very encouraging. Porsche, if anything, looks even more sceptical then. “Are you trying
to be convincing?” he asks, genuinely concerned. “Do you actually think this is working?”

Tankhun stares at him blankly for a second, not understanding the question. “What do you mean?
Pete is in.”

Pete startles a little, taken aback by the uncanny way that Tankhun could read him. Just like Vegas
has done so easily before.

But that’s different, Pete argues with himself. Tankhun actually knows you.

And Vegas doesn’t.

Somehow that almost makes him feel worse. Because why is Vegas the one who seems to read
him so much better?

“Fine,” he acquiesces, realising the others are staring at him expectantly. “Yes.”

“Really?” Porsche demands, smiling almost in disbelief. “You want me to give you a hickey?”

Pete shoots him an unimpressed look and Tankhun waves a hand between them to get them to
focus.

“Just do it.”

Then Porsche is winking at him and leaning in before Pete has really prepared himself.

“Tilt your head back,” Tankhun orders at his side. “Or do you need another shot first?”

Pete glances over at Porsche and his playful expression and swallows a sigh. “Give me another.”

Tankhun obliges and they wait until Pete has downed that too, mouth burning, before Porsche is
leaning down and putting his lips just above Pete’s collarbone in the hollow of his throat.

His mouth is warm and wet and Pete tries not to squirm when Porsche starts to suck at the skin
there, applying pressure to make the blood vessels burst. His hand comes up almost automatically
before Pete feels strange at the idea of placing it against Porsche’s head and lets it rest on Porsche’s
shoulder instead, ready to push him away the second it becomes too much.

After his time with Vegas, Pete is expecting some kind of embarrassing and immediate reaction
from himself at this kind of intimate touch so he’s more than startled when he sits there for longer
than a minute and Porsche’s attentions still don’t stir anything inside him.

If anything, Pete feels uncomfortable, embarrassed and distinctly unmoved by the act. There’s
something perfunctory about what’s happening, an element that’s entirely devoid of heat, and
entirely mechanical.

Weird.

“This is weird,” Pete says out loud, swallowing through his discomfort.

But finally, thankfully Porsche is already pulling away and he and Tankhun are leaning back to
admire his handiwork together. “What? I didn’t do it for you?” Porsche wonders, half tease, half
serious.

Does Porsche actually wonder about that? Whether Pete is attracted to other men?

“No,” Pete admits. Then. “Sorry.”

Porsche grins at him, amused anyway, whilst Tankhun is still critically eyeing Pete’s throat.

“Not bad,” Tankhun compliments and pours a glass of water for Pete who accepts it gratefully
even as his head is starting to spin.

Porsche knocks his own shot back with a grin. “I told you he’s repressed.”

“Is that what that was about?” Pete wonders after he’s swallowed, trying to glance down and see
the damage but unable to inspect himself without a mirror. “You could have just asked if I was
attracted to Porsche.”

Although he has no idea why Tankhun would even need to know that. Is that important information
to have somehow?

Tankhun only rolls his eyes and checks his phone again. “Let’s go.”

9:41PM

They make it down to the lobby, and Pete can see Arm and Pol waiting by one of the families more
ostentatious vehicles. He has no idea where Jirapat disappeared off to or who these other four
guards accompanying them are meant to be. Beyond Phichit who was already posted on their door.

Tankhun immediately scowls at their hopeful faces. “We’re not taking the Maserati,” he shouts at
them, waving his fists through the glass. “There’s not enough seats!”

Arm and Pol exchange downtrodden glances before they say a few words with the guys rostered on
valet and Jirapat is climbing into the passenger seat and driving off to put the Maserati back in the
garage with his shoulders hunched.

Although Pete doesn’t quite understand the obsession with the expensive cars that his fellow
guards have, he does recognise the motivation though. It’s not often that Tankhun decides to go
outside the hotel, they’re trying to make the best of the experience.

Being that they’re so rare.

Tankhun is back to glancing at his phone again and they wait in the lobby for the new car, not
wanting to give up the coolness of the AC just yet. Porsche is leaning on the counter, chatting
away to Taeng who's posted on the lobby desk tonight and Pete can feel the alcohol working its
way in his system because all he can focus on is her pretty smile.

He might stop drinking for an hour or so to let himself recalibrate again. Right now isn’t the
greatest time to be out of control no matter how relaxed he feels. But that’s still not enough to
drown out his previous suspicions.

A couple minutes later one of the SUVs is pulling up in the drive but Tankhun is already moving
towards the doors before it comes into sight, followed by another SUV so they can fit all of the
guards into the second vehicle.

“Pete,” he calls, without waiting to see if he’s following. “Porsche, come on.”

Porsche says goodbye to Taeng who waves her farewell and then he jogs over to catch them, Pete
striding out behind Tankhun’s glittering blazer, feeling only slightly underdressed and infinitely
more unprepared for whatever’s coming.

He said they were going to Hum Bar but was that a lie? What if they’re going somewhere else?

Pete is still trying to puzzle it out as their group makes it outside into the warm air and they’re
suddenly passing another group of vaguely familiar guards entering the hotel, flanking important
men at the centre.

Pete recognises Gear on the fringe with a jolt of shock and then he’s spotting who Gear and the rest
of the men are shielding.

Mr Kan is here.

He strides straight past them without a word, eyes flicking once over Porsche who’s standing just
outside the doors and Pete has never been more thankful to be half concealed behind Tankhun and
unworthy of his attention to warrant a glance over his shoulder.

But he certainly doesn’t escape the eyes of the person walking behind Mr Kan, especially when
that person stops to stare.

Pete goes still at those keen eyes on him, understanding crashing over his body in one horrifying
wave as Vegas’ eyes travel onto the exposed fresh hickey on Pete’s throat and his expression goes
slack, momentarily unable to conceal his reaction.

It comes to him next that this is what Tankhun planned for. The constant checking of his phone,
the slow pace he’d been moving at ever since they’d left the room, sending Jirapat, Arm and Pol
off to change cars, delaying them by a few more minutes.

He must have known that the minor family were stopping by at this exact time. That Vegas would
be here to see them off.

This is the exact moment Tankhun wanted.

Pete is still standing there, completely frozen when Vegas’ expression goes blank and he moves to
take an unthinking step towards him.

“Vegas,” Mr Kan calls, his voice a warning, and then Porsche is there, shoving at Pete’s spine and
nudging him into the backseat of the car and Pete is turning away, the moment broken as he
scrambles into the car to sit next to Pol.

Tankhun is still standing outside by the front of the SUV with Jirapat, watching Vegas and Pete
can see the methodical look in his eye, the assessing edge to his body language when he finally
turns back and catches Pete’s expression. The wounded contortion of Pete’s own features hanging
there before he’s able to conceal it, the horror still lingering in his eyes.

Tankhun takes this all in unflinchingly and Pete feels foolish for ever believing that he’s nothing
like his brother. Nothing like his cousin.

Porsche is swearing quietly under his breath and whilst that is helping alleviate some of Pete’s
temper it doesn’t really change the situation. He reminds himself that Tankhun did all of this for a
reason. That he’s not needlessly harsh or manipulative. That until he can explain himself, he
doesn’t deserve Pete’s instinctive wrath.

But that voice doesn’t come out evenly.

“That’s what this was about?” Pete says quietly, trying to keep his voice level because Arm and
Pol are already sitting in the car and can clearly hear him when he rounds on Porsche.

Porsche at least seems stunned and extremely apologetic. “I’m sorry, Pete. I had no idea that was
his plan.”

Pete doesn’t reply, because he knows that Porsche isn’t the mastermind behind this. Porsche isn't
so great at seeing the big picture. Of thinking ahead. So he waits. Simmering in his anger until
Tankhun is finally climbing into the front passenger seat.

“That was shitty, Tankhun,” he says, trying to keep his voice even, controlled. “Even for you.”

Tankhun doesn’t even turn around to face him. The coward.

“I know. But I had to see for myself.”

Pete tries not to glance at Pol beside him. “Why?”

Arm is looking intently at Pete through the rear view mirror, his expression crinkled with concern
and Pete remembers with a jolt that he knows some of the truth now.

“Because you can only ever get a split second of honesty out of Vegas. That’s why I needed to see
his face.”

Pete can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Are you serious?” he demands, finally losing out to the
emotion in his voice. “He’s an easy read.”

The dead silence in the car speaks to everyone’s stunned surprise that Pete would dare to talk to
Tankhun like this. “To you maybe,” Tankhun replies, easy as anything and the words drain the
fight out of Pete.

He can’t argue against that. Not when the implication there is plain. So Tankhun is not convinced
of Pete’s detachment after all.

Suddenly the reality of it is all too much and then Pete’s leaning over Porsche and jerking at the
door handle, though it stays firmly locked beneath his grip.

“Let me out,” Pete says, angrily now.

“Why?” Tankhun wonders, without inflection. “You want to go back in there? Right where he’s
waiting for you?”

Pete drops his hand on the door as if burned and reconsiders his options. “We’re going to be
having words about this. In private.”

Tankhun merely nods as if in acceptance of those terms. “Yes, we are. Because do you know what
that out there just told me?”

Pete doesn’t ask, but Tankhun answers anyway as if determined that Pete understand the verdict,
the judgement he's passing over the situation.

“You’re in deep trouble, Pete.” Then he turns to Arm in the driver’s seat as if the conversation is
now over. “And did you see that wristband!” Tankhun scoffs derisively. “What’s he trying to do?
Drum up sympathy with a fake injury? Pathetic!”

Pete winces at the tone of the words, the dismissive snort that follows as his eyes follow Jirapat
moving to the SUV parked behind them, watching him climb into the driver's seat. Although he
knows that Tankhun’s dislike of Vegas runs much deeper than the shallow surface of outrage on
Pete’s behalf. His anger isn’t wholly fuelled out of loyalty to Pete. And it’s for that reason that real
truth matters here.

“It’s not fake.”

“Hmm?” Tankhun says, not quite listening to him as he turns to face Pete properly and Arm finally
pulls out of the main driveway.

He doesn’t want to say this here but Tankhun isn’t giving him much choice at the moment. “It’s
not fake. It was me- who broke his wrist.”

Both he and Porsche seem to process that for a second before Tankhun waves the truth of it away.
“Well at least we know it’s well deserved! Anyway forget him for now. We're off to Hum bar
remember, let’s go have fun.”

Pol lets out a hoot of excitement and then the rest of them are chattering away, the previous tension
suddenly forgotten. Even when Porsche reaches out and quietly squeezes his forearm in comfort.

As if it’s all that simple.

Pete wishes he hadn’t drunk so much already because he has no doubt after that little show that
Vegas will find him before the night is over.

And he has Tankhun to thank for it.

10:07PM

When they pull up in front of the club Pete is out and standing on the sidewalk long before any of
the others have stepped out.

He’s already glancing at the second SUV to watch who climbs out. Jirapat is sitting in the driver's
seat and it looks like Arun is in the passenger seat. Phichit emerges from the back along with a
short, squat looking man that Pete recognises but doesn’t remember the name of.

Their muscle for the evening.

He folds his arms and tries not to eye them critically. The fact that they didn’t get out first to flank
Tankhun coming out of the other vehicle doesn’t exactly bode well. But he’s not on duty tonight.
Their shortcomings are not his problem.

Pete turns away just in time for Porsche to seize his arm and frog march him into the club as if he’s
in danger of running, waving a greeting at the valet guys as they pass them by.

He doesn’t bother to bring up what Tankhun did. There’s no point talking about it now. Pete is
angry enough, and tipsy enough to say things he might regret. Things that Porsche probably doesn’t
deserve.

Tankhun on the other hand-

When they’re all inside, it seems Yok was expecting them because there’s a line of shots awaiting
their arrival as they reach the bar.

Pete is angry, and petty enough that he snatches the one up Tankhun was reaching for first and
downs it in one go. Both Yok and Porsche share a glance whilst Phichit and the rest of his men
take up posts in sections of the club, subtly covering the entrances and exits. Only Jirapat sticks
with the main group, watching alertly as the rest of them squeeze along the bar to pick up their
shots.

"Mot kaew!” Tankhun cries, and everyone bar Jirapat is draining their glasses at the command.

Pete gives him five minutes to settle in before he’s seizing Tankhun’s arm and dragging him
further up the bar out of earshot.

“Well?” he demands, the ferocity in his voice plain. “What the hell was that about? Why didn’t
you tell me?”

Tankhun doesn’t answer immediately and Pete fills in the blanks himself. “Because you don’t trust
me? You don’t trust my assessment of the situation?”

He licks his lips then, seems to try to cautiously dance around outright offending him which Pete
might appreciate if he wasn’t already so agitated. “Vegas has a way of making people forget
themselves,” Tankhun says without any condemnation. “I had to be sure you weren’t one of them.”

Pete can almost feel his legs dropping out from under him at the significance of those words.
Tankhun knows. Has known all along what Vegas has done to him. He knew that Pete was weak
enough, just like everyone else, fool enough to fall for it.

It’s ten seconds of blinding lights and pounding music before Pete can find his voice again.

“I thought he wouldn’t be able to do to me what he did to Tawan. And Porsche. They were so
eager and willing to oblige him, so trusting. But- that was my own arrogance in the end. I was
wrong.”

Tankhun takes this information with grace. “How wrong?”

Pete clutches at his face, beyond embarrassment. “There were time when it felt- consensual and at
a certain point I got caught up in it. I let myself believe that was true. But only once.”
It was so much worse for him then. After that had happened. After he’d let himself pretend for a
bit and Vegas hadn’t given him any breathing room to process the consequences of it.

“And not since?”

“It’s not the same,” Pete says, unsure of how to explain it. “I’m no longer at his mercy.”

“No,” Tankhun agrees, and there’s something brutal and fervent in his tone. “Maybe now he’s at
yours.”

The thought is too much for him. Too much, too much. Of everything.

Pete heads back to the bar for another drink.

12:19AM

Everyone's dancing and drinking and Pete can feel the sweat sliding along his skin.

He's thirsty but the rum is good and the music is loud and what else is there to worry about?

What else is there?

1:33AM

Pete slips outside to escape the noise for a moment. He’s still carrying the glass with Sang Som but
there’s only about a finger width of it left at the bottom now.

The outside air is helping to cool him down a little and Pete shuffles over to a nearby wall,
dragging out his pack of iScore Blue, thumbing out a cigarette one handed. He puts his mouth
around it, tucking the rest of them back into his pants before patting himself down for a lighter. He
finds it in his back pocket and ignites the cigarette in his mouth, taking a long drag and letting out a
sigh once he’s put the lighter out of sight again.

He’s only a little drunk. Is no longer keeping track of how many glasses he’s consumed. But even
so Pete is still resisting the temptation to take those last few steps, to become fully incapacitated by
alcohol, especially not while outside the main family house.

He’s still angry after the discussion with Tankhun and upset about the shards of truth in it, the bits
that were sharp enough to bury into tender flesh and stay there, smarting for hours afterward.

All of this was a mistake somehow. He shouldn’t have told Tankhun anything.

Pete takes another drag of the cigarette before holding it between his fingers and lifting the glass to
his lips, taking a small sip. Then he lets his eyes flutter shut and sighs again. He wonders not for
the first time what Vegas is doing right now.

Is he still at the main family house? Or did he turn around once he saw Pete and the hickey and
start searching? He can’t know that the bodyguards from the main family are here, can’t know
Pete is here because if he did he’d already be in the club. He’d be out here right now looking for
Pete.

And Pete is drunk, and honest with himself enough to think they’d be all over each other. Bodies
pressed as close as physically possible, the both of them seeking, seeking.

It seems silly now to keep denying there’s something about Vegas, something in Vegas that Pete
desperately wants.

And Vegas feels the same.

The difference is, Vegas is more likely to act on the impulse. Is unable to control his own urges.

He wonders about the location of his minor bodyguards. Pete knows Vegas’ men are still tailing
him even if he hasn’t caught sight of them tonight. It’s possible they missed them leaving the main
family house but Pete hopes not. They’d have to be pretty terrible at surveillance if they missed
something like that. Their entire group had left through the front doors and they’d passed Vegas
and his group on the way out.

Of course they know that Pete has left the building.

He snorts, laughing at how frayed his thoughts are at the moment and then he smells him.

Suddenly it’s like he can inhale it more clearly; the smoky haze of incense, a touch of clove, some
kind of mix between black cherry and supple leather. It’s from what Pete assumes to be an
expensive bottle of men’s cologne that he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing. Even as it makes his
mouth water.

Is he imagining this now or is it really happening?

But Pete’s opening his eyes at the familiar scent, glancing up into the darkness of the alley that
leads out from the back of the club into a side street and Vegas is there like Pete knew he would
be.

He doesn’t step back, doesn’t retreat because he’s not afraid, the feeling stirring in his chest is
anticipation, elation as he looks into Vegas’ dark eyes, watching him slowly approach, prowling
forward like a jungle cat.

Pete’s fingers twitch around his glass just as Vegas is stepping into his space.

They’re silent for a moment, indulging in the tension between them and then Pete looks at him
steadily before taking another drag of his cigarette. “Vegas.”

Vegas is unsmiling, eyes afire with jealousy and an emotion Pete can’t quite recognise. Is it loss?
Betrayal? Could the thought of Pete with someone else really do that much damage?

Pete wonders if his own expression had looked the same when he’d seen another man between
Vegas’ legs. Are their feelings merely a reflection of the other now?

Even inebriated, he still manages to see the intention before Vegas strikes.

“Wait-“ Pete starts, a warning on the edge of his tongue before Vegas is launching at him, catching
at Pete’s dominant wrist, lightning fast and throwing it above his head, crushing it to the wall
behind them.
He manages to conceal his reaction at that touch, manages not to lose the cigarette tucked into the
corner of his mouth but the sudden friction against his raw skin is sharp and painful.

Their bodies follow the movement and suddenly Pete’s back is fully against the wall with Vegas
pressed bodily against him. Then they’re chest to chest, hip to hip as Vegas pins him there, staring
deeply into his face, searching.

Vegas only has the one hand, Pete can push him off but instead he just- doesn’t, distracted by the
wave of heat rolling over them. The dark look in Vegas’ eyes.

Pete lifts his other hand up and swallows the meagre remainder of his drink, draining its entirety in
a single mouthful. If Vegas is surprised at Pete’s lack of concern he doesn’t show it. Although he
does snatch the empty glass out of Pete's hand, considering it in his tight grip before hurling it
violently against the opposite wall.

Pete doesn’t even flinch at the sound of it shattering into a thousand pieces, merely blinks and
stares at Vegas through lidded eyes.

The door to the club is closed. Nobody could have heard it over the thump of the bass, the music
so loud and frenetic, despite how it sounds muffled, stifled to Pete’s ears outside.

They’re silent afterwards and then Pete looks away, inspecting the damage, the mass of glass now
pooled at the base of the wall just out of reach, a sea of glittering ruin. Beautiful but deadly.

“Scary,” Pete mutters in a voice devoid of concern, devoid of any emotion.

Something restless flashes behind Vegas’ eyes.

“Who?”

The way his voice cracks under the weight of the word seems to finally reach Pete beyond the fog
of alcohol. He straightens, actively tries to get a better read of Vegas’ face.

The hurt there is unmistakeable but Pete doesn't feel a rush of victory. This had never been his plan
in the first place.

“It’s not-“

Vegas leans in closer, peering intently at him in search of answers. “Did you fuck someone else?
Who did you let touch you?”

Finally, Pete is roused into anger. That Vegas would dare accuse him of this. That he believes he
has the right to. “I haven’t fucked anyone,” he snaps. “It’s not some unthinking impulse for me like
it is for you.”

Vegas understands his meaning straight away as if Pete isn’t already back in that same moment, the
flash of the man between Vegas’ thighs, the clear bobbing motion of his head and Vegas’ heated
gaze only on Pete.

“So you are punishing me still,” he says, lifting his thumb and pressing hard to the tender bruise
Porsche sucked into his neck hours ago. “Then who did this?”

Pete swallows hard and wonders if the words will be worth anything to him. Would the truth even
matter? Why does he want Vegas to believe that Pete has been honest, faithful?
Faithful to who? Faithful to what?

Are they lovers now?

Pete is frowning even as he weighs the options. The value of the truth. And the consequences of it.
Does he truly want to set the cousins so firmly against each other?

“Porsche,” Pete eventually mutters, watching the way Vegas’ brow knits together with confusion.
“It was a joke.”

“At your expense or mine, baby?”

Earlier he would have said Vegas only but now Pete is sorely aware that it’s both. Tankhun made
moves against both of them tonight. However unwilling he is to divulge that, Pete blinks at him,
slowly instead, face betraying nothing.

“Mine then,” Vegas decides and Pete doesn’t correct him. “And why are you-?“

He trails off abruptly, watching Pete closely as a thought seems to come to him first.

“You’ve been listening to Tankhun.”

Pete’s mouth opens a little in surprise and Vegas reaches out and suddenly snatches the cigarette
out of it, staring at Pete intently as he brings it to his own lips, the brace on his wrist sliding into
Pete’s line of sight as he raises his hand to inhale.

He’s not sure why Tankhun was Vegas’ first guess. They hardly ever interact. Tankhun outright
refuses to be in the same room as him. With their tumultuous relationship it seems strange, near
impossible that Vegas would even-

Pete’s eyes narrow.

“Who told you I’m on his detail?”

Vegas inclines his head, smiling as if in approval. “Was your very public demotion meant to be a
secret? How quickly you fell from Kinn’s grace.”

Something ugly and affronted flickers within him. “As if you weren’t the one who pushed me?”

Vegas must hear the strain in his voice because he smiles wider and takes another drag, keeping
the cigarette in hand as he reaches out with his other and places it flat on Pete’s chest as if holding
him up against the wall. He’s not exerting any pressure yet but Pete glances down automatically
and wonders if it’s worth it fighting him in this back alley. If anything, the way Vegas isn’t
answering him straight away, and is looking extremely pleased with the situation reeks of
intention.

Vegas is teasing him. Vegas is enjoying teasing him.

“Relax, baby. You’re better off, trust me.”

Pete openly scoffs at that.

“Forget Kinn, anyway. Let’s talk about us. Why don’t we just pick up where we left this off
before?”

Pete throws his empty hand out, as if to snatch the cigarette back but Vegas’ hand flexes against his
chest and then he’s shoved back. Before he can do anything else, Vegas is already taking
advantage of the fact that Pete leaned in closer as he slots himself nearly up against Pete’s chest,
crowding him more fully against the wall.

The space narrows down under the heat of intimacy, the confusion of desire in their bodies.

Pete’s heart is beating faster as he briefly considers whatever weapons he might have on his
person. No gun tonight as he’s not on duty but there’s a knife in one of his boots. Before his next
thought can slide into retrieving it, he suddenly remembers the fight back in his room so long ago
now and how Vegas never picked up weapons then when he could have.

And Pete’s not in any danger this time.

Vegas isn’t trying to sneak up on him in order to hurt him or to knock him out and drag him back to
the minor family compound. At the very least he hasn’t tried to do so since Pete escaped and there
have been plenty of opportunities. Vegas actually doesn’t want to seriously fight Pete. At least not
in the kind of way that would leave them both injured or genuinely hurt.

From previous experience, Pete doesn’t doubt he’s still interested in the type of physical
confrontation that inevitably ends in sex. Vegas probably likes that type of fighting the most.

Pete’s thoughts are still on the closeness of their bodies, the lit cigarette in between Vegas’ fingers
and how to create distance with both of these things that he doesn’t catch Vegas’ meaning straight
away.

“Before?” he echoes blankly, not comprehending.

Suddenly Vegas’ hand is sliding up his chest, skimming the side of his throat until his fingers are
slipping into Pete’s hair, cupping the nape of his neck.

“Oh you know, when I was on my knees for you in that club,” Vegas continues, in a conversational
way as he leans in towards Pete’s ear, tightening the connection between them as he exhales a
cloud of smoke. “And you really, really liked it.”

Pete jerks away from his mouth but doesn’t get far, Vegas is holding on to him too tightly.

“I didn’t- “ he tries, flustered by the accusation. “That wasn’t-“

“No?” Vegas wonders innocently. “You don’t want to punish me for everything I’ve done to you?
Do your worst and make me regret it?”

Pete stiffens, because the words are indirectly steeped in truth. There had been times when those
exact thoughts had crossed his mind. When the fantasy had greatly appealed to him.

“Stop- don’t put words in my mouth.”

“But I’m right aren’t I? You want to punish me almost as much as you want to fuck me.”

This is not the kind of conversation he’s mentally prepared to have right now. And especially not
how many? drinks in. “I don’t want anything to do with you.”

Vegas leans back slightly, but their hips are still pressed together, his fingers idly playing with
Pete’s hair as Pete tries to pretend not to notice the warmth of his touch. Once again, Pete’s clear
standoffishness, and his rebuff of Vegas’ proposition, seem to set Vegas alight.
“So you keep saying,” he notes, completely unperturbed. “But then you look at me like you’re
desperate for me to touch you.”

The idea that something like that, Pete’s uncontrollable desire, his weakness could be so visible to
Vegas is nothing short of terrifying. It- can’t be true. Pete wants so badly to believe that Vegas is
lying but he’s shaken up enough not to be certain.

“I’m not,” he manages to insist, hating how indecisive it sounds. More evidence of his wavering.

At that, Vegas’ grip tightens almost reflexively around Pete’s wrist and his jaw clenches, trying to
hide the wince again. But this time, Vegas’ sharp eyes miss nothing. He frowns in response, eyes
sliding away from Pete’s face to where his hand is still gripping him tight. Understanding shifting
the expression even as he tosses the remains of the cigarette onto the ground and abruptly stamps it
out.

And then Vegas is dragging both hands over towards Pete’s wrist, unbuttoning the cuff and forcing
the sleeve of the blue shirt down, the fabric bunching up around Pete’s forearm.

Pete is struggling by then but Vegas’ hand has slid against his own palm, still pinning him there
even as his expression darkens.

“Why do these look so bad?” Vegas demands, but he’s moving already to Pete’s other wrist,
unbuttoning the cuff and exposing them there too. “It’s been days since you were restrained.”

He struggles half heartedly, knowing that noise is his greatest enemy here. He doesn’t want to
draw Vegas’ attention with it. Very aware that sooner or later Tankhun and Porsche will come
running out from inside the club.

How long ago did he tell Porsche he was going to the bathroom?

“Vegas,” he starts, trying to get his attention, then rising in pitch when Vegas’ hands fall to his
waist and he’s yanking at the tails of the shirt, dragging the fabric out from where it’s tucked into
Pete’s pants. “Vegas!”

At that Vegas merely snorts at the idea. “I’m not going to- Just let me look,” he explains and then
he’s pushing the shirt up and over Pete’s stomach, bunching the fabric until it’s tucked up
underneath Pete’s armpits.

Pete is flushing and is very aware that his nipples are reacting to temperature change but thankfully
Vegas’ attention is elsewhere, eyes and hands travelling up the side of Pete’s rib cage, inspecting
the mottled bruising with a keen, assessing eye. Then he’s redirecting his attention to Pete’s chest.

A second later, he remembers Vegas is no longer holding his wrist down but Pete has left it in
place. The inherent obedience of the gesture has him quickly dropping his hand back down and
shoving at Vegas’ chest in order to separate them.

But he’s not actually applying all of his strength and Vegas doesn’t budge.

“Is this why you went back to a clinic again?” Vegas wonders with a touch of genuine disquiet that
makes Pete’s blood boil. “Because your injuries have flared up?”

He realises the assumption behind Vegas’ question.

He, like Porsche, like Tankhun, like anybody else that might know the secret, had assumed that
Pete had sought out medical attention immediately after his escape. They had thought that even his
own stubbornness couldn't outweigh the practicalities of the situation. The driving demand of
conceding to common sense.

Pete doesn’t answer him but the defiance must be there hiding in plain sight because Vegas’ mouth
twists down in disapproval.

“That was the first time, wasn’t it? You never had your injuries looked at in the first place. That’s
why you’re in this state.”

Pete refuses to be cowed by the disbelief in his eyes.

“You’re been hiding it like everything else,” Vegas continues. “I bet it was probably out of a need
to protect your grandmother from the whole truth of it. But why leave it unaddressed for so long?”

Pete feels a flutter of anger at the surety in Vegas’ voice. He doesn’t understand how Vegas can
still seem to read him so well. He knows, he knows, that he’s not an open book.

“You do realise the hypocrisy of your concern right?” Pete demands. “Being the one who inflicted
them in the first place.”

“Do you?” Vegas fires back, his right hand gripping at the side of Pete’s waist whilst he waves his
other hand, wrist brace and all in Pete’s face like an accusation. “When you were the one who sent
me off to get this looked at too?”

“I just wanted you out of the house,” Pete says evenly, face betraying nothing. “That wasn’t
because I wasn’t concerned for you.”

Vegas smiles then, and Pete feels the tension suddenly shift, change. “Mmm,” he says leaning
close again. “Liar.”

Pete opens his mouth to defend himself but Vegas tilts his head and then his mouth is coming
down unexpectedly over the hickey that Porsche left.

It’s unexpected in the moment, but Pete knew they were always moving towards this. That this
would inevitably be the result. Pete jolts at the first touch of tongue, the warm wet heat of him
before Vegas bites down a second later, reclaiming that patch of Pete’s skin as his own.

Despite what he had suspected earlier, Pete is still taken aback by how quickly arousal flares
within him, how his body seems to awaken under the heat of Vegas’ ministrations. When the act
itself should feel no different than what Porsche had done.

Except Pete’s heart is beating quickly in his chest, he can feel the pressure between their hips,
pressed so tightly together and he knows that his body has betrayed him here too.

Because he knows right now that this isn’t enough. He wants more-

So even knowing exactly what Vegas is doing and for what purpose, Pete swallows hard and lifts
his chin up, allowing Vegas more room to work as his free hand settles at the base of Vegas’ lower
back, clutching at the material of his shirt.

He’s working over Pete’s skin with such intent that Pete is shuddering, feeling the stiffness
between his legs, signalling the power of his need. When it’s not enough, Pete is burying his other
hand into Vegas’ hair without Pete planning or intending to do so.

His fingers tangle in the strands and Vegas hums against him, approving of being held by Pete.
Pete swallows again at the vibrations that tease across his skin at that and his hips are punching
forward almost automatically, feeling an answering pressure against him. He gasps, raw and
thoughtless, whilst every inch of him is on fire.

Then, abruptly, Vegas is drawing back and appraising his work, just as Porsche and Tankhun had
done hours earlier.

“Much better,” Vegas murmurs, eyeing Pete’s throat as Pete struggles to keep himself upright.

The muscles in his legs are still trembling.

“Kiss me.”

Vegas stares at him then. Really stares at him and seems to take in a significant detail that he’d
initially missed upon his arrival.

“You’re drunk.”

There’s surprise there too. Vegas has never seen him like this.

But Pete is already sneering at him. “And clear headed consent matters to you now, does it?”

“It does,” Vegas promises, but he’s still leaning forward, pinning Pete to the wall. The hypocrite.
The liar. “It should. But you make me greedy.”

“Kiss me.”

“Where should I kiss you?” Vegas asks, all innocence and Pete scowls when he leans in and kisses
Pete’s cheek, lips brushing softly against the curve of his temple, the dip of his throat, his Adam’s
apple.

Pete swallows and swallows and wonders if he’s being tortured.

“Don’t you want me to suck you off?” Vegas asks, leaning in close again, mouth dragging across
the edge of Pete’s jaw, dipping into the curve of his throat.

At the directness of the question Pete inhales sharply but pointedly doesn’t respond.

“Hmm?” Vegas wonders and then there’s his tongue again, sliding along Pete’s skin as his hisses
out a sharp breath of surprise. “No? Or does your silence mean yes?”

Pete licks his mouth, swallows hard and finds that he can’t speak. Any word he might manage
would sound shaky, breathless. Swept away in the moment.

Why is he allowing this? Why isn’t he pushing Vegas off of him? He’s touching Pete’s hair, and
his strapped wrist is still holding on to Pete's waist, it would be easy to take him down.

“Don’t want to choke me on your cock?”

Pete hand fumbles out of surprise before he twists, snatching up a handful of Vegas’ shirt and
dragging him forward. Because Pete definitely has no retort when he leans towards Vegas to kiss
him on the mouth.

And Vegas suddenly leans back. Away from him.

“Sorry, sweetheart.”
It takes a beat too long for Pete to realise that Vegas is denying him, and then he’s dropping hold
of Vegas entirely, pushing him away in disgust.

“Fuck you.”

He’s hurt now and angry. “Why would you do that?” Pete bites out. “When you know how much
I-“ like it.

The rest of the sentence hangs there in the air between them because Pete is unable to finish it. But
Vegas knows the meaning. “Come to me when you’re sober,” is all Vegas says. “And ask me to
touch you, then.”

Pete can clearly hear the desperation in his voice now. Is surprised by the pleading in it.

“I’ll make you come, baby. You know how good it can be.”

Pete flushes at the implication, at the memories, and visibly has to restrain himself. He finally
regains control of the struggle over his own desire, shoving at Vegas’ chest again, pushing him
hard enough that he staggers against the wall.

“Fuck off, Vegas,” he hisses, then he’s stumbling back inside, no real direction except for away.

1:49AM

He's at the bar again, can't find Porsche or Tankhun or anyone and he's not sure how he ended up
here alone.

Then a woman is sidling up to him and things take a turn for the worse.

“You,” she says in slightly accented English. “You’re one of his.”

Pete glances back at her. Sees the European looking features, the brown hair, the fierce eyes. “Tell
me,” she says, unable to whisper beneath the loud music. “Where is Don?”

Pete recoils from her, stumbling out of the seat, catching sight of the other foreign men as they
seem to emerge from beneath the strobe lights just in time to surround him. In the blur he can count
about six of them. In very dark suits. Looking heavily armed with matching mean expressions.

The bar has been completely infiltrated. Where’s Jirapat? Phichit? Did they really not notice?

Pete staggers away, shocked at how out of control he feels, the room spinning in a confusing blur
of neon lights which are hanging off the walls. The men in suits immediately step closer as if
they’ve been waiting for this moment and Pete tries to move forward but his legs aren’t
cooperating when he stumbles straight into someone’s open chest.

It’s open because the man’s shirt is unbuttoned so low and Pete can hardly grip onto the soft
slippery material which isn’t good because he needs help standing up now. It’s not hard to realise
how fucked he is in the situation. He’s completely alone here, with no backup and since he’s
drunk, Pete can barely string two thoughts together let alone defend himself.

“Sorry,” Pete mutters, leaning more than half his weight against the man now, but the stranger
doesn’t even stagger, doesn’t try to force Pete off him either.

Which is odd.

Then a familiar hand is encircling his waist, supporting him as Pete smells that damn cologne
again and twists around to see the other threats approaching. There’s three men now, and when
Pete tries to stagger away, the hand on his waist tightens and he finds that he can’t move. Pete
turns his head next and then he’s looking directly at Vegas.

For a second he thinks it’s a trick of his imagination somehow, but it is Vegas he’s half collapsed
against, and his expression is perfectly dangerous as he smiles at the men getting closer.

Pete stops struggling.

“Don’s dead,” Vegas says to the woman in his perfectly disturbing English. “I killed him myself. Is
that what you wanted to hear?”

The anger that transforms her face is pure rage. She’s got a stake in this, Pete realises. An
emotional connection. Not just another one of Don’s thugs.

She loved him, Pete realises, seeing it so clearly all of a sudden. That’s why she’s here. Why she
no doubt has been stalking the family, looking for an opening to approach and get more
information.

What better than a bar full of intoxicated bodyguards who see nearly everything the family does?

Someone shoves one of the men and suddenly it's a chaos of bodies and flashing lights, Vegas
dragging him out of the fray with ease.

By the time things have settled enough again for Pete to look at his surroundings, the woman is
long gone.

2AM

“Everybody out,” Yok shouts, before another fight can break out. “We’re closing. You know the
laws.”

They linger at the back of the club until the remaining foreigners are gone. Vegas kept him well
out of their reach after they arrived and they seemd to know the bar packed full of people wasn't
the best location to make their move. Only once he's certain they're gone does Vegas lead Pete over
towards the main doors, propping him up against the wall and shoving a plastic cup full of water
into his hands.

“Wait here,” Vegas mutters. “I’m serious, Pete. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

Pete is too lightheaded to do anything but toss the water back into his parched throat. He’s
dehydrated, sweating and overheated and even as he looks about the club he can’t find anybody he
recognises.

Except for Yok, when she hurries past, a stack of empty glasses balanced in her arms.
“Porsche?” he calls out to her over the slowly dwindling music. “You seen him?”

Yok shakes her head, looking concerned when a man drunkenly staggers past and loses his footing,
tipping most of his beer against Pete’s chest.

He lets out a gasp as the cold rush of it slops down his front, the beer making the fabric stick to his
skin and then he’s edging over towards the bathroom with the intention to wash off what he can.
The man who spilled it on him is already gone, disappearing in the vanishing crowd, so unaware of
his surroundings he didn't even notice dousing Pete completely.

Pete groans as he uses his shoulder to open the bathroom door, stumbling over to the sinks, looking
at himself in the mirror.

He’s completely dishevelled and wild eyed but the dark blue shirt is even darker now that it’s
stained. Pete fumbles with the buttons and manages to wriggle out of it, thinking Tankhun is going
to kill him when he bundles up the shirt and drops it into the sink, running water over it to try and
get the stain out. A second later he can no longer ignore the smell of beer in the air, the droplets
clinging to his chest, so Pete moves to the sink beside it, turning on the faucet to cup his hands
underneath it, splashing water on his already sticky chest.

Pete switches off the first tap, leaving the shirt in a dark lake of wet fabric and then he’s scooping
up more water to wash himself up as thoroughly as he can. He feels absolutely disgusting now
though the water is helping.

He shivers at the sensitivity on his skin and switches off the tap when he’s done, dragging out a
row of paper towels and sloppily dabbing himself with it.

Someone is shouting his name outside, so Pete turns and leaves the bathroom without another
thought, looking for the source of the sound, the panic in their voice. “Pete!”

He stomps over toward them, still feeling a little damp. “What,” he complains, rubbing a hand
tiredly over his eyes. “Why are you yelling?”

Vegas’ expression clears when Pete steps forward, though his eyebrow twitches at Pete’s half
nakedness.

“Thank fuck. I thought you’d- What happened?”

“Beer,” Pete says morosely. “It’s everywhere.”

“Here,” Vegas says, shrugging out of his red bomber jacket. “Put this on.”

Pete half heartedly shoves the jacket away. “I don’t-“

“The injuries you’re hiding,” Vegas reminds him and Pete sighs, slowly unfolding the jacket,
taking so long to fit one arm through the sleeve that Vegas steps in closer and helps him, gentling
when Pete hisses at the tenderness of his wrists.

“You’re really drunk,” Vegas comments a second later. “Why’d you get like this? You’re usually
more- controlled.”

“Tankhun,” Pete says darkly, letting Vegas zip him up.

Vegas takes his hand next and starts dragging him out of the club. There’s less than three or so
people still lingering now in the venue and one of them is bar staff. Pete offers up a haphazard
wave, considers asking him if he’s seen Porsche either but Vegas pulls him too quickly from the
room before he gets a chance.

He tries to scan the street once they’re outside, still looking for the rest of the bodyguards, for
Tankhun, for Porsche, for Arm and Pol and Jirapat and Phichit and the rest of them.

It’s possible the arrival of the foreigners forced them into retreating. But would they really have
just left Pete here alone? He doubts it.

Pete’s search is quickly interrupted though when Vegas eases him towards his bike. He groans a
little at the sight of it, but let’s Vegas encourage him onto the back first, whilst he’s holding it, as if
he doesn’t trust Pete to climb on and stay on by himself.

Pete’s hands are gripping the seat when Vegas slides in in front of him, grabbing on to his hand and
encouraging it around his waist.

“Hold tight, sweetheart.”

Pete replies with a muttered curse but Vegas is already twisting, and pushing a helmet down on top
of Pete’s skull. Then everything is muffled and blissfully quiet.

A second later, after Vegas is throwing on his own helmet, he guns the engine, and Pete’s skin
tingles at the rumble of power beneath him.

He thinks for a second he hears someone else shout his name but Vegas is already peeling out of
the drive, accelerating into the streets without another word, taking them far away from everything.

???AM

Pete wakes up in an unfamiliar bed, but not an unfamiliar position.

He’s curled up on his side, and there’s a weight slung across his waist, the line of warmth behind
him signalling another person.

At the realisation he wants to jolt away at once, but something tells him the person behind him is
still asleep, and if it’s who he thinks it is, Pete would prefer he stay that way.

Without moving a muscle, Pete glances around the room, recognising the particularly distinctive
kind of architecture, the green walls, the gold sconces. Unlike the dungeon this room isn’t red, it’s
almost offensively normal looking. It doesn’t surprise Pete in the slightest though, there’s
something practical here, something that feels both absent and real.

A lot less like a performance.

Maybe it’s one of the only places here that doesn’t require it of his bed mate.

There’s a potted plant in the corner that surprisingly looks like it’s thriving and Pete’s facing an
ornate looking chest of drawers where a scatter of things have been placed on the surface. There’s
a phone, a wallet and a set of keys in one corner and in another there’s Pete’s cigarette lighter, his
pack of Iscore Blues, the key card for the main family, and his burner phone.
These items have all been carefully placed together, more or less, a combination of two people.

Pete doesn’t give himself much time to dwell on it because the person shifts behind him, and he
can no longer ignore the warmth of bare skin, the definite lack of barriers that would otherwise
mute the heat of their bodies together.

Slowly he peels the sheets away from himself, down his bare chest to where his cock is soft and
exposed. Almost automatically he squeezes his thighs together, expecting that phantom kind of
sensation that follows being stretched open. The leftover remnants of penetrative sex.

But there’s no sensation of use. No dried come or love bites to indicate anything happened.
Although that’s not a definitive result- Vegas always liked to clean him up afterwards anyway.

The flush of anger is already on his chest, working its way up his throat when Pete shifts and
quietly rolls out from underneath Vegas’ arm. He wants to break Vegas’ other wrist, wants to grind
all of his bones into dust but he’s still naked and Pete has lost too many confrontations with Vegas
to think challenging him now when he’s vulnerable is a good idea.

Vegas doesn’t rouse when Pete lowers his arm to the mattress and carefully slides off of it, making
sure to distribute his weight properly so there’s less movement. One glance at the floor finds a
scattering of Tankhun’s borrowed clothing, and Pete’s anger climbs into fury as he bends down and
slides his underwear back on, then the pants. He can’t find the shirt, socks and shoes so he moves
towards the drawers and opens up the second one from the top as silently as he can.

He finds most of Vegas’ casual wear, his silk shirts probably too delicate to be folded and stored
this way. Pete drags out a white t-shirt that he’s certain probably costs more than every other item
of clothing he was wearing last night, although maybe not including Tankhun’s missing shirt and
he can’t help but glance at Vegas once he’s fully dressed.

It’s aggravating how peaceful he can look whilst asleep and it feels dangerous like this to look at
him and know that Vegas is hidden away, not demanding Pete’s attention or being so intent with
his desire that Pete is on the defensive.

Pete’s surprised to find that there’s no natural moment of breaking. When his attention should
wane, when his eyes should drift away and focus on something else.

It’s a second too long before Pete realises he’s just standing there staring at Vegas, and then he lets
the anger smother whatever this feeling is because it seems dangerous to him. He’d rather focus on
wondering what Vegas did to him last night.

Pete was pretty drunk and his memories of what happened are distinctly unclear.

But he knows that Vegas had Pete in the perfect position, too out of his mind to properly fight him
off and Pete’s fury is burning off any symptoms of the hangover he wants to feel.

The horror of thinking that Vegas got what he wanted again, that he had his hands all over Pete
and-

Pete’s not even really thinking when he snatches up his phone and immediately sees that his battery
is dead. Or switched off, his brain helpfully supplies and then he's pressing a button on the side to
turn it back on.

There’s the usual screen changes as it powers up and then suddenly his home screen is lighting up
with notifications. There’s over twenty missed calls from Porsche as well as multiple text messages
from him and Tankhun.
Pete doesn’t even take the time to unlock it, assuming they must have been looking for him half
the night when he lost track of them, that they must be extremely worried. When he has the
capacity to sit down and give it his full attention he will but for now he just needs to get out.

Get away.

So Pete quietly scoops up the rest of his pile of things and the keys which are very much not his on
the way out the door. He finds a pair of Vegas' sandals by the door and steals those too.

He’s careful on the way out. Much more careful this time around and it’s like he’s walking two
parallel moments, one where he never made it out of this place and now, when finally he can
redeem his earlier mistakes and make his escape.

Pete gets all the way down to the courtyard, knowing he can’t go out the direction he first came in
here, through the bodyguard entrance where they accept deliveries but he also can’t use the main
exit that Mr Kan frequently uses.

What if they cross paths again?

Pete is at least more familiar with the layout this time so he makes his way to the garages where
the minor family parks their vehicles. There will be someone on the door but maybe he can
incapacitate them on his way out.

“Pete,” a vaguely familiar voice says to his right, and he spins, taking two steps back in retreat as
his body locks into a fighting stance.

It’s Oat and one of the other guards on Vegas’ rotation. The one who has the modest makings of a
moustache on his upper lip. Pete never learned his name. Neither of them have their weapons
drawn on him and it takes a beat for Pete to realise that they’re not attacking.

They’re Vegas’ men, Pete reminds himself, who knows what kind of commands Vegas has given
them regarding Pete.

“Do you need anything?” Oat offers, which sort of answers Pete’s question. “I don’t think Mr
Vegas would prefer you walking around here alone. Mr Kan’s men wouldn’t like to see you here.”

Is he ever aware of that fact. Pete’s heart is beating very fast. “What’s your name?” he demands of
the moustache guy. “You were following me at the clinic.”

“I’m Paitoon.”

“And I’m-“

“Oat, I know,” Pete finishes. “So am I a prisoner here, Oat and Paitoon?”

They exchange glances.

“Not as far as I know,” Paitoon answers in a steady voice.

That’s a very good sign. Maybe Vegas hadn’t had the time to relay all of his orders yet. “So then
what’s the best way out of here undetected?”

Oat and Paitoon seem to think about it. “Through the garages,” Oat decides. “Tiw’s on duty there
at the moment with Thahan.”

“And is Thahan one of yours or-?”

“He’s one of Vegas’.”

So Pete probably knows his face. And since it looks like they’re interested in helping him now,
Pete takes the risk and gestures them on. “Lead the way then.”

They hesitate for a fraction of a second and then, miraculously they're obeying, Oat and Paitoon
moving forward to do just that. Pete follows but keeps his guard up, listening intently for
approaching feet or for the slightest signs of deceit. It seems very suspicious that they would
suddenly be so accomodating to him.

Except that's exactly what they do, leading him through the maze of the halls without another
word, careful to stay out of sight, holding Pete back when he nearly walks into view of one of the
guards on the roof opposite.

Then he’s following them down a staircase, heading through a long walkway before they’re using
a key fob to open a set of doors.

Pete pauses on the threshold but they’re in the garages some of which have the doors open to
another courtyard and this must have been how he and Vegas entered last night because he can see
Vegas’ red bike parked outside unattended.

Pete is angry enough about last night to follow through on his idea.

“Either of you got a handkerchief?” he wonders, glancing over at Tiw and Thahan, who turns out to
be the one with the oval shaped birthmark on his left bicep.

They’re both looking at him with unmistakeable interest but like Oat and Paitoon none of them are
making any efforts to keep him in the compound or interfere with him in any way.

What the hell has Vegas told them?

Paitoon hands over a white handkerchief and then Pete is walking straight towards the open roller
door.

“I’m gonna blow up his bike,” he announces. “So run along and tell him if you want but don’t even
think about trying to stop me.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath, then the scrape of a chair and a second later Tiw is hurrying out
the door Pete walked through in search of Vegas.

He glances back once to be certain but nobody is rushing out to stop him so Pete stomps on over to
the bike and uses Vegas’ key to open up the fuel cap, then he’s twisting up the handkerchief until
the fabric is rolled together and dipping it into the open hole so it’s soon covered in fuel.

He gets some of it on his fingers but that’s not important when he lays the fuel soaked
handkerchief down so that it’s half inside, half out of the tank and then he pulls out his lighter.

Pete glances back again perfunctorily but even Oat and Paitoon are gone now. Only Thahan is still
there watching him.

“Better stand back,” Pete warns, as he flicks the lighter and ignites the handkerchief.

Then he’s quickly ducking out of the line of fire. He’s only just got to a safe distance when Vegas
is sprinting out of the garage and spots him, going still at the expression on Pete’s face.
He glances over at the bike and Pete can see the exact moment that Vegas realises what Pete’s
done and that he’s standing dangerously close to the blast zone. Pete can see all of this thought
process play out across Vegas’ mild expression, and then he looks back at Pete again and pointedly
doesn’t move.

And suddenly Pete’s watching him with the certainty that all of this is intentional, a test, and that
Vegas doesn’t have any objective of saving himself.

Pete’s chest constricts all of a sudden, like something vital in him is being smothered and then his
sandals are pounding across the ground as he sprints forward and dives at Vegas’ midsection.

They both go down hard, and Vegas’ head smacks against the concrete despite Pete’s best efforts to
twist their bodies mid fall to avoid giving him a concussion. There’s barely a second to feel the
warmth of Vegas under him, the way he doesn’t even really seem to struggle and Pete’s thoughts
on that, are lost, a second later when the bike explodes.

He feels the heat of it against his back as it goes up in a fireball, and Vegas’ hands tighten for a
second, shifting as he rolls them over, away from remains of the bike and effectively trying to pin
Pete under him. It’s pure instinct that has Pete resisting, pushing hard until Vegas is on his back
again and Pete is on top of him, bracketing Vegas’ hips with his knees, as his hands brace against
his shoulders.

The look Vegas directs him after that is casual, unconcerned and Pete doesn’t dare to peer over his
shoulder to see what’s left of the bike now. He doesn’t think he has any capacity to focus on that.
Not after what he saw Vegas do.

“What the fuck, Vegas!” Pete shouts, physically shaking him. “What the fuck was that?”

Vegas isn’t smiling but he’s not exactly upset either. Considering it was his precious bike, Pete was
expecting him to be angrier at its destruction.

“That? That’s nothing. Just a pretty machine you destroyed.”

He’s deliberately avoiding Pete’s question. “No, no! The part where you saw I’d- and you fucking
stood there.”

Vegas just looks at him. The bastard. Is he really going to pretend he didn’t do what Pete saw him
do?

“Vegas,” Pete is shouting again, so angry he’s still shaking him. “Why the fuck were you-?“

“You do still care about me,” Vegas says serenely, expression as still as the rest of him. “I wanted
to prove it.”

Pete freezes, dropping his hold on Vegas abruptly and leaning back. He can’t be serious. Why
would he put his life in Pete’s hands like that after everything they’ve been through?

“Just because I didn’t let you die doesn’t mean that I-“

“Have feelings? Really? You don’t sound so sure.”

How can anyone sound sure of anything when they’ve got someone like Vegas whispering in their
ear, wheedling at their thoughts every second, wearing them down? Pete wants to scream his
frustration.
“I’m sure, damn you. I’m especially fucking sure after last night,” Pete hisses. “When I woke up
without my clothes on.”

He pushes against Vegas, slamming him hard to the ground one more time before he’s rising up
and stepping away from him, easing up as the shouts of the other guards are already echoing
around the area. He meets the eyes of Oat and Paitoon hovering in the open doorway.

The bike no longer resembles a bike. One of the wheels is ten metres away and still on fire and the
other is already a melted husk. There are pieces scattered around the courtyard, some frighteningly
close to where Pete and Vegas were laying, and Pete is trying his best not to focus on that as he
paces.

Vegas sits up once Pete’s no longer on top of him, and he touches the back of his head once,
routinely checking for damage before he gets to his feet and closes the distance between them.

“You think I touched you?” Vegas asks quietly out of earshot of the guards, and Pete can see it
now, the anger in his eyes. “You think I fucked you half unconscious?”

“Hasn’t stopped you before,” Pete hisses back, using his hand to push Vegas back, to hold him off.

Because he’s always holding Vegas off.

“You weren’t- very cooperative. I couldn’t get you back to the main house without making a scene
so I had no choice but to bring you here.”

Of course he’d have excuses at the ready. He’s had all night to prepare his lies. Does he truly think
that Pete will believe that? When there were so many other options available to him? He couldn’t
have just called Porsche and had Porsche take him back to the main family house? Really Vegas?

“And let me guess, there wasn’t a single available bed in this entire compound? Your room was
the only option, right?”

It’s like he’s not even trying. Pete wonders if it’s meant to be the insult to his intelligence that it is
but doubts Vegas is thinking along those lines. He just did what he wanted and now that he has
Pete upset, has him angry, he’s trying to avoid the consequences.

Which is so typical of him it’s almost laughable.

“Pete-“

“And I just inexplicably ended up naked there too? So convenient.”

Vegas’ expression twists, tightening with anger. “You kept tearing your clothes off, should I have
put you in with my little brother?”

“I was-?” Pete retorts, openly scoffing though a twinge of doubt flickers in him.

He has been known to strip layers off in his sleep when he’s too hot, and Pete would be lying if he
said he preferred wearing boxers or briefs to bed. But why the hell would he take Vegas’ word for
it. Why should Pete trust him?

“I didn’t do anything to you. I think someone spilled a beer on your shirt so you took it off and
tossed it somewhere when I was off getting the bike. When we got back here your shoes were gone
and you were trying to get out of your pants right in the entrance. I snuck you back to my room, got
you to drink some water and then-“
“What?” Pete demands, louder now. “We just innocently slept naked together and nothing
happened? You expect me to believe that?”

Even if Pete doesn’t feel like anything happened- that’s doesn’t mean that nothing did. That
doesn’t mean anything.

“I wasn’t naked,” Vegas fires back. “Which you might have figured out if you didn’t run as soon as
you woke up.”

As if the blame for this situation rests solely on him. “And you still want me to believe you? Are
you serious?”

“I never said nothing happened. You tried to kiss me.”

Pete loses his steam immediately, as the embarrassment settles in instead. “No. No I wouldn’t
have- I didn’t.”

“You tried more than once actually. I stopped you. Even though you were begging me to kiss you.
And you were very angry about it when I didn't. So yes, nothing might have happened but you still
were asking for it. You were asking, Pete.”

He’s so full of shit. If Pete had- if he’d tried to- he’d remember that. He’d remember.

“No, you’re lying.”

Vegas looks at him. “I knew you wouldn’t trust me.”

“You’re right,” he snaps. “Now take me back to the main house.”

Vegas’ expression tightens and he doesn’t jump in to agree with Pete’s demands.

“Or I’ll just figure out a way to get back there myself.”

As if they don't already know how resourceful Pete can be when required. Vegas sighs then as if
he’s beat. “No. I’ll take you.”

He gestures at Oat who tosses him the keys to the Aston Martin at the furthest end of the garage,
far away from where Pete blew up the bike so they should have no trouble driving out past the
wreckage.

Pete stomps over to the car, ignoring his headache, ignoring the sour, stale taste of alcohol still on
his breath and ignoring Vegas who walks past when he climbs into the passenger seat.

He straps himself in and then puts his head against the window, appreciating the cool glass as he
shuts his eyes and tries to pretend that he’s not here and none of this is happening.

The engine rumbles to life a second later and Pete opens his eyes to watch Vegas navigating the car
out between the doors just as a crowd of bodyguards are scrambling over the wreckage of the
motorcycle.

“Duck down,” Vegas says, and Pete slouches in the seat, hunching down on his side to avoid being
seen as Vegas accelerates and then they’re driving out into the street. “You’re good,” he tells him a
second later once they’re beyond the compound.

Pete straightens up and rests his head against the glass again. He doesn't need to question why it's a
bad idea to be spotted at the compound. Maybe as far as Mr Kan is concerned, Pete never made it
out of that safe house.

“I really liked that bike you know,” Vegas says a second later and Pete openly snorts at him.

“Should have thought of that before you took my clothes off.”

It's an expensive toy yes, but Vegas has plenty of expensive toys. Not to mention the money to toss
around and replace the bike with ease. Pete doesn't regret destroying it at all even when Vegas lets
out an aggravated sound. “You took your clothes off, baby. Not me.”

Pete purses his lips and doesn’t respond. Too angry to respond.

“You know how to read me,” Vegas says after a pause. “You know when I’m lying. I didn’t fuck
you. I didn’t touch you.”

Pete doesn’t answer.

“Are you listening, Pete?”

“Shut up,” he snaps. “Just shut up. My head is splitting.”

If there's one thing he's regretting now it's all the alcohol he consumed last night. Pete was
completely out of control.

“Then you shouldn’t have drank so much. Why did Tankhun make you so upset?”

Pete startles into sitting up straight.

“What?”

Vegas doesn't seem tense or concerned by Pete's reaction. He's calm behind the wheel, smooth and
unflappable. “You said he upset you last night. Implied that was why you were drinking.”

For a second he’s shocked that he told Vegas that much. What other kinds of conversations were
they having? “He tested me to see if I’m loyal to the main family still or- if I belong to you.”

Vegas is silent for a moment. “And?”

“I told him the truth. I told him you almost tricked me. That I only fell for your delusional fantasy
once.”

Vegas falls silent at that.

“And did you tell him how good I was to you? How often I made you come?”

Pete inhales sharply. “Why would I tell him that.”

“Do you miss it?” Vegas wonders, and then his hand is sliding along Pete’s upper thigh, indifferent
to the way his leg jolts under the touch.

Pete snatches out at Vegas’ hand and pins it there, forcing it not to move.

“I bet you haven’t touched yourself since,” Vegas continues as if Pete isn't effectively holding him
down. “Are you waking up hard every morning? How long before you can’t take it anymore?”

Suddenly he's openly scoffing at the challenge. “You think I’m that easy?”
Vegas shrugs and doesn’t try to take his hand back. “You were the one begging me to kiss you.”

Pete flushes and thinks he might be right.

“I could pull over,” Vegas offers. “Somewhere nice and quiet so I can suck you off.”

He shivers when Vegas’ hand flexes beneath his own, tries to move higher up his thigh to where
Pete is beginning to feel constricted. The suggestion is crude, offensive. But Pete won’t deny that
he bites his lip and just for a second, for a second, actually considers it.

“Hmm?” Vegas prompts, eyes only on the road and Pete finally manages to unpeel Vegas’ hand
and toss it back into his own lap.

“Just drive me back.”

The rebuff doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest.

“You’ll come back to me eventually,” is all he says, speeding up to seamlessly overtake a truck.
“You know that right? Only I can fuck you like this. Only I can make you feel this way.”

Pete considers what he’s getting at.

“It really bothered you, didn’t it?” he guesses. “The hickey.”

Vegas’ mouth only twitches but Pete can feel the anger rolling off of him. “I’m beginning to see
my actions in the club were- misguided if it inspired you to do that.”

“You mean when you had that guy give you a blowjob right in front of me?” Pete wonders, only
now able to say it with a level voice. “Bit of a mixed message coming from you.”

Vegas actually laughs at that, and Pete is surprised by the richness of the sound, the warmth in it.
“It was petty, I admit it,” he offers freely. “I was- hurt that you left. That you made it seem so
easy.”

They pull up at a set of lights so Vegas is able to turn and look at him with intent and Pete refuses
to be drawn in by the pull of his eyes.

“It wasn’t easy,” he mutters, already looking away. “None of it was easy.”

They appreciate that in silence for a moment before Vegas reaches out again and instead of placing
his hand on his thigh, he tucks his own into Pete’s open palm.

Pete looks down at their entwined fingers and feels something in him shake, some hard part of him
suddenly trembling.

"You're relentless," he says in disgust but doesn’t do anything about it.

But he should. He knows he should.

Instead he puts his head back against the window, looking out amongst the traffic and trying not to
pretend that he’s holding hands with a man who should for all intents and purposes be his mortal
enemy.

Pete’s not looking at him but he senses the exact moment when Vegas is about to comment on it.

“Not a word,” he warns, and it’s only two minutes later when Vegas is pulling up towards the
street that the main family house is located that Pete finally takes his hand back.

“I can drop you off further away,” Vegas suggests. “So they won’t see the car.”

Pete merely shakes his head.

“They’ll know I was with you anyway.”

Vegas nods in agreement and pulls into the main family drive a second later. “When am I going to
see you again?”

Pete shoots a look at him, another warning. “I’m on Tankhun’s detail now. You know what that
means.”

“Fucking Kinn,” Vegas says bitterly but doesn’t elaborate.

Pete shrugs, unclipping his seat belt and goes to climb out of the car.

“Wait,” Vegas calls, throwing an arm out and smirking at him now. “How about that kiss you
wanted?”

Pete’s expression turns cold as he throws the car door open with as much force as he can muster.

“Not on your life.”

But Vegas only grins like he’s said something amusing.

Pete makes sure to slam the door before he heads back in through the lobby.

On the way up to Tankhun’s floor, Pete brings out the burner phone again and checks his
messages.

It’s all the usual things which followed the progression of the night. When they lost him they’re
asking where he is. What happened. Where he can find them again to meet back up with the rest of
the group.

Then there’s the mention of spotting Vegas in the club and the foreigners and the rest are about as
panicked as he expected them to be. There’s four voicemails from Porsche but Pete thinks it’s
probably going over the same thing as the messages so he doesn’t listen to them.

Vegas might have been right about the shirt thing though because in the texts Tankhun is
demanding what happened to it and why Yok said he was walking around half naked. And then
there’s more messages wondering why the hell Pete just got onto a motorcycle and left with Vegas.

It paints a very vivid image of the night before. One that has mostly escaped Pete’s memory.

I’m back, Pete types, sending the message to both Porsche and Tankhun. Coming up now.

When he leaves the elevator and walks further down the hall towards Tankhun’s room, he finds
that both Tankhun and Porsche are already standing there in the hall waiting for him. Porsche
shifting anxiously on his feet whilst Tankhun’s stands perfectly upright in his heeled boots, arms
crossed definitively.
But the picture of ease Tankhun is trying to put on display is effectively ruined by the way his
fingers are rubbing at the edge of his temple.

Good, Pete thinks angrily, he should have a shitty hangover for this.

Where the hell were they last night?

Then Porsche’s eyes immediately lock on to the even larger hickey now branded against Pete’s
throat and he’s remembering suddenly. It's all coming back to him the exact situation in which that
happened. Vegas had him against the wall outside of the club and Pete definitely, tilted his head
back and gave him more room to work his mouth over him. The realisation has a high flush of red
sinking into his cheeks.

Pete lets out a curse at himself.

Tankhun doesn’t react in the loud, exuberant way Pete is expecting. He’s startled too by the glint in
his eyes.

“Interesting,” is all Tankhun says, and Pete regrets ever giving information to Tankhun, a man who
was definitely smart enough to use it to his own advantage.

Instead he slides his gaze over to Porsche.

“Where were you?”

Porsche has the decency to show regret for that. “We were drunk. I don’t know how we lost you
but then you were just gone and there was some kind of altercation at the bar. We had to leave and
then we still couldn’t find you.”

Porsche’s eyes drop again almost unwillingly to area at the base of Pete’s throat.

“Then we caught up with you again just as you were leaving on Vegas’ motorbike." He gestures at
the new hickey. "Was that- was that-?“

“Who do you think?” Pete demands, impatiently now.

Porsche grimaces but Tankhun’s expression doesn’t even flicker. “And was- was it consensual?”

Pete isn’t feeling very forgiving at the moment.

“I don’t know.”

But he’s lying. Pete does know. Knows it intimately. Vegas initiated in his usual way, barrelling
past all boundaries and sense of propriety and Pete didn’t stop him. Pete let him cover up the
hickey Porsche made.

Only he can’t bear to admit that to Tankhun’s calculating face.

Porsche winces, taking the words badly but Pete steps towards them wondering where to go from
here. But he can't really focus right now. Mostly just wants to lie down and sleep some more.

“How in control are you?” Tankhun asks. “How much power do you think you have over him?”

Inwardly Pete is bristling at the question, that Tankhun had so quickly turned this to family politics
and revenge but he doesn’t let any of that show on his face.
“None,” he says.

“Don’t lie, Pete. I saw the look on his face last night.”

A shiver of heat passes through him at the reminder. Porsche is glancing between them like he’s
not sure where he stands in this moment, that he can see it’s leading towards an argument and he
doesn’t know which side he’ll land on.

“What do you think you can get him to do?”

Pete hesitates for a fraction of a second before shrugging as if he doesn’t know what this has all
been leading to. As if he doesn’t understand the significance of the answer.

But he does know. Maybe has for a while now.

Anything, Pete thinks grimly.

And Tankhun smiles anyway as if he’d spoken the words aloud.

 there's nobody else but you and me, when it all goes dark it's all I see
Chapter Notes

Fic title from the song Nobody Else by Lubalin

also finally posting a link to the vegas/pete playlist i've made for this fic. basically just
a collection of songs that make me think of them literally called unhinged lol. give it a
listen if you want!

as always enjoy the latest chap!

When Tankhun turns on his heel and strides back through the open doorway, flicking his fingers to
show he's expecting them to go along too, Pete has the distinct feeling of a loyal guard animal as he
follows doggedly after him, still determined to hash this out.

“You used me,” he says quietly. “After everything I told you, you only wanted that information to
serve your own ends.”

Tankhun gestures at Pol and Arm who are looking very sleepy, half sitting, half leaning against one
another on the couch and commands them to leave the room. “Come back with coffee,” he mutters,
watching them shuffle off and waiting until it’s just the three of them alone, Porsche hovering
awkwardly by the door as if he’s unsure whether to stay or go.

“What did you expect, Pete?’ Tankhun wonders then, with a sigh and an expression that betrays his
fatigue. “Truly?”

It's the kind of question that's an attack at the same time. The kind that makes Pete feel like he
missed an important step somewhere or that he was being painfully naïve and didn't know it. He’d
expected better obviously but even so Pete is willing to acknowledge that he was being a little too
guileless.

All along he's known exactly what kind of world he’s living in. What world he chose.

Even so, that awareness does nothing to reduce his aggravation.

“You practically forced it out of me but I chose to be honest because I thought you wanted to help.
Not look for intel to twist for your own agenda.”

But everyone here has their own agenda. Even Pete. Dammit he was being naïve.

Tankhun’s expression is still dismissive. Unaffected by the prospect of Pete’s ire as if he feels
justified somehow in his actions. Pete wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he does. He and his
family don’t seem to dwell very often on the consequences of their actions.

“I was ensuring you were still loyal, that you hadn’t been turned against us," Tankhun insists, as if
validating his own actions. "Kinn is already certain you’ve turned- I wanted to give you the chance
to prove him wrong.”

There is a thread of truth in that statement but instinctively Pete knows there’s more to this.

“That’s bullshit,” Porsche interrupts, seemingly thinking the exact same thing. “You’ve known
Pete longer than Kinn. Anyone who heard his story would know he’d never side with the minor
family.”

Pete sees Tankhun take note of Porsche’s defence of him with particular interest. It’s not the first
time that Porsche has been outspoken on his behalf but it seems like Tankhun is finally taking it
seriously. Pete knows Tankhun is the type to keep track of the different alliances within the
household, he’d be a fool not to.

If you don't know the alliances how are you meant to pit people against each other?

“You can never take a man’s word for it,” Tankhun says like one speaking with experience. “You
have to make certain.”

The logic in it makes it difficult for Pete to resent Tankhun’s intentions even if he knows there’s
still more to it. Tankhun has another objective behind all of this. And it's something emotional
because it's preventing Tankhun from viewing the situation objectively. A personal slight against
him.

“That’s partially true,” Pete agrees, because he's not in denial of his own circumstances at the
moment. He's aware people are doubting where his loyalties lie. “But I think you were motivated
by something else. Some kind of personal vendetta against Vegas. What you did last night was
mostly about revenge. Your revenge.”

Tankhun scoffs at the idea as if the very thought is absurd but already his body language is
changing, shifting into something tense, defensive. Pete senses the vulnerability and pushes.

“You’re always saying Vegas can’t be trusted, but why? What did he do to make you hate him so
much? Your dislike is more obvious than your siblings. That mistrust is rooted in something
definitive. Concrete.”

Tankhun clucks out a contemptuous sound. “Enough of this. I don’t want to-“

“Why don’t you trust him?” Pete repeats, pressing harder and something in Tankhun’s eyes burns
with indignation.

The affront of it all.

“Because at the first sign of weakness, of vulnerability he’s stabbing you right in the back!”

Tankhun throws his hands up in disgust and collapses into the sofa, all long limbs primly folding in
one gracefully disgruntled movement. But it’s the outrage concealed in his fingers, how they
clench hard at the pleats of his pants, the delicate fabric scrunching underneath in a fit of emotion
that shows Pete the truth.

So that’s what this is about. The loss of trust.

The thought is interesting to Pete because as far as he was aware, Tankhun had never trusted
Vegas. Had never seen him as anything but an enemy. An ongoing headache. A blight against their
family name. But his reaction here tells a different story.
Suddenly it makes sense to Pete. Because they were children once. Before they were shouldering
the responsibility of their family name together. Maybe things had been different between them
then.

But he considers the rawness of those words for a second and can't help but find the hypocrisy in
them.

“You mean like what you did to me?”

Tankhun looks as if Pete slapped him. Then he seems to recover himself and that lengthy coat of
indignancy he's wrapped himself in and takes a deep breath. Then he says, “we used to be close
once, did you know that?”

Pete only shakes his head but lets his expression show that he’s listening. Tankhun takes another
deep breath as if preparing himself before rushing forward, the words spilling out of him like a
long concealed injury.

“I used to tell him everything because he always understood what it was like. The pressure of being
the oldest brother.”

Of course this was their shared legacy. The burden of belonging to the Theerapanyakuls. It seems
strange to imagine that Tankhun and Vegas might have first been allies in this life but it makes
sense to Pete. Tankhun’s extreme reaction to Vegas always seemed to go beyond his usual
penchant for dramatics.

An old wound, barely healed over.

“What went wrong?”

Tankhun smiles, and then lets out a disbelieving laugh without any real humour in it. “Who do you
think told my father I was too mentally unstable to be the heir? That I was one breakdown away
from bringing the whole family to ruin? It wasn’t Kinn, he never wanted this role either.”

Suddenly the hurt there is palpable. Distinctive. Once Tankhun had trusted his cousin, had
probably told him things that he hadn’t told his father, maybe even his other siblings because they
wouldn’t have understood.

Pete can recognise the lingering effects of that betrayal now. Of course Tankhun would have a lot
of unresolved feelings towards his cousin.

“You know why he did that though, right?” Pete says, the answer easy for him to understand even
if it doesn’t seem like Tankhun does. “Because he wanted to replace you.”

All of Vegas' desires seem to lead back to the same path; his need to be the one in charge, the head
of the family. To a person who has always been powerless, Pete can recognise where the appeal
comes from, the origins of Vegas' inexhaustible drive for control.

But Tankhun only snorts, refusing to look at Vegas' actions more closely.

“It doesn’t work like that. It would never have passed to him next. Both of my brothers would need
to fail for Vegas to finally be named the heir. Kinn doesn’t want this but he’s not entirely
incompetent. And Kim is even harder for my father to control so he’d be infinitely better at it if
Kinn gave up. It was never going to be Vegas.”

That's true but Pete isn’t backing down on the theory now that he has hold of it. Because he doubts
that Vegas had cruelty in his mind when he made that choice to betray Tankhun. It had merely
been another step towards his goal. A goal that his father has drilled, beaten and berated into him
since he was old enough to understand what being the heir to an empire means.

“So why do you think he’s only targeting Kinn now and largely ignoring you?”

Tankhun considers the point with grim seriousness, still resisting but Pete doesn't think he's wrong
in this.

“You really think that’s what all of this is about? Targeting the heirs so he can get rid of them
eventually? Vegas just trying to weaken and discredit us all so he can take over?”

What other reason could it be? If Vegas had truly viewed Tankhun's anxiety and PTSD as threat he
would have found a more permanent way to get rid of him. It seems to work in everyone's favour
that Tankhun has intentionally stepped out of the spotlight of the family business. That he refuses
to leave the main family home most of the time.

Of course Vegas would leave him be now that Tankhun is no longer standing in his way.

“Why else when he seems to be the only son who wants it? Why else would they be planning a
coup? Mr Kan and Vegas are obviously sick of waiting.”

Porsche shifts awkwardly out of the corner of Pete's eye. He clearly isn't comfortable with the idea
that the world he's now tied himself to might be in danger of crumbling. The world he's now
dragged Porchay into.

“If you’re right about this then where do you fall in Vegas’ grand master plan?”

Pete pauses and thinks it over. “I’m the temptation. The distraction.”

He's a wrench in the plan that's for certain. Why else had Mr Kan been so keen to get rid of him?

If anything, Tankhun seems to relish the sound of that whilst Porsche's extremely visible unease is
only increasing by the second. “If you already know you’re the honey pot then why were you so
upset that I played it to my advantage?”

The question only betrays Tankhun's sincere but unmistakable social ignorance. Pete's well aware
that his closest friends are those that his father pays to protect and defend his life. No one would
say that Tankhun's social circle is particularly normal. Of course he would never have considered
telling Pete about his intentions. He and the rest of his brothers are so paranoid that they can only
do these kinds of things alone.

“Because you didn’t include me in your plan,” Pete fires back, trying to keep his patience. He
knows that Tankhun wasn't trying to cut him out, that he genuinely hadn't considered Pete's
feelings when he went ahead with his test. “You intentionally kept me in the dark-“

Tankhun is back to pouting again. No accountability whatsoever. “I didn’t know for certain-“

“Don’t lie, you knew,” Pete interrupts as bluntly as he can. “Vegas wouldn’t be pursuing me like
this if he had me. If he was certain I already belonged to the minor family.”

If anything, Vegas would have been a thousand times more smug and intolerable than he already
is. The parade of his triumph over Pete would be unending.

“He has a point, Tankhun,” Porsche interjects, smiling as if Tankhun is being intentionally difficult
when he scoffs again. “Even I could tell straight away that Pete is still loyal. He wouldn’t have
suffered through so much if he wasn’t.”

“Fine,” Tankhun says in a huff even as Pete can see it's no more than shallow performance at this
point. “I admit that I was unfair. That I got swept up in my own resentments and handled the
situation poorly.”

“Is that all?” Pete says coldly, not sure if he's in a forgiving mood yet. His head is still aching and
he'd rather be in bed sleeping off last night. There had been much too much drinking involved. Pete
has to resist the urge to raise a hand to his face and worry at the tension there in his skull.

Tankhun laughs at his expression, still not understanding the depth of his actions last night and
how they're still affecting Pete now. If it was anyone else, Pete would have punched them already
and been done with it. But Tankhun isn't the type you can get through to using violence.

“You do know what family I belong to right, Pete?”

It's a throwaway line. Thoughtless. Arrogant. Blameless. Pete has thought it before that a certain
point truly unfathomably rich people seem to slowly become out of touch with reality, thoughtless
and selfish in their everyday actions. But it seems funny somehow to be confronted with it now in
Tankhun.

He'd almost say it's worse this way because there's no malicious intent behind it.

“Yes,” Pete says quietly, determined to make him understand. “But you were supposed to be
better.”

The pause that follows is so substantial and meaningful that Pete can physically feel it in the air
surrounding them.

Tankhun blinks and for a second that melodramatic mask of his ripples, then falls away.

“I’m sorry,” Tankhun says, and it's only now that he sounds like he means it. “I should have
realised it would make things more difficult for you. I was blinded by my own righteousness.”

Good. That's all he needed. Pete nods his head at Tankhun, a silent acknowledgement of
forgiveness.

“How bad was it?” Porsche tries again after a moment, taking a step towards Pete like he’s worried
his legs are going to drop out from under him.

But Pete doesn’t need Porsche to catch him. And it’s a little late to be thinking of rescue now. “I
don’t know,” Pete admits, pointedly not looking anyone in the eye. His head is still throbbing and
he seriously needs a drink of water. “I woke up naked in his bed without remembering how I got
there.”

He can’t see it but Pete can physically feel Porsche grimacing at him. He, at least, was definitely
not on board with Tankhun’s plan.

“Did he? Did he-?”

Now it's Pete who wants to cringe at the question. It seems ridiculous to now have Porsche
wringing his hands over the idea of Pete’s virtue being in danger. He’s well past the limited sexual
knowledge he’d had prior to entering the compound. Although he'll admit he's not overconfident
enough to deny there are still blind spots.
Instead, Pete shrugs at the unfinished sentence and insinuation. “He says he didn’t and I don’t
think he was lying. But I’d be a fool to trust that, right?”

Tankhun makes a face first as if objecting to the topic of conversation before replying. “Maybe
not,” he says. “I think Vegas is very serious about you. And he wouldn’t have done anything to
jeopardise that. Has he forced himself on you again since you escaped?”

It's not the direction Pete is expecting the conversation to go and he flushes at the bluntness of the
question. “Not in the same way," he admits. "He knows that he can’t just overpower me now like
he could with the chains. It’s more- a seduction.”

“And at the bar?” Porsche wonders, finally stepping fully into the room and taking a seat beside
Tankhun. “What happened between you last night?”

There are parts that Pete can remember vividly but others are a blur. He's not truly certain of
anything that happened and it's not like Vegas is a trustworthy source to ask for more information.

“I was drunk. I think I asked him to kiss me at one point but once he realised how out of it I was-
he refused.”

Pete’s mouth twists once he’s finished and he knows it’s not because of the fact that he wanted
Vegas to kiss him. It’s because the bastard had refused. Of all the things he might have guessed of
Vegas, him pretending to care about Pete being sober first before doing anything intimate is utterly
laughable. Except of course Pete isn't in on the joke.

It shouldn’t still sting like it does, when Pete knows very well how badly Vegas wants him. He
wasn’t offering to give Pete a blowjob in his car less than ten minutes ago if he wasn’t still
interested.

So why does that rejection still sit in the back of Pete’s mind, niggling at him in unexpected
moments?

Tankhun doesn’t seem entirely disturbed or surprised by this but Porsche looks a little taken aback.
Surely he’s not shocked by that after everything Pete has told him. He's well aware that Pete may
be harbouring some kind of twisted attraction to Vegas.

“Yes, it sounds like he’s realised the approach wasn’t working and changed tactics. If he didn’t
care, he wouldn’t be trying so hard to win you.”

Pete doesn’t have a response for that but luckily he doesn’t need to. The sounds of Porsche’s
outrage can probably be heard outside in the hallway. He hopes whoever is posted on the door now
isn't listening in.

“So what he’s behaving now after he raped him?” Porsche demands, jumping up and stomping
around the room as if he has to physically eject the emotion out of his body. “Do you even hear
how that sounds?”

But Pete is already focused on the part that matters. “Why?”

“Yeah, why the change? I doubt it’s because he suddenly developed a conscience.”

Pete would have to agree. He’s seen many sides of Vegas now, maybe more than others have
witnessed at this point, but not once has he ever seen a hint of remorse. Vegas isn’t one to dwell on
the consequences of his actions. He has no guilt. No culpability for anything.
“Because Pete revealed himself to be intelligent, more capable and interesting than Vegas ever
expected of him,” Tankhun says simply. “And Vegas is smart enough to understand he won’t get
anywhere with Pete through the use of force.”

That at least Pete thinks might be true. Vegas figured out pretty early on that it was more fun if
things were out of his control. When Pete challenged and fought back.

“He wants me willing,” he offers, supporting Tankhun’s theorising. “It’s more of a victory for him
that way.”

As the realisation hits him, Pete turns back to face Tankun, recognising the mirrored glint in his
eyes. “And that’s what you want of me right? To be that distraction? Offer myself up as bait?”

At the suggestion Porsche looks utterly stricken but Tankhun actually considers the merit of the
idea. The fact that he's not entirely shocked by the question is enough of an indication to Pete that
this has come across Tankhun's mind already.

“No,” he replies. “I took a swing at Vegas last night and he noticed. I want to see how he retaliates
first now that I’m on his radar again and I have you on my detail. As for the rest- honestly I don’t
know. I’m still figuring it out.”

He's saying no but what Pete really hears is not yet. He's not exactly sure how he feels about that.
On the one hand they should use Vegas' weaknesses against him. But if his weakness is Pete?
What then? What is Pete willing to do for Tankhun's plans?

If it's to stop the coup then maybe he's a lot more willing than he realised.

“And what about the foreigners?” Pete wonders, thinking he probably should have started with
them first. Unpredictable outside forces are never good for business. “The ones who showed up to
the club trying to find out what happened to Don?”

Tankhun exchanges a glance with Porsche. “What?”

Their lack of reaction seems like a very bad sign. Did they not know what happened last night?

“The foreigners that showed up at the bar? The woman who asked me what happened to Don?"
Pete tries, already aware they have no idea what he's talking about. "Didn’t you see them? I
thought you said there was a fight.”

Porsche actually buries his face in his hands with a long groan that announces he can't take
anymore surprises. Then he's putting his hands away abruptly and pacing again as if nothing
happened. “Yeah but we didn’t see who started it,” he says. “The bodyguards dragged us out but
Phichit didn’t think it had anything to do with us. Until we realised we couldn’t find you.”

“Who was the woman?” interjects Tankhun, voice sharp.

“I don’t know,” Pete admits, suddenly recognising that he should have asked Vegas if he knew her.
“She didn’t introduce herself but she was obviously invested in getting information if she tracked us
to the bar. And she was very upset when Vegas showed up and announced he’d killed Don.”

Tankhun's eyebrows seem to climb into his hair. “Vegas was there when you spoke to them?”

It was probably one of the rare times that Pete had been pleased with his arrival. He'd definitely
been too drunk to deal with them alone.
Pete nods at the question. “He showed up just as they cornered me. But the woman- her reaction
when she heard Don was dead- she had some kind of relationship with Don.”

Tankhun exchanges a glance with Porsche who collapses back on to the lounge again as if he's
given up completely. Pete is given the sudden impression that this isn't going to be the last time
he'll have to deliver bad news.

“I don’t like this,” Tankhun announces, expression tight with thought. “We can’t be sure who she
was following- me or Vegas. Since she showed up in that place I’m guessing she won’t dare
approach the family directly at the hotel. So she’ll be waiting again for another opportunity.”

Pete pictures the woman’s face, remembering the rawness of her expression when she’d learned
Vegas had killed Don. The grief had been obvious. No, Pete is certain Tankhun is right. That’s not
the last they’ll be seeing of her. She has unfinished business with all of them.

Or at the very least Vegas who had admitted to Don’s murder without a lick of hesitation.
Thoughtlessly making himself the target.

Why had he done that? Was it only because they’d had their attention focused on Pete at the time?

“I don’t like this either,” Pete admits. “But if you’re right and she won’t approach the family
directly, we won’t be seeing her for some time.”

“She’s probably transferred her attention to Vegas now anyway,” Tankhun says, echoing Pete's
thoughts and he ignores the twinge of concern at having them corroborated. “It was stupid of him
to admit to being Don’s killer.”

Yes, Pete would have to agree on that front. Vegas had been too impulsive. But the compound is
well protected. Their guards aren’t entirely incompetent. And if there’s one person who doesn’t
need their own bodyguard, it’s definitely Vegas.

“Are you going to tell Kinn about her?” Porsche wonders and Tankhun turns a knowing look
towards him.

“Are you?”

Porsche scoffs, all but confirming the cold war between the two of them is still going strong and
folds his arms across his chest in answer. Pete feels only a small flicker of guilt at that.

Even though he knows he’s not entirely responsible for their issues, it’s hard not to take on the
weight of the blame anyway. They had been getting along before Pete got in the middle of them.

Before he can open his mouth to ask how long Porsche plans to avoid Kinn, the doors open again
and Pol and Arm are coming into the room, both carrying trays of coffee and Pa Thong Ko.

Tankhun lets out an approving noise at their arrival but Pete catches one hint of the strong aroma of
coffee beans and deep fried dough and his stomach roils in protest.

He trudges over to the mini bar fridge and extracts a cold bottle of water that he somehow knows
instinctively is imported. The Theerapanyakuls showing off the extent of how far their money and
the extravagance that comes with it can reach.

“My next shift is tomorrow right?” he double checks, palm already slick by the cold condensation
coming off of the bottle even as he’s shuffling towards the exit. “I’m going to bed to sleep this
hangover off.”
Porsche jumps to his feet immediately.

“I’m coming too,” he insists, hurrying to join Pete by the door. Tankhun is staring after them both
but his attention is clearly locked on Pete. He doesn’t seem to care that Pete is helping himself to
Tankhun’s personal conveniences which may be a reflection of their earlier argument. Maybe
Tankhun is feeling guilty after all.

“Are we going to have a problem, Pete?”

He glances back to look at Tankhun and is glad to see less calculating there, more genuine concern.
They are somewhat friends in this strange place and they all know that Tankhun is particularly
isolated here. Pete doesn't want to hold a grudge against him.

“We will if you try and do that again without asking me first.”

Tankhun nods as if accepting those terms and Pete takes that as finally being dismissed from the
room.

“Oh and I lost your shirt,” he remembers to say. “And your shoes.”

And my knife, Pete thinks absently and then doesn’t apologise for any of it.

Tankhun’s mouth twists in displeasure but he doesn’t explode into a diatribe of why men are so
threatened by the femininity in fashion that they fail to understand the joy in self-expression and
the cultural significance of it. For which Pete is very grateful as he’s heard it many times before.

He doesn’t hate fashion. Pete likes dressing nice when he can it’s just that he can’t afford it. So
simple and cheap are really his only options.

But luckily Tankhun seems to recognise that this isn’t a lecture Pete will tolerate this morning.
Even if Pete knows those items of Tankhun’s he lost are probably worth as much or more than his
own limbs.

Pete slips through the door before Tankhun has a chance to decide how offended he is by the loss
and then he’s in the long hallway, striding straight for the elevator, ignoring Porsche’s loping stride
as he falls into step beside him.

“I don’t need a baby sitter,” Pete grumbles, tossing the water bottle between his hands simply for
the excuse of not meeting Porsche’s eyes. “I’m fine. Hungover. But fine.”

For a second Porsche is a silent wall of scrutiny hovering at his side. He seems more bothered by
the events of last night then Pete is.

“Are you sure? You still seem pretty keyed up.”

Huh. Pete stops and considers the justification behind those words. Is he annoyed? Probably. Is his
tolerance for bullshit lower than usual? Most definitely.

He’s surprised by a second at the confirmation. Usually Pete is unflappable. It's meant to take a lot
more for his true emotions to come spilling out like this. Pete’s not always such an easy read. So
why is he feeling like this?

Suddenly the image of Vegas’ bike on fire is forming in his mind. Even that isn't really like him
either. Why had he done such an impulsive thing like that? Pete’s usually more collected, in
control.
The dregs of their conversation are coming back to him in pulses, how Vegas said Pete wanted to
kiss him. His vague memories of that alleyway where Vegas was pressed against him and when
Pete had leaned in, tried to finally close the distance, Vegas had the audacity to step back.

Resentment flares in him again, not for the first time this morning and Pete is surprised at himself.
Why has it taken so long for Pete to check in with his own emotions? By turning them over in his
mind it's always made it easier to process his feelings without being entirely beholden to them.

Maybe last night is simply too much to process. A tipping point in Vegas’ direction.

“Did something worse happen at the compound than what you said?” Porsche asks quietly,
keeping his voice low despite there being no one else around to hear it.

Because every road leads back to Vegas. Pete sighs with genuine weariness. “I ruined Vegas’
bike-“

At that confession Porsche lets out a little gasp. “The red Ducati? But it was the latest model!”

With a unpleasant jolt, Pete suddenly remembers that Porsche has ridden on it before. The
knowledge sits uncomfortably in his gut and Pete realises he’s still feeling queasy from the smell of
hot food earlier.

He uncaps the bottle and takes a large gulp of water first hoping it will be enough to settle his
stomach. Pete really isn’t in the mood for being hunched over the toilet bowl, throwing his guts up.
But it wouldn't be entirely out of the realm of possibility considering the night he's had.

“Uh huh,” he confirms distractedly as they reach the elevator and Porsche beats him to selecting
the down button.

“Then he drove me back here and-“ Pete hesitates and almost doesn’t say it. “-offered to suck me
off in his car.”

He can practically hear the expression of alarm on Porsche’s face even as he inhales sharply at his
side. Is he surprised that after everything Vegas is still trying?

Porsche seems to know the kind of lure Vegas can be and not for the first time, Pete wonders if
anything ever happened between them. There were times when they were left alone together for
hours and speaking from his own experience, Vegas can’t seem to spend less than five minutes
with him without making a move.

So what have he and Porsche done? Have they kissed? Did they-

Pete shakes the thought off abruptly. Who cares? Why is he even thinking about this? Is he hoping
to make some claim of Vegas that no one else has?

The thought is sobering.

“And what did you say?”

Pete feels tired all of a sudden and doesn’t immediately answer.

Is this how Porsche sees him? Weak? Subjugated by his own lust? He keeps saying that Pete is
repressed but then why does he believe that Pete let Vegas touch him?

A startling thought occurs to him. Did Porsche see them together in the alleyway last night? Is that
why he seems so anxious? He knows that Pete feels attraction to Vegas because Pete told him as
much before so where is this surprise stemming from? Is it because he was a witness last night? Or
is he simply using the information that he already possesses to worry that Pete is somehow
wavering?

Pete’s so lost in his own examination that he jumps when Porsche catches at his shoulder and spins
Pete to face him.

“What did you say, Pete?”

“No,” Pete retorts without elaborating, as irritation bubbles to the surface almost in tandem with
Porsche’s unease.

He doesn’t look away from Porsche’s stare and there’s something equally challenging and
accusatory in that look. Is he so worried because Pete feelings on the situation might have shifted?

“But you wanted to say yes.”

Pete is embarrassed to be called out on this and doesn’t immediately respond, striding into the open
space when the elevator doors open, reaching down and selecting the floor for bodyguards
sleeping quarters.

But Porsche isn’t ready to let this go.

“I’m right, aren’t I? You were drunk and wanting him to kiss you and then you were genuinely
considering it when he offered a blowjob. Face it, you’re succumbing to your own desires.”

Pete feels a flicker of exasperation.

“Now you’re judging me?”

“I-“, Porsche trails off, losing some of the confrontation in his tone. “No. I guess I’m just not sure
if anyone is considering that this can go both ways. If you’re the one with power over Vegas or if
maybe- he’s the one with power over you.”

A shiver passes over him but Pete would blame it on the cold glass bottle in his hands if Porsche
thought to question him on it.

“I don’t know,” Pete admits, which is as honest as he can be at the moment. “But I don’t really
want to talk about it.”

Porsche bites at his lip but doesn't seem capable of stopping his interrogation. “But do you really
want to take the risk that Tankhun is asking of you? Why keep putting yourself in Vegas’ path?”

That's a simple answer at least.

“Because I’m going to end up there anyway. With Vegas chasing me.”

The doors open to their level and Pete is the only one who steps out. He turns back at Porsche and
raises an eyebrow in silent question but Porsche is only half focused on him, already leaning over
and pressing another button, selecting another floor instead.

“I’m gonna go eat,” he explains, not quite looking at him. “I’m starving. Just- just be careful Pete.
Alright?”

Pete nods even as he feels a flicker of mistrust. Is Porsche really going down to the cafeteria? Or is
he going to talk to Kinn?

He doesn’t wait for the elevator doors to close, just spins on his heel and continues on towards
their shared apartment. The hallway is long enough that it takes over two minutes to get there at
Pete’s languishing pace but his thoughts are still on Porsche and Kinn and Vegas so he’s a little
slow to notice someone is already standing at their door, waiting for him.

He needn’t have worried about Porsche because Kinn is standing right here in front of him. Alone.

Where are his guards?

“Have fun last night?” Kinn wonders with an edge of soft danger in his voice.

Pete looks at his perfectly detached expression and gives a respectful greeting, bowing his head
slightly. “Mr Kinn.”

“But you didn’t come back with everyone else,” Kinn continues as if Pete hasn’t even spoken and
it’s clear that he has been keeping tabs on Pete after all. Which, whilst not surprising, probably
doesn't bode well for Pete. “You were out all night.”

Pete glances behind him and suddenly Satang and Khom are there, materialising as if out of thin
air. He shouldn’t have wondered about them. But it’s clear from their positioning that Kinn is no
longer playing nice.

They’ve boxed Pete in. As if Kinn truly believes that Pete is somehow going to make a run for it.
An indication of just how far his opinion of Pete has sunk.

Pete simply shifts the bottle into his less dominant hand in the event he needs it as a weapon and
doesn’t move. He doesn’t want to spook the guards by settling into a fighter’s stance. Mostly
because he doesn’t want this fight right now.

“And then who should Kiw see but Vegas’ car dropping you off this morning,” Kinn continues,
finally stepping closer. “Do you think I’m an idiot?”

Pete forces himself not to react through sheer will. “No, sir.”

“How much did he offer?” Kinn wonders, and the accusation hurts more in the light of day, when
the brightness in the hall leaves no room for shadow. “It was money, right? It’s always about
money.”

For a second Pete is too surprised to respond. Kinn thinks he turned mole for the minor family
because Vegas simply bribed him? Fury rises at the jab at his integrity. His loyalty. Does Kinn
understand him at all?

Pete would never.

“Or-“ something passes over Kinn’s face then. “He got you in his bed, is that it?”

At the accusation Pete is just a second too slow at concealing his reaction and flinches.

Kinn’s eyes narrow at the slip up.

“You?” he repeats, loudly and then he laughs without any mirth.

It's an unsettling sound, devoid of logic or rationality. Pete feels a mortifying flicker of
embarrassment at having an audience at his back. A rush of shame rolling over him in the moment.
“Does my cousin have some kind of magic cock?” Kinn wonders to the group at large, and Pete is
grimacing, wishing to be anywhere than in this hallway. Any kind of escape will do. “Turning even
my most loyal, most frigid bodyguard against me.”

Although it feels personal, Pete knows Kinn's not really directing the words at him, logically he
understands that. Kinn is expelling his frustration at Vegas worming his way into Kinn’s romantic
life, taking Tawan from him, trying to take Porsche. And now going after his own men,
bodyguards that Kinn was supposed to trust.

But even knowing that, Pete can’t repress how those words affect him. The rush of fury that burns
through him, eradicating all sense of control.

As it always is with Pete, his anger seems to ignite a sense of boldness, defiance.

“I didn’t- you’re wrong,” Pete says coldly, no longer attempting to appease Kinn’s ego.

But for Kinn's expression he may as well not have spoken. It's clear Kinn has no intention of
listening.

“Why should I believe a liar?”

There’s no point to this. Pete knows he won’t get through to him without unpeeling himself and he
refuses to allow that kind of vulnerability now. It’s not the witnesses he’d like, and the truth is not
something to be shouted during an ugly argument in the hallway.

It’s not a trump card either. In some ways, Pete is still ashamed by the truth of what happened.
Because the reality is that Vegas has taken many things from him, and there were some, small
parts of himself that Pete gave away willingly.

No, he can’t explain that.

So Pete steps around Kinn, his key card already in hand as he presses it to the door mechanism.

“If that’s the case then I have nothing more to say,” Pete retorts as the door beeps and the light
goes green. “But if you were looking for Porsche, he’s not here.”

A second later Pete’s jerking the handle down, pushing it open as he steps through the open
threshold. He can feel Kinn hovering at his back, just like Porsche was a couple of minutes ago
and can’t help but find a sense of dry humour in the comparison.

Maybe they are well suited after all.

“Where’s Porsche?” Kinn demands and there’s an edge to his voice then, a weakness to be
exploited.

And Pete is offended enough by all of Kinn’s accusations to prod at it.

“With Vegas,” he snaps before slamming the door shut in Kinn’s face.

Kinn won’t believe a liar anyway. And Pete doesn’t like to be cornered.

Pete locks the door behind him and inserts the card into the slot at the wall which activates all the
power in the apartment.

He can hear Kinn curse once in the hall before silence settles in, confirming that he’s likely walked
away. In search of Porsche no doubt. Pete winces a little and hopes his impulsive words don’t
make things worse for Porsche though he’s certain Kinn didn’t really believe him.

He kicks off the sandals he stole from Vegas, leaving them by the door before stalking into the
bedroom, tossing the bottle of water onto his mattress with a sigh and stripping off Vegas’ shirt
next.

He empties his pockets then, dumping his burner phone, lighter and pack of cigarettes on the table
by his bed before starting on undoing the button at his waistband.

Then Pete unzips and wriggles out of Tankhun’s pants, wondering what kind of things might have
since soaked into the fabric. Pete can still faintly smell the traces of beer emanating off of him.
He's pretty sure that's because somebody spilled a glass of it all over his clothes.

Tankhun will probably need to have the pants dry cleaned. Maybe he'll think twice when he wants
to dress his guards up like dolls again but Pete doubts it.

He tosses the pants on the bed too, slipping out of his underwear and trying not to focus on his own
nakedness and coinciding thoughts of being in Vegas’ bed last night.

He doesn’t actually believe that Vegas did anything. He’s too busy pretending to respect
boundaries he’d merely stepped over in the past. Too busy being virtuous about whether Pete is of
full mind and body when he consents or not now.

Pete mutters out an expletive as he strides into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him and
already reaching over the tub to jerk the handle hard so that hot water is shooting out of the shower
head when he finally steps inside and under the spray.

He knows it’s not because Vegas actually cares about consent. It’s because he wants Pete fully
sober when he lets Vegas touch him again, that way it will be more satisfying for him. More of a
victory. To see Pete react to his own hypocrisy when Vegas finally has his hands all over him,
knowing this time that Pete allowed it. That Pete was the one who asked for it.

With a heated grunt, he turns the cold water faucet next to adjust the temperature, silently fuming
about last night, about Vegas, about Kinn and his righteousness in the hallway.

He can’t tolerate any more of this bullshit today. Add being hungover to the list and it's just
unfortunate icing on an already shitty cake.

Somehow his thoughts drift back to Vegas again. Vegas with his hand on Pete’s thigh in the car.
Vegas and the proposition to put his mouth on him. Vegas finally offering him that kiss.

Pete bites his lip and rubs a hand absently across his chest, immediately diverted by the slickness
against his skin there. He glances down at the almost healed marks on his chest, feeling the strange
film against his skin, something he hadn’t noticed earlier until it was reacting to water.

Pete brings his hands up, rubs a thumb gently over his wrist and finds it there too.

Understanding draws him up short for a second. Vegas must have put some kind of cream on his
injuries last night when Pete was drunk and naked in his bed.

Suddenly he remembers snatches of their conversation in the alley, Vegas’ surprise at the sight of
his inflamed wrists.

Pete tips his head back under the spray, letting the warm water run down his neck and tries not to
think about Vegas taking care of him any longer. It doesn’t change a thing when Vegas is the one
who caused the harm in the first place. It doesn’t change anything.

Annoyance rolls through him and Pete sighs again, going back to washing himself, only somewhat
surprised when he finally reaches his cock and discovers he’s half hard. Unthinkingly, Pete reaches
down and takes himself in hand, jerking rough and fast as the answering rush of arousal tightens in
his gut.

He only manages a couple of strokes before Vegas’ face is swimming in his mind and interrupting
his rhythm. Vegas at his back, lips against his ear, Vegas hovering over him, hips moving firmly,
Vegas on his knees with his mouth full.

For a second Pete can almost smell him in the muggy steam of the room, and then he’s releasing
himself with a groan, cock bobbing almost in protest as he lets go of the heat that built in him so
quickly.

Cursing, Pete adjusts the temperature again until he’s being doused in cold water and then he’s
ignoring his erection as if it’s not there. Knowing any orgasm would be tainted now with thoughts
of Vegas isn't improving his mood.

Magic cock indeed. Pete switches off the faucet handles with a scowl, ruminating on Kinn’s
unpleasant words.

Vegas doesn’t have a magic cock. Pete’s actually seen nicer cocks than his, having shared more
locker rooms and gym showers with other men and guards than he can count. Pete has seen plenty
of naked men in his life.

But he can admit to himself that Kinn is making a point even if his execution was particularly
lacking. Vegas does seem to have some kind of allure that most people are helpless against. That
even Pete, for all his insistence in natural immunity, has been just as swept away by like everyone
else.

It’s not so much a magic cock as that Vegas knows how to use it. How to use all of his body to
bring about pleasure in others.

Did he have a lot of previous partners to gain that kind of experience? Vegas is not at all like Pete.
Seems to have no qualms about pursuing any and all of his impulsive desires.

Like the man in the club. Has Vegas paid for sex like that before?

The idea seems strange to Pete. Vegas is handsome, knows how to seduce others to the point of
forgetting their principles and morals. Why would he need to pay for anything?

Unless it’s another form of control, Pete muses. Like what he was doing with Pete. Another way to
chain a person up so that Vegas can feel safe and certain of their motives whilst he's vulnerable.

Is he paranoid like Kinn? Is he afraid like Tankhun? Is he running like Kim?

Pete’s head is throbbing now, from the heat and probably from dehydration so he steps out and
dries off efficiently. He throws on a fresh shirt next, shoving the rest of the dirty clothes off the
bed and into the laundry basket before scooping up the water bottle again.
He drinks a large mouthful, swallowing a good amount before screwing the cap back on and
setting it on the bedside table. His hair is still damp so Pete ambles back into the bathroom for a
smaller towel which he rubs against his head, trying to absorb the rest of the moisture. When he’s
satisfied he’s dry enough, Pete hangs up both towels and then he’s crawling, half naked because he
feels too hot, underneath the sheets.

His head hits the pillow with another groan and Pete regrets drinking so much as he tries to ignore
the queasy chaos now occuring in his stomach. He should have gone down to the cafeteria with
Porsche, but he knows it’s too late to try and eat something now.

Five minutes later and Pete loses the battle with himself, stumbling into the bathroom to throw up.

He really must have drunk too much last night. Pete hardly ever gets sick after a night of drinking.

Afterward, he feels disgusting, so Pete brushes his teeth to get the leftover taste out of his mouth
and then slowly shuffles back to bed, moving like a stiff old man. The queasy feeling has at least
settled for now so Pete closes his eyes and tries not to focus on all of his regrets from last night.

He'll feel better once he sleeps this off.

When Pete wakes up at the distinct sound of the door opening, it feels like several days have
somehow passed.

He rolls over with a groan, noting with relief that sleep definitely helped. His head is no longer
pounding as viciously, so he lies there and waits, watching the door as Porsche enters the bedroom.

He sits up too fast when he sees the box in Porsche’s hand.

“What-?” he starts to demand but Porsche is already lifting it out and showing the bottle to him.

It’s more antibiotic cream.

Pete holds his hand out, and after a second of hesitation, Porsche hands it over without another
word. Cursing a little at Vegas, Pete uncaps the bottle and squeezes out a significant amount, using
it to slather across both wrists and then he tugs his shirt up and rubs it on his chest.

The scabs are thinner, close to falling off completely and then Pete will only be left with the scars.
He wonders if he’ll be able to look at his own body now without thinking of Vegas first.

“So you’re accepting his gifts now?” Porsche wonders, with a worried crease in his brow.

Pete shrugs and doesn’t look at him. “Just the useful ones.”

He knows he has his own bottle of antibiotic cream somewhere but Pete thinks he might have
already misplaced it. After he's finished applying the cream, Porsche sets the open box down on
Pete’s bed so he can see that the rest of it is empty.

At least there’s no more sex toys.

“Kinn was here when I got back,” Pete announces around a yawn, figuring he'd better warn
Porsche to be on his guard.
Porsche, who is in the middle of sitting down on the edge of Pete’s bed, tenses all over. “Was- he
looking for me?” Porsche asks, casual as anything.

At the politely disinterested expression on his face, Pete can suddenly detect the real hurt lingering
underneath. Suddenly he regrets bringing it up. “I think he was looking for me. Kiw saw Vegas
drop me off at the main house this morning.”

“Oh,” Porsche replies, expression hardening. “So- what did he accuse you of?”

At least they’re on the same page.

“Turning spy for money. Turning spy for Vegas’ magic cock.”

At the mention of a magic cock Porsche splutters out an indignant sound. “He said that?”

Maybe he shouldn't have been so specific. Pete rubs a hand across his face, embarrassed again by
the act of having to relive it a second time. “Announced it right in front of Satang and Khom. Then
speculated what kind of magic cock Vegas might have to turn his most loyal, frigid bodyguard
against him.”

Porsche’s knuckles tighten over the lid of the box. “That fucker.”

It’s been well established that Kinn isn’t putting his best foot forward at the moment. Pete doesn’t
want to waste his energy cursing him out. Not when he can already intuit that Porsche and Kinn
will work out their problems eventually.

Anything he might say thoughtlessly now could be a problem in the future. It's better to guard his
tongue whilst they sort their issues out.

“I said something stupid,” Pete admits. “When he asked where you were- I- I was so angry that I
said you were with Vegas too.”

He was being too impulsive again. Pete is aware that he needs to rein himself in at the moment.
He's acting with a disconcertingly lacking amount of self control. Porsche is silent as he
comprehends the problem Pete has no doubt just caused him.

“I don’t think he believed me,” Pete offers quickly, hurrying to undercut the tension. “But I said it
because I knew it would upset him the most. I- sorry. I shouldn’t have brought you into it.”

“It’s okay,” Porsche decides after a moment. “Kinn’s got a lot of problems with jealousy and with
Vegas. I’m assuming that’s why you said it?”

“Yeah,” Pete sighs, feeling incredibly shitty even if it's true.

But Porsche only shrugs, not sharing the same level of concern. “I’m still pretty angry with him at
the moment so I don’t really care what he thinks. If he can’t trust me that’s his problem.”

He sounds bitter enough and Pete wishes there was some way he could step away from it all. That
he could somehow stop making this worse for Porsche. “I’ll try and keep you out of it. Next time.”

Porsche lets out a little laugh at that. “I don’t think you can, Pete. For better or worse we’re all in
this. Me and you and Kinn and Vegas. And now Tankhun.”

“And Mr Kan.”

At the mention of Vegas' father, Porsche expression darkens. “I really don’t like that guy. At least
Mr Korn pretends to be nice half of the time.”

Pete remembers the expression on Mr Kan’s face when he’d walked into the bedroom and fired his
gun at Pete, aiming to kill without even blinking. Yes, he can understand why Porsche might prefer
Mr Korn.

“What’s the time?” Pete wonders, feeling the hollowness in his stomach signalling his own hunger.

Porsche glances down at his phone. “3:28PM.”

Damn he slept most of the day away. Pete drags himself from the sheets and fetches a pair of
sweatpants out from the drawers.

“Ah what is it with you flashing your bare ass at me?” Porsche demands in protest.

Pete glances down at himself, realises he overlooked that he was still naked. “Sorry,” he says over
his shoulder with a shrug, dragging the sweatpants up over his hips. “I forgot.”

“You know for someone who has some interesting hang ups about sex, you’re a surprising
exhibitionist.”

He never said that it made any sense. Pete only shrugs again. “What I am is hungry. Want to come
to the kitchens?”

In the spirit of nonchalance, Porsche shrugs right back. “May as well. If I’m alone Kinn is
probably going to try and corner me to accuse me of fucking his cousin.”

Pete winces again at the image that inspires. “Sorry.”

Porsche jumps to his feet, carelessly tossing the lid on top of the box Vegas sent. “Don’t be. I’m
sure he would have found a way to accuse me without you saying anything.”

He wonders why Porsche sounds almost resigned. Has he given up his anger that easily?

“And you’re still going to forgive him?”

Porsche is startled by the question, as if he hadn’t expected Pete to guess his intentions.

“Eventually, yeah.”

It makes sense. Porsche seems better at letting go of grudges than Pete is. Even so he doesn’t
understand how Porsche's answer is surprising to him but it is.

“Why?”

Porsche smiles and claps Pete affectionately on the back. “Because unfortunately I’m a little bit in
love with him. Are you gonna share your grandma’s cooking if I come with you? That’s what a
true friend would do.”

He doesn’t feel the need to comment on that. Pete doesn’t have to interject into Porsche and Kinn’s
relationship any more than he already has. It really is none of his business. And it’s not like
Porsche is scrambling to Pete for relationship advice anyway.

Only after rolling his eyes first does Pete grin at him. “I’m nothing if not generous.”
In the kitchens, Pete reheats the serving of Kai Yang Nong Krob this time, glad to see that Som
hasn’t eaten all of his grandmother’s cooking yet. At least he’s showing some restraint.

Pete hands a bowl to Porsche who’s sitting on the edge of the metal bench and Pete grabs his own
bowl and sidles up next to him, resting his hip against the edge because he can’t climb up there one
handed without pulling at the muscle across his ribs.

He blows on the surface of the bowl, trying to dispel some of the heat but Porsche is already on his
second mouthful, chewing noisily as he savours each bite. Smiling a little at that, Pete scoops up a
chunk of grilled chicken and pops it into his mouth.

Porsche is clearly enjoying himself, feet swinging out playfully like a small child and Pete can’t
help but marvel at his boundless energy. Because Pete still sort of feels like he’s been run over by a
rice truck.

“How are you so perky after last night?” he wonders with some incredulity after he's finished
swallowing.

Porsche nods solemnly at the question and Pete is already mentally preparing for an equally
flippant answer. “Because I’m a bartender and drinking is part of my job description.”

Pete snorts into his own bowl at that. “I don’t think that’s how that works.”

Unperturbed, Porsche just grins at him mysteriously and keeps eating.

They’re rinsing off their empty bowls in the sink when Tinn comes hurrying into the kitchen with a
harried expression. Pete tenses slightly at his arrival but it seems he’s not after him.

“You’re Porsche, right?” Tinn asks, staring into Porsche’s face intently.

Porsche nods, still smiling and sets his clean bowl down to dry as if in preparation of the next
obvious question. Pete isn’t sure why Tinn came all this way to find him but after his confrontation
with Kinn, Pete doesn’t like the timing of it.

“Do you know how to change a keg?”

Of all the questions Pete expected, that wasn’t one of them. Porsche seems a little surprised by it
too. “Yeah?”

“Oh great! Can you come to the bar on level 2? The girl on shift there needs to change over the tap
for Singha but doesn’t know how to.”

“Where’s Klaharn?” Pete interrupts, immediately suspicious at how easily Tinn has managed to
single out Porsche from everyone else.

Klaharn is the main restaurant and bar manager for level 2 and he can definitely change over a beer
keg. They also have relief managers too. It’s strange that Tinn would be in search of Porsche for
this. Is this Kinn’s excuse to get Porsche alone?

“He’s off sick. Phet is at a funeral and Kantima went on a trip to Ko Tao with her husband,” Tinn
says with an edge of annoyance. “So Chan is managing the restaurant today. Is that enough for
you? Or do you want to interrogate me further, Pete?”
Pete merely shrugs, unmoved but no less suspicious. Tinn isn’t usually the type for attitude. He
must be stressed out trying to fix this new unexpected problem at Chan’s behest. “Just a question.”

At the unanticipated tension between them, Porsche spares a glance at Pete for the briefest second
before agreeing. “Sure I’ll do it.”

When Porsche disappears with Tinn, giving Pete a final wave, his phone buzzes in his pocket. Pete
ignores it, turning and setting his bowl down on the counter next to Porsche’s. He wipes his wet
hands on a towel and then drags the burner phone out of his pocket when he's ready.

Porsche will be fine. He doesn't need to worry about him.

It’s no surprise that it’s Vegas texting him but Pete is still looking intently at the screen when he
unlocks it in order to read the message.

The cream goes on your wrists, baby, Vegas has written in probably the most obnoxious way
possible. Or do u need me to apply it for you?

Already Pete is scowling, fingers moving across the phone’s keyboard.

Fuck off, he sends back or I’ll find more of your toys to ruin

His phone buzzes immediately, Vegas responding straight away and it shouldn’t thrill him like it
does to have Vegas’ full attention.

Are u asking if u can come over? You can ruin all my toys if it ends with you in my bed

Pete can feel the heat crawling up his face even as he types a negative response.

In your mind everything ends with me in your bed

If only, is Vegas' answer and it's cryptic and fervent enough to make Pete flush.

Then dots are appearing on the screen, signalling Vegas is typing again.

What about the toys I gave u? he asks. Have u ruined those too or finally put them to good
use?

Admittedly, Pete’s stopped thinking about them ever since they were shoved under his bed but
now he considers the merit of just throwing them out. Is there a certain way to dispose of sex toys
though? Pete has no idea.

Mouth twisting, he types and sends, take a guess.

So stubborn, Vegas replies and even Pete can read between those lines and recognise that it
sounds fond. But Pete is still waiting for the other shoe to drop just as it always does with Vegas.

His phone buzzes a second later and Pete grasps that he needn't have waited at all.

How horny are u baby? Need me to make it better? Vegas wonders as if it's a perfectly innocent
question.

Pete stops replying after that.

The next morning he’s feeling much better. Less like roadkill and more like a person. At least until
Porsche comes and sits on his bed.

“Pete,” Porsche says, gently, reaching out and taking his hand in his own. “I’m asking you as your
friend. Please leave the room for at least an hour so I can masturbate.”

Immediately Pete wrenches his hand back, face on fire. “Why did you have to say it like that?” he
shouts, springing out of the bed and cringing away from him.

Porsche grins, completely unembarrassed and one hundred per cent serious.

“Well we’re sharing a room it’s polite to let you know in case you walk in on me,” Porsche
continues cheerfully, with next to no shame. “C’mon isn’t it fair? You can go the cafeteria for an
hour or something it’s no hardship! And next time when you wanna do it you can ask me to leave.”

This is the first time Porsche has ever asked him to do this. Of course it has taken him by surprise.

But he should have seen it coming really. It's probably because Porsche is usually off having sex
with Kinn in his room. Pete should have known their falling out would have additional
consequences. Porsche is still a man with needs after all.

“I’m not going to,” Pete fires back, resisting the offer as quickly as he can. “I don’t need to- to
masturbate.”

Porsche looks extremely doubtful of this. “Are you telling me you don’t even do that? Why not?
Do you not like it?”

“I- If I need to- in the shower-“ Pete explains disjointedly before trailing off with a groan. He
doesn’t even know why he’s trying to think of an answer here. Porsche probably wouldn't
understand him anyway.

So he trudges over to the chest of drawers and starts dragging out clothes instead. “I’m going to
work out. And when I come back in an hour I don’t want any more information about anything that
happened in here, okay?.”

Pete throws on a fresh shirt before stepping into a pair of basketball shorts but he can feel the wave
of disapproval at his back.

“I thought Doctor Kunakorn said you’re not meant to be exerting yourself?”

And Porsche is refusing to let him forget it. But Pete isn't the kind that likes to remain idle. He grits
his teeth and tries not to sound like he's sulking. “I’ll just walk on the treadmill or something.”

When he turns back around Porsche is grinning before he bounds over to him, wrapping Pete up in
a painful squeeze like hug that hurts his ribs. Even if his expression doesn’t show it.

“What an incredible roommate you are. And if I happen to get curious about those sex toys under
your bed-“

Pete pushes him away in abject horror. “That’s not funny. You know they’re from Vegas.”

“So,” Porsche shrugs, looking like he's trying to tell Pete something without directly saying it.
“Unless he stuffed them up his own ass I doubt that means they’re tainted.”

But Pete only stares at him like he’s lost his mind. “No, but it doesn’t- you really want to use
them?”

There's probably nothing wrong with them. Except for the fact that Vegas is carefully monitoring
their usage.

“They’re sex toys, Pete. Not deadly weapons. And not to be crass but I think he’s a little too fond
of certain parts of your anatomy to be willfully using toys to damage them.”

Pete flushes again at the implication but doesn’t back down. “He’s monitoring the usage on his
phone. You really want Vegas to know you're masturbating?”

But Porsche merely shrugs at the idea, completely unbothered as Pete shoves a pair of socks on to
his feet, quickly searching for a pair of runners.

“I was only teasing anyway,” he says, a second later and he was saying something else that must
have passed over Pete's head. “Besides I have my own toys. Ones you couldn’t even imagine-“

“Okay,” Pete half shouts, stuffing his feet into his shoes so quickly that he doesn’t even bother
with tying the laces. “Conversation over now.”

“Thanks Pete!”

When he practically runs out of the room, Porsche’s laugh is echoing behind him but he's quick to
put as much distance between them as possible.

There are some things Porsche needs to do alone.

By the time he arrives at the gym, there’s three people already in the workout area in the midst of
using the machines: Nok, Jeab and Guitar.

Only Guitar looks up when Pete enters, so he nods in greeting and makes his way over to the
treadmill, not even bothering to hide his lack of enthusiasm.

Cardio is important of course but it’s not one of Pete’s favourite workouts. He likes strength and
high intensity training, lifting weights and really challenging the limits of his body. The treadmill
is like taking a walk with his grandmother into town.

Although at the moment, his grandmother could probably move at a faster pace than him.

Pete reminds himself that he should call her later, get an update on how Phailin is doing and
resolves to head over to the communal phone when it’s not so crowded. Mornings are always the
worst time for that.

He starts up the treadmill on the lowest setting and in next to no time, Pete is sweating an almost
humiliating amount.

Jeab seems to finish up his work out during this process because he disappears into the showers and
Nok switches over on to another machine. The air conditioning is going full blast but underneath
Pete can detect the smell of sweat and the chemicals used to try to cover it up.

He walks until his muscles are warm and Jeab finally emerges from the showers, already dressed in
a suit and prepared for his next shift. Pete smiles at him because he smiles at everyone, careful to
follow the third rule to the letter. But it’s not like Pete usually argues with the other bodyguards
anyway.

He knows that he’s mostly well liked. At least until he returned from Vegas and a cloud of
uncertainty began to hover over him.

“Hey, Pete,” Guitar says, sidling up to his machine and slinging a towel over his sweaty neck.
“Wanna hit the pool?”

Pete almost agrees out of reflex before he remembers his wrists. The wounds on his chest. It’s not
like he can swim and still cover those up. Plus he doesn't need them even more inflamed then they
already are.

“Can’t,” he says regretfully. “I’ve got an injury. Can’t go in the water.”

Guitar seems almost surprised to hear that. Maybe the gossip about him isn’t as bad as Pete
originally thought.

“You alright?”

Pete is quick to wave off the concern. “I’ll be fine.”

Guitar nods slowly, but there’s real interest on his face. He wants to know what assignment it was
that ended up with Pete getting hurt. Bodyguards can’t resist a good fight story.

When Pete doesn’t elaborate though, he doesn’t try and push, rubbing the towel against his neck
again before throwing up a farewell gesture with his hand and walking out of the room.

Almost automatically, Pete glances over at the other occupied machine. Only himself and Nok in
the gym now.

Pete glances down at treadmill and realises he’s been walking for over an hour. His shift with
Tankhun starts soon so he’d better finish up before Porsche comes looking for him. Or Tankhun
who probably wouldn't trust Pete not to resist using the other machines whilst he's down here.

Sighing and entirely dissatisfied with his workout, Pete switches off the treadmill and heads into
the room that houses the showers and lockers.

Pete moves over towards his own assigned locker where he often leaves a spare change of clothes
to make showering down here easier. He finds a towel he left in there a couple weeks back that
was just a little bit too damp to have stayed in there for so long.

Of course, Pete hadn’t expected not to come back and retrieve it. He picks up the towel and tosses
it in the large laundry basket where the other guards have left a substantial pile of dirty towels, then
he’s picking up a fresh one from the pile the maids leave out every morning. It's still warm
somehow, freshly cleaned and then he’s setting it down on the bench in the centre of the locker
room.

Pete doesn’t usually grab all of his clothes and take them into the shower area with him, would
usually just walk around naked but he doesn’t want Nok to see his injuries and ask questions. This
is just the easiest way.
So Pete turns back to his open locker, showing his back to the doorway just as he tugs off his
sweaty t-shirt, shoving it into one corner of the locker as he drags out underwear and another pair
of shorts.

“Having fun?” an easily discernible voice wonders.

Pete jumps hard enough that his right shoulder bashes against the open locker door, wincing as
he’s already turning.

Vegas is standing on his left, casually leaning into his space as if it’s nothing more than an act of
happenstance, but he’s placed himself bodily against Pete like he’s a split second away from
pinning him to the wall.

Pete tenses up very quickly as Vegas merely reaches behind him to close the locker door so Pete
can’t run into it again and the scent of Vegas’ body, of his sweat, reaches his nostrils.

Pete fights the urge to keep his eyes open as he’s suddenly overwhelmed by sense memory. Most
of them involving he and Vegas in the throes of fucking, limbs tightly locked together or in the
cool down following, the intimacy of shared gratification. Often times with Pete, dazed and
thoughts drifting in muddled satisfaction as he panted against Vegas’ warm throat, lost to the heat
of their tangled bodies.

He had never admitted to it, but Pete did have a certain captivation with the scent of Vegas’ skin,
his sweat. Something that Vegas seems to have clearly since figured out.

Not for the first time, common sense seems to escape him and Pete’s head turns, almost
automatically into Vegas’ neck. Then his left hand is moving of its own accord, clasping the flimsy
fabric of Vegas’ almost see through shirt, twisting the material in his fingers.

Vegas jolts at the sensation of Pete’s breath against the side of his throat, as if he never expected
this kind of reception when Pete's nose skims along the crook between neck and shoulder, taking
another deep breath of him. There’s the clatter of the locker door as it shuts, and then Vegas’ hands
are coming down onto his hips, solidifying the moment between them.

An acknowledgment of something instinctive. Intoxicating.

And suddenly Pete’s shuddering in his arms even as Vegas turns fully towards him, chin jutting
downward as Pete's cheek brushes against his jawline when he tilts his face up. From there it’s
almost shocking how easily they curve into each other and their mouths meet.

Pete makes a sound at the first instance of contact and Vegas immediately seizes upon it,
deepening the kiss, overwhelming Pete’s misgivings and distrust and carefully controlled longing
with a kind of intensity and simplicity that should frighten him.

When Pete crumbles so easily under Vegas’ touch it’s almost alarming but his thoughts don't seem
to be sticking like they should, washing away every time Vegas' hands shift or his mouth opens.
Pete can't focus on why he shouldn't do this even as his free hand makes its way into Vegas’ hair,
clutching Vegas to him as he tastes him in turn.

After so long the heat between them is dizzying. Pete can hardly breathe between their mouths,
can’t pull away now that they’re embracing and Vegas’ grip tightens unexpectedly on his hips
before he’s lifting Pete up and pinning him against the wall.

The locker is cold and hard at his back but Pete doesn't care when his legs wrap around him, firmly
latching onto Vegas as they lose themselves in each other. He knows Vegas kisses are hungrier
than they were before and he wonders how much of his actions are a true manifestation of his lust
and what’s careful manipulation.

When Vegas finally eases their lower halves together and Pete recognises the ridge in Vegas’ pants
as directly matching his own, he can’t help but move against it, chasing friction.

Vegas pulls away but only so he can groan in Pete’s ear as Pete gasps too and tries to catch his
breath, still rocking his hips down in a dirty grind. He realises that he’s crossed both leg around
Vegas’ hips in the interim, essentially locking them together. Pete’s so hard he could come in his
shorts right now with a few carefully angled thrusts.

“Pete,” Vegas murmurs, and it sounds more like a whisper. “Baby.”

Baby.

It’s like a bucket of ice water raining down on his head. Vegas’ tongue is back in his mouth before
he can recoil and Pete automatically slides toward him at the touch which seems to light his body
on fire even while it sways back towards Vegas like a magnet.

But Pete has finally gotten control of himself by then. The necessary barriers slamming down
around him. All at once, he unhooks his legs from around Vegas, dragging his hand away from his
skull and releasing the stranglehold of his shirt. Then he's worming his hands between their bodies
in order to push Vegas off.

At the sudden pressure against his chest, Vegas tears his mouth away at the last second and
staggers back two steps just as Pete lands back on his feet, one hand using the lockers as support to
catch him. And the hurt in Vegas' eyes is plain, but so is the frustration.

Pete has to force himself not to be taken in by either.

It’s all a game, Pete has to remind himself. He learned another weakness of yours and now he’s
exploiting it. It’s all part of the game.

“Don’t-,” he starts, before finding that he can’t finish the sentence. “Stop confusing me.”

Suddenly, for the first time, Vegas isn’t meeting his eyes and he wonders if this might be more
than an act. Because it almost seems absurd to imagine that he's hurt Vegas' feelings.

“Is it so terrible,” Vegas says eventually once he's got a hold of himself. “To want me?”

Pete stares at him, shocked into stillness.

“It must be because you can’t even admit it out loud.”

And Pete finds that he can’t respond to that either. The rawness in Vegas’ voice is enough to give
anyone pause. But even then Pete doubts.

In those earlier days in Vegas' prison he felt closer to understanding his thoughts and motivations,
but Pete knows he never completely perfected the art of detecting all of his lies.

“You can’t ask me that,” is all Pete eventually manages. “Not after what you’ve done to me.”

It feels stupid suddenly to have done this here. To have done it at all. There’s no cameras in the
locker room or the showers but there is in the gym. Would they be able to see how Vegas entered?
That he followed Pete in here and that neither of them emerged?
And how the hell did Vegas get inside the building again? Or is he here for yet another meeting
that Pete isn't privy to?

It’s unnerving how quickly Vegas found him. But there are people tracking and reporting his
movements to Kinn, why wouldn't Vegas have done the same? It's almost expected at this point.
It’s obvious that Vegas has spies in the house, tracking Pete’s coming and goings.

But who are they?

Is it Nok, Jeab or Guitar? Or one of the other bodyguards who passed Pete on his way to the gym?
There's simply too many options to even think about trying to narrow it down. Pete can only
suspect everyone.

Vegas just looks at him as always, hungry and barely restrained.

“Then what can I ask of you? What can you give me?”

It takes Pete a second to realise he’s taken a step closer to Vegas. The vulnerability Vegas is
broadcasting in every facet of his body language is such a powerful lure that Pete didn’t even
notice he was being drawn in by it.

He stops from going further and firmly plants himself, folding his arms for good measure. For a
moment Pete wonders if he should laugh at the inanity of the question.

“What could you possibly want from me that you haven’t already taken?”

Vegas licks his lips and Pete has to force himself not to watch him do it. “Plenty, Pete. Plenty of
things.”

Somehow it's not the answer he expected and it makes Pete feel worse. He can almost hear the
promise in Vegas' words and wonders why it’s not creating a sense of panic in him. Instead, Pete
stares at Vegas’ face, trying to decipher the meaning behind his expression.

How much of his desire is real? And what is calculated?

The most worrying aspect, is Pete can no longer tell the difference.

“You know you never answered me before,” Vegas continues after Pete remains there staring at
him. “When I asked.”

He's asked so many things of Pete that he should never have dared to voice aloud so Pete can't
immediately recall what he means. But when he opens his mouth to confirm, Pete can't help but
feel like a small animal wandering into a snare.

“Asked what?”

“What do you want from me?”

That one he remembers. Because Vegas had followed the question by dropping to his knees in that
club and offering Pete his mouth. It shouldn't have imprinted so viscerally in Pete's memory but he
knows why it lingered.

“I-“ the question again is startling. Mostly because Pete knows he can’t give a full answer. It
would be foolish to deny to himself the urges he still has. The confusing mass of wants surrounding
Vegas. But it would be equally as foolish to admit to them out loud.
Why would he dare to tell Vegas such a thing? When he'd only use it against him?

But Vegas only smiles as if he understands. “Do you want to know why you can’t answer?”

The last thing Pete is going to do is admit that he’s torn by the question. That he’s torn by Vegas.
Or that he’s unsteady at all.

“Nothing,” is what he settles on. Because it’s the safest lie. “I want nothing from you.”

Vegas stares at him in silence then, and the blackness in his eyes is lit by dark fire. Pete feels an
answering heat shiver through him as their gazes lock and knows intimately that whatever initially
tied him to Vegas still has its roots in deep.

Maybe it will forever.

Vegas’ eyes trail over his body; possessive, intimate and lingering. Pete feels flushed and naked
when he’s done. The erection pushing up against the fabric of his shorts is just as prominent as his
own deceits.

Then Vegas shrugs carelessly, and like a spell is released, Pete can breathe again. Suddenly all the
air rushes back into the room.

“Whatever lies you need to believe,” Vegas replies, confident and unrelenting.

Because he knows Pete faltered today. Just like he did a few nights ago. And that he’ll do it again.
Pete can’t fight his own body indefinitely, no matter how angry he is at the situation.

But this time is especially worse because Pete has no excuses to fall back on. No real reason why
he allowed this of Vegas except that in spite of all logic, he wanted it anyway. Pete didn't anticipate
being confronted by the fact that his own will is crumbling.

All Vegas really has to do is wait.

“Pete,“ Tankhun's voice calls out just before he enters the locker room. “You better not be-“

He spots Pete first, standing only in his shorts, breathing heavily and looking flushed and then his
eyes flick over almost unwillingly and land on Vegas.

Pete opens his mouth to say something, to defend his poor decision somehow but Tankhun moves
so fast he’s a blur, palm up as he slaps Vegas viciously across the face.

There’s a lot more strength behind it than either he or Vegas are expecting because Vegas’ whole
body turns with it. Vegas actually staggers back a step under Tankhun's hand.

Pete stares at Tankhun blankly for a moment, astonished at the layer of fury in his expression, the
way his nostrils flair as if he’s winding up to hit him again.

“You’re despicable,” Tankhun hisses, eyes dark with rage. “Are you just skulking around here
hoping to catch Pete when he’s vulnerable?”

Suddenly the intensity of his reaction is making sense. Pete, if possible, turns redder. “Tankhun,
it’s not-“

“So protective, Tankhun,” Vegas says softly and even before he’s taken another step forward, Pete
has already jumped between them, facing Vegas and shielding Tankhun from whatever his
retaliation might be.
Vegas is the one who fights. Tankhun is- more of an indoor cat. But that’s not to say he doesn’t
have claws.

“Don’t,” he warns, signalling to Vegas with his eyes that he will defend Tankhun if he makes
another move towards him.

He knows that's not the kind of fight that Vegas wants from him.

Vegas, who is still staring at him, nods as if in acceptance of those terms and then redirect his
focus back to Tankhun, eyes narrowing. “Are you angry that he belongs to me now?”

It’s such a Vegas thing to say. It's like he knows the exact kind of disturbing thing to make Pete
shiver.

Tankhun lets out a disgusted sound and Pete takes a step back in case Tankhun tries to reach for
Vegas again. It won’t end well for him if he does but Pete knows he can keep Vegas off of
Tankhun if it turns into a fight.

“Only you would rape a man and think you own him.”

Something glints in Vegas’ eyes and when he takes another step forward, Pete holds his hand up
against his chest to stop him.

“Vegas,” he says firmly, trying to fight his own embarrassment, trying to forget that only seconds
ago Vegas had him up against the wall and Pete had nearly orgasmed from it. “Go.”

To his surprise Vegas actually considers it, looking deep into Pete’s eyes and then in another
unexpected move he’s taking hold of Pete’s fingers, bringing them down towards him. Then he’s
bending further as Pete is dragged in closer and suddenly he's kissing the back of Pete’s hand like
he’s fucking royalty or something.

He’s too quick for Pete, sliding away before Pete can yank his hand back but the fury in his eyes
must speak enough for him because Vegas smiles in answer.

“Anything for you, baby,” he says and then he’s striding out of the room with one last, lingering
look at Pete.

As he passes Pete edges around Tankhun, guarding his principal from attack until Vegas has
completely left the locker room. Only after he's certain Vegas won't come back does he turn to face
Tankhun and by then the wrath emanating from Tankhun has suddenly transformed into concern.

“Are you alright, Pete?”

What a question. Pete rubs at his eyes, embarrassed again to be the focus of Tankhun's attention.
“He didn’t force himself on me,” he insists, quick to explain the situation. “But I’m glad you
showed up.”

“Why? What were you about to do?”

Pete drags a thumb across his mouth, still feeling the lingering sensation of Vegas’ kiss.

“Something stupid.”
The next few days are a frustrating blur of routine and monotony.

Porsche is still ignoring Kinn, still tagging along for Pete’s shifts with Tankhun and Pete does his
best not to feel thwarted by the predictable lack of assignments.

Tankhun promises he’s looking into the woman who approached Pete at the bar but it’s not like he
has much information to go off and Pete can’t help but feel pessimistic about the dead end it’s
likely leading toward.

Vegas texted him once after the incident in the gym locker room and the message was so detailed
and filthy that Pete had shoved the burner phone under his pillow instead of responding.

Tankhun hadn’t asked him about it either and he wonders if Tankhun has realised what was
actually happening before he arrived and interrupted them. Pete suspects he’s figured it out,
Tankhun is too smart not to reach the obvious conclusion.

Pete probably should have told Porsche about it too, almost expected Tankhun to do the same but
he must have kept his silence because Porsche hasn't questioned him about it.

But the lack of questioning has only made it easier for Pete to put it out of his mind even if he can’t
avoid the reminders in his dreams. He’s still taking cold showers in the morning, and Porsche
keeps gently teasing him about his masturbation habits which Pete can't seem to be able to discuss
whilst looking anyone in the eye.

Pete almost wishes he had a roommate who wasn’t so open about everything but he’d be lying if
he said he wanted to get rid of Porsche. Because he’s a good friend and even greater company
when all they’ve been doing lately is watching Korean dramas in Tankhun’s bedroom.

His latest obsession is The Devil Judge but Pete has been too distracted, too disinterested to follow
the plot fully even with the advantage of being present in the room whilst the show is on and
staring directly at the screen as it's happening. Even sitting right next to Tankhun hasn't helped.

They’re at least eight episodes in and Pete has given up asking questions about characters and plot
points that he’s missed because he’s painfully aware that it's annoying Tankhun who has taken to
smacking Pete's arm when he thoughtlessly opens his mouth.

Pol keeps trying to helpfully whisper explanations in Pete’s ear but Tankhun only turns and swats
at Pol instead like he’s trying to deter a particularly large bug. Pete gives one of his too big smiles
and eventually whispers at Pol not to worry about it.

It’s not like he cares very much about what they’re watching anyway.

Each shift seems to end in the same way- with Tankhun banishing Porsche and Pete out of the
room for talking too much. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing in Pete's opinion although he
doesn't like the idea of not finishing his shifts.

Pete wouldn’t mind a bit of variety that’s all.

It arrives in the most unexpected of places.

Tankhun decides that his muscles are aching from sitting around watching TV for the past few
days and so they’re following him down to the lower levels so he can get a very lengthy massage
and then visit the sauna.
Which means more standing around for Pete, Pol and Arm. Porsche has no compunctions about
joining Tankhun on the adjacent massage table and Tankhun isn’t bothered enough to try and stop
him. The perks of almost being a brother-in-law.

Pete doesn’t mind. He’s glad to leave Tankhun’s room and stretch his legs a little. At the moment
standing around is much more appealing than sitting around.

As they head down the hallway, Tankhun is prattling on about a new jacket that he’s purchased
from Gucci, describing it at great length and detail all the way down to the stitching and the
buttons and Pete is listening dutifully until he hears that Tankhun paid nearly eighty thousand baht
for it.

That when Pete stops bothering to pretend to care. Of all the things to throw their considerable
wealth at, that would never have been Pete's first choice. Does being rich make a person less
sensible with their purchases? Pete has to assume that it does.

When Porsche and Tankhun disappear into the massage parlor with Arm and Pol, Pete takes up the
post at the doorway, standing in the hall and keeping an eye out for anyone who approaches from
any direction.

He’s been standing there for fifteen minutes and zoning out when he hears a loud noise just down
the hall. Pete knocks twice on the closed door, signalling for Pol or Arm to take over his post while
he goes off to investigate.

Already he’s suspecting Vegas, who has clearly shown he can enter the main house undetected
whenever he likes. Is he trying to lure Pete away so they can be alone again? It doesn't really seem
his style.

Pete increases his pace and when he rounds the corner there’s a young man he doesn’t recognise
awkwardly straightening the flower display that he must have just knocked over. That was
probably the loud noise. At least he didn't manage to break anything.

They're in a luxury hotel, even their silly little flower displays are expensive.

Pete’s shoes don’t make a sound on the carpet so he’s awarded precious seconds to observe the
man before he’s aware of it. He’s wearing the identifiable suits of the Theerapanyakul bodyguards
but the familiar pin is missing from his chest which definitely makes his origins dubious.
Compounded by the fact that Pete has literally never seen this man before.

How did he get so far into the building escaping notice? Why is he here alone?

“Who are you?” Pete demands, fists clenched in preparation as he advances forward.

The young man jumps and turns with an extremely guilty expression and Pete’s expression hardens
when he doesn’t immediately answer.

“Well? How did you get here? Where’s your identification?”

The man blinks at him with remarkable innocence and then, unbelievably, bolts.

Pete recovers quickly and then he’s chasing after him down the hallway, their feet pounding hard
on the carpet in the pursuit. The man is fast but not that fast and he doesn’t get all that far before
Pete is tackling him to the ground, landing on top and pinning him there as he wrenches an arm
behind his back.
“Who the hell are you?” Pete demands, irritated now.

To his surprise, the man lets out a scream of pain and Pete realises that he’s dislocated the man’s
shoulder in the fall. A second later there are loud footsteps behind him, and Thong Di is coming
into view, visibly panting as he catches up.

“Pete, what the hell? That’s a new recruit!”

Oh shit. Pete can't hide his surprise for a second.

“He wouldn’t tell me his name and then he ran. What was I supposed to think?”

But he quickly clambers off the man’s back, no longer holding him down. That doesn't seem to
make much difference somehow because the guy is still whimpering and sniffling, clearly not
accustomed to pain.

Thong Di steps closer and gives him a once over. “Aw shit, you popped Niran’s shoulder out. I’d
better take him over to the infirmary.”

Oops. Maybe Pete did tackle him too hard after all. Pete looks at Niran with consternation. “Why
the hell did you run?”

Niran looks equally bewildered. “I don’t know- you looked very angry. I panicked.”

Pete refrains from commenting that if he panics at simple things like this then he’s definitely not a
good fit here. Chan’s going to eat him for breakfast. But Pete doesn't make the recruitment
decisions here so it's best he keep his mouth shut.

“And where were you?” he asks Thong Di, curious now how this misunderstanding came to pass.
“Why was he just standing around in the hallway alone?”

Thong Di shrugs, and glances apologetically over at Niran. “Had to take a piss.”

Dammit.

It’s true that Niran shouldn’t have been left unattended. Against policy for sure. Pete wasn’t
entirely wrong to detain him but it’s obvious he clearly overreacted. When he’d seen an unfamiliar
man standing there in the bodyguard uniform, Pete had automatically assumed he was a spy.

One of Vegas’ spies.

But he should have known better. If it was one of Vegas’ men he would have fought first before
even thinking of running. They're made of sterner stuff than Niran.

Pete glances back over at Niran again as Thong Di pulls him to his feet, putting his arm around him
as he goes to lead them away. He seems to need help walking. Pete is surprised by the reaction.

Has he never dislocated a shoulder before?

“I- shit- sorry.”

Niran nods in acceptance of the apology but he’s still sniffling a little and Pete feels awkwardly
like he bullied him when he stands up and goes to return back to his post.

He barely gets two steps until he’s reaching a cross intersection in the hallway and Vegas is
moving right into his space. Because of course he's here.
“You know what your problem is?” comes that familiar voice at his ear.

Pete jerks away from Vegas so fast he drives his shoulder hard into the wall. Glancing around the
area, Pete straightens himself up, ignoring the pounding of his heart as he steps back into a
defensive stance, staying clear of Vegas. Trying to keep as much distance as possible.

“You’re going to tell me?” Pete wonders, scornfully, dismissing Vegas with a flick of his fingers.

Vegas reaches out and catches them, hand ensnaring Pete’s forearm whilst his other hand trails up
his skin and grips at Pete just above the elbow. Pete recognises the heat of the touch immediately,
and knows that his face is turning red.

“You’re angry,” Vegas murmurs, in a low voice that brings a shiver out across Pete’s skin.

What an incredibly obvious thing to say. For a second Pete's tempted to hit him. “I thought he was
one of yours sneaking around. Of course I’m angr-“

“You’re angry because you’re frustrated.”

Pete goes to pull his arm free in a half hearted way, stepping away from Vegas again, still unable
to calm down when Vegas simply moves with him. “What does that even-?“

“Sexually frustrated,” Vegas murmurs and Pete’s arm jerks under his grip. “When’s the last time
you had an orgasm?”

Is this a joke? Pete stops moving and stares at him. It’s the exact last thing he would have ever
guessed Vegas to say.

He thinks Pete is sexually frustrated? Maybe he should look in the mirror. Pete doubts Vegas is
following him around like this because he simply wants them to cuddle.

“Was it with me?”

Pete jaw tightens so fast a muscle jumps in his cheek.

But Vegas only nods thoughtfully at his expression. “I figured as much. You’re stifling all of your
urges all over again. That’s why you overreacted back there. And why you’ve been so short
tempered lately. You need a good fuck.”

Pete shoves Vegas away from him at that but Vegas doesn’t seem to lose ground. Somehow
remains completely unperturbed by the sudden display of force. “I can give it to you. I can give
you everything.”

Of course he would say that too. He’d prefer that Pete have no other options. Even if he knows
he’s not interested in other options anyway.

Pete inhales one deep breath to try and settle down and only once he releases it does he meet
Vegas’ eyes determinedly. “You don’t know anything.”

That only makes Vegas smile.

“I know I’m right about this, baby. You need it. Your body needs it. So do yourself a favour.”

“You want to fuck me that badly?” Pete shoots back, still flushed at the topic of conversation and
trying to divert the focus off of himself, back into the safety of Vegas’ inexplicably endless desire
for him.
Vegas leans in closer. “Always,” he says with a kind of firmness that makes Pete’s skin hot. “If you
said yes I’d have you against this wall right now. Right here out in the open. But we both know
you’d never do that.”

Pete arcs up at the definitive way Vegas is speaking. As if he knows Pete more intimately than he
understands himself. Something like that makes him feel stubborn. Contrary.

“Won’t I?” he fires back unthinkingly.

“Please,” Vegas scoffs and he’s smirking at him now like Pete is amusing. “You can’t even bear to
beg, let alone ask for what you need. You can’t consent.”

Pete’s never been so furious. “What the hell are you even- ?“

“If you can’t even say yes, how am I meant to know when you mean no?” he asks, infuriatingly
calm as his fingers seem to seek out all of Pete's buttons, pushing them at once.

Pete shoves him again, forcing Vegas back and creating more space between them. “I mean no
when I tell you no, Vegas.”

“And when you mean yes?”

The absolute persistence of this asshole. “I never said yes,” he snarls.

Vegas doesn't even blink at the degree of antagonism emanating off of Pete in waves. If he takes
another step closer, Pete is going straight for his throat.

“You didn’t always say no either.”

That's it. Pete does go for Vegas' throat then, pinning him to the wall with the length of his forearm
shoved up against Vegas' neck. Vegas doesn't outwardly react at that either but Pete can spot the
excited glint in his eyes. Pete’s face feels so hot he’s tempted to check his forehead for a
temperature but he manages to regain control of himself, releasing Vegas with a furious curse and
stepping back again.

“You have a terrible grasp of what consent means.”

Unfortunately this doesn't deter Vegas in the slightest. He just slouches forward and slips his hands
into his pockets with an air of disinterest. “And yet you know I’m right about this. I can see it on
your face.”

And Pete's had enough of this conversation. “Go away, Vegas.”

Vegas shrugs. “Touch yourself tonight and tell me whether I’m wrong or not. You can even think
of me while you do it. I won’t mind.”

"Who told you we were down here?" is what Pete demands instead. "They must have been close by
to notice when Tankhun left his rooms. Who's your spy?"

Vegas' answer is an aggravatingly thin smile. But Pete isn't really expecting him to tell the truth.

That doesn't do anything to appease his temper though. Pete lets out another infuriated sound and
resists pushing Vegas hard into the wall for a second time.

"You're so fucking infuriating," Pete snaps with as much hostility he can muster and then he’s
storming off back to his post before the others can worry about where he went.
"Am I getting under your skin, baby?" Vegas calls out after him, unable to resist the last word.
"Wouldn't you rather I do that in a different way?"

Pete throws his middle finger up in response as he storms away, not bothering to turn back and
glare at Vegas. Knowing him, he'd probably enjoy that anyway.

They really need to figure out how Vegas is sneaking into the building. And who is keeping such
close tabs on Pete and reporting his movements to Vegas.

Pete grits his teeth and wonders how much longer Vegas can keep this up without being caught.

Later that night when Porsche has disappeared down into the kitchens again for dinner, unable to
wait while Pete showers, Pete realises he’s alone in the room.

And then he does something very stupid.

Pete actually thinks about what Vegas said. About how long ago his last orgasm was and that
there’s a correlation between that and Pete’s suddenly short temper.

The answer to that is simple.

Pete’s last orgasm was the day before he escaped which he hasn’t exactly been counting but was
probably close to about ten days ago. He knows the situation now is a stark difference to his
situation before, when he was having at the very least, one powerful orgasm a day.

It’s possible that a distinct change like that might have had some minor effects on his temperament.
He’s not usually an easily irritated person.

So whilst Pete is naked and under the spray of the shower, he considers it for a moment. Really
considers it.

He keeps having sex dreams about Vegas. Keeps waking up hard and eager and is still obstinately
refusing to act on it. Even now, Pete barely has to think about the degree of his untouched pleasure
before his cock is growing stiff between his legs.

How many showers now have ended in cold water and stubbornness?

Pete doesn’t want Vegas to be right about this. Doesn’t even want to try. But when he takes
himself in hand, Pete feels it rise up in him like a dull ache, the overpowering desire to see this
through.

So Pete follows his instincts, biting his lip as he jerks his wrist down, stroking firmly and into an
acceptable rhythm as his grip tightens.

There’s hardly anything in it, one, two pulls and then Pete is coming hard onto the base of the
shower bath, legs sapped of strength so suddenly that he needs to reach out and clutch the wall for
support.

He wants to feel satisfied by the lingering relief and immediate loss of tension in his body but all
Pete can focus on is the horrifying thought that Vegas was right.
He steps out of the shower and towels himself off quickly, throwing on the matching tracksuit
uniform before hurrying down to meet Porsche in the cafeteria.

And he definitely doesn’t tell Porsche about anything that he was doing in that shower five minutes
earlier.

Fucking Vegas.

The next morning the Gucci jacket Tankhun can’t seem to stop talking about is ready to be
collected and apparently cannot be delivered to the main family home.

Pete suggested a courier but Tankhun refuses to trust the task into anyone’s hands but their own
which is how Pol and Jirapat end up accompanying Pete outside to go and collect it.

Arm is staying behind with Tankhun and Porsche has left the building for the day to go and visit
his brother, taking Satang with him at Kinn’s insistence. They’re still fighting but apparently
Porsche is willing to listen to reason about this. Maybe because his brother is involved.

Pete isn't exactly protesting the task. After so long in Tankhun's bedroom he's practically jumping
at the chance to leave the main family home, even if the assignment is collecting items of clothing
that Tankhun has purchased.

They drive over to Iconsiam shopping mall, Pete behind the wheel for once because he beat the
others into snatching up the keys.

He parks quickly. As close to the entrance as possible and they step into the shopping centre to
find the Gucci store. Jirapat wisely consults a directory and then he's leading them up several floors
until they reach their destination.

Once Pete steps into the store he can’t believe how many people are already inside.

He’d assumed that Gucci would be for wealthy Thai wives, or young Thai heirs (like Tankhun)
with money and more than enough time to burn. But there’s two youngish looking couples that are
clearly foreign and there’s a surprisingly even distribution of women and men browsing through
the latest collection.

Pete had assumed this kind of interest was a female dominated area but he shouldn’t be surprised at
the number of men really. Expensive brands do seem to hold a kind of power regardless of gender
or age.

If they’re wealthy enough to buy it and flaunt it then why wouldn't they be here?

The security man posted at the door is eyeing Pete in particular and Pete stares right back, unfazed
and feeling a small sense of accomplishment when the guard looks away first. Jirapat goes straight
over to the counter and talks to the man standing there, offering Tankhun’s full name so they can
collect his order.

When the man disappears into the backroom and returns with a large Gucci bag, Pete instantly
suspects that Tankhun ended up purchasing more than just the jacket.

They’re quick and efficient, taking the bag and leaving the store without lingering more than
necessary, already moving back in the direction of where they parked the car. Pete’s pace flags a
little, wishing somehow they had other errands to run for Tankhun. Something to prolong the
assignment a little.

He’s not so eager to get back to the main house. Where Tankhun is probably watching The Devil
Judge and not worrying about the woman looking for Don.

Pol suggests they grab coffees and despite it not being protocol, Pete is quick to agree, happy to
draw this out for an extra ten or fifteen minutes.

“I’m going to take this back to the car,” Jirapat says, holding Tankhun’s items like they’re literally
worth more than his own life.

For a second Pete wants to point out that the way Jirapat is clutching at the bag suggests it’s value
to anyone passing by but he’s certain Jirapat won’t be letting it out of his sight. It probably won't be
an issue.

“Why don’t you both go,” Pete suggests, eyes scanning the crowds with a casualness that hides any
of his intent. “I’ll buy the coffees then I’ll meet you at the car and we can leave straight away.”

Pol hesitates briefly, biting his lip and Pete realises it’s not out of mistrust but concern. Abruptly he
realises this is the first time he’s truly been outside alone since Vegas drove him back to the main
family house.

He nods once, trying to communicate that he’ll be fine without actually addressing it but thankfully
Pol takes his meaning anyway.

“Iced coffee frappe,” Pol offers instead, his words playful but eyes still weighted with concern.
“With a dash of caramel. Don’t forget!”

“Iced coconut latte, right?” Pete checks, turning to Jirapat.

Jirapat meets his eyes from adjusting his hold on the bag again, bringing it in front of his chest like
he intends to shield it or something. Tankhun must have really stressed that nothing happen to his
clothes under any circumstances for Jirapat to be acting like this.

Pete can admit that an angry Tankhun is somewhat frightening to those who aren't used to his
temper.

“Uh- yes,” he says momentarily loosening his grip in surprise. “How-?“

“Lucky guess,” Pete says, shrugging but it’s just another thing he’s observed Jirapat drinking and
stored away for later. You never know what information is going to end up being useful.

He raises a hand in farewell and heads off in the direction of Doi Chaang Coffee around the corner.

Pete’s thoughts are drifting just as his body does through the crowds of other shoppers, but he’s
still taking in peripheral details, still casually scanning people as he moves towards the store.

It’s within his sight now and Pete can see the small crowd assembled around the entrance,
signalling that he’s probably going to have to line up and this won’t be a quick stop.

Jirapat and Pol will be fine though. He has every confidence in them.

But Pete never makes it to Doi Chaang.

At first his eyes slide over him, taking in the sunglasses, the expensive clothing, the youthfulness
of his face as he almost blends in with a crowd of university students in front of him.

But there’s a furtive edge to his body language that warrants a second look and Pete’s eyes are
returning again, settling, focusing and he’s jerked out of his task once he actually recognises the
guy.

He realises that he’s staring at Macau, sans bodyguards, sans Vegas, sans anyone and that that’s
very much something that should never happen under any circumstances.

The way Macau is glancing guiltily around the place is enough of a hint that he’s probably
intentionally slipped the guards on his detail. He’s carrying a shopping bag with the Gameshop
logo on it so it’s clear why he’s currently out here on this secret errand.

Macau is out shopping. Alone.

Pete doesn’t hear much along the bodyguard grapevine about the minor family, purely due to the
fact that the rivalry between the families has integrated into the bodyguards as well. But he very
much doubts Macau being here is something anyone would have approved.

For a second, Pete’s brain almost can’t compute what he’s seeing. The Theerapanyakuls are never
out in public alone. Especially not in an area that has multiple variables and untraceable exits. And
so many potential threats.

Where is his detail? Pete might know about half of Vegas’ bodyguards by name now but that
doesn’t mean that he has any idea who is meant to be watching Macau. They’re certainly not
willingly exchanging private information about their principals to each other.

There’s a culture of silence between the two, cultivated further by the fact that Mr Kan and Mr
Korn seem to make the best efforts to buy the loyalty of bodyguards from the different sides.

Even so, with such a void of information rumours are always the next best thing. Except Pete
knows he’s never heard anything about Macau being a particularly difficult mark. Kim was always
the one well known to give his bodyguards the slip. Macau, though sometimes loudmouthed and
arrogant, was never one to be so blatantly disobedient.

And Pete doubts he would step far out of line with a father like Mr Kan and a brother like Vegas
always breathing down his neck.

Which is why the sight of him now out in public alone, sets off so many different alarm bells in
Pete. The many kidnappings of Tankhun should have been enough of a deterrent for Macau to
know what a monumentally bad idea this was.

Macau isn’t his principal, he’s not even a part of Pete’s protection detail. Technically this isn't his
problem.

Pete could very easily call this in, look the other way and leave Macau to his errands. Except-
Macau is just a kid, not deserving of Pete’s indifference no matter who his brother is.

This is his job. To protect the Theerapanyakuls. So Pete’s instincts kick in immediately and then
he’s glancing around the area to perform an automatic sweep of danger in Macau’s orbit.

Macau hasn’t spotted him as he walked on, the other shoppers helping hide Pete from his initial
notice. And he also hasn’t detected the man ten metres back who is evidently following him.
But Pete has. He observes the man’s gun holster beneath his brightly coloured patterned shirt
which he’s wearing over a wifebeater. Pete is at least familiar enough with the minor family to
know that he’s not one of their own. Not to mention the fact that the man is clearly a foreigner.
White. European looking.

Pete is certain he’s one of the Theerapanyakul’s rivals, the Italians definitely weren’t happy with
them last Pete checked. In fact, that woman had been distinctly upset to discover Vegas had killed
Don when she’d tried to corner Pete at Hum bar.

Would this be the next natural step for them to get their revenge? An eye for an eye?

They’ve obviously keeping close tabs on the family if they’ve noticed Macau’s absence quicker
than their own bodyguards have.

He looks around the people wandering the thoroughfare again, trying to determine if the foreigner
is alone. The fact that he doesn’t seem to have an earpiece in, and isn’t talking to anyone else on
the phone has Pete thinking he’s trailing the kid by himself.

Whoever sent him probably didn’t think they’d need more than one man for whatever they have
planned against Macau. Kidnapping would be Pete’s best guess. It’s obvious that Macau has no
idea what a target he’s made of himself as he’s walking along, closer and closer to where Pete is
watching him.

He can’t make a scene here, there’s too many people. And who’s to say what the man is
comfortable with. He might not give a damn about subtlety. Could pull the gun out in front of this
entire crowd and get his hands on Macau that way.

But the fact that he hasn’t made a move yet probably is a good sign. They can use the crowds of
people as a shield while Pete gets him out of here.

With an air of casualness, Pete turns on his heel and changes direction, stepping into line behind
Macau and following him out of the crowd.

In order not to alert the man following them Pete doesn’t look around, sensing he’s still about ten
metres behind, close enough to keep an eye on Macau without openly spooking him.

Pete follows Macau onto an escalator and they’re descending to the bottom level. Macau isn’t even
looking up anymore now. Isn't even putting up a false impression of watching people in this open
environment. He’s resting his arm on the side of the barrier, attention firmly caught by something
on his phone.

If Pete were close enough, he’d be hitting him over the head for being so careless of his own
surroundings.

There’s two young girls and an old man in between them and the girls are glancing at Macau with
interest and whispering to each other. Pete might have considered them for a second if they weren’t
also giggling.

Macau, who miraculously seems to notice this of all things, turns and smooths his hand across his
hair in a very obvious preening gesture and the girls break out into giggles again so loud that Pete
feels an even more powerful urge to hit him than last time.

When they reach the next level, Pete keeps his pace steady and unconcerned, following the natural
flow of the other people as they head forward. There’s a hallway with a sign above it leading to the
parking lot and Pete spares a brief prayer that Macau isn’t going to peel off and disappear into the
car park alone where’s there no cameras and very rarely enough witnesses.

Pete’s heart is beating faster when Macau reaches the turn off but thankfully he doesn’t stop,
striding forward past a Rolex shop and clearly toward the direction of the exit.

He needs to tell Pol and Jirapat what’s happening but Pete doesn’t dare to take his eyes off Macau
for even a second, very aware of the possibility that the man following them isn’t alone. He could
be herding Macau in a direction where others are lying in wait for him.

Pete doesn’t reveal any of that tension in his body though and he watches the two giggling girls
peel off to disappear into a nail salon, leaving the old man between Pete and Macau.

An older woman cuts between their bodies suddenly but she’s not even looking at any of them,
talking angrily into her phone as her heels click across the white floors and Pete very nearly pays
for that interruption when he almost misses Macau stopping in front of Champion so that he can
stare at the mannequins in the window.

Pete winces but doesn't stop his stride, knowing he’ll alert himself to the man following Macau if
he spins about to double back towards Macau again. He slows his pace by the slightest increment,
considers stopping to pretend to answer the phone or bend down to tie his shoelaces.

But bending down puts him in too vulnerable of a position even with his back currently facing
Macau’s pursuer and if Pete stops to answer the phone, half turning his profile back towards
Macau and the man, it might just be enough for either of them to recognise him.

Macau won’t be able to hide his reaction to Pete, and Pete doesn’t want to give up the advantage of
having noticed the man yet.

So he keeps moving forward, bringing out his burner phone and using the reverse camera function
to angle his phone between the gap of his ribs and arm. He finds Macau quickly, notes the man is
closer then before and with some relief, notices that Macau is moving again back towards Pete.

He slows his pace a little again, watching carefully when it looks like Macau is really moving
towards the exit so Pete walks outside and immediately slips into the nearest blind spot, waiting for
Macau to catch up.

Macau emerges a second later, glancing about himself cautiously and still not noticing Pete before
he uses the pedestrian crossing to get onto the other side of the street.

Pete glances at the traffic, letting a moped speed past in front of him before he’s stepping out to
cross the road after him.

He crosses in three quick strides, stepping onto the sidewalk and easily falling into pace behind
Macau, glancing in his peripheral vision just as the man following them leaves the entrance of the
shopping centre and steps outside into the sunlight with a small crowd of people following.

As the pedestrians move off in all different directions at once, partially obscuring the man’s vision,
Pete throws caution to the winds and increases his pace, darting forward and throwing an arm over
Macau’s neck.

Macau tenses all over, glancing over at him with the kind of expression that he usually reserves for
his brother, not afraid per se, but inelegantly placating as if he knows he’s in trouble but is coddled
enough to believe his family, his brother, can always fix it for him. Will always be around to get
him out of it.
The expression makes him seem so young that Pete feels an edge of protectiveness settle over him.
Despite his conflicting feelings for Vegas, Pete knows he’s going to use every bit of his skills to
protect his younger brother right now.

When Macau’s countenance changes again, seems to relax even further, Pete realises Macau first
stiffened because he thought Vegas had caught up with him. He’s not so worried about
consequences with Pete, who is at most a subordinate of his family.

Macau’s pace slows down and he opens his mouth, no doubt with a prepared excuse for what he’s
doing right now but Pete knows they don’t have time for any of that.

“Don’t slow down and don’t look behind you,” he commands, increasing his pace a little so that
Macau is swept along with him. “Can you see the Auntie up there selling Moo Ping?”

Pete removes his phone from his jeans one handed, turning it on an angle so Macau can’t see his
passcode as he unlocks it and starts frantically texting one handed, trying to keep his eyes from
lingering too long on the screen. He doesn’t want to miss anything in their surroundings that could
be a risk to Macau.

And even though Pete is in plain clothes at the moment, the foreigner might not immediately
assume he’s just Macau’s friend.

He might be able to figure out that Pete works for the main family and that could inspire the man
into doing something stupid.

191, 1H-ICS leave now, he sends, before quickly stowing the phone again.

They'll be able to understand the shorthand warning Jirapat and Pol of a hostile target and that they
leave the shopping centre immediately. Pete doesn't need to provide more information then that
right now.

Macau is watching him but frowns at the question even as he looks ahead and does as he’s told.
“Yeah I see her. Pete, what-?”

“No time to explain,” he says. “When I give you the signal, I want you to run as fast as you can
down that alley behind her stall. Can you do that?”

Pete knows this area. There’s a chance they can shake off the tail if they’re quick about it. He has
his gun tucked underneath his waistband, always carries it on protection detail, but their training
has always been not to use it in crowded spaces. It’s a last resort that Pete doesn’t want to have to
rely on in these busy streets.

There are too many people moving about to guarantee any accuracy with his shots and Pete doesn’t
want to kill an innocent bystander.

Macau hesitates to agree, and starts turning instead as if by instinct. Pete grips into the muscle of
Macau’s shoulder so tightly that he winces and jerks back to glare at Pete instead.

“Don’t turn around. What did I say?”

Macau isn’t ready to let it go even if he is keeping pace, moving steadily toward the Moo Ping stall
with Pete. He’s expecting some attitude, a form of protest that Pete would dare to come over here
and manhandle him but Macau is surprisingly deferential. “Yeah fine I can run. But why? Is there
someone-?”
“Yeah, there’s someone,” Pete says curtly. “You should never have come out here alone without
backup.”

Macau seems to stumble a little, so surprised that his feet have forgotten they’re under him but he
rights himself quickly, takes a sharp breath and then his face tightens like he’s trying to pretend
he’s not scared. Pete tries not to sigh. He really is just a kid.

“Fuck,” Macau mutters anxiously. “I just wanted to-“

They’ve reached the stall and Pete pushes him without warning, nudging him down the narrow
alleyway tucked behind it.

“Go!” he shouts and Macau, thankfully, takes off running without another word.

Pete glances back just as the man is alerted to the change and they’re locking eyes, the man
seeming to understand who Pete is in that moment. Because he’s breaking out into a run to close
the distance between them, his expression twisting with anger.

Thankfully the foot traffic between them slows him down, that is until he starts shoving at bodies,
drawing out his gun and shouting in English, “Out of the way!”

Pete doesn’t wait, ignoring the screams, the panicked shouting, and darts into the alley after Macau
who fortunately, is pretty fast on his feet and is already half way down the narrow lane way before
he pauses to look back at Pete.

Pete runs flat out after him, holding his right hand at his back where his gun is stowed beneath the
waistband of his jeans so that he’s ready to draw it. He puts on a burst of speed to catch up with
him, irritation flaring at Macau standing there so foolishly in the open.

If the man enters the alley and is a decent enough shot, he could gun Macau down easily. Standing
like this, he’s a frighteningly easy target.

“What are you doing?” he shouts even as he reaches him and grips the front of his shirt, shielding
Macau with his body as he drags him into an intersecting lane way to the right that is out of the
line of sight. “Why’d you stop?”

Macau is panting a little, looking scared and confused. “I was waiting for you!”

Pete curses and drags him forward, tugging him by his shirt until they’re both running hard again,
holding his hand out against Macau’s back so he has a constant idea of his position even without
needing to look at him.

It’s also a good method to make sure his principal doesn’t fall behind when fleeing. But Macau
seems fit and is able to keep the pace pretty well so that they manage to put even more distance
between themselves and the man chasing them.

Pete can only faintly hear the shouts of people still reacting to the gun on the busy street in the
distance but thankfully it hasn’t been fired yet. There would be no mistaking the sound of a
gunshot right now.

There’s also the faint hope that the man wasn’t quick enough to see which direction they took at
the intersection of alleyways, widening the net of his search area and awarding them more time to
safely escape.

Pete is certain that will slow him down.

They keep running until they reach Wat Suwan, a temple that Pete has visited on more than one
occasion, and Pete glances over his shoulder once to make sure he can’t see any sign of the
foreigner and they’re not giving away their position before he drags Macau quietly into the temple
grounds.

There are people inside as Pete leads them in further, jogging past the ornate structure.

Almost immediately they pass by a couple monks which Pete clasps his hands and bows
respectfully to even as he doesn’t stop running. Then he returns his hands to the base of the gun at
his waistband and against Macau’s spine which is now warm with exertion. But Pete doesn’t let up
the pace. They’re outside, completely exposed and he can’t relax until he has Macau in a car taking
them far away from here.

Macau is soon panting when they pass out of the temple grounds and into another alleyway. Only
once Pete has carefully swept the area does he pull out his phone and glance down at it, hand now
gripping tightly to Macau like he’s worried he’ll make a run for it if his eyes aren’t on him.

There’s the sound of footsteps and Pete’s head snaps up to see an old woman ambling slowly past,
still not relaxing his grip on the base of the gun tucked into his pants even as he furtively inspects
the area again for anybody else who shouldn’t be there.

When he deems it safe, and all he can hear is the sound of Macau’s unsteady breathing, Pete
refocuses on the phone to see that Pol responded to him.

5 mins ETA. RP?

Pete inhales with sharp relief and texts him the pick-up location before jamming his phone back
into his pants even as he starts tugging Macau in the direction the old lady appeared from.

“What-?” Macau starts to ask even as he responds to Pete’s insistent tugging, letting himself be
urged further down the street.

“I’ve got a car coming,” Pete explains. “Five minutes away.”

Macau nods and lets Pete lead him away again.

Considering the situation, the tensions between the two families, Macau is surprisingly trusting of
him, doesn’t question Pete’s judgement as he takes them further into the side streets.

Pete is hypervigilant the rest of the journey there, not letting Macau run out first when they come
to intersections between houses, between streets and any stalls. He nearly pulls his gun on a local
passing by on a motorbike and his eyes are darting all over the place, making sure to check first for
the man and any signs of suspicious activity.

But they make it to the pick-up location Pete requested, the familiar tinted windows of the black
SUV a relief to Pete’s eyes, even as he double checks the number plate to confirm before
approaching. He opens the backseat door, leaning in and scanning first that the driver is in fact Pol
before he bundles Macau in and jumps in after him, slamming the door closed behind him.

Pol pulls out so quickly the tyres make the kind of screeching sound that hints at burning rubber.
Pete doesn’t settle until Macau has clipped his seat belt on and even then he’s tense when Pol
glances in the review mirror and sees why Pete urgently requested an emergency pick up.

Jirapat is already half leaning out of the passenger seat in order to peer around and get a good look
at their additional passenger.
“What-?” Pol starts to ask, confused and alarmed at the sight of Macau.

They’re going to stir things up if the minor family hears about guards from the main family
picking up Macau. Pete knows his split second decision today has the potential to make a lot of
people angry.

“Take us to the minor family compound.”

“Not the main family house?” Pol wonders even as Macau winces.

“No,” Pete says, firmly. “Things are too unstable to take him there at the moment. I need to figure
some things out first.”

He turns to Macau who is pushing his sweaty hair off his forehead, looking unharmed if a little
dishevelled.

“Where’s your father today?” Pete asks him in a low voice. “Is he at home?”

Macau presses his mouth together tightly for a second before he’s shaking his head.

“No. He’s- out.”

Pete realises that Macau is reluctant to tell them anything that could potentially hurt the minor
family. The tensions between the two are truly reaching dangerous levels now.

“And where’s Vegas?”

Macau doesn’t answer immediately, glancing at Pete and then over at Pol and Jirapat who are both
listening intently.

“I don’t know,” he admits, eyes lingering pointedly on Pete for a second. “He’s usually following-“

“Okay,” Pete interrupts, knowing exactly what Macau is about to say and not needing the
confirmation. “Just call your brother. He’ll be able to get you back into the compound unnoticed.”

Macau glances at him again, seeming to realise that Pete has no intention of selling him out to his
father or trying to get him into further trouble. Even so he still hesitates, glancing at the front seats
again and Pete knows there’s more he wants to say but is refraining from in mixed company.

It takes him off guard for a second, that Macau considers Pete to be trustworthy. As if he’s
somehow on Macau’s side in all of this. Pete wasn’t expecting that somehow.

“He doesn’t always answer the phone when he’s this- focused.”

Pete smiles and does his best not to lose his temper. “Just try.”

Macau scoops up his mobile phone from his pants pocket and unlocks it right in front of Pete
without even bothering to hide the passcode. This kid is much too trusting for his own good and
Pete doesn’t quite understand why Macau has deemed him safe and not Pol and Jirapat.

Pete sighs a little and looks away as Macau pulls up his favourites and selects Vegas’ name. They
wait, looking at the screen together but the call rings out.

Macau looks over at Pete expectantly and he can almost feel a headache coming on. “Text him
then. He’ll have to look at his phone eventually.”
Macau bites his lip. “I- don’t want to do that.”

Pete stares at him for a moment, thinking of what could possibly be the reason. No doubt his
reluctance lies in self preservation. But who is Macau more frightened of? His brother? Or his
father? At least that is an easy guess.

“Your father checks your messages?”

“Yeah,” Macau mutters, scratching at his chin. “He confiscates our phones at night. Doesn’t want
us sneaking out. Doesn’t want us doing anything he doesn’t approve of.”

Pete blinks at that surprising information. He always knew that Mr Kan was extremely controlling
of his children but somehow hadn't expected it to this degree. Macau is making it sound like his
father never leaves them unattended. As if they're constantly watched.

“Vegas still sneaks out.”

Macau merely grins at that and it's not difficult to see how deeply he admires his brother. “Yeah,”
he agrees, and the pride in his voice is plain. “Vegas doesn’t really follow orders from anybody.”

Pete refrains from commenting on that.

“Why don’t you call him?” Macau suggests brightly, not picking up on Pete's discomfort. “He’s
used to ignoring my calls because I always ring when I’m bored so he won’t realise anything is
wrong for a while.”

Instantly there’s a part of him that rebels at the idea. “He won’t-“ Pete tries but even he doesn’t
truly believe what he’s saying.

It’s a feeble protest at best.

“He will,” Macau says with surprising firmness before lowering his voice further. “The other day
he brought you back to the compound. When you spent the night in his room- Vegas never does
that.”

Pete finds it a little naïve of Macau to be so certain of Vegas’ sexual entanglements when Vegas
knows how to sneak around. Knows how to lie through his teeth. Is this just a consequence of
being Vegas’ younger brother? Taking everything he says and does at face value?

It's not hard to see that Macau might be biased when it comes to his older brother.

“Let’s just focus on the task at hand,” Pete reminds him, unable to conceal the doubt in his voice.

But Macau only shrugs. “Ask him if you don’t believe me. Ask anyone. Vegas doesn’t usually
have- night-time guests. He will answer if you ring, trust me.”

Pete hesitates for the briefest second before logic overrides his reluctance. They need to get Macau
back to the compound where he can be properly protected and Pete doesn’t want to risk bringing
his father’s wrath down on him for today. It was a stupid mistake, one that he’s confident Macau
won’t be repeating any time soon.

So Pete sighs and drags his phone out of his jeans. Macau’s smile turns a little bit sly an he leans
toward Pete conspiratorially for a second, keeping his voice low.

“Do you need his-?”

“I have the number,” Pete says tersely, trying to keep his temper in check.

Macau probably has no idea what exactly has happened between them. He just knows that Vegas is
currently obsessed with Pete and is most likely perceiving the whole thing as romantic. How little
he really knows is probably for the best because Pete has no intention of shattering that illusion for
him.

Pete goes into his contacts and finds Vegas’ number.

He takes a deep breath to steel himself and selects the mobile number to initiate the call. Pete
barely has to bring the phone up against his ear before Vegas picks up on the first ring.

“Hey baby,” he says smoothly and Pete’s gut clenches at the sound of his voice, at the way Vegas
answered him immediately when he ignored his own brother seconds ago. “What did I to do to
deserve this?”

When he chances a look over at Macau, he's openly smirking at him, having realised that Vegas
answered the call straightaway. Pete has to actively fight the blush rising on his face.

So he plasters on his fake smile instead and tries to focus. “Hi Mr Vegas,” he says in the formal
tone of a bodyguard. “This is Pete, one of the bodyguards from the main family.”

“I know who you are, sweetheart,” Vegas responds, amused. “Who’ve you got listening in on the
call?”

Pete hates how quickly Vegas sees through him. “We’ve got your brother.”

It comes out more threatening then Pete intends it to be and Vegas is quiet for a second as he turns
the words over. Even in the silence Pete can tell instantly that his amusement is gone.

“This a kidnapping deal, Pete?”

His voice is cold now, dangerously soft. Pete shivers a little at the thrill of it for a second.

“No, I picked him up off the street.”

Pete doesn’t mention that he’s certain Macau snuck out first or the foreigner who was after him.
“How do I get him back into the compound without alerting your father?”

Vegas is silent again and this time Pete can’t read what his emotions are. But surely he’ll help
when it comes to his own brother? Or does he think that Pete is lying?

“What’s the urgency?” Vegas wonders, in a deceptively calm tone. “He snuck out. Leave him to
rot.”

So much for sibling loyalty. Pete grits his teeth. “Not an option.”

“Let me guess,” Vegas continues. “You saw him wandering around like a little idiot, with no idea
that he was being followed by somebody dangerous. Is that about right, Pete?”

The specifics of the details make Pete suspicious all of a sudden. Since Macau all but admitted that
Vegas would be out right now following him. Does that mean that Vegas was also at the shopping
centre too and he somehow escaped Pete's notice? If that's the case why the hell didn't he lift a
hand to help his own brother?

Suddenly disturbed by the possibility, Pete can't find it in him to respond. But that’s as good an
answer anyway. At least to Vegas.

When he sighs, Pete feels only the slightest blip of sympathy for him. He’s never had siblings but
if it’s the same kind of responsibility he feels for his younger cousins sometimes, Pete can
understand how it might be enough to inspire a tension headache.

“Where are you now?”

Pete glances out the window. “We’re on Sirat Expressway.”

“It’s thirty minutes away from Nonthaburi,” Pol interjects helpfully even as Pete winces.

Fuck. He didn’t want Vegas to know who else was in the car. There’s no way he missed it though,
Vegas is listening too intently to the conversation not to have heard.

“Ditch Pol and the others,” Vegas says after a beat. “Give me ten more minutes and I’ll get you
and Macau back into the compound.”

Immediately Pete bristles at the suggestion. There's no way in hell that he's going to do that.

“Mr Vegas you don’t need me to accompany-“

“Oh really?” Vegas wonders, managing to sound both innocent and provoking all at once. “You’re
just going to leave him there on the sidewalk after someone dangerous tried to take him? Isn’t it
your duty to protect the family?”

Pete is about to tell him the minor family isn’t his responsibility before he realises that’s not a
response he can give to the minor family heir as a bodyguard under the employ of the
Theerapanyakuls.

That would be disrespectful. Unprofessional. But that doesn’t mean he’s not going to argue.

“You haven’t asked yet if he’s unharmed.”

But even that isn’t enough to pique Vegas’ concern. “Why should I? He’s with you. Now are you
going to be a good bodyguard and escort my brother home?”

Pete’s taken aback by the trust for a second before a flicker of annoyance wells up at Vegas’
demanding tone. He knows where he’d like to tell Vegas to shove that demand but unfortunately
the current audience in the car is working against him.

It’s truly the kind of argument he can’t have right now on the phone. Not with so many others
listening in. Not even if they already know some of the story. Unfortunately Pete has to keep a hold
of his temper.

Since he can’t talk as freely as he truly wants around Pol and Jirapat. Or even Macau.

“Of course, Mr Vegas,” he replies tightly whilst his free hand curls into a fist. “We’ll be there
shortly.”

Vegas actually laughs at that, warm and thrilled in his ear. “You want to argue with me so badly,
don’t you?”

“Yes,” Pete grits out, and doesn’t say anything else for fear that he’s about to start cursing Vegas
out.
“See you soon, baby,” Vegas replies and Pete can hear it in his voice that he’s grinning.

Pete hangs up without another word, trying not to openly scowl except he overcompensates, his
expression disappearing behind a blank mask.

Macau is watching him with an avid kind of interest and Pete takes another breath to try and steady
himself.

He hates to give Vegas what he wants but unfortunately, he’s right. After what just happened, Pete
can’t in good conscience leave Macau unprotected until he’s safely installed back in the compound.
And since Vegas wants to see him he’s going to make things difficult, would probably have the rest
of the bodyguards bar entry for Jirapat and Pol, just so he can have his moment alone.

Well fine, but Pete can guarantee he’s not going to let Vegas have any fun whatsoever. At least
with Macau present he’ll have to somewhat behave himself. There are some things he won’t say in
front of his brother. In that regard Pete should be somewhat protected.

That doesn’t mean he has any doubts that Vegas is going to make advances on him the first chance
he gets though. Pete knows he’s been frustrated by his inability to access him now that he’s under
Tankhun’s power and protection. Why else would he have shown up the last few times that Pete
was nowhere near his cousin?

The fact that Pete hasn’t left the main family house in three days and Tankhun has vocally and at
great length made it clear he doesn’t want Vegas anywhere near him is probably making it harder.

Pete stows his phone away and meets Pol’s eyes as he glances over his shoulder. “Well?”

“Vegas won’t let us all onto the compound,” Pete lies. “He’s allowing me to escort Macau to the
door but that’s it. And I have to take him in alone.”

Pol and Jirapat refrain from saying what they truly think about that solely because Macau is in the
car and listening in. Pol nods and refocuses on the road again so Pete can finally direct his attention
to Macau and actually start questioning him.

“What the hell were you doing out there anyway?” he asks, under his breath. “You took a really big
risk going out by yourself.”

Macau stares at him in a considering way. “Alright I’ll tell you- under one condition.”

For a second Pete wants to laugh. It’s such a childish way of trying to apply leverage that he
wonders just how sheltered Macau truly is. He shouldn’t be surprised by it though. Nothing every
comes easy with the Theerapanyakul family.

“What’s the condition?” Pete wonders as tolerantly as he can manage.

“You help me keep Vegas off my back when we get home,” Macau says. “He’ll want to chew me
out for today.”

Why of all things is he asking him to do that? Pete wants to flush again at the implications of it.
That Macau is so certain Pete will be enough to distract him. He wants to contradict it somehow
but even Pete isn't in that kind of denial.

“What makes you think I’ll be able-“

He trails off at the piercing look on Macau’s face. Then sighs again. “Fine.”
“Okay- I went out because I wanted to buy The Mageseeker.”

Pete just eyes him blankly, not recognising the name or the meaning.

“It’s the new League of Legends game.”

Suddenly he can’t help himself. Pete reaches out and smacks Macau up the back of the head.

“Hey!” Macau protests, rubbing at the spot indignantly.

“I never said I wouldn’t hit you,” Pete points out sensibly. Then he leans toward him and lowers
his voice again. “If you wanted it so badly then why didn’t you pre-order it? Or ask one of your
bodyguards to buy it for you? Or accompany you to go and get it? You do realise you had about
five other options that weren’t such a risk to your own safety.”

Macau’s expression takes on a stubborn edge. “I wanted to do it. I’m never allowed to do anything
by myself. My dad says I’m useless all the time and it’s because I can’t even-”

Unexpectedly Macau trails off, cheeks turning pink as he seemingly realises he’s said too much.
Then he laughs awkwardly to try and offset the moment, scratching at the back of his neck without
meeting Pete’s eyes.

“Anyway I just wanted to do it.”

Pity swells in Pete for a second. That Macau can’t be a kid because his family is mafia. Because
they have too many enemies to allow him to go out and explore the world by himself. No
opportunity to seek out his own independence. That he has a father like that who can only see
what’s wrong in his children, can only criticize instead of nurture.

It’s no surprise he’d chaff under that kind of pressure.

“Don’t do that again,” is all Pete says eventually. “It puts you at risk and you’ve already proved
yourself capable today. Next time if you want to get out of the compound, I’ll take you.”

“Really?” Macau asks, brightening at the idea.

Pete nods, a little bemused that Macau seems to have taken such a shine to him. They’ve never
really interacted all that much before. After the confrontation he had with Porsche, Pete had
naturally assumed Macau was just as dangerous in his tantrums, just as devious as his brother.

But Macau is surprisingly trusting.

“And next time when I tell you to run, you run. Don’t wait around for me.”

To his surprise Macau actually pulls at face at that. “Are you kidding? Vegas would kill me if I-“

He trails off and looks at Pete with some consternation. It’s not that difficult to put the rest of the
pieces together but somehow Pete still isn't sure that he believes it. Has Vegas actually talked to
Macau about him? He must have because how else would Macau suddenly feel the need to protect
Pete like he's family?

“Are you saying that you wouldn’t have waited if it was another bodyguard?” Pete asks in a quiet
voice. “That you would have kept running?”

Macau nods enthusiastically and even that tells Pete he's too young to take these kind of situations
seriously. He might have been killed today and looking at him now Pete knows that the thought
hasn't even crossed his mind.

“I’m not an idiot. But if I was in danger, then leaving you behind would definitely have put you in
danger too.”

Pete can’t believe this kid.

“I’m a bodyguard. That’s what I’m trained for.”

“Yeah, but Vegas likes you,” Macau says with a surprising edge of stubbornness. “And he doesn’t
normally like anyone. He’s just great at pretending he does.”

It’s a shocking statement coming from Macau. Pete realises that he’s not as naïve as he first
appeared. He must know Vegas very well to be able to say such things about him with utmost
confidence.

“Vegas wouldn’t want you to put yourself in harm’s way,” Pete points out, glossing over Macau’s
comments about their relationship because he doesn’t want to address it in front of an audience.

Macau is talking in a low voice but Pete doesn’t doubt Jirapat and Pol aren’t still picking up
snatches of the conversation in such a confined space.

“Yeah, you’re right but he wouldn’t want me leaving you behind either. That’s why we’ll look out
for each other instead.”

Pete finds he doesn’t know what to say back to that. He can see in Macau’s eyes that Pete has been
unequivocally accepted into the fold because of Vegas. He’s not sure what to think about how easy
Macau is making it seem. That he just belongs to the minor family because they’ve decided it.

Pete was there when Vegas first put on that show for Porsche, making the compound out to be a
very different set up than the main family house. He did a very good job of parading their
bodyguards around more like family than employees. A relaxed, more welcoming version. It was
obvious that a lot of it was false, catered to tempt Porsche with better circumstances and less
restrictions. But even knowing that, Macau’s sudden and unthinking allegiance to him now still
feels somewhat genuine.

Pete doesn’t believe that Macau is a master manipulator. He doesn’t seem to be an exact replica of
his brother. Pete wouldn’t even say they’re that similar in personality, except for the fact that
Macau seems to wear his vulnerability on the outside, and Vegas conceals his within.

A couple minutes later, Pol is pulling into the parking lot of yet another shopping centre, an ideal
location for a drop off.

They leave the car in idle while Pol and Jirapat turn back to look at him.

“What do you want to do?”

“I’ll have to leave you here,” Pete says apologetically. “I shouldn’t be too long. I’ll come back
after I drop Macau off.”

Pol and Jirapat shrug and get out of the car, Jirapat taking extra care to collect Tankhun’s Gucci
bag before he does so. Pete slides out a second later and moves around the front of the bumper,
eyes sweeping the area automatically before he opens the driver door and climbs into the seat.

Macau has since unclipped himself and is leaning through the gap between the passenger and
driver seat.

“Can I get in the front?” he asks, relaxing noticeably now that Pol and Jirapat are out of the car and
staring at them while Pete clips his seat belt on.

“Sure,” Pete agrees distractedly, as he smiles grimly at Pol and Jirapat, and moves the car out of
park.

Macau gets into the passenger seat and clips himself in whilst Pete directs the car back out the way
they’ve come. He knows how to get to the compound from here but Macau directs him anyway,
chattering happily at him whilst they weave through the busy streets.

Pete is only half listening to him, focusing on too many things at once. Watching the road as well
as checking all of the cars behind them to see if any of them appear to be following. But it’s safe.

Even so, Pete seems to get tenser and tenser the closer they get to the compound. Pete hasn’t come
back here since he was taken here, so hopelessly drunk that he only remembers it in flashes. And
considering what was happening the time before that- it’s not exactly surprising that the place is
absent of any fond memories.

When they arrive, Pete makes to pull the car up to the curb in front of the compound but Macau
throws a hand out.

“Not that way,” he says. “Turn left down here. There’s men at the door that won’t listen to Vegas.
They’ll report this whole thing to my dad and I’ll be punished.”

Pete nods and turns the car down the narrow alleyway as instructed, letting Macau direct him.
When he tells Pete to park underneath an awning at the back of the compound, Pete’s hands are so
tight on the wheel he can see the whites of his own knuckles.

But he obeys, heart in his mouth as the car stops and he pulls up the handbrake and puts it into
park, switching off the engine a second later. He’s back in the garage he departed from last time.
After he’d blown up Vegas’ bike.

Macau is extremely relaxed now, in his own element and already climbing out of the car by the
passenger side without waiting for him. Pete gets out next, eyes still locked closely on Macau
making his way around the front of the car toward him as Pete gently shuts his own car door.

It's quiet so far but Pete doesn't take that as a sign that it's safe yet. Macau takes two steps past the
headlights before he makes that same sheepishly placating expression and pulls up short, swinging
the bag behind him to hide the video game in his hand.

Pete knows at once who that face is for and turns around just as Vegas is appearing at his side,
throwing an arm across Pete’s shoulders. The heat of his body is so staggering, that Pete is too
shocked by the touch to immediately throw him off.

“Alright. How bad was it really?” Vegas demands, body language somewhat undisturbed even
with edge of danger in his voice.

Macau just smiles self-consciously at him before his eyes flicker to Pete beseechingly. But Pete is
too distracted by Vegas to jump to his defence. That, and the fact that Macau made a very stupid
mistake and probably does need to be lectured about it by somebody other than Pete.

“Uh, there was a guy with a gun?”

Vegas’ body shifts against Pete, seems to go tense against him. “Macau-“

“It was fine!” Macau insists. “Pete was there.”

Pete finally manages to get himself under control and turns towards Vegas, hands coming down on
the side of his rib cage in order to push him off. But Vegas merely hooks his arm around Pete’s
neck, wedging their bodies more closely together to stop him. Preventing escape as he starts to drag
him towards a door Pete noticed was ajar a second ago.

“In,” Vegas says to Macau, who goes to obey without question, slipping through the doorway and
glancing back at them. “Hurry up. We’ve only got a couple minutes until Banyat comes looking for
me.”

Macau darts away and Pete tries to renew his efforts to get out from under Vegas’ arm, but Vegas
brings his free hand up against the bare flesh of Pete’s right forearm next, dragging his fingers
along the skin until he’s reaching Pete’s wrist and slipping his hand into Pete’s own.

Pete is so stupefied by the touch that he misses his opportunity to slink back out the door as it
snaps shut behind them. He glances at Vegas’ side profile and sees that he’s smiling.

“I’m not staying,” he insists, under his breath even as he tugs his hand free of Vegas’. “Jirapat and
Pol are waiting for me.”

“Let me deal with Macau first,” Vegas says. “Then I want you to tell me exactly what happened.”

Pete opens his mouth like he wants to further protest but isn’t sure exactly how. The weight of
Vegas’ arm across his shoulder is much too comfortable. Pete successfully catches at Vegas’ wrist
and lifts his hand up, giving him enough room to duck out from under his arm. A second later he
releases the hold, Vegas’ hand dropping back to his side.

Much better. Now Pete can think. Can focus on how he's meant to get back out of this place again.

Vegas merely turns towards him and stops, Macau still continuing down the hallway ahead of
them, completely oblivious to the tension. Pete looks back at the door they came in through.

“It’s alarmed,” Vegas says. “I don’t have the key on me.”

Pete turns his head back to look at him, and openly scoffs at the obvious lie. “How’d you get into
the garage then?”

Vegas grins, showing his fist with a set of keys and the fob which must open the door tucked
between his knuckles. Pete lunges for it but Vegas takes a step back just out of reach as if he’s
playing with him.

Pete can admit to himself that he’s not entirely worried about escaping. Vegas doesn’t seem all that
interested in locking him up permanently anymore. This is just- foreplay.

He flushes at the idea, at the suggested closeness of their bodies and pointedly takes a step back.

“Please Pete,” says Vegas, looking at him intently, sensing uncertainty.

A second later, Pete relents, stalking past Vegas and moving to catch up with Macau. Vegas
matches his pace easily, reaching out for him again. Without looking, Pete smacks his hand away.

“You’re so persistent,” he mutters, trying not to raise his voice so Macau won't hear them arguing.
“Can’t you just-?“

“No,” Vegas says simply. “I want what I want.”

Pete snorts at that.

Macau reaches the base of a set of stairs which seem to lead up further into the compound. He
glances over his shoulder as if looking for guidance and Vegas nods briefly at Macau and Pete is
reminded once more of how fiercely aware Vegas is of his brother.

Did he really just leave Macau at Iconsiam to fend for himself? Or did he realise that Pete was
there and he would be enough to keep him safe?

“Head up to the private office,” Vegas tells him. “Sud is on patrol.”

Macau groans at the news, shoulders hunching, but takes the stairs two at a time, evidently
knowing where he’s going.

“Sud?” Pete wonders, curious at Macau's reaction.

Vegas just shrugs. “One of dad’s lapdogs. He always reports us for the smallest things.”

It’s interesting to hear it said from their perspective. From the small snatches of what Macau has
said and the impression Vegas has given off, they make it sound like they’re more or less prisoners
here.

But isn’t all of the Theerapanyakuls like that to some degree? Only Kim can walk around freely
and that was hard-won and at the expense of severing his connection to the rest of the family.

Kim might be free at the moment but he’s completely alone.

Pete doesn’t ask more questions about that. He knows what it means for a man to be so controlling
of his children and their whereabouts. Not for the first time, has Pete thought that Vegas was a
prisoner of this life, as much as he had been a prisoner of Vegas.

“Where were you?” Pete wonders out of interest.

Vegas glances at him and looks away as they climb the stairs together. “Around.”

Pete glances up to gauge how far Macau is still out of earshot. Only once he's satisfied does he
continue. “Were you following me?”

“Up until Iconsiam,” Vegas says calmly. “I lost you at the temple.”

Pete nearly loses his footing he’s staring at Vegas so keenly. He considers Vegas’ honesty as he
processes the words. It’s not a surprise, Pete knew there was a strong possibility that Vegas was
still following him. There’s been no indication that his obsession has lessened in any way since
their last encounter.

"And you just left your brother there?" Pete demands, offended on Macau's behalf.

But Vegas isn't remotely concerned. "You spotted him first, baby. And it looked like you had it
well in hand."

Maybe Vegas saw more of the man following them then Pete did. Even as he accepts it as true,
Pete still can't believe that he never spotted him. Vegas must have been keeping as much distance
from Pete as possible.

"And the man? Did you follow him?"

"You turned him around in those alleyways," Vegas explains. "He went in the opposite direction.
So I followed after you instead."

Why? Pete very nearly asks. When it was clear to Vegas that he and Macau weren't in danger
anymore? Or did he not care about finding more information on the man following Macau? Was
this simply about watching Pete in his element?

“What is it about me that’s so fascinating to you?” he wonders, not for the first time as they reach
the landing before the stairs curve up to the next level.

Vegas moves lightning quick and pins Pete to the wall, staring down at him with intention. A
second later, he finally notices the gun Pete has pressed against the tender underside of his jaw.

They take in the closeness between them, the threat of violence and more. Pete had been ready for
Vegas to make a move as soon as he appeared, because Vegas is always trying something
whenever they’re in the same room together.

They stare at one another for a beat too long, so close that their noses could be touching. Then
Vegas smirks at him, and Pete realises it wasn’t a genuine attack at all but a test. A way for Vegas
to determine what Pete might do if threatened.

“You don’t act like everyone else,” Vegas tells him. “There’s something real about you even when
you’re hiding.”

Pete lowers his gun when Vegas draws back and starts towards the next flight of stairs without
waiting. Pete hesitates before quickly restowing the gun in his waistband and moving up after him.
He finds Vegas’ explanation a little puzzling.

“I’m hiding?” he repeats.

“’Hi Mr Vegas’,” Vegas mocks, in a passable imitation of Pete’s false tone. “’This is Pete’”.

He’s talking about the masks Pete wears. It drags the air from his lungs to hear it spoken aloud.
Vegas might not have been the first person to ever notice but he’s the first one to ever ask him
about it directly.

“Would you rather I cut the bullshit and tell everyone why you only let me into the compound
then? Why you ignored your own brother’s phone call and answered mine?”

Vegas doesn’t even quiver at Pete’s tone.

“You asked the question and I answered, baby.”

“I’m not hiding,” Pete insists, annoyed now. “That’s just being professional.”

“No, it’s not,” Vegas counters, reaching out and dragging a hand down Pete's chest even as Pete is
pulling away. “It’s the mask you put on to hide your real face. The real face you showed me when
we-”

“Stop,” Pete says, immediately knowing where Vegas is taking the conversation. “Does everything
have to be about sex with you?”
“It does when you’re standing right next to me.”

Pete flushes and starts taking the steps two at a time to try and outpace him. But Vegas only
changes to match his stride and keeps up without a problem. It’s frustratingly futile. Just like every
action he takes to push Vegas away from him.

They stop at the second level, Pete hesitating to walk out into the open corridor in case there are
more men patrolling. Macau is now nowhere in sight but that’s not as alarming in the minor family
compound.

At least here Pete is certain the kid is protected. Even more certain with Vegas here too.

“Two doors down on the left,” Vegas mutters in his ear, breathing heat against the skin of his
earlobe.

Pete’s body jolts at the close proximity and he darts out toward the door Vegas directed him to. But
Vegas is just as quick, following and pinning him against the wall right next to it before Pete is
able to turn the doorknob and enter the room.

“I know you’re thinking about it too,” Vegas says, without pushing their faces closer this time.
“Sex. I can see it on your face. Have you made yourself come yet? Did you feel better afterward?”

Does he see that as some kind of victory if Pete did? When it’s all he can think about these days?
The memories of promised pleasure? There's no way in hell Pete is going to admit that to Vegas.

“Vegas,” he growls, feeling ruffled and rapidly losing patience as he pushes him back again.
“Focus.”

Then he’s turning the doorknob and darting into the room.

Macau is sitting at the desk, feet propped up against the wooden surface as he plays a game on his
phone. Pete notices that he’s already hidden the purchased video game from Vegas’ line of sight.
And he doesn’t bother to look up when they enter.

“What were you guys doing? Making out in the hallway?”

Pete sputters out a unintelligible protest and Vegas merely grins, moving past Pete and coming in
to settle on the edge of the desk.

“Don’t change the subject. Why did you sneak out?”

Macau looks up and stares at Pete expectantly as if this is now his time to intervene. He almost
regrets offering to stick his neck out for Macau and has to try his best not to sigh again.

“That’s not the main issue,” Pete says instead, already steering the conversation. “It's the man who
was following him. Foreign. Mid-thirties. Dark hair, strong build. Carrying a gun. My guess would
be Italian.”

Vegas just looks at him and Pete stares him down. “I doubt they’re very happy with you at the
moment.”

“They’ve got beef with the whole family,” Vegas mutters as if he didn’t openly declare himself as
Don’s murderer to the woman intrinsically motivated by her pursuit of the truth. “Why target
Macau?”
Because he’s the youngest. The weakest link in the chain.

“The more vulnerable a person is, the higher emotional response attacking them will invoke in the
rest of the family," Pete says with a grim kind of honesty. "Macau’s still just a kid.”

This seems to offend Macau deeply.

“Hey I’m eighteen!”

Vegas finally turns to look at him again, leaning over the desk so that Macau immediately sits up
straighter. In that little gesture Pete can see just how much he admires and respects his brother. He
wonders what he would think of Vegas being at the shopping centre today and doing nothing for
him. He wonder what Macau would think about Vegas’ torture dungeon.

“Don’t you ever do that again,” Vegas says in a low, menacing voice. “It could have ended very
badly for you. Do you understand that? It was dumb luck that Pete was there. You can’t walk
around thinking you’re always safe.”

Macau seems like he wants to protest some more but after glancing at Pete’s warning expression,
decides better against it. So he nods quietly instead, looking suitably chastened but Pete isn’t so
sure it’s entirely authentic.

He wonders if Macau has Vegas wrapped around his finger too.

“Go back to your room,” Vegas orders him. “I told Sud you were messing around on your
computer and didn’t want to be disturbed.”

Macau nods, jumping happily to his feet and edges toward a connecting door that no doubt leads to
another room. Of course Vegas’ office would have two exits.

“Hold up,” he says quietly, lifting the Gamestop bag Macau had been carrying ever since Pete
found him. “Aren’t you forgetting your game?”

For a brief second Pete is impressed. Vegas must understand Macau pretty well to have
immediately found what he was hiding from him. Pete hadn’t seen where Macau had stowed it in
the office when they came inside.

Vegas must have first noticed it when Macau got out of the SUV before he’d managed to conceal it
in time. He’s obviously very skilled at observing his surroundings, Pete knows that fact quite
intimately already.

Macau glances between the two of them before shuffling back over slowly to accept the bag. He
snatches it out of Vegas’ hand so quick it’s like he knows to expect retaliation.

And so does Pete because he catches at Vegas’ wrist, when he lifts an outstretched palm a second
later to smack him. Luckily Pete is quick enough to hold him back while Macau makes his escape.

“Thanks Pete!” Macau calls over his shoulder as he barrels through the side door with his prize.
Vegas doesn’t make any move to go after him and doesn’t struggle to get out of Pete’s hold either.

When Vegas turns his body partially so he can look at him better, eyebrow raised, Pete realises that
he’s still holding on to Vegas for no real reason and quickly releases him.

“You can’t hit your little brother like that,” Pete says, rather hypocritically.
Vegas just nods in agreement even as he inspects Pete’s face carefully. “You already hit him?”

Damn. Vegas really is getting better at reading him. Pete does his best not to sigh as he turns and
sits down on the edge of the desk too. “Yeah. In the car.”

“So what was those looks about?”

Pete hesitates for the briefest second, wondering if he'll be causing Macau further trouble. But if
anything Macau seems to lack suitable discipline and he doubts Vegas is the type to teach those
lessons to him. Not when their father is around.

“He wouldn’t tell me what he was doing at the riverside mall until I agreed to take his side against
you.”

Vegas actually smiles at that, genuine and pleased. Then he’s standing up and slowly crowding in
against Pete, pushing his hands back on either side of the desk and boxing him in.

Pete watches him do it without making a single move. As he leans in Pete can see the open target
of his throat, the solar plexus, his exposed chin. All of which Pete can easily reach if he lifts his
hands off of the desk.

But Pete’s hands stay where they are.

He lets Vegas get closer even as his own thoughts are rebelling against him in a warning loop
saying this is a bad idea. The anticipation in his gut is like a smouldering fire; the blackened wood,
charred and misleading, but the heat within it, tremendously intense. And completely unrelenting
no matter how hard he tries to smother it.

So Pete doesn’t try to smother it this time. He sits patiently in the embers and lets everything
around him ignite.

“I’m gonna kiss you, baby,” Vegas tells him, as he moves closer. Almost as aware of the fire in
Pete as the inferno within himself. “I did promise, remember?”

The words are spilling out of him before Pete can think better of it. “You do owe me,” he mutters,
still carefully pinned by Vegas’ eyes. “For being such a fucking tease.”

And Vegas is smirking at that small concession. “Wasn’t intentional,” he says simply, and their
faces are so close that Vegas’ nose actually brushes against his. And Pete leans in, already angling
his face. Then it’s the simple act of them sharing the same breath. “Haven’t really seen you drunk
before.”

As always something in Pete resists, struggles, bristles at the words coming out of Vegas’ mouth.
“And you’re so concerned with consent now.”

Vegas smiles, doesn’t try to deny his own hypocrisy which is good because Pete thinks he might
have pushed him away if he did.

“I’m trying to be,” he admits. “Don’t you like it?”

Almost out of principle Pete doesn’t respond and drops his gaze between their bodies instead,
searching for calm in the scant inches of space between them, unsurprised when he doesn’t find it.

When Vegas takes hold of his chin with a thumb and forefinger it’s like a forgone conclusion, one
that Pete could easily see them spiralling towards now that they’re alone together. Pete doesn’t do
anything but watch as Vegas slowly lifts his face up again as if he knows this will be enough to
entice him.

Their eyes connect, the flash of heat and desire so powerful that Pete loses track of his next
thought, feels himself lean back, grip shaky, legs unable to support him as the desk finally takes his
full weight. Then he's dragging the gun out from beneath his waistband, watching the way the
Vegas goes tense when Pete moves his hand and sets the weapon down on the desk out of the way.

Vegas doesn’t hesitate to follow after that, allowing no space to grow between their bodies. And he
can feel the tension in the air crackle when Pete meets his eyes and doesn’t push him off, doesn’t
back down from the open challenge, the unmistakeable line of pursuit extending from Vegas’ every
move. The want is banking low in his gut and Pete already knows he’s hardening, the strain of the
fabric against his crotch revealing the depth of his appetite.

Vegas as if sensing the difference between this moment and the last, glances down Pete’s chest,
trailing across his body before settling in his lap. He pauses for a second as if struck by the
realisation that Pete is visibly aroused and then his eyes are flaring with heat at what he sees there.

If anything, Vegas takes Pete’s silence, his stillness as encouragement and Pete inhales an uneven
breath, lips parting almost unconsciously when he leans back in.

“Is that a yes?” Vegas asks, his voice a heady murmur.

Pete hesitates, and then loses out in the struggle against himself. He swallows hard and then, jerks
his chin down in a sharp gesture of agreement.

And then easy as breathing, Vegas’ mouth is descending to where Pete is open and ready for him,
covering his own and sealing the moment in a kiss. At once the silence is roaring in his ears, heart
pounding violently in his chest as Pete lets himself be swept away. His blood is quickly rushing
south as Vegas swiftly angles himself against Pete, deepening the contact just as Pete’s mouth
opens further for him.

Suddenly it’s like coming up for air. Taking a deep breath after being deprived of it for so long, just
on the brink of his limit.

Pete remembers this kiss. Can feel it viscerally in every cell of his blood, deep in the marrow of his
bones.

He’d had no idea this whole time that he was drowning.

Suddenly Pete is coming alive under the touch and then his hands are moving, the first to catch
onto the front of Vegas’ shirt, holding him right where Pete wants him as the other is sliding up
between Vegas’ shoulder blades, shifting along the muscle of his neck before disappearing into his
silky hair.

Vegas shifts too, putting all of his weight on his right hand against the desk to avoid overbalancing
as he bends forward, and the other is creeping around Pete’s back, resting against the bones of his
spine, just resting because his left hand isn’t strong enough to fully support them both whilst still in
the wrist brace.

Kissing Vegas back is just as dangerous as Pete remembers and he doesn’t even realise that his
thighs have parted until Vegas has already claimed the space between them, standing in the v of his
legs, pressing tight against his body and groaning at the way Pete’s hand pulls firmly at his hair.

Pete’s hips rock upward automatically at the first instance of that pressure, the answering solidity
against him heralding the fact that Vegas is just as lost in this as Pete is. And for once that feels
like a relief rather than a concession. A lifeline to firmer ground.

Vegas is the first to break off and when he does he’s gasping, Pete’s fingers still tangled tightly in
the strands of hair, dizzy and lightheaded as his own lungs contract and expand in quick
succession. They pant against one another for a second and Pete feels the triumph of Vegas’
unsteadiness against his own, he’d have easily kept kissing until passing out.

“You know,” Vegas says softly, still out of breath with a wild kind of fever in his eyes. “I really
like you getting along with my brother.”

Pete is struggling to hold thoughts of Macau in this moment and it vanishes completely at the sight
of Vegas pulling away, breaking free of Pete’s hands and then dropping to his knees in front of
him. At the provoking image, Pete edges slightly back out of instinct but there’s nowhere to go
short of tipping backwards over the desk itself and by then he’s already caught up with what Vegas
means by the position, what he’s offering.

Has been offering for some time now.

Pete straightens up on the desk and flushes at the implication. He knows intimately well that he’s
giving off very pointed signals recently and that Vegas has taken them as such, but even that isn’t
quite enough to convince Pete to stop this. Not with Vegas on his knees.

“And I like it even more when you’re looking out for my family. You’re pretty loyal, baby.”

Automatically Pete is resisting the allegation. Stiffening at the idea that Vegas has obtained any
kind of devotion from him.

“I didn’t do it for you,” he snaps, even as Vegas’ hands skirt his thighs and Pete instinctively cants
his hips forward at the touch. “He’s just a kid I wasn’t going to leave him to get picked up by the
Italians. No matter how tempting it was.”

Vegas nods, suddenly nuzzling at the bulge in Pete’s trousers and Pete loses the thread of
conversation again at the sudden, unexpected friction against his cock.

“You wanted to leave him just to spite me, didn’t you?”

Pete can’t seem to concentrate at the moment. And it annoys him that Vegas can talk so freely
whilst doing something as vulnerable as this. Even more so when he catches up with the words,
realising that not only is it true, but that Vegas was able to put it together so easily.

That he can read Pete like he’s a book laid open in his lap, his pages turning at the simplest touch
of those fingers.

“Yeah,” Pete admits, sighing now.

Vegas leans forward again, rubbing his face back into Pete’s crotch again as if savouring the
situation. As if now that he knows Pete isn’t pushing him away, he’s going to draw every touch
out, relish every single caress that he's permitted. Pete is too distracted by the sensation to even
consider creating distance between them.

He’s as hungry for this as Vegas is.

“Well isn’t this better?” Vegas continues conversationally without looking back up at him. “You
brought him back safe and sound and now I get to properly show my- appreciation for your
efforts.”

Pete hisses out a sharp breath when Vegas starts to unzip his pants and he knows that he should
stop Vegas right now, that he’s absolutely capable of stopping Vegas in this moment.

His hands are his own and one of Vegas’ wrists is still out of commission, Pete has the obvious
advantage here. Vegas is still kneeling and if Pete shifts his weight slightly, he knows he could
shove Vegas on to his back and step over him. He could snatch that key fob out of Vegas’ pocket
and leave by the same way he arrived. Could reach the exit well before Vegas would be fast
enough to stop him.

It would be foolish to let him go ahead with this. Another tick in Vegas’ favour, confirming that he
was right about Pete all along, that he was right to ache for this because despite Pete’s best efforts
the attraction is mutual.

Is plainly visible between them now.

But Vegas has already figured out that Pete likes him on his knees. Enjoys the expert heat of his
mouth. Why else would he have offered again in the alleyway of the club? In the secluded space of
the Aston Martin?

It feels distinctly different now. Somehow. Pete is more in control than he knows to be smart
about. And the situation is infinitely improved by there being no Porsche or Tankhun around to
interrupt them.

It’s not the open exhibition of being in the car either. Or the club. But Pete glances over at the door
anyway, still unable to help that twinge of discretion in himself. As if he’s spoken out loud, Vegas
abruptly rises to his feet and moves toward the door they came in through together.

Then, without breaking eye contact with Pete he reaches down for the handle and locks it. Pete
inhales a searing breath and doesn’t speak. Simply watches as Vegas moves to the other doors too,
locking them all to ensure that no one else can interrupt them.

Guaranteeing privacy.

He should feel tense, locked in a room with a monster but Pete’s body seems to relax instead,
yielding to the moment when it should be unfaltering. When he should have better restraint.

Pete watches him prowl closer again once Vegas is done, spreads his legs a little wider in
anticipation and actually witnesses how Vegas’ eyes darken when he notices.

They’re silent when Vegas hands slide over his hips and quietly lift Pete up off the desk, making it
easier for him to slip out of his pants, pushing them down until they’re pooled around his ankles.

Pete would be embarrassed if Vegas took the time to hesitate. If he lingered at all to inspect Pete's
body but he doesn’t stop, as if he can’t afford to wait that long, palms sliding firmly down the bare
skin of his thighs as he steps back slightly.

And Vegas still doesn’t break eye contact as he drops to his knees again.

Not once. Not even when he drags Pete’s underwear down to his thighs, finally, finally, exposing
his cock to the open air. Pete’s heart is pounding in his chest but he’s frozen, torn between what he
should do and what he wants.

They’re still looking at each other when Vegas begins to lower his mouth. But a second later he
stops in his journey, eyes flickering up towards Pete almost expectantly and it’s like he can read
the thought as it passes over his face.

“Hoping I’ll beg?” Pete wonders, tensing up even as his voice hardens in a cautionary manner like
they’re seconds away from this moment spiralling in another direction.

They’re on a tightrope of tension and it’s clear that neither of them know on what side they’ll fall.

Vegas smiles faintly and Pete knows he was right. Even his fantasies in the moment seem just as
transparent. But Vegas’ yearnings have always seemed particularly discernible to Pete.

“Maybe some other time,” he counters, unperturbed as if it truly matters to him, whether or not
Pete is vocal with his hunger.

It’s still alarming how badly Vegas wants Pete to crave him. As if he hadn’t already awoken that
need, stirred it into something uncontrollable.

Is he truly not aware of his effect or does he just want the proof?

“Maybe never,” Pete retorts because he’s not sure if he could ever bring that guard down. Or if he
would want to for Vegas, who might just destroy that layer of protection for good, make it so Pete
finally has nothing to hide behind.

Would Vegas burn the world around him just so Pete has no choice but to seek shelter in his arms?

Vegas shrugs at that, unbothered by Pete’s words, but his smile widens as if accepting the
challenge, attention already focused on Pete’s cock as he leans in again.

Even though Pete’s already wavered, there’s a steady stream of dormant resistance that somehow
jolts into action just before Vegas’ mouth finally lands on him. Some kind of last defence.

And then Pete’s fingers are suddenly in Vegas’ hair, yanking him back, preventing it from going
any further.

He can feel the tension ratch up several degrees, and now more than ever is Pete aware of how
they’re on the knife edge of a moment. A moment that might cut deep if he’s not careful.

Vegas doesn’t complain at the rough handling. Doesn’t even wince at the sharp way Pete grabbed
him, just blinks once, slowly, and raises an eyebrow. Expectant. Waiting on Pete.

It’s interesting how he holds himself off now, when Pete wasn’t given that consideration before.
For a second the memories of that threaten to take him out of the sultry haze of need, close to
cooling him off.

But then Vegas licks his lips and his eyes lock on to Pete's again and he's completely lost.

“Will you let me, Pete?” Vegas wonders quietly. “You know I’ll make it good for you.”

Of course he knows that. But even so Pete inhales an uneven breath, grip unrelenting, and doesn’t
completely pull Vegas away from him either. They linger in that second, the state of push and pull,
and the tension remains taut as a bowstring.

“Please,” Vegas says, softer now and especially eager to please. “Let me give this to you.”

Pete bites at his lip and genuinely considers it beyond the layer of base urge and instinct. But where
he expects to feel the unrelenting wall of his own stubbornness, the familiar instinct of
suppression, he can only find boundless and insistent need.

One that can no longer be ignored.

So, hardly daring to believe it himself, Pete keeps looking at Vegas and ever so slowly, nods.

Vegas makes this noise, and Pete recognises it immediately. An unmistakeably raw sound of relief.

Then Vegas is leaning in and licking a hot line up Pete’s cock. The change is too quick for Pete,
who hasn’t yet untangled his hand from Vegas’ hair and then he no longer has the strength to when
Vegas’ mouth widens and he sucks the head past his lips without further discussion.

Pete makes a strangled sound and lifts his free hand to his mouth to smother it, unable to drag his
eyes from the sight of Vegas with Pete’s cock in his mouth and how he quickly hollows his cheeks,
eyelashes fluttering as his eyes slip closed. Hot mouth descending further.

It surprises Pete for a second, to see how clearly Vegas enjoys giving pleasure. When it was-
before, Pete was always too much in his own head, trying to conceal his reactions, to restrict
himself from indulging every time to focus very much on Vegas’ expression.

But he can see it clearly now. He’s sliding along Pete’s cock, the suction of his mouth a blistering
kind of pressure and heat that’s powerful enough to torture but his eyes are closed and his right
hand is pressed against Pete’s knee and Pete’s biting at the flesh of his own palm, because it’s all
he can do to keep the sounds to himself.

His other hand is still buried in Vegas’ hair and Pete finds it less of a surprise to physically feel
when Vegas pushes forward, the easy bobbing motion of his skull as he sucks him.

It’s so perfect Pete could cry, and his body is curling towards Vegas like a plant for sunlight as his
hips automatically buck forward, senseless and out of control as he seeks to follow that vital and
necessary path to pleasure.

Vegas takes him without gagging, seems to have the knack of it without really even trying and Pete
is swearing into his palm, trying not to make it so obvious what all of this is doing to him.

When Vegas rocks forward, taking him down to the root, Pete’s moan finally escapes the barrier of
his palm and he’s leaning back so far he’s almost falling. That is, until Vegas’ hand tightens on his
knee, gripping into the meat of his thigh to hold him steady.

A shiver of heat rocks through Pete at that and when Vegas eases off completely, cool air hitting
his spit shined cock, Vegas drags his eyes back towards his face and pins him there.

Pete stares back at him, helpless and overcome and his hand is already moving, easing Vegas back
towards his cock when surprisingly, Vegas resists.

And Pete manages to emerge from the haze of sensation.

“Need instructions?” he gasps, wishing he knew how to sound unfazed right now.

There’s a glint of something behind Vegas’ eyes that looks a lot like interest. “Do you want to tell
me what to do, baby?” he counters, all innocence that Pete doesn’t believe for a second.

“I’m not sure you’d listen,” Pete manages truthfully.

Vegas smirks a little, considering the words. “For you, I might.”

And that's a very interesting thought. One that Pete will be giving his full attention when he isn't
currently absorbed by the need to come.

“Good,” Pete agrees, dragging Vegas down again. “Then stop talking.”

Vegas smirks in amusement before obeying and when that heat is surrounding Pete again, sucking
hard, Pete can finally admit it to himself in the moment that he missed Vegas’ mouth.

A second later Vegas’ free hand is reaching up, catching at the crease of his bent arm and he’s
shifting up to catch Pete’s forearm, gently dragging his hand away from his mouth with his left
hand. His weaker hand.

Pete could stop him, with Vegas’ hand still in the brace but he doesn’t, just feels the rush of sharp
pleasure at the fact that even now Vegas still wants to hear the sounds he'll make.

When he lets Vegas drag his hand down he wonders at the destination until Vegas is pressing it
against his own skull, where Pete’s right is already gripping him tightly.

Pete bites into his lower lip, trying to keep himself quiet, but soon both of his hands are tangled
deeply in Vegas hair and he can feel the promise of an orgasm bubbling up inside him.

Vegas was initially controlling the pace, bobbing his head and using his tongue to make Pete forget
everything but the sensation of his mouth. But eventually Pete takes over, all instinct and
unceasing demand, making good use of his hands for the first time even as he jerks his hips down,
cock sliding deeper into Vegas’ throat.

The intensity of his need doesn't bother Vegas in the slightest.

Because Vegas just kneels there, eyes half lidded and generous, and takes it, even as his hand drifts
between Pete’s legs and slides underneath his balls. When he strokes over the tender flesh, teasing
at him and rolling them between his fingers, Pete thrusts in roughly at the sensation, a throaty gasp
falling past his lips as he comes suddenly in Vegas’ mouth.

It’s not the first time Pete has done this with Vegas, but it is the first time he’s been given the room
to equally participate and he’s idly stroking the planes of Vegas’ face when he pulls off of his cock
a second later. Vegas is flushed and evidently aroused when he wipes at his mouth and flicks his
eyes up to meet Pete’s, taking in the mess he made of him.

There’s an expressionless quality to his face, but despite his best efforts, Pete can see the heat of
the untold fire in his eyes.

For all his blasé offers, Vegas wanted this very badly. Maybe almost as badly as Pete did.

Whilst his body slowly recovers, Pete is leaning back against the desk and panting through the
aftermath of his orgasm. He glances at the ceiling just for the excuse of ignoring Vegas for a
moment. So he can tuck the vulnerable parts of himself away before Vegas seeks them out and puts
his hands on them.

By the time he’s somewhat settled, he looks back down again to discover that Vegas is still
watching him. He feels naked suddenly, even more so than before and Pete drops his eyes again
when he bends down with shaky fingers and drags his underwear back on, tugging his pants up
until they’re around his hips.

Vegas leans in and suddenly his hands are there too and Pete can’t hide the shiver when Vegas zips
him back up again, his touch making his body jump as if in search of more.
A second later, Vegas is climbing fully to his feet and slanting up against Pete, making his own
intentions known. He leans in and kisses Pete on the mouth and Pete is so dazed that he turns
toward it, instinctively kissing Vegas back, comfortable in the intimacy of their bodies, even as he
encounters the urgent press of Vegas’ untouched erection.

Pete feels a flicker of interest. Of curiosity. What if he reached out and opened Vegas’ pants next?

What then?

He’s still turning the idea over in his mind when Vegas finally speaks. “Can’t wait to fuck you
again,” he groans at his throat in a rush of honesty, and Pete jerks underneath him like he’s been
struck.

It’s like being doused by a cold spring, the languid heat in Pete sputtering out all at once. He
pushes Vegas back. Hard. Enough that he staggers away from him, expression betraying surprise
for a moment before it goes still as water.

“No way in hell,” Pete hisses out, losing the easy laziness of the moment at the real threat of what
Vegas could do to him.

Of what he still wants to do to him. Anger makes Pete's fingers fumble against his pants as he
double checks the zip, makes sure he’s completely presentable as he straightens up. Then he
reaches over for the gun again and stows it beneath his waistband out of sight. Vegas watches him
intently the entire time and doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t say that Pete just let Vegas suck him off. He doesn’t mention how close Pete was to
reaching out and touching Vegas' cock a second ago before he spoke. Doesn’t comment on the
mixed signals Pete is probably giving off. And doesn’t even mention how likely it is that Pete will
give in to his own lust again eventually.

That Pete's entire body wants to give in to the pull towards Vegas.

Which is probably for the best. Pete knows all of this anyway.

Vegas just looks at him. Then he says, “Alright.”

And that’s that. Pete, who was just about to storm out of the room, is startled enough by the
response to falter in his plan. Pete isn’t used to Vegas backing down. What does that mean? Is he
no longer interested in chasing Pete?

No, the look in his eyes is still hungry, Pete can see that clearly.

Does Vegas think he can outlast him then? That he’ll just have to wait and Pete will come crawling
back to him anyway?

None of these are options.

“What the hell are you thinking?” Pete demands, surprised at Vegas but surprised at himself too.
This shouldn't have happened. “That we really can just pick it up where we left off?”

Vegas rubs a thumb across his mouth and Pete does his very best not to notice Vegas' lips are
almost red. “I don’t know what to think after that.”

That's- entirely fair considering. But even so, Pete can't help the way his guard rises back up. The
fact that Vegas immediately thought this would lead to him fucking Pete again. Has that always
been his end goal? Why didn't Pete understand that sooner?

“This isn’t going to happen how you’re assuming it will,” he mutters but Vegas is already
shrugging, completely unsurprised.

“I already knew that. Because you never do what I want no matter what I say,” he admits, like it’s a
confession. “Usually when I talk to people I can twist things for my benefit. I can even convince
them it was their idea by the end of it. It’s so easy sometimes they don’t even notice.”

“That’s not convincing,” Pete points out. “It’s manipulation. You’re manipulating people, Vegas.
It’s a way for you to keep control.”

Vegas nods curiously at that assessment and Pete wonders at the ease at which he takes that as
fact. Does he truly not comprehend himself? Or is he hoping Pete will tell him? As some way to
prove that Pete understands him better than others? Better than anyone else?

“And it doesn’t work on you,” Vegas insists. “That’s another reason.”

“What?”

“A reason why I find you so fascinating.”

Pete only bites at his lip in answer. “I’m not- immune to it. You still got me here and I didn’t want
to be.”

Vegas snorts at the suggestion. “That’s not the same. I played upon your sense of duty, but you
didn’t want to come here and you knew it.”

Is he so certain that he can’t manipulate Pete? Or is it just something he wants to believe? Another
way to paint them as equals? Pete truly cannot guess where he’s going with this but suddenly the
way Macau was talking about them earlier, was talking about Vegas’ reaction to Pete feels-
calculated.

“Is this all part of the usual game? Have Macau tell me you’re a great big brother, that you’ve
spoken about your feelings for me and that you really do have a good heart deep down?”

Vegas blinks at him, like a predator watching its prey.

“What game?”

The question is so ridiculous that Pete actually laughs out loud but it sounds frayed, wild. “All the
other men you’ve done this to,” he spits out. “The ones you’ve tortured, raped-“

Vegas’ expression twists with sudden resentment and Pete steels himself at the sharpness of it,
prepared for the ensuing fight. Wanting it as badly as he’d wanted Vegas’ mouth minutes ago.

“And where exactly are you getting all of this concrete information? Kinn?”

Because everything is about Kinn for Vegas. Every enemy comes at the behest of his cousin.

Is that where Vegas always lays the blame when he doesn’t understand himself? Instinctively
putting it on Kinn instead of resting it at his own feet?

Pete scoffs at the idea. “You carry around a torture kit, Vegas. I’ve heard the stories about you.”

He’s no innocent in this. They both know it.

“Yes, I’ve tortured men,” Vegas says unflinchingly. “I’ve killed plenty of them too but I have
never, not once in my life, done what I did before you.”

The fury is rushing up like a wave, threatening to crash over them. Pete has to clutch at the desk
behind him in order to stop himself from launching at Vegas.

“Tawan?” Pete shouts, incensed now. “Am I just supposed to honestly believe-“

“Tawan, I manipulated into thinking we were in a loving, committed relationship,” Vegas says
with a kind of bluntness that should have Pete flinching. The tone of disinterest, the lack of
remorse suddenly chilling. “I didn’t have to chain him up and-“

“Stop, stop,” Pete snarls, unable to let himself be dragged back to memories of the safe house,
refusing to compute the horror of meaning behind the words. “Then what about Porsche? Why did
you drug him if you weren’t going to-“

Vegas’ smile is sharper then, cruel, and Pete trails off at the harshness of it.

“I wasn’t planning to rape him. It was just easier to control the situation with drugs. To position
Kinn’s pretty new play thing in tousled sheets looking all confused and debauched for him to find-
leave Kinn’s imagination to do the rest.”

Pete recoils from the grotesqueness of the words but Vegas doesn’t seem to notice, the flow of his
speech completely uninterrupted. “What we can imagine is even worse than the truth sometimes.”

If Pete is startled by the level of vindictiveness Vegas has directed at his cousin he doesn’t show it.
But the strength behind his antagonism, the level of spite and bitterness he's suddenly revealing to
Pete is almost overwhelming.

“So it was never about Porsche,” Pete realises, speaking slowly to better understand it himself. “It
was just because you wanted to hurt Kinn? And what you did to him what was what- collateral
damage?”

Vegas looks at him with those dark eyes. “You want me to say it, don’t you? I don’t care about
Porsche. He means nothing to me.”

Pete draws back again, alarmed at the spike of satisfaction that statement reveals. Appalled by the
knowledge that Vegas is right, he had been asking that if at least subconsciously. Fishing for
evidence that he’s moved on from his interest in Porsche.

Does he truly need reassurance of Vegas’ devotion after everything? Why does Pete even want it?

“That’s not- I don’t want you to-“

“Yes, you do,” Vegas interrupts, taking a step toward him. “Don’t pretend, baby. You want to
establish the constancy of my feelings, the depth of my faithfulness to you and only you.”

Pete opens his mouth but finds abruptly that he can’t defend himself. Too shaken by the challenge
of Vegas’ words. Is he right? Is that what Pete has been doing all this time? Searching out the
weakness of Vegas’ conviction?

“And trust me,” Vegas promises, voice lowering and eyes turning hooded with intent. “Porsche
isn’t even remotely competition. Not to you.”

It’s- it’s not what he wanted to hear. Truly. But Pete flushes anyway and feels a flicker of shame.
“Porsche is my friend. That’s what I care about. So I want to know, if you weren’t interrupted- If
you hadn’t been stopped-?”

Vegas stares at him as if considering the merits of holding back. Of twisting the truth into
something that suits him better. Of lying and hoping Pete won’t figure him out like he usually does.

Then, after that pause he settles for the truth.

“I don’t know what else I would have done. Porsche headbutted me but he was in no right state to
really fight back on the GHB, which would have been dull. Almost too easy,” he says with a brutal
kind of honesty that should make Pete withdraw.

“But I won’t deny the idea of spoiling Kinn’s new interest was the main appeal of the whole thing.
I wanted to mark him up in a way that Kinn would know I’d been there. That I’d put my hands on
something that was his.”

Pete grimaces but doesn’t interrupt.

“If Kinn hadn’t arrived in time who knows what might have happened beyond that. But I wasn’t
planning for it. Porsche looked pretty close to throwing up when I left anyway.”

It seems ludicrous that even now he can still be surprised by the way Vegas’ mind works. The
thoughtless viciousness he can display at the drop of a hat is truly astounding.

“You’re sick,” is all Pete manages to say. “And your obsession with besting your cousin, with
hurting Kinn is going to get you killed one day.”

Vegas just shrugs, unrepentant. “So be it. But I can see on your face that you know I’m not lying.”

“What does that matter?”

“Because you need to believe that I’m serious,” Vegas says as if it’s that simple. “Pete, I promise
I’ve never been like this with anyone else-“

“Then why did you do it to me?” he shouts, throwing himself at Vegas, pushing hard until he’s got
him up against the wall. “Why did you do that to me?”

Then, finally, like he's cracked some kind of impenetrable surface, there’s real hostility in Vegas’
eyes. Gone is the calm, contrite version of him still trying to win Pete over to him. Win him back.

When Vegas throws him off his expression is ugly. Petulant. Spoilt.

“Why wouldn’t I? You were just one of Kinn’s stupid lackeys, thinking you could attack the minor
family, my family and get away with it? And then when I realised you weren’t really afraid of me,
that you’d never been afraid and you were laughing-”

“You were going to kill me!” he shouts, incredulous at what Vegas can justify even now. “Should I
have kissed your feet?”

Vegas ignores the rationality of the sentiment, and continues to speak as if he’s narrating the story,
spinning the truth to someone who wasn’t there to experience it first hand. “I’d beaten you half to
death, electrocuted you, split your flesh open and still you were fucking laughing at me like you
thought I was beneath you-“

“I hate you,” Pete spits, meaning it.

At the end of the day he was right all along. It really had been about ego for Vegas. No wonder it
had been so easy for Pete to challenge him, to throw Vegas off his game without real effort.

Ego is such a flimsy, tremulous thing. And Vegas has built most of his identity around it. Of course
the disrespect from the main family was enough to turn him towards outright treachery.

“I was going to kill you anyway,” Vegas says, completely unflinching. “But I knew before I did
that, that I wanted to break you first.”

Is it honestly that simple? Could an ego truly be that fragile?

Pete can’t believe most of his ordeal could be attributed to that one, stupid moment where he bared
his teeth to Vegas for the first time. All because he couldn't stand to suffer his own helplessness
any longer.

If he hadn’t, would Pete have been killed like the rest? Or would they have still ended up here?

“Was it really that important?” he asks quietly, wanting to cover his face, wanting to forget mere
minutes ago when he willingly spread his legs and let Vegas slide between them. “To beat me?”

Vegas rakes a hand through his hair and looks shaken, frazzled. This obviously isn’t where he
wanted the conversation to go. It’s almost vindicating, to see he’s as affected as Pete is even if Pete
wishes Vegas hadn’t been so weak.

If he’d been more than his father’s whipping dog, they might not be here. They might have ended
up somewhere else. Maybe even together.

But even Pete’s not that naïve.

“This is all I have, Pete. A reputation built on lies and blood and violence. All I can do is stay on
top or die. And you threatened that.”

Pete doesn’t try to deny it. He knew exactly what he was doing when he was chained up and trying
to get inside Vegas’ head. What does it say about Pete that it had been so easy to achieve? What
does it say about Vegas?

“So if I’d just let you win, you would have killed me? It would have all been over?”

Would Vegas still be chasing Porsche, just to spite his cousin? Would he still be planning to attack
his own family, his own blood? Would Pete’s corpse lie forgotten in the soil somewhere, his
grandmother waiting for a call that would never come?

The idea is a bleak one but Pete can acknowledge it might have been less painful than this.
Someone would have told his grandmother of Pete’s death when he never returned and she’d
grieve of course but eventually life would go on.

And Pete wouldn’t be stuck like this. Vegas wouldn’t be stuck like this.

What have they done to each other?

Vegas looks him dead in the eye. “No,” he says, and Pete knows that he means it. “It was too late
by then. I was already attracted to you and I’d have known you were lying. We’d have ended up
right back here anyway.”

He sounds so sure and that certainty is frightening. Pete would never have escaped his notice. Not
even with a quick death.

“Did you think- after the first time that it was still about breaking me?” Pete asks stiffly, unable to
meet his eyes. “All those other times, when you were so- so- just like that. Were they really just
about putting me in my place?”

Vegas looks like he wants to touch him, but wisely curbs the impulse.

“No,” he says. “That was because by then I’d realised what it was. And why I enjoyed it. I liked
watching you fight your own body, your pleasure, fight against me for it. Liked how you
challenged me at every turn. And I loved watching you succumb every single time. Making you
come is intoxicating to watch.”

Pete takes in the truth of the words, stares at him and feels the accusation rising in his throat. “You
took away my choice.”

“And I’m being punished for it, aren’t I? When I want you so badly but can’t have you. Not in the
way that I want you now. When no matter what I try, you can never trust me.”

It seems like a cruel joke. “Do you want me to trust you?” Pete wonders, incredulous at the
thought.

At the suggestion that they could ever reach that place not when the path forward is mired in
distrust and blame and acidity. How could anyone move beyond that kind of open hostility?

Vegas nods almost absently at the question. “Even as you want me there’s always going to be a
part of you that refuses to consider it.”

That hardly sounds like a punishment at all. Is this truly the suffering Vegas thinks he’s entitled to?

“I didn’t know it would turn out like this,” Vegas admits and the rawness of honesty in his voice
draws Pete up short. “You were just Kinn’s pathetic bodyguard. Unimportant. Disposable. You
weren’t supposed to mean anything to me. None of it was supposed to matter when I was going to
kill you anyway.”

Pete inhales sharply at the admission but Vegas isn’t finished.

“That’s why I did it.”

If anything knowing the truth, the fucked up logic behind Vegas’ actions makes all of it worse.
“And what? That makes it all okay?”

Vegas’ expression twists. “When did I ever say that? I know what I am. What I’ve done. I’ve never
said I was innocent.”

Pete wants to hit him so badly that his knuckles tighten into fists.

“And you never showed any remorse either,” Pete fires back. “My resistance to you now is nothing
but an inconvenience. You truly think you’ll have me eventually. That you’re entitled to it. Do you
really believe I’ll be as foolish as Tawan? That I’ll just trust you’re capable of tenderness, of this
meaning something until you’re putting a bullet in my head one day?”

Vegas blinks as if the threat was never there, as if he doesn't understand the question, surprised that
Pete would ever consider it.
“It’s not the same thing.”

Pete shoves him again in a fit of frustration. “How is it not-?“

“Because Tawan was a pawn, just like Porsche- the both of them easy to manipulate. But you- you
see through me. You can stand by me without breaking,” Vegas explains, looking into him so
intently that Pete goes still. “We’re equals in this life.”

He has to swallow first, has to fight the sheer power of those words dragging him down.

“What does that matter?”

“Because I could love you!” Vegas shouts, losing control of himself completely. “Don’t you
understand where this is going? What I did with Tawan, with Porsche were just different ways I
could get back at Kinn. So I could hurt him, for the ways he’s hurt our family. But what I feel for
you, I promise you Pete, is one hundred per cent real.”

Pete is rooted to the spot. Frozen. Speechless. Horrified.

“You can’t believe that,” he whispers after a breath has passed between them, starting to truly feel
afraid now. “You can’t actually-“

“I do,” Vegas interrupts, and Pete can hear the certainty in his voice. The intensity of his devotion
and the appalling truth of it unravelling before his very eyes. “For the first time, what I’m chasing
with you has absolutely nothing to do with my cousin. This is all just for me. For us.”

For us.

Pete wants to scream. To run. But he’s always faced his fears head on. And this is no different. So
Pete ignores the way that his body is shaking and looks Vegas dead in the eye.

“No,” he insists, finding strength in his own voice. “It can’t be. You’re incapable of that. You just
want to chain me up and fuck me as your plaything. As your pet.”

Vegas just stares right back. “No, I don’t. I want the Pete outside of my control. The version of you
that’s real. I just want you.”

Pete shivers at the words but stops trying to argue. Too shocked to pick them apart, to try to find
the illusion, the weakness, the falsehood in it. But it has to be there. It has to.

Because if it’s true. If it’s true that Vegas wants him that badly, just wants Pete, as himself, simply
without conditions, without expectation- that thought is terrifying.

“We’d be good together,” Vegas murmurs, stepping casually towards him, unaware that the
eagerness in his eyes shows his true feelings. “You know it and that’s why you’re so torn
whenever you see me. Why you’re wasting so much energy struggling with yourself.”

Pete can’t believe this was where this was leading. He should have known, should have wondered
at Vegas’ obsession, at the core of it. Somehow Vegas deluded himself into believing-

He’s neurotic, deranged. It’s not real. It can’t be real.

“I’m not-“

“You want me,” Vegas says and the conviction robs Pete off his next breath. “And you know it
but can’t admit it. Why deny yourself this?”
As if Pete is being unreasonable out of fear of rejection or something. Not the reality of the
situation. Of what Vegas has already done. “Can you even hear yourself? Look how it started!
How could we ever-“

“Because you want it,” Vegas says like it’s that simple, and he’s reaching out and taking hold of
Pete’s wrist, the grip the most grounding thing Pete’s experienced in days. “Why can’t you admit
it?”

Pete opens his mouth, but the answer is worse than anything he could have ever imagined.

“Because then you’ve won.”

Vegas stares at him, stunned, and then his hands are loosening as he lets go, pulls away. Eyeing
Pete as if finally seeing him for the first time.

“I haven’t won,” Vegas says softly. “I can’t think, can’t focus. Can barely sleep without you lying
next to me. I’m the son of Kan Theerapanyakul and instead of earning my name I’m reduced to a
mangy dog, stalking its master in the hopes he’ll toss me the smallest scrap. I’m neglecting my
responsibilities because I’ve been staking out the main family house every day, just in the hopes of
looking at you. Do you know how hard I’ve worked for this? I finally met my match and he’s the
worst thing that ever happened to me.”

Pete feels a flush of his own anger. “I’m the worst thing that happened to you? You’ve- you’ve
ruined me. Most days I can barely breathe without thinking of-“

He trails off and bites his lip. Vegas watches his teeth with narrowed eyes.

“You’ll really hold yourself back, right til the last won’t you, Pete?”

At that, Pete finally decides the conversation is over, spinning on his heel and striding towards the
door. Vegas doesn’t try to stop him when he unlocks it but he’s speaking when Pete goes to turn
the handle.

“You know why I’m doing all of this, don’t you?” he says unexpectedly to the silence.

Pete turns, because he can’t resist. Not even now.

“Because you want to fuck me,” he responds bluntly. “And you’ve deceived yourself into believing
it’s out of love.”

“No,” Vegas says on a sigh. “Because I want us. And I’m going to prove to you that I can earn it.”

Pete shivers at the words and twists back to yank the door open, thoughts settling on nothing more
than escape. He needs to put distance between them. Needs to process everything Vegas has said
without any distracting influence.

“Thanks,” Vegas says suddenly behind him, without Pete turning to meet his eyes. “For protecting
my brother.”

“I-,“ Pete’s footsteps falter, hand pausing on the door knob, unsure of how to respond. “Sure. The
key?”

Vegas doesn’t say anything but suddenly he’s at Pete’s back because he can feel the heat of him.

“I’ll walk you out.”

Pete nods, and strides forward without looking at him. They pass through the corridors in silence
and when they make it back down the staircase towards the garages, Pete has to actively ignore the
presence of Vegas beside him, the unrelenting heat of his body.

Is he still hard? Or did their argument take the lust out of him? Pete doesn’t dare to check and
strides forward determinedly, not meeting Vegas' eyes when he uses the fob to unlock the door to
the garage.

Pete strides towards the SUV, determined to ignore him to the last as he digs the keys out of his
pockets.

“You can be in denial as long as you want,” Vegas says suddenly at his right. “But it doesn’t make
anything I said any less true.”

He's really not taking it back. Not admitting to the lie. Vegas honestly believes that he serious
about this. About Pete. And he's somehow acting like there's a possibility that Pete could feel the
same way.

He refuses to respond to the words. To let Vegas engage him in the pure insanity of this
conversation. Pete lets his own stubbornness be the answer.

“But in the meantime if you want another fuck, you know where to find me. And you know I’m
more than willing.”

At that reminder, Pete flushes and climbs into the driver’s seat with as much dignity as he can
muster. “Don’t let your brother sneak out again,” is all he can manage and even that falls flat, feels
inane.

Dutiful. In his efforts to deny it, it feels like all of Pete's vulnerabilities are now spilling out of him
through an open wound that only Vegas can see. One that Vegas himself created.

For a second he feels exposed. Transparent. And somehow Vegas still wants him anyway. Is that
devotion or delusion? Pete can honestly no longer tell.

“You know I won’t, baby,” Vegas promises, and Pete has to actively fight the urge to press his
forehead against the wheel at that word. At Vegas’ insistence of still calling him like that,
possessive, sensuous, like a lover.

He takes another steadying breath and turns the ignition and then Pete’s reversing out of the garage
and on to the driveway, trying not to notice Vegas silhouetted in the open doorway, still watching
him.

As if he’s ever been able to ignore Vegas.

Pete drives off and wonders what the hell he’s supposed to do now.

It’s so much worse than he could have ever predicted. With Vegas now believing that he has
feelings for Pete. With Vegas thinking he could love Pete if he allowed himself.

As if something as precious as love could grow from the muck of thoughtless violence, the deadly
filth, the harrowing wreckage of all of this.

Pete should never have overlooked the terrible truth behind Vegas' interminable hunger for him.
The twist of horror in it. Because after everything Vegas has already taken, stolen from him, it's
clearly not enough to satisfy. From their last conversation, confrontation, argument he can no
longer pretend anymore that Vegas' sole desire is simply to ravage his body.

Now Pete knows that Vegas wants to possess his heart too.
 you let your guard down for the first time, tastes bitter right now
Chapter Notes

chap title is Brightside by Kiiara

also btw feel free to follow me on tumblr if you want updates or would like to chat
about the fic before i post! i usually mention when i'm going to post a new chap a
couple days beforehand which also gives everyone a chance to play the one word wip
game (which is a way to get sentence spoilers from the next chapter too if you want to
play)

also, a summary of this latest update

me: you cant have that much drama in one chapter that's insane!
my brain: *cackling manically*

anyway, enjoy!

Driving back, Pete can only focus on the familiar stretch of road in front of him. Can only look
forward and try and stay as present in the moment as possible.

Because if he doesn’t, if he slips up then all of his attention will snap straight back to that little
private office in the compound. That moment of heat with Vegas and the subsequent volatile clash
which predictably followed. The exactness of those awful words that came out of Vegas’ mouth.

It’s no wonder it turned out like this, with two such opposing forces. One a fuel source, the other
oxygen which if both combined, if confined together with a means of ignition will have no other
course of action than to produce an explosion.

Pete knows that he can’t linger in that moment and the ways it makes him feel like his chest is too
tight and the weakness is visibly showing on his skin. The way it deeply terrifies him.

Pete can’t dwell on all of that, the turmoil of conflicting emotions and still somehow appear normal
when he finally reaches the car park where Jirapat and Pol are dutifully waiting for him.

It seems laughable that he’s trying to schedule the incoming breakdown for a more convenient time
but Pete knows that he needs privacy. The instinct to crawl away and go to ground like a wounded
animal. Pete knows that he needs to be completely alone to properly evaluate everything that’s just
happened because for the first time this has finally pushed him, body and soul, towards the
moment where he might actually break.

So he focuses on the traffic. On the signs flashing past. The motorbikes occasionally weaving in
between cars. The other people in their cars travelling this road at the same time. Another one of
their perfectly normal days in their perfectly normal lives.

Pete lets his mind go blank.

It’s easier to accomplish the white noise of detachment that way because Pete isn’t actually
carrying tension in his body for the first time in a while. He’s slouching in the seat a little, legs
spread comfortably as his hands rest on the wheel and Pete knows exactly why he’s feeling loose-
limbed and relaxed. When his mind is a complete and utter contrast of chaos.

It seems comical to owe both states of existing turmoil and calm unwinding to Vegas.

Even as he’s trying not to concentrate on it.

Pete just has to make it back to Gateway at Bangsue, then find Jirapat and Pol in the parking lot of
the shopping centre somewhere. Maybe they did manage to get those coffees in spite of the
interruption at Iconsiam.

Would either of them have thought to contact Tankhun to let him know what was going on? Or
does the responsibility of report now fall to Pete? Does he have to explain why he ended up
spending so much time in the minor family home when he was only meant to drop Macau off?

He lets these safe thoughts carry him all the way back to the car park and when he arrives, Pete
doesn’t need to search for familiar faces because the two of them are waiting exactly where they
were dropped off, drinks in hand and Gucci bag still tightly protected. Their expressions seem
relaxed but expectant.

Pete prepares himself for the questions. Because they’ll want to know exactly what’s happened.
For a wild moment he wonders how they’d take the news if he simply told them. If Pete calmly
explained that while they were off getting their iced coffees and worrying about the unexpected
situation, that Pete sat on the edge of a desk in the minor family’s compound and came hard into
Vegas’ wonderfully willing mouth.

Would they think he was lying? Or that Pete has completely lost his mind altogether? That he truly
has no sense of objectivity of the situation?

Pete has to wait a second whilst a small family finishes packing up their pram in the back of their
car but once the door is closed and the husband and wife are in the car, he knows they’re preparing
to leave. So Pete watches as they reverse out of the spot two cars down in the row and then takes
the empty space, navigating the SUV into the tight spot.

He could just leave the car running and wait for the others to climb in but Pete knows he’s not in
any state to accomplish the task. So he slides the SUV into park and switches off the engine. Then
he’s out of the driver seat before the others have even reached him, just in time for Pete to place
the keys in Jirapat’s open palm as a form of greeting.

He’s smiling delicately, without showing teeth and Pete knows that his expression probably
doesn’t look quite right and he’s a second away from saying the exact wrong thing. The kind of
comment that makes a person regret ever opening their mouth.

Pete didn’t expect that a bit of oral sex would have him this shaken.

“How did it all go?” Pol wonders, passing Pete an iced coffee, completely oblivious to any signs of
distress. “Did Macau get back home alright?”

Macau. Right. How could he have forgotten?

“Yes,” Pete says and finds that he can’t elaborate any further. He flicks his eyes down at the cold
drink now in his hands as if wondering how it got there. “Thanks.”
Pol nods but his thick eyebrows are crinkling in concern, already picking up that something is off
with Pete. Jirapat, who is still hugging the Gucci bag and solely focused on his own task, doesn’t
seem to notice anything is amiss.

“Let’s get back,” he suggests. “So I can give these to Mr Tankhun.”

Pete nods. Obedient, agreeable and mechanical and climbs into the back seat of the SUV in silence.

Only once he’s got a seat belt on and is fully strapped in and ready to go does he realise that his
hands are trembling. No, shaking so much that it’s disturbing the surface of the coffee, turning it
into a churning ocean within its container.

It’s the cold from the drink, he thinks to himself, glancing out the window just to look at scenery
that he’s not really taking in. It’s just the drink.

But even Pete knows that he’s lying.

When Jirapat cautiously passes over the Gucci bag to Pol and gets into the driver seat, Pete lets his
eyes fall closed, trying to ride the wave of panic rising in him as Jirapat starts the car.

He doesn’t feel guilty about what happened but he is aware enough of himself to know it was a
step towards something that shouldn’t be occurring. That shouldn’t have ever happened. That he
has to somehow stop from happening ever again, even with his body feeling especially onboard
with this latest development.

But his mind is not at the same level of agreement.

Not after Vegas all but declared that he has feelings for him. That anything they do from here on
out is will only strengthen the suggestion of that bond. The promise of more growing between
them.

But really what was Pete expecting? He was never the type for frivolous, thoughtless things.

A second later he rubs a hand across his heated face, wondering not for the first time, what the hell
is wrong with him.

He just let Vegas suck him off. He shouldn’t be feeling this- good.

Vegas is soon to be the main family’s enemy. Pete’s enemy. He’s going to tear every last piece of
the main family down to the ground, is going to reduce the Theerapanyakul name to rubble. Doing
anything like what they were just doing is gravely short-sighted.

An outright senseless idea.

So why, even now after everything, can’t Pete manage to convince himself not to?

Why does he still want?

“Are you alright, Pete?” Pol wonders from the front of the car, peering over the seat as Pete opens
his eyes, making it obvious that he was already staring before that and didn’t like what he was
seeing.

Where to even start with a question like that? Pete’s surprised he’s not doing something to reflect
the hysteria building inside. Like screaming as loud as he can until it finally tears through his
throat.
Instead Pete tries to smile at him. “It’s fine.”

It takes all of his energy for those two unimpressive words and he’s aware that he doesn’t sound
very convincing. But Pete doesn’t have the drive to keep up with all of his many falsehoods at the
moment.

Right now it’s just too much.

When they pull up in the main drive and Jirapat turns the car off, Pete doesn’t immediately get out
of the car. Pol says something to him but he doesn’t respond, just looks at the undrunk iced coffee
between his knees and tries to think of some way to make all of this right in his head.

Vegas said he could love him. Vegas admitted there was more to this for him than the wild
intensity of sexual attraction. The thrill and challenge of an impossible seduction.

Pete has been lying to Porsche and Tankhun. Has been unable to admit the depth of his sexual
interest in Vegas and what it’s slowly doing to his resolve.

The truth here is unmistakeable. Pete is a hypocrite.

The car door opens beside him and Pete finally turns at the sound of movement, unclipping the
seat belt and moving slowly towards the open space as if out of reflex.

He stops half on the edge of the seat and suddenly Porsche is standing between the open space of
the car door and leaning in to look at him.

“Pete?” Porsche is calling, somehow sounding far away. “Pete? What happened?”

Pete hands him the cup of iced coffee in answer. As if that is a suitable response somehow.
Porsche glances down at the drink now in his hand in complete bewilderment before he’s staring
at Pete again in search of a reaction.

But Pete attention is still lost, turned inward.

Then Tankhun sides up to Porsche’s side and leans in to the interior of the car as well. Pol is
murmuring something behind him, hovering at their backs and looking nervous as he does so.

There’s something ringing in his ears and Pete knows it’s another sign of impending doom. His
body producing a physical warning.

“Oh go away,” Tankhun snaps, gesturing at the rest of the guards lingering around the door.
“Shoo!”

Pete is still sitting on the edge of the car seat, hand gripping the interior of the door like he’s a
second from climbing out of it. Like he got interrupted between one thought and the next. One
action to another.

Only he keeps himself perched on that precipice and just- doesn’t move.

Can’t move.

“What’s the matter with him?” Porsche whispers urgently to Tankhun, seizing on to his bejewelled
sleeve and almost seeming like he wants to give the iced coffee to Tankhun instead.

Pete can feel the weight of Tankhun’s eyes on him the most.
He knows. He knows exactly what Pete did. He knows how close Pete is to betraying everything.
Betraying himself.

“He told you, didn’t he?” Tankhun guesses, lowering his voice to spare the situation being further
exposed. “About his feelings.”

Finally, out of everything those words seem to sink in. Pete slowly lifts his head up to catch
Porsche glancing between the two of them. Looking increasingly worried.

“What? Do you mean Vegas? Vegas has feelings?”

Tankhun’s eyes narrow into something sharp and intelligent. Certain. He seems to have reached
this conclusion a lot faster than Pete did. “Like I said, Vegas has never acted like this before. And
I’ve known him his whole life.”

Porsche is still shifting his attention between them like he’s expecting someone to volunteer a
different answer. A different explanation of the problem.

“No, but we were talking about obsession. Control. Not feelings,” he maintains almost stubbornly.
“Vegas can’t have- he’s some kind of psychopath. He doesn’t do normal things like feelings.”

Pete lets out a small shuddering kind of sigh at that.

Because he’s right. Vegas doesn’t do normal things like that. Pete barely even does normal things
like that.

Suddenly the idea crosses his mind that they might have been made for each other. All along. Who
else but Pete would be fucked up enough to like nearly everything that Vegas has done to him? But
fall apart at the idea of it being genuine and true?

Tankhun snorts. “Oh yeah, look at Pete’s face then and tell me I’m wrong. What else would he be
freaking out about?”

Pete swallows as he draws himself back into the conversation and smiles almost automatically. As
if he’s proving something with the gesture. Even though he’s well aware that it lands more like a
grimace.

“I’m-“ he trails off, unable to even finish the sentence. Fine is a lie he can’t manage at the moment.

Vegas said he could love him. Vegas wants to love him.

“See,” Tankhun says, folding his arms as if this proves something. “That’s the look of a man who
just had his last hope shattered.”

Pete buries his face in his hands at that but can still feel the anxiety in the air. The foreboding sense
of tension.

“What are you talking about? What last hope?”

Suddenly a manicured nail pokes into his knee and he’s forced to look up into Tankhun’s eyes
again.

But Tankhun doesn’t flinch from the expression there. “You were banking on it being a game,
weren’t you? Some kind of shallow fixation he’d eventually grow bored off. Not something
lasting. Real.”
Pete can’t find it in him to defend himself.

“What did he tell you? Did he say he’s in love?”

Porsche inhales sharply at that, disturbed by the suggestion. It’s obvious the possibility had never
crossed his mind. But it had for Tankhun.

A second later Porsche is fumbling with his jacket and producing a pack of cigarettes from it,
dragging out one and all but shoving it past Pete’s lips, tucking it helpfully into the corner of his
slack mouth.

When he shakily flicks on the lighter, Pete leans into the flames with a degree of absent
gratefulness as he tries to pull himself back together. Because he can’t do this now. He can’t go to
pieces like this out in the open. In a place so uncovered and full of witnesses.

But when he takes that first drag and pulls the cigarette out of his mouth, the scent of smoke
curling around them, his fingers are still noticeably trembling, much worse than before.

And Pete was always meant to be the steady one.

“He said he could love me,” Pete says carefully as if he’s afraid each individual word will hurt
him. “Admitted that it was where this was all leading.”

The silence that follows is agonising but Tankhun finally takes his arm and tugs Pete up into a
standing position, away from the safety of the SUV whilst Porsche quickly shuts the car door
behind them both.

There’s still several bodyguards lingering around but Pete’s eyes slide over them like water and
then Tankhun is leading him a little further up the hotel driveway over to the section where most of
the guards like to smoke.

Then he props Pete up against the wall there as if he doesn’t think Pete can stand on his own.

Which- isn’t an entirely inaccurate assessment.

“You poor bastard,” he says, once Porsche has finally joined them.

Pete takes another drag of his cigarette and tries to focus on stabilising his hands. Where did all of
that unflinching stubbornness go? Is he having some kind of panic attack? A mental breakdown?

“I don’t understand,” Porsche admits. “Why do you seem so- terrified? Before you said- you said
you weren’t afraid of Vegas.”

Pete blinks rapidly and takes another deep pull of the cigarette, trying to ground himself in reality.
He should be able to respond. Should be able to. Even if the directness of Porsche’s question is too
much for him.

But Tankhun lets out an exasperated sound anyway. “Why do you think, Porsche? Childhood
trauma. Everything always leads back to childhood trauma.”

Immediately at that, something self-protective in Pete straightens up, seems to come back to life.
“It’s not-“

“Oh yeah?” Tankhun goads. “So if I went ahead and guessed that it’s something to do with an older
male authority figure- probably your father. A part of something that convinced you that you were
somehow unlovable? That wouldn’t mean anything to you?”

Pete inhales sharply, a million lines of defensiveness shutting down.

Fuck. Fuck. So he was never much of a difficult read after all. It didn’t matter that Pete never told
them. Somehow Tankhun pinned down the most significant parts anyway.

Is Pete just like Vegas? Walking around with all of his wounds visible?

“And if I went and hugged you right now,” Tankhun continues, in a much gentler voice. “Are you
still going to insist you’re not a second away from falling apart?”

It might be the pity in his face or the mildness in his tone but it’s just the right amount of pressure
on an already stressed exterior. Something in him finally cracks under it and Pete’s blank
expression just crumples.

Porsche inhales sharply at the sudden change and he’s rocking forward, instinctively ready to catch
him as Pete spills vulnerability, the emotion streaming out of him in a helpless flood.

Only Tankhun is faster.

He wraps Pete up in his arms like he’s a small child, enfolding him into a tight hug and rubbing
generously at his back as Pete drops his cigarette on the ground and gasps and gasps and tries to
figure out how to breathe in between each gut wrenching sob.

“Oh Pete,” Tankhun says softly as he holds him. “You poor bastard. It’s alright. You’ll be okay.”

Pete is embarrassed to discover that he’s crying against Tankhun’s chest but he doesn’t pull away.
Everything crashing over him all at once seems to have sapped the last of his strength. He no
longer has the energy to keep himself together.

Or even hold on to the appearance of being together.

Pete has no masks left to hide behind.

“Fuck,” Porsche is saying in the background, clearly distressed and unsure of what to do. “Should
I-? What should I-?”

Tankhun’s arms are strong around him, a foundation of support. Grounding. And Pete sways into it
blindly, seeking the comfort that he’s denied himself for so long.

“Go and get Pete some water,” Tankhun commands, still rubbing at his back and Pete hears
Porsche’s shoes slapping across the pavement as he sprints off at speed in order to carry out the
instruction.

He sounds calm and full of authority, and not for the first time, Pete wonders distantly what kind of
leader Tankhun would have made if the rest of his family hadn’t written him off at the slightest
sign of neurodivergence.

Tankhun seems to wait a moment, still soothing Pete and all but holding him upright as Pete tries
to find the previous stranglehold he’d had on his emotions. To tighten his fist around the weakness
inside him and mould it into something small that won’t completely immobilise him. Somehow
still trying to drag the pieces of himself back together.

He feels brittle and vulnerable and has no idea how he’s supposed to ever look Tankhun in the eye
again after this. Pete is sure that he’s soaked a significant patch of wetness into Tankhun’s leopard
print blouse.

“Deep breaths,” Tankhun advises him mildly, and the calmness in him is pacifying something
frayed in Pete. “Deep breaths now.”

Pete obeys, tries not to focus on the way his lungs rattle. Everything in him still so shaky.

He hardly gets into a rhythm before suddenly, unexpectedly Tankhun tenses all over, stiffens into
one hard line against Pete. “You,” he says, in a much colder voice than Pete is expecting. “Come
here.”

Then to Pete, he begins to whisper in a lower register. “I’m sorry, but it isn’t going away because
you hoped it would. This needs to happen now.”

Still tucked securely in Tankhun’s arms, Pete frowns and starts to pulls away at the first hint of
danger, already mentally preparing himself for the worst scenario as he lifts his head up.

And stares straight into Kinn’s shocked face.

Pete’s expression twists as he steps away from Tankhun, and straightens himself back up again like
he’s standing on post, like he’s a cardboard cut-out of a person, quickly wiping at his eyes before
looking away from the both of them.

Somehow he wasn’t prepared for the arrival of Kinn right now. Pete takes several more deep
breaths, scrambling to block all the honesty still leaking out of him and shove it down somewhere
deep. It takes about ten seconds but Pete has always been especially good at transforming himself.

After that, the only evidence that something was ever wrong is the redness of his eyes. It’s always
the chameleons that fare better anyway and at his most basic, Pete has only ever been about
survival.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Kinn demands coolly, expression detached and mistrusting and
completely unaware of danger from the fire burning in Tankhun’s eyes.

Pete thinks he knows exactly where this is going but he doesn’t intervene. Is too exhausted to do
anything else but watch. Accepting. Compliant.

He didn’t even know there were parts of him that could yield.

“I want you to look at him while I say this,” Tankhun says in a voice that leaves no room for
argument. “Because the frigid bodyguard you accused of crawling into Vegas’ bed is the same man
you sent over to infiltrate the minor family’s house weeks ago and promptly forgot about.”

Pete can’t seem to get a hold of his expression. He winces and tilts his head further out of reach so
they can’t see.

Of course Tankhun knows about his and Kinn’s conversation in the hallway somehow. Maybe
Porsche told him about it. Pete shouldn’t be surprised that he’s aware of this, Tankhun always
seems to know more than anyone assumes he would.

Even as Pete sees what’s about to happen, for the first time he doesn’t feel the urge to stop
Tankhun from pressing forward. To block him from reaching the truth. Doesn’t feel the need to
evade and sidestep and twist the story to fit his own needs.
Mostly Pete just feels tired.

“Where are you going with this?” Kinn asks, and there’s a hardness in his voice now. An
indication of defensiveness.

“The fucking minor family’s house! Damn, didn’t you find it strange that Pete never came back
here to report directly to you?” Tankhun suddenly puts his hands on his hips like it carries more
weight to the words.

“Didn’t it seem a weird coincidence that he immediately asked for time off and wasn’t seen by
anyone for days on end? Why are you being like this?”

Tankhun actually stamps his foot like he’s so fed up with his brother’s ignorance that it’s pushing
him towards another loud outburst. Instinctively, Pete glances down the driveway, wondering if
anyone else can hear them. At the very least Tankhun hasn’t completely raised his voice yet.

There’s no such thing as privacy when that happens.

“I had a lot on my mind,” Kinn retorts with visible unease at the way Tankhun seems to be
accusing him of his own negligence. “Vegas and Tawan were working together and trying to turn
Porsche against me.”

Tankhun rocks forward and jams a finger hard into Kinn’s chest like he’s trying to drill the point
into him. Does Kinn truly not understand what he’s saying?

“And who was it that finally gave you the proof of their connection?” he angrily demands. “Who
confirmed they were working together?”

Almost involuntarily, Kinn’s gaze flickers over in Pete’s direction but Pete is still pretending he’s
not involved in the heated conversation. Is looking out onto the street and abruptly wishing he
hadn’t tossed his cigarette to the ground so quickly.

He doesn’t feel entirely steady but doesn’t necessarily feel completely unbalanced anymore either.

Maybe Pete’s just resigned to reality of it now.

“So what, I didn’t appreciate him enough and that’s why he’s been acting like this? That’s what
you’re telling me?”

Tankhun lets out a screech of laughter at him and suddenly the words are right there on Pete’s
tongue, when he hasn’t been able to find them in Kinn’s presence. Something about him before
always seemed to make the truth dry up in Pete’s mouth.

But now, there’s nothing there to stop it. It spills out of Pete just like everything else is spilling out
of him.

“I got caught.”

Both Kinn and Tankhun are silent then, turning toward him abruptly in a strange act of sibling
unison after he’d spoken. Pete is still stubbornly looking off into the distance, not meeting their
eyes.

It’s easier this way. Like giving a report of a completed assignment.

When Kinn finally talks again his voice sounds completely different. Almost entirely unguarded.
“What?”

Pete finally glances over at Kinn, startled that he seems taken aback at all. How did he never draw
the same conclusion? Was he too focused on seeing Pete as a traitor to notice anything that might
have disproved his theory?

“I got caught. By Ken. At the minor family house. And he gave me over to Vegas.”

It sounds so simple all of a sudden. Routine. Perfunctory.

At the mention of Ken, Kinn’s mouth twists, eyes going hard at the reminder. Maybe the memory
of receiving Ken’s decapitated head hasn’t left him just yet. “And you broke under pressure? Is that
what all the secrecy has been about?”

Indignation burns into Pete. That even now he’s still viewed as unfaithful. Self-serving. Someone
Kinn should have never placed his trust in. “I didn’t break. I didn’t tell him a thing. But- Vegas
didn’t want information from me. He wanted- he wanted to play.”

Pete fumbles the words then. Not sure how best to describe the ups and downs of Vegas’ contrary
actions in the red dungeon. Vicious one second. Aroused the next.

But even so, understanding is slowing sinking into Kinn’s expression. “Your wrists. Those injuries.
You were tortured by my cousin. But- why didn’t he kill you?”

That’s a question that even Pete still doesn’t fully comprehend. What exactly was it that made
Vegas change his mind? Because he was lonely? Because Pete was too interesting? Because he
wanted to put his hands on every inch of Pete’s body and watch him try not to react to it?

Pete looks away again. This is not a truth to be told with eye contact and at best he can only
simplify the answer.

“He was having too much fun.”

There is genuine fact in that. Vegas never seems to do things by halves.

“How did you get out? Did he let you go?”

Once again he’s underestimating Pete. But Pete no longer views that as an advantage, a viable
tactic to be used anymore. It certainly never stopped Vegas.

He scratches at the curve of throat underneath his jaw just for something to do with his fingers. “I
escaped the safe house on my own. Checked on my grandmother then made my way back to
Bangkok when I found out Big had been killed.”

Kinn still doesn’t see the full picture yet. “And you thought that this would change things
somehow? That I wouldn’t believe what had happened to you?”

Tankhun makes another noise of frustration at him. As if Kinn is somehow being intentionally
obtuse. “You know Vegas. Do you honestly think that’s the full story?”

Pete’s expression is suddenly a blank mask as the memories and images overwhelm him.

The ache in his wrists and shoulders when he’d hung from the ceiling, the heat of Vegas at his
back. Pete naked on the floor of the shower when Vegas had come on his face without any
warning, Vegas’ fingers inside him, always inside him, rubbing at Pete’s prostate as his cock
hardened, always stirred beneath the touch.

So many small injustices. So much humiliation at his hands.

Kinn glances sharply at Tankhun first before slowly landing on Pete again. “So what else are you
hiding?”

The question has him feeling boxed in. Cornered.

Pete opens his mouth, glances between the two of them and flushes. Even with all of the things
he’s become more open about recently he still doesn’t think that he can say it to Kinn’s face. Can
even talk about the muddied, confusion of Vegas forcing himself on Pete, the tangle of
embarrassment and pleasure, the barbed absence of consent.

“Why are you still accusing him?” Tankhun demands, affronted by the words. “Use your brain,
Kinn. Pete’s still covered in fading hickeys and suddenly Vegas can’t stay away from the main
family house. Come on. Put it together already.”

Kinn shoots Tankhun a warning look but his eyes are cold when he looks at Pete, finally
processing the truth of it.

“That first time- after the meeting. He called you ‘baby’-“

Pete cringes at the word.

“At the time, I thought- I thought-“

That Vegas had turned Pete somehow. That he’d become a man working for the minor family. A
second later Pete sees the flash of true understanding in Kinn’s eyes, the edge of revulsion he
doesn’t quite manage to conceal in time.

Kinn’s expression doesn’t shift but something else does behind his eyes. And Pete realises that he
was right after all to fear it. It does change things. It does somehow. He recognises the way Kinn is
observing it for what it is. A subtle distancing.

He looks at Pete like he’s already compromised.

“So in all this time you were gone you were with Vegas and he forced- he-“

Pete watches him struggle and can’t find it in him to interject. After all of this maybe Kinn could
stand a little discomfort of his own.

“Raped,” Tankhun spits, hissing at the poison of the word. “He beat the shit out of him, then grew
bored of that and went into sexual assault and playing house instead.”

It’s not how Pete would have described it but it sounds just as terrible as the reality. Pete looks
away again, unable to watch either of their expressions any longer. He doesn’t want to know what
they’re thinking even as the tone of the conversation moves into another direction.

Becomes curious. Considering.

This is their discussion now. Somehow Pete’s presence isn’t all that relevant. Just as his
disappearance didn’t really seem to matter all that much. Even in moments like this that hierarchy
still exists.

He needed that reminder, Pete thinks. Since Vegas has been doing everything he can to try and
convince Pete of his value. His superiority to the minor family guards, the main family itself even.

But he’s still just a bodyguard after all.

“And after going through all of that,” Tankhun continues, pulling Pete’s attention back to the
conversation. “Pete still came back here to try and protect you-“

“By lying to me,” Kinn retorts sharply. Unforgivingly.

And Pete needed that reminder too. That all is not simply absolved because the details of what
happened are now there for Kinn to see it.

“I told you the truth would change things,” Pete says quietly without making any excuses for
himself. “I told you.”

Kinn looks at him for a moment like he’s still trying to figure Pete out. “So what the hell is going
on now? Why all the sneaking around with Porsche?”

It’s not a hard leap to pick up on Kinn’s meaning. Pete wonders if he should have seen it sooner.
How much of Kinn’s sudden distrust of him stemmed from jealousy around Porsche? What is it
with the Theerapanyakul men being so utterly possessive of their partners?

When Pete realises he’s including Vegas and himself in that comparison, he has to shake the
thought away immediately before it takes root. He already knows how badly Vegas wants him.
How opposed he would be to the idea of sharing.

Tankhun lets out an angry sound and from the resounding smack, actually swats at Kinn in disgust.
“Pete confided in Porsche and Porsche took him out to get medical attention. Damn you, so
mistrustful!”

When Pete glances back again Kinn is ducking away from his brother’s hands.

“Stop hitting me! I’m just- asking questions.”

But Tankhun merely follows after him, looking distinctly upset now. “No, you’re still trying to
accuse him of some kind of wrongdoing. Pete never betrayed you! So stop trying to punish him.”

At that Kinn finally holds his hands out, in a pointed gesture of surrender even as his mouth twists
into a thin, disapproving line. With a snort of disgust, Tankhun is ceasing his attack and hastily
fixing at his hair instead which hasn’t shifted remotely within the last few minutes.

His endless preening is its own sort of smokescreen.

Only when Kinn is certain Tankhun isn’t going to descend upon him again does he turn and look
intently at Pete. There’s still no pardon in his eyes, but Pete can recognise the mistrust in them is
no longer as prominent.

He doesn’t have the same confidence in Pete as before, maybe even less so now that he knows
exactly what happened to him, but at least he’s somewhat convinced that Pete isn’t actually
working against him.

“So why now?” This he directs at Pete, and Pete tries to decide how best to explain himself short
of another breakdown. “Why tell me now?”

It should be simple enough. Because he couldn’t keep lying forever. Because Vegas has proven
that not only is he refusing to give up on Pete but that he’s possibly motivated by more than
physical means. That his intentions towards Pete are also emotional. Romantically linked.

Things seemed so much easier when all Pete was fighting was seduction and his own desires. How
can a person outlast feelings?

When Kinn raises an eyebrow Pete realises that he has taken a beat too long to answer. That some
kind of emotional unrest must be showing on his face.

“Can’t you see what all of this is doing to him?” Tankhun wonders, somehow still annoyed that
Kinn isn’t taking this as seriously as he should. “Pete’s clearly a mess.”

Well. He might not have put it in those exact words.

“Thanks Tankhun,” Pete mutters, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his tone.

But it’s not actually so bad. Pete finds that he isn’t actually that upset with it all suddenly out in the
open like this. He’s closer to feeling like himself then he was a few minutes ago. Reinforced
somehow by the honesty of the moment. Relieved from carrying an extra weight that he hadn’t
fully recognised was dragging him down.

Pete wonders briefly if there was ever a time in his life that things were simple.

Probably not. Probably never.

So when Pete locks eyes with Kinn again it’s with an edge of steel now laced in his spine.
“Because Vegas isn’t giving up. Because this is never going to be over.”

At that declaration Kinn goes very still. Trying to take in a lot of information at once. “This is- still
happening? He’s coming over here so often because he’s still trying to- ?“

Pete’s mouth twists into a grimace but he doesn’t rush to defend Vegas. They already know what
he’s like. The lengths that he’d go to get what he wants. He may not be trying to physically force
Pete into anything at the moment but there are still the threads of control in their interactions. An
edge of coercion when they come together.

The difference is this time Pete has a better chance of countering it. Of trying to establish his own
independence. His own boundaries. And Vegas is watching all of this happen, letting Pete draw
these lines in the sand because it’s his only hope of ever winning him over.

The both of them are aware of the sudden power shift between them. That it’s Pete who currently
holds the cards, who has the finally say in whether their connection will burn bright or be
smothered.

Pete might be wavering now but they both know it’s going to take a hell of a lot more for him to
fall.

“He’s got feelings for him, Kinn,” Tankhun interrupts, and Pete jumps at the words, afraid for a
moment that Tankhun is talking about him. “Vegas. Has feelings. Real feelings. For Pete.”

He tries to relax but those words only ramp up the remaining tension in his body.

“Vegas thinks that he does,” Pete is forced to correct because he still can’t bear to believe
otherwise. “But it’s because I’m the only person who’s ever made things interesting for him like
this.”
Even now he’s still attempting to deny the importance of his role in this. The significance of the
attention Vegas has directed towards him. Pete can’t explain why talk of Vegas’ feelings activates
a need to reduce their power, to contradict their assessment of the situation.

But it does.

Kinn stares very intently at Pete after that as if trying to puzzle out his intentions. “And you?
Where do you land in all of it? In a world where he holds the power and you don’t?”

Pete is surprised by the question. But he’s certain Kinn isn’t asking out of concern for Pete. Or
from the goodness of his heart. He probably wants to know exactly what Tankhun wanted to know
once he found out- just how firmly has Vegas got his hooks him?

What kind of danger does this present? Would Pete do anything Vegas asked? Would he betray the
main family for him?

Kinn really doesn’t understand Pete at all.

“I don’t think you get what this means,” Tankhun continues, sounding more impatient by the
minute. “Vegas isn’t the one with power here. He’s desperate for Pete. Will do anything that he
asks.”

Another development that Pete probably wouldn’t have put into those exact words.

Pete makes a face at Tankhun for that even though he knows it’s a fairly accurate statement. The
issue is more that Pete’s not certain he wants Kinn to be aware of that fact. Kinn, who like
Tankhun, would undoubtedly use it.

But maybe not with the same level of finesse as Tankhun. Not for the first time, is Pete almost lost
in the sheer complexity of the situation.

Tankhun would certainly keep this from his father, has kept this from his father so far, but Kinn is
a lot more obedient. It’s largely stayed under Mr Korn’s radar for now and Pete was hoping to keep
it that way.

What if Kinn reports all of this to Mr Korn?

Kinn actually makes a face at the words but it’s purely out of disbelief. “Vegas?” he repeats,
incredulously. “This is Vegas, our cousin, we’re talking about.”

Pete takes a deep breath to steady himself and tries not to dwell on Tankhun’s earlier comment.
Where he said he’d never seen Vegas act like this before. Pete doesn’t want to admit there’s truth
in that either.

He doesn’t seem to have much patience for Kinn today because Tankhun scowls at his brother like
he’s intentionally being difficult. “Uncle Kan ordered him to kill Pete.”

His eyebrows are shifting when Kinn glances over to look at Pete again. Pete, who is very much
still alive.

His face, if anything, creases even further with disbelief. Pete can admit to understanding the
doubt. Kinn has obviously never seen Vegas show care for anyone but his brother, his father and
himself.

Neither had Pete before he and Vegas crossed paths. And even now he still doubts the meaning
behind it. It makes more sense that Vegas views Pete as a possession, something to be claimed and
controlled.

“Then when he showed up and discovered Vegas disobeyed, he tried to do the job himself,”
Tankhun explains with a very significant pause. “And Vegas stopped him.”

Pete rubs a hand over his eyes again to conceal some of his expression and tries not to notice
Kinn’s attention lingering on him as if he can’t help but keep watching. As if he’s looking at Pete
and seeing an entirely new person. Unable to reconcile his original view of Pete with the one now
standing before him.

He understands what Tankhun is trying to hint at but isn’t completely confident of the significance
of it. Vegas stepping in between his father and Pete. At the time Vegas had said that wasn’t the
first moment he’d ever stood up for himself against his father and Pete had known that he wasn’t
lying.

Is it that this is just the first time that his cousins have ever been made aware of it? Did they truly
believe that under his father’s cruel and heavy hand that he was nothing more than a dutiful,
obedient son?

Kinn’s thoughts on the potential of all of this are now beginning to show on his face. Pete feels a
distinct flicker of unease. He’s already had enough of being used.

“And you? Do you agree that you have power over him?”

Pete hesitates. He doesn’t know what he feels anymore. But if he does have power over Vegas then
Pete isn’t confident on how to wield it. Not without harming himself in the process.

“It- seems that way. But I haven’t exactly tested the limits.”

Now Tankhun is scoffing at Pete like he senses exactly what he’s trying to do. “Oh please. He left
the locker room the other day when you told him to. Just after I’d hit him in the face. I usually
wouldn’t have gotten away with something like that unless it was in a crowded room.”

That is true at least and Pete can concede to the point. Vegas had meant to attack Tankhun before
he’d intervened. There was every intention of retaliating visible in Vegas’ body before Pete had
stepped in and blocked him.

And Tankhun is right. Vegas had listened to him then. Has listened to him times before that as
well.

Although Pete knows for certain if it came down to it that he’d have better luck one on one. If he
and Vegas were alone together and they had no audience, no witnesses for Vegas to perform for.

But that doesn’t mean that Pete trusts himself enough to be alone with Vegas. Not after last time.
Not after what Pete let Vegas do to him last time.

What might happen next? Will Pete end up reciprocating? Touching Vegas right back, exploring
his body in the same way Vegas is evidently dying to explore him?

Where might Pete touch next now that he can finally use his hands?

“You didn’t answer my question,” Kinn points out, focusing on Pete and looking at him as if he
knows exactly what Pete is thinking. “Are you the victim in all of this or are you trying to use his
infatuation against him? Take that power for yourself?”
It’s an awful question, made wretched by its bluntness. But someone would have asked it
eventually and he’s not shocked that it was Kinn.

“Neither,” Pete eventually decides. “I’m just a bodyguard.”

Before anyone can respond to that Porsche is running back up the drive, bottle of water in hand,
reminding Pete that he’s impossibly thirsty. And that in the heat of the conversation he’d forgotten
about Porsche's existence altogether.

His pace slows once he catches sight of Kinn amongst the group and at the sight of him, Porsche's
face goes through a complicated reel of emotions. Most of them unwelcome.

But Kinn hasn’t turned and spotted him yet.

“That can’t just be it,” he responds, unwilling to accept Pete’s answer. “Downplaying your
importance and then bringing Vegas to heel when even his own father isn’t enough to control him.”

Porsche inhales sharply at his side and Kinn finally turns at the sound, finally noticing Porsche just
as Porsche’s face hardens.

Even as he’s reaching over and passing the bottle of water to Pete, glancing between all three of
them, Porsche is quick to pick up the finer points of the conversation that he missed when his gaze
finds Pete.

“He knows?” Porsche says, almost dazed with the realisation that so much could have taken place
whilst he was gone.

Pete nods at Porsche before redirecting his answer back to Kinn. “I don’t want it,” he says. “Power.
Vegas on a leash. I don’t want it.”

At the declaration, Kinn raises an eyebrow as if not grasping why someone would turn their back
on such an opportunity. He doesn’t comprehend why Pete wouldn’t want it. Wouldn’t seize the
chance to take it without question.

“But I don’t want him to bring the whole family down either.”

And that, at its very core, is the reason why Pete came back.

Kinn, however, doesn’t look convinced. “You’re telling me that there was no long game to all of
this? That you were trying to go unnoticed and stay low in the ranks for no reason?”

Of all the things to have to defend himself for.

“Power always brings a spotlight and I don’t have the luxury of a powerful family at my back. If
someone like me goes missing nobody notices.”

Pete doesn’t mean it as an attack. Or an accusation. Just an acknowledgement of the truth. Because
he dug himself into a hole when he went over to the minor family house alone and nobody ever
came looking in order to pull him out. Survival forced Pete to crawl out himself.

“Hey! I noticed!” Tankhun interjects, looking distinctly disgruntled for a second.

That’s news to Pete. But even if he had detected the situation what difference would it have made?
Truly? Pete still had to take care of things himself. Has always had to take care of himself in the
end.
“That’s not the point,” Pete says as patiently as he can, then to Kinn. “I’m not here to get myself
killed. I’m here to do my job. And fade into the background.”

By Kinn’s expression he can tell that his answer isn’t enough. Not anymore. Not after Vegas’
attention, his desire, his feelings, have all elevated Pete far above the shadows in which he
preferred to hide.

He can see it in the way that they look at him now.

If Vegas noticed something so vital, so all-consuming about him, then what did they miss? What
kind of man can inspire devotion in a person like Vegas?

Pete still doesn’t believe he’s that person. Refuses to believe it. It’s mostly self-preservation at this
point.

“And what about Vegas? It doesn’t seem like he’s willing to watch you hide any longer.”

Pete bites his lip, and wishes he had a straight answer for that too. “I don’t know.”

Porsche shoots a critical look at Kinn as if this is all somehow his fault before reaching forward
and squeezing at Pete’s arm. It’s a gesture of solidarity. Of comradery above all else. It’s possible
Pete’s not the only one acting irrationally at the moment.

“Fucking hell,” Kinn says eventually, twisting absently at the family ring on his finger. “This is a
disaster.”

Pete, figuring he’s dismissed from the interrogation, breaks the seal on the water bottle and takes a
long drink, trying not to notice how Tankhun immediately clicks his tongue and says to Kinn,
“You really need to work on looking at the bigger picture, little brother.”

Then Pete’s pretending he doesn’t know exactly what Tankhun means.

Now that they know about the collar Pete unintentionally put around Vegas’ neck, the one Vegas
might have even clipped himself in to, they’re expecting Pete to pick up the other end of the leash.

That much is obvious.

But Pete’s seen too many stray dogs to believe that even the most loyal won’t turn around and bite
the hand that tries to feed it. Or the fool that attempts to bring it to heel. Pete knows better than to
even try.

“Great,” Porsche mutters in a tone practically dripping with sarcasm. “Now you’re all caught up.
Must be nice to know the truth.”

Kinn grimaces and tries to reach for Porsche’s arm but by then Porsche is already well out of
reach, storming back towards the main doors with a final scathing glance in Kinn’s direction.

It seems obvious to Pete that Porsche is talking about something else but the situation is entirely
lost on him. Pete honestly can’t even remember the last time he checked in with Porsche to see how
he’s doing. He definitely hasn’t asked about the particulars of what’s been going on recently.

He’s clearly been too wrapped up in himself at the moment to notice what else might have been
happening. Whatever it is, it’s clearly part of their ongoing fight. Pete regrets not paying better
attention.
“If you want to keep him you need to get the lying and the jealousy under control,” Tankhun says
bluntly to Kinn and suddenly Pete regrets not walking away immediately after Porsche did.

Because he’s standing around to witness the spot of colour that rises in Kinn’s cheeks, the way he
clears his throat as if trying to ward off embarrassment before turning on his heel and following
after Porsche without another word.

It surprises him to think that Tankhun is probably one of the rare people that can get away with
saying something like that to Kinn. Even if Pete wishes he hadn’t been around to witness it
occurring.

That was probably a conversation Pete didn’t need to overhear. Though it might provide a little
context when he asks Porsche what’s going on later.

Tankhun waits a beat until Kinn is completely out of earshot. Then he’s easing over towards Pete
again and throwing an arm around his shoulder, gently squeezing him too. There’s something
almost paternal in the gesture. Something protective and unconditional.

Pete feels suddenly just as embarrassed that he was weeping into his shirt a couple minutes ago.

“Now did you want to tell me what happened or did I already guess most of it?”

And then Pete finds that he’s flushing too. Trying to push the memories down before they rush up
and overwhelm him again.

“You guessed most of it.”

Tankhun doesn’t appear pleased to know that he was right. It strikes him suddenly, that for all of
his bluster, Tankhun cares about him very deeply. Even as Pete is his subordinate.

It brings out a strange mixture of gratitude and resentment in Pete.

“There’s almost always more,” Tankhun says darkly and Pete wonders if he somehow knows that
Pete let Vegas suck him off. “Come on let’s get you inside. Then I can show off my new jacket!
You’ll have to take the photos as you know how to work the camera better than Pol-“

Pete nods along but he’s only half listening.

He’s focused on his own hands, still cradling the water bottle between them. Pete doesn’t know
what to do with them if they’re not steady.

Because they always used to be.

For all the emotional distress playing out in front of the main family home’s lobby, the rest of
Pete’s day is surprisingly normal. Routine somehow.

Tankhun seems to know how to step around him afterward, gives Pete just enough tasks to distract
rather than overwhelm him, subtly nudging the other guards away when it’s about to get too much.

Porsche is the complete opposite. He hovers at Pete’s side for the entirety of his shift, overly
accommodating and checking in way too often to count. He’s on edge like he’s expecting Pete to
collapse into Tankhun’s expensive and plush artisanal rug and weep at any moment and Pete finds
that it’s a continual, humiliating reminder of how he lost control.

When the shift finishes hours later just before dinner is to be served, Pete gratefully slips away
from Porsche, Arm and Pol and disappears into the kitchens to reheat his grandmother’s cooking,
emotions strangely delicate and sensitive like the slightest thing will tear him apart completely.

Away from Tankhun’s looming presence nobody else dares to ask him what happened with Vegas
after they spent the entire day dancing around the Vegas’ shaped hole in the room. And Pete is
thankful for that also. He eventually lost count of how many concerned glances he intercepted
throughout the shift when they thought he wasn’t looking.

After searching the many heads crowded together in the room he can’t find Som so this meal Pete
gets to keep to himself for once.

Pete doesn’t have the capacity for the inevitable small talk and discussions in the lunchroom either
so when he returns from the kitchens, he makes a beeline for the corridor that leads on to the
service elevator. He doesn’t turn back to find the others, just tucks the warm container of food
underneath his arm and moves on with purpose.

When he makes his way back to his and Porsche’s shared room, his stomach is almost growling
with unaddressed hunger. At the door Pete slips his shoes off and moves over to the dining table
tucked into the corner of the living room.

He intentionally sits on the opposite side so that he’s still facing the only entry point in the
apartment. Not out of any fear of attack but knowing that he won’t be able to fully relax otherwise.

Once everything is carefully set down, Pete cracks open the lid, watching the steam pour out as it
escapes and he’s using his fork and spoon to dig through the leftovers of Kai Yang Nong Krob and
mix it in more thoroughly.

He eats slowly and makes an effort to really savour the meal. Whenever Pete is sitting in the
cafeteria there’s always a chance that he’ll be caught breaking their specially made diet that all of
the bodyguards are meant to follow. It’s not necessarily one of the big rules but it could mean
trouble if he were to get caught.

So Pete can’t quite appreciate the food in the same way with that always hanging over him.

It’s better to eat in his room.

Pete is finishing off the last bite when his thoughts circle back to his grandmother again. So as he
tidies up the mess, intending to return back to the kitchen afterwards, he disappears into the room
first to find the burner phone hidden underneath his mattress.

Now seems a time as any to call her. Porsche might not be back from the lunchroom for a while
with Pol and Arm to keep him company.

She doesn’t pick up immediately which worries Pete for the brief second it takes him to remember
that he never told her about the existence of the burner phone. But then finally, she answers.

“Hello?” his grandmother says, sounding distinctly wary.

“Yaai, it’s me,” Pete announces and even though he can’t see her, he can sense the way that she
immediately relaxes.
“Oh Pete, whose number are you calling from? Are you alright?”

Idly, Pete is straightening the spoon atop the closed container one handed as he tucks his feet up on
the seat of the opposite chair and gets comfortable.

“I’m fine. Just wanted to check in. I got a burner phone. You can put my name under this number
as well from now on. How is everything? How’s Phailin?”

Even without her saying so, Pete can immediately tell that she’s relieved to hear from him. After
everything that’s happened, everything that she’s aware of he definitely left it too long since they
last talked. Even though she’s busy with her friend right now, Pete knows she probably was still
worrying about him too.

She knows that this work has become exceedingly more dangerous for him, so the least he could
do is confirm that he’s still alive every few days. At least now he has the burner phone. That will
make things easier.

“Ah she’s doing much better. I’ve been staying with her whilst she recovers- they only let her out
of the hospital a couple of days ago.”

Pete is already frowning at the words. Is it just the two of them staying together? It doesn’t sound
like the best idea. Phailin’s house is small, with an old, steep staircase leading up to her bedroom.

What if one of them falls over? Pete isn’t confident they’d be able to manage just the two of them.
His grandmother isn’t frail but Pete isn’t sure she’d be able to lift Phailin by herself.

“Are you sure you can handle it? What if something happens and you need help?”

She only laughs at the concern, warm and reassuring in his ear. “You worry too much, lǎan-chaai.
The neighbours next door are very friendly. They have a son around your age and he’s been over a
few times to help lift Phailin out of bed when she can’t manage it.”

That doesn’t make Pete feel any better. If anything, the guilt brings a noticeable crease between his
brow.

“I’m sorry,” he tells her, drumming his fingers with agitation against the table. “It should be me. I
should be the one there to help you both.”

Not for the first time he feels the consequences of his absence. The dangers of living so far away.
What if something happened to her? How long would it take for him to find out? And return
home? Suddenly, Pete understands some of her anxiety about him.

“I would like you home only when you want to be. And you have too much to do there right now.”

Her words are careful but pointed. She’s more certain of Pete’s actions than he is.

Pete sighs and clinks the spoon against the fork using only two fingers to shift it. “I’m- not really
doing all that much. I can’t do that much. Doctor’s orders.”

“Good,” she says firmly and there’s no condemnation in her voice though she’s probably aware
that Pete should have gone to the hospital earlier. “I’m glad you went. How many ribs was it?”

So she had noticed then when he visited. He must have been holding himself a certain way, must
have somehow exposed it when he wasn’t paying attention. Pete really isn’t as inscrutable as he
used to believe. Maybe he’s even as transparent as Vegas.
The thought is not at all comforting.

“Just the one,” Pete admits. “A couple badly bruised.”

He resists the urge to graze a palm across his ribcage, to test how tender it still is. Pete is very
aware of how stiffly he’s holding himself at the moment.

“And your wrists? Have you been using the creams?”

Now Pete does sigh. “Yes I’m using them.”

His grandmother doesn’t seem the least bit perturbed. “I wish you would take better care of
yourself. Running around out there making me worry. You must make sure to eat all the food I sent
today.”

For a moment that surprises him.

“What? More already? Did you think I wouldn’t finish what you sent last week?”

There’s a long pause and immediately Pete is on guard. His grandmother usually doesn’t need such
a long time to collect her thoughts. She’s usually very concise. Straight to the point.

No bullshit.

“What are you talking about, Pete?” she wonders, sounding genuinely confused all of a sudden and
Pete’s heart is suddenly pounding. “I haven’t been able to cook and send anything at all. I only just
found the time to make something for you today.”

Pete sits back in his chair and doesn’t answer.

The food. The new containers they arrived in, that he’d remarked upon but not really paid all that
much attention to. Pete looks down at the empty one now, how it distinctly does not resemble any
kind of packaging that his grandmother has previously sent before.

They were distinctly northern dishes that arrived for him. The kind of foods popular in Chiang
Mai.

But- who would even-

“Pete?” his grandmother is calling faintly in his ear. “Pete, can you hear me?”

He inhales his next breath much too sharply. Enough that it hurts.

“Yes, sorry I hear you.”

Who else would spend that much time on something that Pete might like? Who else has shown that
he has an affinity for cooking?

Pete’s been eating Vegas’ food ever since he returned to the main family and had no idea.

The biggest thing he’s surprised about is that Vegas did something so tender and nurturing and
didn’t bother to take any credit for it. That each dish could have been prepared just as lovingly as
his grandmother makes it.

It should make him angry somehow this realisation but mostly Pete is just stunned.
How carefully Vegas had tried to hide this from him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t have the time-“

Pete comes back to life then. “No don’t be. Someone sent food and I just assumed it was you.
Don’t worry about it.”

This unfortunately is the perfectly wrong thing to say.

“Someone sent you food?” she wonders, sounding deeply interested at the news and greatly
impressed. Possibly even a little bit teasing. “Who else is taking care of you now? Have you stolen
someone’s heart, lǎan-chaai”

Pete glances down at the container in front of him, still trying to comprehend that Vegas did
something so quietly. Was it because he thought Pete would never accept it if he’d known it was
from Vegas? Or did he not want anyone to know that he could be kind without the promise of a
reward after?

Or was the reward Pete eating something made by his hands?

It’s such a surprisingly selfless act that Pete is completely blind sighted by it. Of course he would
never have realised the food was from Vegas.

Is this some strange way of trying to earn forgiveness for starving Pete in the first place? Or is it
that now he’s decided he cares for Pete that he has a vested interest in taking care of him?

Pete thinks the second option is more likely. And he can’t deny that he has gained more weight
since the safe house, moving closer towards his normal range.

“Guess so,” Pete answers, mind still imagining the amount of time Vegas must have dedicated to
this little project of his that he never even admitted to.

Did he truly think that Pete would never find out about it? Why the hell would he take such care
over something as simple as Pete’s diet?

“You seem distracted,” she says, gently teasing, and she’s right. Pete doesn’t try to deny it. “I’ll let
you go, I just dropped home to cook and do some washing but I’d better get back to Phailin.”

Pete is nodding absently against the phone at his ear. “Let me know if you need anything. It’ll be
easier to reach me on this number now.”

“Of course, take care, Pete.”

“Bye, Yaai.”

Pete hangs up and stares at the empty container, wondering why the memory of the food he just
consumed still hasn’t turned to ash in his mouth.

Vegas is a skilled cook. Pete can’t believe that he didn’t recognise it wasn’t his own grandmother’s
cooking but Vegas prepared the dishes so well, the balance of flavours were nearly identical.

He looks at his phone afterward, wondering if the urge to text Vegas is solely to demand to know
what he was thinking or if it’s based in an instinct to express some kind of appreciation.

Should Pete feel grateful for this?

He’s torn for a moment, twisted up with confusing feelings and when Porsche comes back into the
room ten minutes later, Pete doesn’t tell him what he’s found out. What he’s just discovered.

Instead, he picks up the container and cutlery and goes back down to the kitchens to clean up.

When he’s there Pete checks the last fridge, counting the remaining containers of food before
peering into the frozen section where Som had stored the rest.

Now that he knows it’s from Vegas he should throw it out.

Except. Vegas hasn’t poisoned him obviously and his urge to throw it out is rooted in the principle
of the thing. Why should Pete accept this gift that he didn’t even know was a gift?

But you accepted the phones, Pete reminds himself. And even the sex toys which still haven’t been
thrown out.

Flushing a little, Pete closes the door to stop the cold air escaping. Then he leaves the kitchens and
heads back up to the rooms.

He doesn’t throw the containers out.

But later that night Pete can’t sleep.

He’s not sure if it’s because of the way he broke today. How he embarrassed himself in front of the
others. How he wept openly on Tankhun’s chest and completely fell apart.

Or if it’s because he can’t get Vegas’ words out of his head.

I could love you. We’d be good together. Don’t you understand where this is going?

After tossing and turning for what feels like the hundredth time, Pete glances at the bedside table
which tells him it’s about fifteen minutes to midnight.

Then he finally gives up, sliding out of the sheets and shuffling quietly over to the chest of
drawers.

Once there he drags out a pair of swimming shorts, glancing over at the steady rise and fall of the
lump that is Porsche completely hidden away beneath the blankets, and slips away into the living
room.

He closes the bedroom door behind him before bending down and easing the trunks over his bare
legs, up and up to cover his naked crotch. Pete is still wearing a sleep shirt so he leaves that on to
cover his chest and shuffles over towards the front door of the apartment, slipping into sandals and
grabbing the key card from the slot.

Then he’s slipping out of the room and moving towards the service elevator.

The halls are quiet this late at night. Completely empty but the artificial lighting in the hallway
makes it hard to distinguish whether it’s night or day. Only the long windows of the sniper’s walk
reveal the night sky, the smattering of lights tucked across the horizon revealing a city still active
even as it sleeps.
The hotel has six pools. Two of them are public and available to all guests. One is reserved solely
for the bodyguards to train and the rest are tucked away in the upper levels of the building, closer
to the penthouse suites.

Pete doesn’t need permission to go to the training pool this late at night.

Officially he’s not meant to be putting any strain on his body but surely swimming is a different
endeavour altogether? The water displaces a person’s weight anyway and Pete isn’t intending to go
all out and do hard laps.

Maybe he can just float around or something. Leisurely swim from one side of the pool to the next
without any real kind of goal beyond being in the water.

When he arrives the pool area is still lit up, lights automatically running on their own power and
the entire area is thankfully empty.

Pete wanders over to the section where they leave the fresh towels and then he’s moving to a bench
to set all of his things down, sliding out of the sandals before tugging his shirt off, tucking his key
card inside the folded shirt.

Then he’s moving to the deep end of the pool and stepping up onto the diving board. Pete watches
the surface ripple hypnotically for a moment, remembering many times when the guards were
tested to escape a pair of handcuffs underwater before he shifts into the correct position and dives
straight in.

The water is bracing but not too cold. Pete’s sure it won’t matter once he starts trying to tread
water. Even that small effort is likely to tire him out. He doesn’t surface immediately. Takes a
moment to just appreciate being under water. Being completely alone.

The world feels quiet here.

Eventually his lungs urge him towards the surface and Pete ascends quickly, legs kicking as he
reaches the top and eases into position to float on his back.

He sighs automatically, glancing down at the pink flesh of the now healed skin of his chest, the
fading redness of the wounds at his wrists. There are diminishing bruises in the shape of Vegas’
hands on his hips, the lessening marks of Vegas mouth across his chest, at his throat, his thighs,
the base of his spine.

The freshness of the latest hickey branded greedily beneath his chin.

When those are all gone, Pete won’t know what to do with a body that doesn’t hold the traces of
Vegas’ touch.

The thought disturbs him, slices through the peace of the moment and Pete is suddenly twisting,
splashing water everywhere as he rolls and tries to move through the water instead of floating on
top of the surface.

Immediately when he goes to shifts his arms, the muscles around his ribs start screaming and Pete
doesn’t try to hide the spasm of pain on his face.

Maybe laps wasn’t such a great idea.

“I wouldn’t recommend it.”

Pete turns at the sound of his voice and spots Vegas standing at the deeper end of the pool,
watching him.

Of fucking course.

At his presence Pete lets out a paltry, ungracious sound, carefully treading water so as not to pull at
his ribs again even as he openly scowls at the interruption.

“Did you implant a fucking microchip in me or something?”

Vegas’ smile is painfully sharp as he leans against one of the diving boards. “How many cameras
do you think you passed on your way here, baby?”

Pete’s mouth briefly dips under the surface for a moment before he bobs back up again,
considering the idea. “Seven at least but we know Dam isn’t better at hacking than Arm is. So how
are you really tracking me?”

Vegas is already slipping out of his shoes, and it’s a wonder Pete didn’t hear them on the concrete.

“Don’t you like a bit of mystery?”

“No,” Pete says shortly watching as Vegas moves towards the edge of the pool, eyeing the water
intently. When it looks like he’s going to sit down, to put his legs over the edge into the water,
unrolled pants and all, Pete actually asks, “are you coming in?”

What an impulsive question. Pete immediately closes his mouth.

But Vegas’ head snaps up to lock eyes with Pete like a shark sensing blood in the water. “Are you
inviting me, baby?”

Pete doesn’t confirm but doesn’t rush to deny it either. He’s not sure why he said it. Only that he
didn’t like the idea of Vegas sitting on the edge of the pool, watching him whilst he’s still in the
water.

That seems to be enough because Vegas is already ripping off the wrist brace and stripping his
shirt away, tossing both items atop the diving board before attacking his pants next. At the speed in
which he undresses, Pete can’t help the flush making its way across his face.

Even after everything Vegas is still so eager.

He seems to stop at his underwear, a pair of dark briefs, before he’s diving into the water too in a
surprisingly graceful move and Pete watches him from the surface, sees his muscles move
powerfully as he swims forward, making an immediate beeline for Pete.

That shouldn’t have surprised him either.

Pete intentionally eases back a little further, trying to get to a level where he can at least stand up
on his own because it’s likely Vegas’ hands will be all over him once he catches up.

The rush of anticipation is familiar now. Almost expected.

When Vegas finally resurfaces he’s less than a metre from Pete and his eyes are hungry.

“Couldn’t sleep, baby?” Vegas wonders, already reaching out and catching hold of Pete’s thigh,
tugging him closer. “I can help with that.”
Pete wriggles only a little but it’s a half-hearted gesture at best and he lets himself be pulled
irresistibly forward, doesn’t struggle when Vegas’ arm comes around his back.

The touch is inevitable. Just like everything else about Vegas.

And the heat of him is exactly how Pete remembers it.

“You’re just looking for an excuse to touch me,” Pete mutters, floating lazily, as his own arm
automatically settles against Vegas’ shoulders, keeping himself upright as Vegas continues to press
them together.

“Definitely,” Vegas agrees, just as his hands are shifting, trailing along Pete’s skin in the water.

The hand on Pete’s thigh reaches the edge of his trunks and slips beneath the material even as the
hand at his back dips lower, reaches the swell of his ass.

Pete’s chest is rising faster than it was a second ago.

“Vegas,” he says, warningly, without pushing him away.

There’s a glint in Vegas’ eyes now. As if a dangerous threshold has been reached. “Haven’t I been
nice?” he asks, and Pete throws a hand up against his chest when he tries to lean in and kiss him on
the mouth. “Didn’t I make you feel good before you ran away?”

Pete can actually feel the pressure beneath his palm, the effort in holding him back. Like a visual
representation of their dynamic. Suddenly Pete understands that he’s been too focused on how his
actions will affect Vegas, how it will feel like Vegas has won, like Vegas has victory in his hands if
he ever thinks to seek his own pleasure.

The thought of it has overshadowed every other element of this, even the parts where Pete knows
that he’s aroused. That he has been aroused and wanting for some time.

Maybe it should be about what Pete wants. Maybe there’s victory in that too.

And Pete is in too deep now to deny that he wants Vegas.

Even so before he makes a decision to act, the power of Vegas' desire seems to intensify between
them as does Pete’s exertion at holding him back. “How can you still- after everything we talked
about?”

Vegas’ eyes are burning with heat. “None of it changes how much I want you.”

It seems clear then what the next step should be.

Pete is tired of fighting himself.

So the hand forcing Vegas back slides away or maybe Pete surges forward because suddenly
Vegas’ lips are on his and they’re mouths are meeting in an inevitable union, hurtling towards
something new.

Pete’s hands tangle all too quickly in Vegas’ hair, and he feels breathless, greedy when his mouth
opens and Vegas’ lips are dragging hotly against his own.

A second later there’s Vegas’ tongue and Pete can’t help himself then, a whisper of a sigh leaves
him even as their bodies are shifting, moving against one another.
Only when Pete feels the shape of Vegas’ cock growing stiff against him does Pete pull away,
abruptly disconnecting their bodies. Needing to drag in large gulps of air. To settle his heaving
chest.

Pete’s never felt more awake.

When he looks at Vegas his lips are a little swollen but his eyes are still alight with the potential of
more. “Now who’s being the tease?”

Pete’s fingers trail across his lower lip as he eases his lower half back further.

“It’s not- intentional. Everything I do is- appealing to you.”

Vegas simply smiles at that as he steps forward, wading through the water and moving closer the
further Pete tries to slide away. “That is true,” he concedes, almost wryly. “And probably not going
to change.”

Pete’s breathing stutters a little at that. At the conviction of that promise. Vegas is so certain of his
attraction to him that it’s frightening.

When Pete backs into the wall, he realises that Vegas was easing him into a corner all along
because he steps up quickly, putting his hands on either side of the pool’s edge, so he can box Pete
in. Trapping him.

Only Pete doesn’t necessarily feel trapped. He feels- hungry.

And Vegas just leans in, scraping his mouth against the cut of Pete’s jaw. “Baby, the things I want
to do to you-”

“I know,” Pete gasps, catching at Vegas’ hipbones and dragging them back together. “Fuck, I
know.”

He doesn’t wait for Vegas to move first, Pete rocks up against him, grinds against the noticeable
bulge of Vegas’ underwear, hissing at the touch of friction, the barrier of his swimming trunks
between them too much and not enough.

When Vegas tilts his head back, starts biting at his throat, Pete groans and lets him, scrabbling at
the waistband of Vegas’ briefs, nails suddenly digging hard into skin. Maybe Pete wants to leave
his own marks as well.

“And are you gonna- let me,” Vegas gasps in between kisses, in between setting his teeth to tender
flesh. “Pete?”

Pete shifts his hand up, pushing at Vegas’ arm, needing him to let go, to create more room between
them and Vegas reaches out unthinkingly and catches at his wrist. Pain clears away the fog of
arousal and Vegas jerks at the sound Pete makes, releasing him straight away and inspecting the
inflamed lacerations encircling his wrists more closely.

“Why the hell are you even in the water?” Vegas wonders, suddenly harsh now and Pete can’t
believe everyone is so against him in this. Even someone as unruly as Vegas. “Won’t this fuck up
your wrists even worse?”

“Because,” Pete growls, using his elbow to nudge Vegas back as he shifts over towards the stairs
leading out of the pool. “I wanted to do some non-strenuous exercise.”
He can hear the sound of disbelief Vegas makes behind him but Pete doesn’t turn to dignify it with
any kind of acknowledgement.

“No,” Vegas mutters, still following. “You just don’t like being told to sit still.”

Pete scowls at that and mulishly doesn’t answer. His relationship to the existing injuries on his
body is already complicated enough.

“Where are you going?” Vegas wonders, surprised when Pete steps out of the water. “Baby, wait-“

“To the showers,” Pete says, turning to glance over his shoulder, another subtle invitation and
Vegas’ expression darkens with intent as he emerges from the water, dripping wet and stalking
after him.

So eager. Pete glances down at Vegas’ cock and turns away, colour high in his cheeks at the
knowledge that Vegas is going to follow.

At how easy it all is.

But now that he has his attention, Pete may as well get something else out of it too.

“That woman at the bar,” he says over his shoulder as he disappears through the doorway into the
locker rooms that also intersects with the gym on the other side of the wall. “Who is she?”

Vegas knows. Pete is certain and he’s aware that Tankhun’s lack of action about her means
something. Something that Tankhun isn’t telling him.

“Is that your idea of dirty talk?” Vegas wonders almost at his ear, much closer than Pete is
expecting somehow.

It’s only an evasion though. Pete is positive of it. Vegas knows more about the woman than he was
willing to let on earlier and Pete is sick of waiting on Tankhun for more information.

She sent her men after Macau. This is obviously escalating into something that has the potential to
harm the family. Pete needs to bring all the pieces together before he can do something about it.

The more knowledge he has the better prepared he can be for her next move.

“You know who she is. So answer the question.”

Vegas’ hand glances off Pete’s hip and he slides quickly out of reach, increasing his pace before
entering the shower area. They have individual stalls but Pete knows better than to try and shut the
door behind him when he takes the closest one on the left.

He reaches out to turn the shower knob for heat and suddenly Vegas is at his back, pointedly
pressing every inch of himself against him. Pete’s heart seems to startle as the rest of him does, the
sudden uneven beat signalling his body’s awareness of Vegas.

The yearning for him.

Pete takes a deep breath and turns around in his arms, quickly peeling Vegas off him as he steps
under the spray, holding Vegas off as he adjusts the temperature first to something suitable.

“Vegas,” he reminds him, when Vegas does nothing but admire Pete’s body up close. “Who is that
woman?”
Something flickers behind Vegas’ eyes. It looks a lot like annoyance, which only thrills Pete even
more.

“You really want to talk about this? I’m handling it.”

The idea that Vegas is handling the situation only brings about a flash of anxiety. He’s not exactly
subtle. Or controlled. He’s a battering ram. A bulletproof army tank.

“You’re handling it?” he scoffs. “Tell me her name or these stay on.”

His fingers come to rest against the edge of his swimming shorts and once Vegas understands the
meaning he looks absolutely delighted.

“Really?” he wonders, almost impressed. “Are we bargaining information for your nakedness,
baby?”

Pete knows that his face is red but doesn’t back down. “Yes.”

He should be ashamed to be doing this. But he’s already made the conscious decision to seek his
pleasure in Vegas, any information about the foreign woman would only be an added bonus at this
point.

But Vegas doesn’t need to know that.

“Her name is Amara,” Vegas says immediately, without a lick of hesitation. “She’s Don’s sister.”

And there it is. Like it’s that easy.

Pete’s hand falls away from his waist. Stunned by the connection. “Don’s sister? But-“

“She wasn’t very involved in the family business but stepped in once Don was killed.”

It seems once again that Vegas knows too much and doesn’t have any interest in sharing this
information with his cousins. All this time and the woman was Don’s sister. Shouldn’t Tankhun
have known that? The way Vegas is talking makes it seem like the woman wasn’t much of a
secret.

“Why didn’t Tankhun-?“

“Because his father’s orders were to wait. The main family wanted to be careful now that she’s
taking over. We got out mostly clean for the murder and they didn’t want to set the Italians against
us.”

Or at least they did. Until Vegas got involved.

“Which is why you told her you killed him,” Pete realises, amazed at the lengths Vegas will go to
in order to cause problems for the main family. “She went after your brother!”

Vegas only shrugs at that. Not in the least concerned for his younger sibling.

“Like I said, you were there. I was there. Macau wasn’t in any danger. I just wanted to get an idea
of how she operates.”

Pete can’t believe any of this. What are they supposed to do with this information? This woman
must want Vegas’ head. How could he have used his brother like that?
“So all this time Macau was bait?”

Vegas gives him a dry look and Pete almost wants to laugh at how certain of his own power Vegas
is. He truly believes what he’s saying. That Macau wasn’t in any danger.

He honestly does think in a completely different way than his cousins. It’s no wonder they can’t
quite get a handle of each other. Why they’re always circling one another instead, striking out but
never quite succeeding with fatal blows.

“Any other information you need, baby?”

Pete is still flushed but refuses to back down. “Who’s working for you in the main household?” he
demands immediately. “Who’s reporting my movements? How are you planning to-?“

Vegas steps under the spray, suddenly chest to chest with Pete and the rest of his interrogation
dries up. Pete’s reminded suddenly that he’s hard and pushing insistently against the fabric of his
shorts.

“The answers to those questions are going to take a lot more than just removing these,” Vegas
mutters, fingering at the edge of Pete’s swimming shorts in a very meaningful way.

“And I don’t think you can afford it.”

Pete bites his lip and reminds himself of the little victories.

“Fine,” he says. “That’s it. For now.”

Vegas nods calmly but his eyes tell Pete the truth. “So are you going to take them off? Or do you
want me to do it for you?”

Pete clears his throat, tries to ignore the rapid pulse at his throat and nudges Vegas away so there’s
enough from for him to manoeuvre. Then he grips the edge of his swimming shorts and drags them
past his hips.

Vegas inhales sharply at that first move like he didn’t quite believe Pete would actually do it.

It’s tougher to get the wet material off when he’s already hard and leaking, but after some finagling
Pete manages to get them past his knees before dropping them to the floor.

Vegas is watching him throughout the entire process. Unblinking.

Pete steps out of the shorts and kicks the wet fabric into the corner of the stall next. Afterward
Vegas smiles at him, all teeth, then he half turns and shuts the stall door behind him, sealing them
in together.

Pete swallows hard and tries not to notice how his cock twitches.

Then Vegas is stepping back into his space, under the spray and Pete grips onto his sides
automatically, easing his hips forward.

Instantly he feels the pressure of Vegas against him and he can’t help but moan at the rush of
friction. It takes almost a beat too long to realise that Vegas’ hands are at his sides, distinctly not
touching him.

“Should I take these off?” Vegas wonders with false innocence, gesturing at his own briefs as if he
isn’t prowling, isn’t circling Pete like predator on the hunt. “Or do you want to do it for me?”
Pete sees the challenge in his eyes for what it is, so he’s reaching out before he can overthink it,
catching the edge of Vegas’ wet underwear for purchase on either side of his hips and quickly
dragging them down past his knees too.

He blinks through the water running from his wet hair and into his lashes but Pete doesn’t crouch
down completely, not liking the idea of his face being so close to Vegas’ cock even now.

Vegas doesn’t do anything to make the hesitation worse. Simply stays still for Pete. Like a doll for
him to undress. Only steps out of the underwear completely when it pools at his ankles.

Then he’s still not touching Pete.

Which is a first. And definitely a surprise.

“What-?” Pete starts, confused at the unexpected shift in routine.

He’s used to Vegas asserting, attacking and rushing forward at every chance. Pete’s not sure he’s
ever seen Vegas be so patient. To be content to wait while Pete comes to him.

“Show me,” Vegas murmurs softly, though there’s nothing safe about his voice. “How you want
me to touch you.”

It comes out exactly as Vegas intends it. A challenge.

The one thing Pete never really ever got the hang of resisting.

“Or are you too shy?”

And Vegas really is trying to goad him now. But something stirs in Pete too at the words. And he’s
almost startled by the intensity of it.

“Here,” Pete says, knowing he sounds less shaky and tentative than he was anticipating as he drags
Vegas’ left hand and places it at the dip of his waist. The part that’s responsive to being held and
always makes him shiver. “And-“

He takes hold of Vegas’ dominant hand next and after a pause, brings it between his legs. Vegas
doesn’t ask for further instruction after that, just wraps his hand around Pete’s cock and lets the
slickness of the water running between them do the rest.

“You should-“

Vegas kisses him before he can finish asking for it and it’s like he knows, like Pete told him out
loud, because he catches the corner of Pete’s mouth where he’s the most sensitive. And it only
takes the slightest amount of pressure, of heat, before Pete’s whole mouth is tingling.

The moan rushes out of him in a steady rhythm, encouraged by Vegas’ lips and Pete’s hand is
moving before he can second guess, worming between their bodies to take Vegas in hand.

It’s not Pete’s first time handling a cock but it is the first occasion touching one that isn’t his own.
There’s something both familiar and thrilling about it. And a tremor actually passes through Vegas
at the touch as if he never expected Pete to be so daring. But Pete knows that he’s issuing a
challenge of his own.

He follows the first rush of curiosity that emerged back in Vegas’ office, lets the impulse lead him
further this time before Vegas says something else to remind him how foolish this is.
Thankfully Vegas isn’t capable of speech at the moment. Can only seem to pant and nudge himself
harder into Pete’s hand, desperate to be touched.

And suddenly it’s less shocking to Pete than he thought it would be. It’s a simple matter of running
his fingers down Vegas’ shaft, curling his hand into a tight enough grip and skimming it along
Vegas’ cock.

He groans out loud under Pete’s hand, louder when the hold constricts around him, becomes
grasping as he picks up a familiar rhythm that Pete often uses on himself.

He loses focus when Vegas grips the back of Pete’s head and kisses him again, hard, and forceful,
the kind that drags all the air out of his lungs. Pete jolts when Vegas seems to remember he was
touching him first, when his hand starts moving too, jerking Pete off the way he’s learned Pete
likes.

“Fuck,” Pete grunts when Vegas slides a thumb across the head of his cock, digging his thumb into
the slit, every inch of it a tight fisted distraction.

“That’s it, baby,” Vegas is whispering into his ear, sounding shaky, and Pete leans in and bites at
his throat, right where the fading necklace of a bruise still lingers, a leftover remnant from the
chains Pete tried to strangle him with.

Vegas comes immediately at that, spilling across Pete’s knuckles, his stomach and across his upper
thigh and Pete doesn’t have a moment to appreciate the shock of it, the triumph, because Vegas
viciously twists his wrist and Pete’s orgasm slams into him straight after.

He staggers against Vegas, winded, as the water running over Vegas’ skin seems to wash away the
mess of Pete’s come like it did Vegas’. The crest of the high seems to linger when his brain slowly
comes back online and Pete doesn’t instantly draw away first, just lets himself rest against Vegas
and get his breath back.

Then he’s stepping further under the warm spray, trying to make sure he’s not still covered in
bodily fluids whilst the reality settles in around them. The come down following a mutual orgasm.

Pete made Vegas come. Using his own hand.

He’s still flushed when Vegas sways towards Pete and kisses him again like it was nothing.

“Bet you’ll be able to sleep now,” he says sounding impossibly smug.

Pete doesn’t bother to deny it. Vegas seems to have him all figured out.

They linger under the spray for another minute, rinsing off and Pete suddenly feels self-conscious
sharing such a human ritual with Vegas without the added layer of them fighting one another. Or
the distraction of them fucking.

The both of them struggling for mutually opposed things. Maybe he hasn’t quite forgotten the
phantom presence of the chain around his wrists just yet. Doesn't know how to exist here together
unrestrained.

Eventually Pete switches the water off and Vegas goes to unlock the stall and lets them both out
with a last lingering look at Pete. As if he’s trying to savour the memory of him naked and at ease.

He strides out first, completely naked and unconcerned, doesn’t even to bother to pick up his wet
briefs, simply abandons them on the tiled floor.
Pete is surprised at how his eyes slide down Vegas’ torso, lingering on his ass for a moment as he
feels another ripple of curiosity swooping in his chest.

When he’d pinned Vegas down during their first fight after his escape, Pete had been too keyed up
to dwell on what he seemed to be offering with Pete on top of him. When he’d seemed so calm
pinned beneath Pete like that.

Does that mean he would ever-?

Something clatters outside of the stall and Pete forces himself to focus as he bends down and picks
up his swim shorts and Vegas’ underwear. Then he drapes them over the top of the shower stall,
leaving them to dry as he follows out after Vegas.

Vegas is still in the locker room, after procuring a second towel for himself, now slung over his
shoulders and completely not concealing his nakedness. He steps forward then, carefully slinging
the second towel over Pete’s shoulders like he’s not sure how he’s going to be received.

Pete understands where his thoughts lie. This is only the second time they’ve done this outside of
the safe house and after the first time once the passion had been abated and Pete’s head had cleared
he’d immediately left. Had retreated so fast it couldn’t be taken as anything else but fleeing.

Vegas looks like he’s not sure what to expect and Pete understands the uncertainty. He’s not sure
what he’s meant to be doing either.

But he accepts the added warmth gratefully and starts rubbing himself down, drying off the
lingering water clinging to every inch of his skin. And he’s watching Vegas too out of the corner of
his eye, witnessing the flash of naked skin as Vegas dries himself.

The silence makes Pete reflective.

“Why didn’t you say anything,” he wonders quietly. “About the food.”

Vegas, who is in the middle of drying his hair with the towel, goes perfectly still. Even more
startlingly, is that he doesn’t answer.

But Pete knows it was him. Is certain it was him. “I spoke to my grandmother. She confirmed that
she never sent it. Why try and hide that it was you? If you knew that I’d figure it out eventually.”

Eventually Vegas resettles. Starts moving again.

“Would you have eaten it? If you’d known I’d made it for you?”

Pete can at least be honest about that. “Probably not.”

Vegas is unhurt, expression curiously blank. And that’s why he never said anything. He knew Pete
would never have accepted it. Wasn’t this its own kind of control in a way? Pete honestly doesn’t
know how to take it.

“And now?”

Pete wraps the towel around his waist and doesn’t meet Vegas’ eyes. “Well I hate to waste good
food.”

He wanders back into the locker room to retrieve a spare pair of sweatpants and by the time he
returns back to the pool, Vegas is fully dressed again and moving towards him. He hands Pete his
shirt, key card and the sandals he left tucked under the bench.

It feels so understated. So domestic somehow, that Pete wants to reach out and take Vegas’ hand.
To pull him into Pete’s arms.

But he doesn’t.

When Vegas simply looks at him, Pete abruptly realises this is the first time an interaction hasn’t
ended with Pete running away or forcing Vegas out the door by gunpoint.

The normality is somehow more difficult.

When Vegas reaches out and pushes some of Pete’s hair out of his eyes, suddenly Pete is feeling
shy. “I’d better-“ he tries, inelegantly gesturing at the doors leading out of the pool. “Get some
sleep.”

Vegas doesn’t seem to be experiencing the same kind of indecision because he cups the side of his
face and kisses him again. Chaste. Warm. Lingering.

Pete wonders if he always felt kisses all the way down to his toes.

“Dream of me, sweetheart,” Vegas murmurs, smiling a strange little unguarded smile that Pete’s
never seen before and then he’s releasing his hold of him, taking a separate door that Pete knows
for a fact leads to the emergency exit.

Won’t he set off an alarm if he sneaks out that way?

He looks over his shoulder once, just to smirk at Pete, and thankfully that’s enough to squash the
sudden sense of bashfulness in him. This is, Vegas, after all. So Pete scowls right back before
turning on his heel and heading towards his room, sandals slapping loudly across the concrete as
he does so.

He doesn’t linger on Vegas’ last comment. Doesn’t need to.

Pete is dreaming of him most nights now anyway.

Morning rushes past and Pete sleeps deeply through all of it, including his alarm, until Porsche is
forced to physically shake him awake.

Pete opens his eyes to a bleary looking Porsche, feeling surprisingly well rested. He doesn’t let his
mind linger on the why. Doesn’t mention last night’s visit to the pool.

Doesn’t mention anything about Vegas when he staggers into the bathroom to piss and then brush
his teeth.

When he’s finished and completely dressed, Porsche is perched on the edge of his bed, checking
his phone. “We’ve still got time before the shift. Wanna smoke?”

Pete nods and then they’re in the hallway, heading towards the elevator to take them down to the
lobby.

“How’s it all going with you?” Pete wonders, realising now is the perfect time to ask since they’re
finally alone. “Are you getting any pressure from the family because- uh-“

“Because I’m sitting around not doing anything?” Porsche finishes, shrugging at the question.
“Kinn won’t talk about us to his father but I’m sure he’s got plenty of other ways to figure out
what’s going on between us. Nobody has said anything but that’s mostly because I’ve been with
Tankhun- staying out of the way.”

Yes, Pete would be amazed if Mr Korn wasn’t already aware of the ongoing cold war between
Kinn and Porsche at the moment. But what does this mean for Porsche? If they can’t figure things
out will they withdraw their protection? Will Porsche become a bodyguard again? Or will they
simply kick him out of the main family home?

“And what did you mean yesterday when you were talking to Kinn? That thing you said about it
being nice to know the truth?”

That had definitely not sounded good. And with Tankhun’s comment straight afterward it seems
pretty obvious that Kinn has been lying to Porsche. But about what?

“I overheard some things recently and found out it wasn’t just chance that I ended up working
here.”

What? But who could have orchestrated something like that?

It’s definitely news to Pete and he doesn’t try to hide that his expression is puzzled. “I thought-
your families debt-“

“Yes, turns out our families have a connection. Once Mr Korn learned who I was they got me to
work here so they could pay off the debt and help look after me and my brother. So I wouldn’t lose
our house. It’s the last thing our parents left us when they died.”

This is the first time Pete’s heard of the family going to such great lengths just to employ a
bodyguard. Even stranger that their interest was in solely looking after Porsche and his family.

The Theerapanyakuls usually demand an equal amount of investment of time or money for their
protection and looking at Porsche’s role in the household and the effort they expended to make
sure he could keep his house- doesn’t quite match up.

“And did you find out? What the connection was? Did Kinn tell you?”

Now there’s real tension in Porsche’s body. Talk of Kinn seeming to set him off in a way that
talking about his family debt didn’t. “Kinn didn’t know about it. His father ordered him to hire me
not knowing- not knowing that Mr Korn had done my family a great wrong.”

Fuck. Pete knows exactly the kind of wrongs that people have carried out under the
Theerapanyakul name. His heart is in his throat before he asks the next question.

“What was it that they did?”

“He’s friends with the man who killed my parents. Mr Korn helped cover up his crime not
knowing the victims had two little children. When our paths crossed again and he saw me- Mr
Korn wanted to fix it.”

Yes it’s exactly the kind of thing the family would do. Pete wonders at the thoughtless arrogance
of the gesture. There are some things you simply can’t fix after such a long period of time. Some
wounds that are just too deep.
How much of this did Kinn know? Before he started his relationship with Porsche?

“Is this- is this part of why you and Kinn have been fighting?”

Porsche is practically rippling with anger now. He almost looks like he wants to punch something.
“He lied to me this whole time. He knew I’d be brought here under some kind of ulterior motive
and never questioned his father about it. Not once. Not even when we got together.”

Pete winces but he knows it’s not one of Kinn’s practices, to question his father. That usually falls
to Kim. Or sometimes, and rarely, Tankhun. It’s always hard for young men to push back against
their fathers. Even more so if that father happens to be a powerful mafia boss.

Pete isn’t really so shocked that Kinn never investigated the situation properly. But that still
doesn’t feel like the whole picture of the situation anyway.

“There’s more to it though. More than you’re saying.”

When they step out of the elevator, Porsche glances around them as if checking there aren’t any
other people in earshot. “When we were at Hum Bar the other night my Uncle Thee showed up and
he was saying all these strange things.”

It’s the first time Porsche has mentioned this and Pete doesn’t remember seeing anything like that
at the time. Although to be fair he was pretty drunk that night and distracted by Vegas,

Always distracted by Vegas.

“Strange things like what?”

Porsche hesitates and bites at his lip. “To give his regards to Mr Korn, implying they had made
some kind of deal together.”

Uh oh. This is sounding worse by the minute. What the hell is going on between Porsche’s family
and the Theerapanyakuls?

“Did you think he was telling the truth?”

“I don’t know,” Porsche admits. “But he said he was worried about me and that I couldn’t trust the
main family. Not a single one of them. He gave me a photo and asked for money in exchange for
more information.”

The money part is at least making sense. Porsche has told him before that it’s his uncle who got
them into debt in the first place. But that doesn’t mean the rest of the situation isn’t sounding
stranger by the minute. It speaks of skeletons in a closet, long since buried.

“What kind of photo?”

Porsche drags it straight out of his pocket like he’s taken to carrying it around everywhere since
the night at the bar. It’s a photo of two young children with their parents all smiling together and
tucked right in the corner of this family is-

“Mr Korn?” Pete says, astonished, peering closely at the picture as if expecting a different result.
“He’s known your family for that long?”

Porsche’s expression is grim. It’s not a great sign that Porsche’s family seems to have a deep
connection to a mafia boss.
“Looks like it.”

He tries to remember how many days ago they were at the bar, counting back on his hand because
it feels like so long ago. “The night at the bar was days ago why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

Did he not trust Pete? Or did he think it was better not to tell anyone of what he learned?

“I guess I didn’t want to say anything around Tankhun,” Porsche admits. “And- I really didn’t want
to add more to your plate. You’ve got enough going on at the moment.”

Pete knows better than to take that personally. There’s plenty of things going on with him right
now that he’s kept to himself. He shouldn’t be surprised that Porsche is doing the same.

“So are you going to pay your uncle then?” he wonders as they continue down the hall towards the
lobby. “How much did he ask for?”

“5 million baht,” Porsche tells him and neither of them have to point out that Porsche doesn’t have
that kind of money.

Who is Porsche thinking is going to pay for it? The main family that he’s now trying to
investigate? His uncle’s request sounds even more selfish when Pete thinks of it that way. If he
truly was concerned about Porsche he’d just give him the information without trying to exploit
money out of him first.

“Are you going to ask Kinn for help? Or do you think he somehow knew about this too?”

It’s- possible after all. And it’s not like the Theerapanyakuls share everything with their
bodyguards.

“No I don’t think he did,” Porsche says. “But I don’t want to ask him for anything right now.”

That is understandable. Pete feels the exact same way about Vegas. He doesn’t want to have to ask
him for anything. Doesn’t want to have to need anything. Which is why it’s so inconvenient that
Pete is still attracted to him.

“If you need help, you know I’m here. I may not have the money but I can be useful in other
ways.”

“Thanks,” Porsche says, meaning it. “I don’t know- I’ve just got to figure out my next move.”

Pete doesn’t have a chance to ask more questions because they hardly take more than two steps
into the lobby before Tinn is rushing forward to head them off.

“Not today,” he says. “We’ve got several important clients checking in. No smoke breaks in the
driveway. Chan’s orders.”

It’s not that unusual. Pete and the other bodyguards have been banished from the main driveway
many times before. Usually because the more important clients don’t enjoy walking through a
cloud of cigarette smoke just to get into the hotel.

It shouldn’t be strange but Pete doesn’t seem to know how to take things at face value anymore.
Can only look at everything with suspicion tinted glasses. Why today of all days? Is Tinn trying to
hide something from the two of them? Or trying to herd Pete and Porsche to the only other
available location for the bodyguards if the front driveway isn’t an option?
What’s in the loading dock? Or more importantly, who?

Whilst Pete nods and smiles and doesn’t question Tinn, turning about face and striding back
towards the elevator area, he does hesitate before taking the door sequestered off to the side
labelled, Employee Access Only.

But Porsche doesn’t even pause, pushing through the door and striding into the staff corridor.
When he turns and catches Pete is still standing where he is, Porsche reaches out and manages to
snatch the edge of the door before it slides shut between them.

“What is it?” he wonders, almost impatiently. “Because I really need this cigarette before we have
to sit through more Devilled Judgement.”

Pete sighs and shuffles after him through the doorway. “It’s Devil Judge. Do you really not know
the name? We’ve watched like twenty episodes already.”

Unfortunately he knows with certainty that most Korean dramas are sixteen episodes. He only
mentioned twenty because it certainly feels like they've watched twenty episodes. Pete can't
believe the show hasn't ended yet.

“Oh yeah?” Porsche fires back as Pete falls into step beside him and they stride off together
towards the loading dock. “What’s the main character’s name?”

Huh. Well Pete never suggested that he was watching it carefully.

“Jungkook?”

Porsche openly scoffs at him but Pete’s not actually being 100% serious. “That’s one of the guys
from BTS and you know it.”

Pete laughs a little because they’re equally as bad as each other. It’s no wonder Tankhun is
constantly hitting them with pillows whilst he tries to concentrate on the subtitles at the same time.

Porsche seems to recognise this too because he grins and says, “there’s a reason it’s you and me
continually being kicked out of Tankhun’s TV room.”

He scans the hallway and tries to put away his suspicion. “Because we talk too much?”

“Because we’re not invested in the show and Tankhun is offended when he doesn’t have anyone’s
full attention.”

That probably is true.

Pete is already dragging out his half empty packet of cigarettes when Porsche shoulder’s open the
door right beside the roller door where they receive deliveries but is currently closed at the
moment. Probably because the deliveries usually arrive much earlier in the morning anyway.

Pete steps out after him into the muggy heat, careful to the let the door snap shut behind him.

Their key cards will get them back inside and more than one bodyguard has had their ass reamed
by Chan for propping the exit door open on smoke breaks, causing an inevitable security risk.
Thankfully Pete is the type to learn from other people’s mistakes so he doesn’t even think of
pushing his luck.

The loading dock is at the back of the hotel but connects through an alleyway that backs out onto
the main street. So already they can hear the sounds of activity in the air, cars speeding past on the
main road, the occasional horn blaring. All of it background music to a city perpetually in motion.

He draws his focus back in, reminds himself that they have a time limit here and Tankhun won’t
tolerate late comers even if the only plan on the schedule today is producing a makeshift runway in
his bedroom so he can show off his Gucci purchases with a play by play of the construction of each
item.

Or more Korean dramas. Probably.

In hindsight Pete shouldn’t complain. Because even if he is doing hardly anything at least he’s still
being paid for it.

The cigarette is barely in Pete’s mouth before Porsche is leaning over with a lighter and helpfully
flicking it open. Automatically Pete sways into the heat of the flame, inhaling sharply as the
cigarette ignites and then he’s exhaling quietly next to Porsche’s audible grunt of relief when he
gets his own cigarette lit.

Out of the corner of his eye, Pete notes that the tension in Porsche’s shoulders still remains like
there’s something heavy strapped to his back, weighing him down.

Is there something else on Porsche’s mind beside Pete’s semi-public breakdown yesterday?

“Did,” he starts, takes another drag, exhales, and tries again. “Did something more happen with
Kinn? Something worse?”

Porsche doesn’t answer straight away and unfortunately, Pete can immediately see that his question
is exactly the right level of provoking, meaning he’s probably right. Not that there’s much else
going on with Porsche at the moment beside his current issues with Kinn.

Pete is pretty familiar with that particular brand of turmoil.

“Well, he also finally cornered me to accuse me of fucking Vegas.”

Right. More consequences of Pete’s thoughtless actions. For a second he regrets not having better
control of himself. Porsche should never have been the recipient of Pete’s anger but it had trickled
all the way down to him anyway.

Another lesson that he should have paid more attention to.

It’s not the only thing slipping for Pete at the moment. His mind still feels like it’s back in that
office at the compound in that moment of pleasure and raw relief and the horrifying conversation
that had followed. Even though he had last night.

Even though he had Vegas’ mouth and hands on him last night.

Pete’s eyes catch movement in the corner of his vision, coming from the lip of the alley and it
takes much too long for him to understand what he’s looking at. Because Vegas is there, sauntering
up to them as if summoned by Pete’s own tumultuous thoughts.

When it’s clear he intends to join them, Pete who can see that Porsche hasn’t spotted him yet,
quickly jerks his chin back and forth in a minute gesture, trying to visibly dissuade him from
coming any closer.

Porsche’s short temper should not be tested at the moment under any circumstances. But Vegas
only smiles wider at that as if he’s glad to have properly captured Pete’s attention.

“Guess my reputation precedes me,” Vegas announces loudly and unnecessarily, eyes on Pete and
already glittering with intent.

Immediately Pete recoils at the words as Porsche all but erupts beside him.

But Vegas only has eyes only for Pete, and he’s taking a thoughtless step forward just as Porsche is
interrupting with a mean right hook, punching Vegas in the face so hard that he staggers several
steps back until he’s against the wall of the building and springing back up with eyes blazing.

Pete straightens up at once, not particularly surprised that this was his reception, and makes an
aborted movement as if instinctively his body wants to get between them before common sense
catches up. Instead Pete grits his teeth and quickly puts the half-finished cigarette out beneath his
shoe, hanging back to watch.

He only lets his fists clench, when Porsche goes for Vegas again, the skin atop his knuckles
already split and bleeding.

Vegas is bleeding too, wiping at his split lip and somehow still smirking as he at least has the sense
to duck the second swing, launching off the wall and slipping under Porsche’s guard. Pete is still
standing close, a second away from intervening if necessary but it’s even worse to be a spectator in
this, watching Vegas’ lack of self-preservation play out in the hotel’s loading dock.

He can see that Porsche is surprised by Vegas’ speed but it’s not enough to deter him from
attacking again.

“You sonofabitch,” Porsche hisses at Vegas, and he’s lining up for one of his taekwondo kicks,
bringing his knee up in one fluid movement. Pivoting as he goes for a roundhouse kick, aiming for
the side of Vegas’ ribcage.

In the flurry of movement suddenly Vegas is within range so Pete reaches out and seizes the collar
of Vegas’ flimsy shirt, yanking him hard enough that he takes two steps back and Porsche misses
at the last second.

“Okay,” he says firmly, thinking they’re going to keep going until Porsche finally succeeds in
breaking Vegas’ jaw or something. “Settle down. Do you honestly think beating each other up right
now is going to-“

Vegas spins suddenly, ducking low and underneath Pete’s hand so that he’s forced to relinquish the
grip and even as Porsche is rushing forward, Vegas is moving past Pete and throwing a forearm
across his throat, yanking Pete up against his chest as his other hand is suddenly cradling the top of
Pete’s head in a firm sleeper hold.

What the hell?

He’s not applying any pressure, not constricting Pete’s airway but that doesn’t mean Pete’s not
shocked. The surprise lingers for all of two seconds until Porsche pulls up short, real alarm in his
eyes at the position Pete is now in. Then Pete realises this is a performance not for his benefit.

“Seriously, Vegas?” he mutters, annoyed but not exactly trapped. Although from Porsche’s reaction
one would think Vegas has a knife pressed to his jugular.

He swallows, heart beating faster at the proximity, not out of any sense of danger even as he feels
the weight of Vegas against his throat. The potential of more if he wanted to apply his strength.
But Vegas isn’t interested in that. He’s just messing with Porsche’s low opinion of him and using it
to his advantage.

“It’s fine,” Pete says to Porsche, without a lick of fear. “He’s not going to do anything to me.”

“Hmm,” Vegas hums contrarily, teeth catching on Pete’s ear lobe and biting gently at his flesh.
“Not true.”

Heat crawls up Pete’s face as Vegas’ arm drops until it’s no longer pressed against Pete’s throat but
it only shifts lower, gripping at his left shoulder, anchoring himself to Pete’s body as the other
disappears into Pete’s hair, cupping the side of his neck.

Both hands, still locked on Pete and all of them possessive.

At such a blatant declaration, Pete wants to disappear into the background somehow, to duck and
hide under the veil of responsibility but he’s not on duty and neither of the two men now facing off
are his principal.

It’s not the same as it was with Tankhun. He knows that both Porsche and Vegas could do some
real damage to each other if he doesn’t manage to contain the situation.

“This is pointless,” Pete says to the both of them. “Can’t we just talk this out first before resorting
to fists?”

Porsche looks torn for a moment like he wants to unleash all of his frustration on Vegas, which, is
completely understandable, but he’s clearly unwilling for Pete to get hit in the crossfire. Vegas
looks like he has no qualms using Pete as a shield, though Pete doubts he’d keep up the charade if
Porsche actually attacked again.

If Porsche thought to call his bluff.

“You know, Porsche,” Vegas says instead like he’s trying to impart some great wisdom. Somehow
teach a valuable lesson and Pete knows whatever he’s about to say won’t be good. “You really
shouldn’t put your mouth where it doesn’t belong.”

Pete’s a second too slow at understanding the meaning of the words, more focused on what Vegas
is hoping to achieve in this position.

It’s less like he’s hiding behind Pete and more like he’s using it as an excuse to-

When Vegas’ tongue slides along Pete’s neck suddenly he has his answer and then Pete is finally
jolting into action, elbowing Vegas hard and expertly freeing himself of his hands in order to step
away. Mostly because he can’t bear the look of pure disgust on Porsche’s face when Vegas touches
him. When Pete didn’t automatically try to stop it.

He’s aware that from Porsche’s point of view Pete probably seems corrupted. Brainwashed even.

But the truth is much worse. Pete knows that the last few times Vegas has kissed or touched him,
Pete has been of sound body and mind. Which was exactly what Vegas wanted, undeniable proof
that he has Pete's interest. His desire.

Pete knows all of this. And he still let Vegas do it.

Even now after everything that Vegas has hinted at. Has openly declared. Even with the suggestion
of emotional connection, of sincere feelings being admitted to by Vegas, Pete still let Vegas touch
him.

What does that say about Pete? What does it say that he feels a kick of gratification that Vegas is
threatening Porsche, all because he gave Pete a hickey?

“You’re a fucking sadist,” Porsche hisses, spitting at the ground right in front of Vegas’ feet. “And
no matter how hard you try to force it, Pete will never love a monster like you.”

Something dark flashes in Vegas’ eyes then and when he goes to take a step forward, Pete is
already there, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and holding him back. Knowing anything Vegas does to
Porsche next will be especially ugly.

“No,” Pete says, sharply, meaning it. “Don’t.”

Vegas’ eyes slide back over to Pete and something in him seems to relent, to refocus. Then Vegas’
mouth twists into a wry smile and he lifts a hand up to clutch at his jaw, leaning into Pete’s grip
without making a move toward Porsche again. Relaxing as if the fight is over.

Although Pete is tensed for it to continue, ready to restrain Vegas if needed.

But Vegas is completely calm now. He’s such an example of opposites, raring up when everyone
else is calm and collected, settling down when someone else’s temper is explosive. Pete wonders if
he does it on purpose. If he knows that it only fans the flames of another person’ anger to see his
expression so still.

Neither of them make another move, simple staring each other down and Pete wonders what he
can say to make the both of them walk away.

But then Vegas’ eyes flicker over Porsche disdainfully, opening up for his next best weapon. “I’m
guessing from your lukewarm reception that Kinn told you about the GHB?”

Fuck. The GHB.

Pete feels the blood drain from his face. The sudden, familiar rush of horror that follows a person
demanding results after a deadline has long since passed.

No, Kinn never told Porsche about the GHB. But Pete should have.

How could he have just forgotten?

Porsche stops trying to get to Vegas now that Pete is beside him but the fight in him goes still,
smothered by the horror of a memory. A moment that took more than he was willing to give.

The expression on Porsche’s face is devastating, but he’s not even looking at Pete. He may as well
not even be in the same space.

Vegas is so close to Pete now, that he can feel the rise and fall of his chest against his side. And it
shouldn’t be as steady as it is. Shouldn’t be so composed. What is it with Vegas openly declaring
all of his crimes to the people he’s committed them against?

“You,” Porsche says, aghast, staring at him with the kind of comprehension that makes Pete feel
sick. “It was you-?”

Automatically Pete pushes Vegas back away from him, away from them both and the movement
finally seems to remind Porsche that he’s there.
He doesn’t stop to watch Vegas’ expression confirm it, he’s looking to Pete like a confidant,
searching for the same revulsion and shock mirrored on his own face.

Can you believe this? Porsche’s expression seems to say a split second before he catches the
hardness in Pete. The distinct lack of surprise.

He glances between Pete and Vegas and suddenly Pete can see it from Porsche’s perspective, the
way he’s standing almost protectively in front of Vegas, his back to him in a show of instinctive,
unspoken trust.

That and how Porsche is intimately aware that Pete’s control is being tested, that yesterday brought
up the alarming possibility that Vegas might be in love.

Porsche is looking at him like the stark and sudden shift of his allegiances must be plain to see,
even if Pete knows, even if he insists that it's not the case.

When Porsche’s expression shutters and becomes guarded from him, that retreat makes him feel
lower than dirt.

“You knew?” Porsche says quietly, the accusation of the question implicit and as sharp as a blow.
“You knew he tried to do that- just like he did to you and what? You- just never said anything?”

Pete can’t believe after everything Porsche has done for him that he never took the time to treat
him with the same level of reciprocation. Of compassion. That he never thought to share the truth
he carried. A personal intimate truth pertaining to Porsche himself and the justified hatred he
should have felt for Vegas, after he’d been attacked by him too.

In all this time he never afforded Porsche the same respect and care that Porsche had given him.

Why though? These aren’t the kind of mistakes that Pete ever makes. If he didn’t think to tell
Porsche then there had to be some intention behind it.

Was Pete trying to protect Vegas by not telling Porsche the truth? Was he trying not to add to the
growing tension in the families when they’re already on the brink of crisis? How could he have
pushed something like this to the background for so long when it’s one of the first things that he
should have told Porsche?

But Porsche was never in any danger since Vegas got a hold of Pete. Hasn’t been in that same kind
of danger for a while now. Vegas evidently got what he wanted out of the scenario, showing Kinn
that he could touch what was his, and any of the collateral damage of his sexual interest in Porsche
got lost in his sudden all-consuming obsession of Pete.

Is that why Pete never said anything? Because he was so certain that Vegas wouldn’t try anything
else? That the danger had completely passed for Porsche?

But it’s much simpler than that, more base and ruthless, a choice purely rooted in his own
selfishness. Pete didn’t say anything because he was afraid of losing a friend.

Because how else would Porsche have taken that truth? How much worse would it have been for
him knowing that Pete has admitted to desiring the same man who attacked him as well?

How could he expect Porsche to move past that? And then so many other distracting things were
happening, so many unignorable things to do with Vegas that Pete just let it slip down his list of
priorities.
It was so easy to forget it when it didn’t affect him personally.

Pete can’t believe he’s been so selfish.

“I meant to,” he says, and Pete’s not lying per se even as he knows how woefully inadequate of an
answer that is. “I swear I meant to.”

Porsche turns away from him then and Pete knows he’s just broken the trust of one of the few good
people his life right now. Knows that this is going to take some repair after Porsche told him Kinn
had been lying to him as well.

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately, taking a step after him, at a loss of how to make this right.
“Porsche, I’m-“

“Why is that Pete’s responsibility anyway?” Vegas demands, in the haughty, arrogant tone Pete
recognises as the one he uses primarily to bait people.

Immediately, Porsche whirls about, fists raised and Pete knows Vegas has done it on purpose, is
actively trying to distract Porsche from venting some extremely valid anger on Pete.

It’s strange to see him at work even in a fraught moment like this, when he’s trying to manipulate
the situation into something that suits him. Pete takes a step between them again when Porsche
advances, sensing a fight brewing but Vegas just steamrolls straight over all of that budding tension
like it’s nothing.

“Kinn knew it for longer.”

Pete draws up short at that confession. So does Porsche.

“What?” Porsche says, openly suspicious.

The question hangs between them all like a loaded gun, unsure of what direction it’s pointing. Of
which target should be the recipient of the most damage.

Vegas looks at Pete first, then Porsche and raises a haughty eyebrow. “Kinn isn’t that stupid. He
knew it was me in the hotel room.”

Pete stares at him open mouthed but Vegas is too busy driving the knife into Porsche’s heart to
notice. Vegas lets out a laugh at Porsche’s darkening expression. “Shit he really didn’t tell you,
huh? Well no wonder you came along with me so easily during the Tawan thing.”

With a sinking heart Pete realises that Vegas isn’t lying, he’s enjoying himself too much for it to be
anything but the truth. Pete knows how to recognise a moment of pain unleashed and properly
savoured.

When he turns and catches Vegas’ eye, the flush of violent pleasure on his face confirms it and
Pete flinches as if struck.

So it is true. Kinn knew that, about Porsche, about the man he’s supposed to have these strong
feelings for, the man he’s supposed to be in love with and didn’t even tell Porsche? Seemingly did
nothing about it? That auction was almost a month ago.

And when Pete brought it up to Kinn himself, the suggestion that Vegas was behind the attack. All
Kinn had cared about at the time was whether or not Porsche knew about it.
Because he wanted to keep Porsche in the dark. Didn’t want him to know it was Vegas for some
reason. Why hadn’t Pete considered the importance of that? Kinn’s distinct lack of surprise?

It’s no wonder it never felt right looking to their relationship as a means to understand this thing
with Vegas. Because Kinn and Porsche are almost as messed up as they are.

“What makes you so certain?” Pete demands of the silence. Of the vindictive expression on Vegas’
face. He has to question him. Has to make absolutely sure before Porsche descends further into
doubt. “That Kinn knew?”

Vegas looks at him keenly. “Well- he did call the next day to say that Porsche was off limits.”

Porsche inhales sharply at that and Pete knows there’s no room for uncertainty now.

“Or would you prefer I interpret that conversation as mere coincidence?”

Pete shoves him away then, anger sparking in him at the look on Porsche’s face. “Fine. You’ve
made your point,” he says sharply. “Don’t be cruel with it.”

Vegas smirks at that but even Pete can see that he’s not finished yet. “My point, is that Kinn knew
it well before Pete did so if you want to go after someone for withholding information, you should
start with your faithful, dependable lover first.”

It’s so wrong. For a second Pete has a wild urge to laugh at the sight of Vegas defending him but
it’s not the focus of the conversation right now. Why the hell didn’t Kinn say anything?

“Fuck you, Vegas,” Porsche snaps and it’s clear that Vegas has just made the situation between
Kinn and Porsche a thousand times worse.

Has thrown a grenade between their relationship and simply stepped back to witness the explosion.
What’s worse is the the expression on his face shows not regret, only satisfaction of having
shredded Kinn so succinctly.

He doesn’t even care what he’s done to Porsche.

Collateral damage again.

Pete wonders why he’s even surprised that Vegas could be so shitty. But he knew better. Has
always known better.

“Even after everything you’ve seen you’re still so trusting. In the end he only wants to control you.
It’s the only way my cousin can rely on anything in this world.”

It’s too much too fast. There’s no subtlety in it whatsoever and Porsche immediately stiffens in
defence of his lover.

“And you’re not the same?”

Vegas’ eyes flash. “I’m not Kinn.” Then his eyes slide over towards Pete, sly and possessive. “And
I’m not stupid enough to believe I can control Pete in anything.”

A second later, Pete feels the touch of a hand at his shoulder, and lightning fast he steps back and
pushes Vegas off hard, angry enough for Porsche to deny the touch. Angry enough that he’s
holding himself back from hitting Vegas himself.

But it’s another test, another display for Porsche only and Vegas merely laughs at the reaction.
“See? What makes you think I have any kind of power over him?”

“We’re not lovers,” Pete says coldly, needing more than anything to make that distinction even
though what they did yesterday could definitely be classified in that category.

Pete wants to squirm at the hypocrisy of his own words.

But Vegas merely shrugs in a disbelieving way. “As you say.”

Somehow he’s even more aggravating than he was yesterday.

“Shut up, Vegas.”

Porsche is still looking at Pete, and the accusation there hurts. More than Pete anticipated it would.
“I can’t believe this. You’re just like everyone else around here,” he says quietly, jerking his thumb
at Vegas. “Just like him.”

Pete glances sharply at Porsche but he’s got a key card out, pushing past them and back through
the door, storming into the staff corridor without even glancing back, as if he’s abandoning Pete to
his fate.

It’s terrible and the guilt is going to eat at him until he can somehow fix it with Porsche.

He has to fix it.

“Porsche,” Pete calls, but the door has already slammed shut, leaving him alone in the alley with
Vegas.

Who looks very much as if he prefers it that way.

Porsche has every right to be angry with him. Pete can understand it, can even recognise that it’s
well deserved. But that doesn’t make him feel any better about the situation.

“Looks like your friend isn’t happy with you. Too bad.”

Pete turns to him out of pure irritation. “This isn’t a game for your amusement. It’s not a joke.
Porsche had no idea- and I should have told him.”

His hands are clenched into fists as Vegas’ eyes slide towards them slowly as if comprehending
there might be consequences for what he just did.

“Kinn should have told him,” Vegas says, defending his position without even blinking. “The truth
would have come out eventually. It’s better this way.”

The things he can talk himself out of. The terrible acts he can rationalise. The fucked up behaviour
he can wipe away with a dismissive statement. How did Pete let himself get swept up in all of this?

“It’s not better. You shouldn’t have said anything-“

“For what other reason could he have been punching me? How was I supposed to know he was in
the dark?”

Pete might have believed that was Vegas’ only reason for saying it, if not for the hint of a smirk
lifting the corner of his mouth. “Don’t try and pretend. You knew exactly what you were doing.”

Vegas’ smile only widens. “You and Kinn have been holding his hand for far too long, baby. In
this world if you don’t swim, you’ll sink. It’s about time he learn to swim on his own.”

That in itself is unforeseen. Suddenly Vegas’ words ring with careful intention. He can’t honestly
believe that he was helping Porsche just now? Even if he did give him information that had
previously been withheld from him, it’s not like he delivered it with any kindness.

Sharp viciousness is how Pete would have described it.

“You really are a bastard, aren’t you?” he says bitterly, and something shifts in Vegas’ expression.

A hint of unease.

Then he’s sauntering towards Pete like nothing happened. “Such harsh words. And after I’ve been
so nice to you,” he retorts breezily but Pete can tell he’s getting agitated. This was not how he was
expecting to be received. For all his grandstanding, he doesn’t actually want Pete infuriated with
him. “What does it matter anyway?”

When he’s close enough to touch, when Vegas tries to reach out, Pete immediately rebuffs him.
Refusing to be touched right now. “Because Porsche is my friend,” Pete says firmly. “And I care
about him.”

Vegas rolls his eyes like he thinks Pete’s being sentimental.

“He’s Kinn’s-“

Pete cuts him off with a growl of frustration. “Kinn, Kinn, Kinn. Do you even hear yourself? Don’t
you have better things to do than obsess over your cousin?”

It shouldn’t surprise him somehow. That in all of the intense focus he’s currently directing towards
Pete, to bedding and winning him for good, that Vegas still has the energy to strike at his cousin.

And that’s what this was in a way. Meddling in Kinn’s relationship with Porsche, making it almost
impossible for Porsche to mend fences, weakening whatever fragile trust they may still have.

Pete’s situation now doesn’t allow for much sympathy for Kinn at the moment but he does feel a
twinge of regret for Porsche. Porsche who has committed no crime except falling in love with
Vegas’ cousin.

Anything Vegas’ currently does to Kinn will hurt Porsche in some way. Maybe in an even worse
way considering how Porsche seems to be the one taking the brunt of it.

Vegas looks at him very pointedly. “I have one thing I’d much rather be doing.”

That’s not difficult to decipher. But Pete is still furious and isn’t going to let Vegas distract him
from the real issue at hand.

How can he to stop Vegas from interfering between Kinn and Porsche again? Pete could ask but he
knows better than to test Vegas’ generosity with a favour for his cousin. And if he made it about
Porsche somehow? Pete has a suspicion the only way he’d be getting that favour is with a very
specific kind of incentive.

Because there are only three things Vegas deeply cares about; his family, respect and-

It hits him all at once. A sudden, simplistic stroke of brilliance. The exact answer that he’s looking
for.
Pete’s heart is pounding hard in his chest when he rearranges his face into an expression of
nonchalance, a careful mask of indifference. He glances up at the corner of the building and notes
with relief that they’re currently standing in the camera’s blind spot.

It probably caught most of the earlier fight though.

“Interesting choice then,” Pete observes, stepping away until he’s braced up against the wall. “I’m
surprised you’re not trying harder to push them back together.”

Vegas lets out an incredulous noise as he arches a brow at him, stepping automatically forward as
if this dance between them is unthinking now.

“You think I’d-? You’re surprised I’m not matchmaking for my shitty cousin?”

Then Vegas glances up at the camera too and his eyebrows seem to slant a little, curving down in
suspicion. Pete doesn’t falter knowing he has to deliver this in a way that’s incontestable.

“Yes,” he admits, voice even. Unfazed.

From the way Vegas tilts his head at him, in a considering way, Pete can tell Vegas has noticed
Pete is trying something but hasn’t yet figured out what.

“Alright I’ll play. Go on then, baby,” he urges, watching Pete unblinking as he stalks closer.

There’s an edge to his voice that wasn’t there before, a fire in his eyes now that doesn’t ever go out
but might have been content with embers only moments ago. “Tell me why.”

Pete shrugs carelessly, trying out a little temptation of his own when he lets his hands rest at his
sides. Body language an open invitation. “Thought that would be obvious.”

Suddenly Vegas is within reach, and then he is reaching, his fingertips trailing up the side of Pete’s
jaw until his warm palm is cupping his cheek.

“Maybe I need someone as smart as you to spell it out for me.”

Pete allows it for a moment, just a moment, animosity still bubbling in him as his lashes flutter
closed in a brief whisper of weakness. Then he’s catching Vegas’ wrist and gently tugging his hand
away, dragging it down to rest at his side, not letting go.

“What do you think happens when they’re not fighting?” Pete asks him, all polite disinterest and
thoughtful innocence like he doesn’t know the answer himself.

Like he isn’t already leading Vegas toward it.

Vegas doesn’t seem bothered by his captured hand, just raises his free one instead, brushing some
of Pete’s hair idly away from his forehead. Pete lets him and then he’s catching that hand too,
dragging it down to mirror the other, holding both of Vegas’ hands by his waist, keeping him
close.

“Kinn is smug and overly satisfied?” Vegas wonders, nose skimming his cheek as the warmth of
his breath fans out across Pete’s skin. “And even more annoying than usual?”

Pete is doing his very best to keep up with the conversation.

Vegas really can’t see the big picture if Kinn is involved. It’s strange to consider the idea that Kinn
might somehow be Vegas’ blind spot. Just as Pete might be.
“Porsche goes back to spending all of his nights in Kinn’s bed,” Pete corrects, still holding tight to
Vegas. “And- my room is empty.”

He lets that information sink in and Vegas’ mouth finally twitches.

He sees the briefest glint of promise in Vegas’ eyes before he’s finally pressed up against Pete,
chest to chest like he heard what was on offer and is already trying to take it. Pete forces a breath to
try and settle himself. Already his heart is beating so fast.

“Are you offering something, baby?” Vegas wonders, trying to appear detached whilst the fire in
his eyes indicates he’s seconds away from swallowing Pete whole. “Is this your way of inviting me
into your bed?”

Pete swallows hard and tries his best not to sound breathless. Tries to show how unaffected he’s
pretending he is.

“Who said that? I’m just talking about the current sleeping arrangements.”

“Uh huh,” Vegas agrees, not very convincingly as he leans in.

Pete’s grip tightens for a second and then Vegas is lifting their joined hands, encouraging them up
past his chest and then over his shoulders. Pete follows almost automatically, releasing his hold of
Vegas as his hands cross over the back of Vegas’ neck.

“What-?” Pete starts to ask just as Vegas’ arms are coming around him, hands skimming his spine
as they pass one another, sliding across to rest at the curve of his ribcage. Almost automatically,
Vegas avoids the bruising still evident on Pete’s left side.

When Vegas tucks his cheek against the ridge of Pete’s shoulder, nose pressing against his neck,
holding Pete against him, Pete finally realises that Vegas’ is hugging him.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demands, sounding surprisingly affected even as Vegas inhales
deeply and doesn’t move away.

When Pete sways a little, Vegas steadies him.

“Just-,” Vegas says, not in any rush to explain himself. “This. Don’t I get a reward for not fighting
with your friend, baby?”

Pete drops his linked hands but that’s so he can tilt his chin back to look up at the sky and wonder
how his life came to this moment.

“You were a total asshole, Vegas,” Pete murmurs, hand moving unthinkingly and suddenly he's
cupping the base of Vegas’ neck, thumb digging gently into the taut muscle there. “What makes
you think you deserve a reward?”

When Vegas drags his mouth against Pete’s throat, a line of heat across where he’s the most
sensitive, Pete quickly lets go of him, forcing Vegas back.

Vegas looks more predatory then. At being denied. “Don’t I?”

He knows this is just a continuation of their game last night. Pete using pieces of himself like
bargaining chips. And he knows exactly where this next question will lead but Pete can’t help
himself. Asks it anyway.
“What kind of reward do you want?”

Vegas moves so quickly that he almost knocks the breath out of Pete’s lungs when he all but slams
Pete up against the wall of the building. Then his touch is shifting all at one, sliding across Pete’s
lower back, over the mound of his ass cheeks and suddenly cupping a hand against the hot core of
him.

Pete jolts under the grip, shocked into jerking his hips up, pressing more solidly against Vegas’
crotch as Vegas whispers in his ear.

“I want you crying out. I want you begging for me. I want you calling my name.”

At the heat of Vegas’ words Pete lets out an unconscious noise. One that sounds much too
agreeable. Encouraging even as his hand comes down and catches at Vegas’ wrist, trying to hold
him off from going any further. Even if Pete’s body is very interested in finding out what he
intends to do next.

But it seems all Vegas was after was that one greedy ass grab to show Pete the depth of his want.
The power of his need.

Pete manages to throw Vegas off until he has him pinned up against the wall instead. “Just because
I let you touch me a couple of times does not mean we’re fucking in this alleyway.”

Vegas smile is sharp. Sly.

“I didn’t say what I thought you’d give me. You asked what reward I wanted.”

Is this really the type of semantics he wants to argue right now?

“Vegas,” he growls, annoyed now and Vegas’ smile is wild and excited. And Pete holds him
firmly against the wall still, preparing to step back, well out of Vegas’ reach. Except Vegas has his
hands on Pete now too.

“Yeah, baby,” Vegas sighs, rocking his hips against Pete. “Just like that.”

This time, it’s very possible that Pete kisses him just to shut Vegas up but even he knows that’s a
flimsy line of reasoning.

Pete’s doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. He’s furious with Vegas, so angry but somehow he
still wants this. Wants it more somehow. Even as Pete can taste the blood on Vegas' lips from
where Porsche hit him earlier.

Vegas grins into the kiss, Pete can feel his mouth curling up at the edges and can't help but let out
sound of irritation.

“This doesn’t,” Pete says in between kisses and their opened mouths. “Mean I agree. With what.
You just did. To Porsche.”

“Mhmm,” Vegas offers, and then suddenly there’s tongue in Pete’s mouth too.

When he feels Vegas’ hands on his waist all but crushing Pete’s lower half to his, Pete groans at
the contact and wrenches away. “No,” he says, panting now. “We’re not- this isn’t happening.”

“Uh huh,” Vegas agrees, still grinning that infuriating grin when Pete sways back towards him and
kisses him again.
Vegas gives just as good as Pete and the both of them are scrambling together in a rush of bodies,
tugging, pushing, yanking at each other as Pete curses and works out some of his frustration. When
he rocks his hips a little too hard into Vegas’ and feels a spasm of pulsing heat, a warning of an
approaching orgasm, he finally convinces himself that now is the time to pull away.

“What?” Vegas wonders, sounding out of breath himself and surprised once he realises that Pete is
serious. That he really isn’t continuing. “That’s it? No sucking you off? No handjob this time?”

“Those were-,” Pete says, still panting and completely aware of how ridiculous he’s sounding. “A
one time thing.”

“Ah yes. A very, very nice multiple one time thing. That you’re trying to pretend you don’t want a
repeat of.”

Pete doesn’t bother to defend himself. He knows he needs to step back. Further. Away from the
heat that Vegas is giving off. The pure, molten desire in his eyes.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take care of that you?” Vegas wonders, all innocence as he
lingers on Pete’s crotch, and Pete shoves him back against the wall for the sheer cheek of the
question.

“I- don’t do casual sex,” Pete tells him and finally, manages to get a hold of himself. Shifts until
he’s out of reach of Vegas’ hands. Then takes another step to avoid any temptation.

For a second Vegas seems honestly surprised. It’s strange to see him looking even slightly
bewildered.

“What makes you think I do things casually?”

Pete actually snorts then. He should have expected that response. “Forget it. I’m just- not going to
be doing anything else with you. Not after something like that.”

It doesn’t land in the way he’s hoping it will. Even Pete can hear that the words lack conviction.
Sound feeble. Like Pete himself doesn’t even believe it anymore.

“You say that,” Vegas agrees. “But then a second ago you had me pinned against the wall and you
were grinding your cock against me. So forgive me for not taking you at your word.”

Pete is very aware of his own hypocrisy right now. But he doesn’t allow himself to be swayed by
the lure of Vegas’ ready mouth. His wandering hand.

Somehow, barely, Pete manages to hold firm. He needs to go and find Porsche anyway. Needs to
try and clear the air after what just happened.

“That’s not- you’re the one that keeps confusing me,” Pete bites back as severely as possible. “I’m
not trying to be contrary.”

“No, sweetheart,” Vegas says. “You’re confusing yourself. You’re horny and you want me to make
you feel good but then you feel guilty about your own pleasure and can’t stop pushing me away.”

Pete is surprised by the tinge of frustration in his voice. So much that he doesn’t notice Vegas
moving deliberately toward him again.

“And this is aggravating to you?” he wonders, genuinely curious now. In all of this he hadn’t
considered that Vegas might be- frustrated by the back and forth between them. “Everything I’m
doing right now-?”

“You’re absolutely maddening,” Vegas growls, snagging his hand into the v of Pete’s button up
vest and tugging him forward. “When you let go and I finally get my hands on you I’m going to
make you come so hard you won’t be able to breathe again without thinking of me.”

Pete staggers into Vegas’ chest and quickly rights himself, trying to keep the heat from his face.

“What if I wanted information first? What if I asked you about you and your father’s plans for the
main family?”

Vegas’ smile doesn’t waver in the slightest. If anything he seems to like the directness of the
question. “I’d say you have an interesting form of pillow talk. But I might be willing to indulge
you.”

It takes a beat for Pete to understand what he’s getting at. “Are- are you saying you’re willing to
tell me your plans?”

Vegas slides his fingers down the buttons at Pete’s chest, resting at the last one above his navel.
Pete feels a flicker of interest banking low in his gut.

“Maybe,” he says, perfectly evasive. “If you asked prettily enough.”

He’s not lying Pete realises. He would tell Pete if he asked.

Pete wonders why he would agree to something like this. Doesn’t he know that Pete would go
straight to Tankhun? That he would warn the main family immediately?

It’s confusing enough to make Pete honest. “You don’t want to give me that kind of power. Not
really. Not when you know who I’m loyal to.”

But Vegas only shrugs. “Torn between more like. Or are you still pretending you’re not completely
compromised?”

Finally, Pete frees himself of Vegas’ hands away and edges back. He needs to get back inside so he
retreats a little more, trying to make it look like he’s just backing away from Vegas and not aiming
for the door.

“What you need is better training,” is what Pete says instead, changing the subject. “If the best you
can do in situations like that is hide behind me.”

Vegas’s grin widens, truly amused now as stuffs his hands into his pockets. “You and I both know
that was entirely tactical. But I’m willing to consider it if you’re offering.”

That’s not what he meant at all. It was a comment on Vegas' complete lack of self-preservation.
The way he can move fast but doesn’t always duck out of the way of a fist when he should.

Pete grimaces a little. “I can’t do fuck all with these busted up ribs,” he mutters and then doesn’t
thank Vegas for that because it's his damn fault. “It’s not like you can learn much with a broken
wrist either.”

Vegas lets out a sigh as if Pete is being intentionally uninteresting.

“So stop picking fights you can’t win,” Pete adds, shoving a hand into his pants and dragging out
his packet of cigarettes again.
He’s barely got the unlit cigarette between two fingers before Vegas is snatching it right out of his
hand.

“You shouldn’t be smoking,” Pete points out as he watches Vegas produce a lighter and flick a
flame into existence.

Vegas looks straight at him whilst he gets the cigarette lit as if he has all the time in the world and
is confident of holding Pete’s attention before finally taking a drag. Then he passes the lit cigarette
back to Pete once he’s done, sliding a finger softly down the left side of his ribcage.

“Technically neither should you.”

Pete frowns even as he brings it up to his lips. Unfortunately Vegas is a little bit right about that
since the doctor’s visit finally confirmed what he’d known for days beforehand. Nicotine slows
down the healing of broken bones. With his rib, Pete probably shouldn’t be smoking at all.

But despite that he takes a deep inhale, savouring the moment before dropping the barely used
cigarette onto the road and crushing it out beneath his shoe.

What a waste.

“Happy now?” he mutters.

Vegas just shrugs at him with an enigmatic expression. “Should I kiss you a little more to make it
better? Leave you really hard and frustrated?”

Pete whirls about, entirely unperturbed. “Or you could fix things with Kinn and Porsche. Imagine
the possibilities. Me left alone in that big empty room-“

Vegas is grinning at him with genuine delight, and the look in his eyes is utterly wild.

“Oh baby you really don’t want to tempt me with that.”

For a second Pete feels braver, daring, as he digs his hands into his pockets and tries to make it
look casual like he’s not dragging out the key card. “Don’t I?”

The next time Vegas lunges at him Pete hits it against the console, and slips through the open door,
forcing a laugh as he manages to close it in Vegas’ face.

Just to rub it in. Punish him a little.

His phone buzzes as Pete is making his way back toward the lobby. Careful sweetheart, Vegas’
text warns, I don't leave things unfinished.

So Pete sends back, neither do I.

For the rest of the morning Porsche ignores him.

Except it’s not so much that he ignores him it’s more like Pete suddenly can’t locate him anywhere
in the building. It takes most of the morning of casually glancing around, looking up whenever
someone enters the room before Tankhun takes pity on him and tells him that Porsche left
unexpectedly to go and see his brother.

Pete understands the sudden change of plans, being the source of Porsche’s ire at the moment. He
has no idea how to make it better if Porsche isn’t around and it’s not the kind of thing he should try
to repair over a text message.

Maybe he just needs to give Porsche space. That seems to be what he wants right now.

Tankhun also mentions Porsche bringing Porchay back to the hotel to stay and Pete wonders what
it is that he’s thinking if he’s already hesitant to trust the main family. What is he planning with
this?

Why would he bring his brother here, knowing there’s a chance that the main family are going to
be under attack any day now?

When Pete brings up Amara, Don’s sister, Tankhun is quick to avoid delving deeper into the topic.

“We’re not meant to do anything for the time being,” Tankhun says confirming that Vegas was
right all along. That Tankhun had known and had decided to omit the truth. “That’s why I didn’t
want to tell you. I know you want to do something but right now we just have to wait and see if my
father can convince her not to declare war.”

That doesn’t make Pete feel better in the slightest. What are they meant to do with the Italians out
for their throats and Mr Kan and Vegas planning to overthrow the main family?

It’s not like they can fight so many enemies at once.

“And how long until we know for certain?”

Tankhun’s expression is grim. “A couple of hours.”

When Pete shows his surprise at that, Tankhun shrugs and tries to play at disinterest. “She’s
coming here. Today. For a meeting with my father.”

It’s shows suddenly, the true difference between being on the inside of that closed door and
standing out in the hallways guarding it. Pete’s always going to be a few steps behind. Always last
to know important information.

And what Amara is doing now is unexpected at least. He remembers how confident Tankhun was
that she wouldn’t approach the family directly. Seems like he was wrong about that too.

What is she going to ask for? Vegas’ death as recompense for the loss of her brother? Or would she
know that she doesn’t have enough manpower, enough sway to make such a demand for one of
their own?

What would she demand if not that? Could she be satisfied at the notion of Vegas being punished
instead? As if Vegas can be punished in a way that matters. There are so few things that he cares
about.

Pete doesn’t even bother trying to argue with Tankhun then. He knows better than to think that he
has a say in what the family’s next move will be.

At lunchtime Pete is sitting with Arm and Pol at one of the tables in the food hall, halfway through
his bowl of Gaeng Hang Lay Moo and chewing a mouthful when Porsche finally reappears and
strides up to them.
“Porsche,” he says, half choking, as he swallows quickly and jumps to his feet, stepping back to
show him there’s room. “Do you want to join-?“

But Porsche doesn’t even look at the others when he shoves a phone into Pete’s hand.

“It’s for you,” he says tersely and he’s already leaving the way he came in, not letting Pete get
another word in edgewise.

Pete tries not to lose his patience. He’s aware that Porsche is upset with him. Needs to respect that
he did him a great disservice and Porsche understandably doesn’t want to talk to him at the
moment.

He’s going to fix this somehow. Pete doesn’t want things to stay like this even as he glances down
at the mobile phone in his hand.

They’re not meant to have personal phones and especially not in the lunchroom. Pete glances
quickly at the others, automatically turning his back on the camera tucked into the right hand
corner of the room before lifting the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Mr Saetang?” comes an older man’s voice. “Mr Adithep Saetang?”

Pete is just a second too slow at recognising the fake name. “- yes?”

“This is Doctor Kunakorn, I’m calling to discuss your results-“

Fuck. The doctor.

“Just a second,” Pete interrupts, glancing around the room in dismay, completely surrounded by a
number of people who could potentially overhear the conversation.

Pete hasn’t made enough enemies for someone to report him for Porsche’s burner phone. At least
not out of malicious intent. But that doesn’t mean he’s willing to risk it.

“I’ll find you later,” he’s telling Pol and Arm, gesturing at the bowl still on the table. “Can you
finish the rest?”

And then Pete is abandoning his food, slipping the phone into the pocket of his work pants,
striding across the dining area and straight into the kitchens.

There’s four cooks there preparing food so Pete continues past the prep area, moving along the
corridor until he’s passing the couple of storage freezers as well as the large walk in freezer where
most of the fresh food produce goes.

Pete stops at the food storage closet for non-perishables and quickly steps inside, closing the door
behind him. Then he pulls out the phone and crouches beside what looks like a sack of coconut
sugar.

“Hello? Still there?”

“Yes,” Doctor Kunakorn answers, seemingly unaffected by having to wait. “Are you happy to
discuss this over the phone?”

It seems fitting somehow that this happen today. On top of everything else. “Just lay it all out,” he
mutters, trying not to sigh. “What’s the worst of it?”
“Well that’s the thing,” the man says, tone betraying nothing. “It’s good news so far. All of the
results for your STD screening were negative.”

Pete actually slumps onto the floor he’s so surprised. “What? Negative for- all of it?”

“Yes, you tested negative for all of the common STIs: Gonorrhoea, Chlamydia, Hepatitis,
Syphilis-“

It’s amazing to think this might have worked out in his favour but Pete is still hung up on his
original statement. “Wait- so far?”

“Well… when you came to our clinic it was too early before the acceptable window period to test
for HIV.”

Any sense of relief he was feeling vanishes in a puff of smoke. “What window period?” Pete
whispers. “Why didn’t you mention this at the time?”

Doctor Kunakorn hesitates, thinking carefully before he responds. “I thought it would be best not to
overwhelm you with the possibilities. The window period refers to the time between exposure and
when a test can actually detect HIV in the body. The length of the period depends on what kind of
HIV test is conducted. It was too soon after your assault for us to carry out any one of these HIV
tests with conclusive results.”

Despite all of this Pete doesn’t actually believe that Vegas has given him a disease. He wore
protection most of the time and no matter how shady that doctor had been he obviously tested Pete
before Vegas started fucking him without a condom on.

The likelihood of Pete actually testing positive for HIV is low. But that doesn’t stop the fear from
seizing hold of his chest. That’s what all of these tests were supposed to be for. To make absolutely
sure that Pete is safe.

And what does it mean now? That he and Vegas have continued to-

Pete’s too embarrassed to ask the Doctor about it over the phone. He has to go back in eventually,
he’ll bring up his questions then. In person. Maybe sooner. If he needs to take a HIV screening test
as well.

He needs a few seconds to process that. “Okay fine. So, what will this involve? When’s the earliest
I can take a test?”

Doctor Kunakorn launches straight into explaining the process like he was just waiting for the right
prompt.

“A NAT test looks for the virus in the blood and can usually detect HIV ten to thirty three days
from exposure. It would just involve drawing your blood and sending it off for testing in the lab
and then awaiting those results.”

Pete is quiet whilst he does the math. “So I can test for this now, right?” he realises. “It’s been
more than ten days.”

If there was the slightest chance of anything being wrong, now it might finally reveal itself in his
bloodwork. Pete knows that he has to get this test done.

“That’s why I’m calling you. How soon could you come back again? I’ve set aside an appointment
for you tomorrow but if you prefer we do this out of business hours I can stay back until six
o'clock.”

That’s soon. Very soon. But how will he get out of the main family house unnoticed? Then
suddenly Pete remembers the meeting. Of Amara soon to arrive in the building. It would be the
perfect time to leave.

“How about in an hour?” Pete wonders, apprehension climbing at the potential high stakes. “It’s
the only time I can get away.”

Doctor Kunakorn pauses again for the slightest second, seems to consider his current appointments
but Pete thinks he’s probably onboard.

“Very well. I’ll have another look at your injuries too so I hope you’ve been diligent with the
antibiotic cream and airing those wrists out,” Doctor Kunakorn says sternly.

Pete thinks about his moment in the pool last night and winces.

“Fine,” he says shortly, thinking he’ll have to run up to their room so he can apply the antibiotic
cream again. “An hour then.”

Doctor Kunakorn replies in the affirmative and Pete hangs up.

Now he just has to figure out how the hell he’s going to sneak out of the hotel unnoticed.

Pete gives the phone back to Pol knowing he’s more likely to speak to Porsche at the moment than
Pete and then he’s making an excuse to leave so he can go back to their rooms.

When he arrives he fetches the burner phone out from under the mattress, stowing it in the inner
pocket of his blazer as well as grabbing up the tube of antibiotic cream where he’d left it in the
bathroom. He finds his wallet and drags out some cash so he can pay for transportation or a bribe
for the doctor if need be.

Once sorted he’s collecting the gun he stole from the armoury, now taped underneath the top
drawer of the dresser and stowing that beneath his waistband too. Then he feels properly prepared
for the outing.

When he returns to Tankhun’s room and finds the others, Tankhun wastes no time in dragging
them up to the boardroom and Pete knows he won’t be invited into the room. Is actually relying on
the fact that he won’t be allowed in the room.

It’s just how Tankhun operates. He prefers to hold all of the cards himself, like Kinn does, and
even if he might trust Pete he’s a clear weakness in the chain with the visible connection to Vegas.

So when they’re finished escorting him into the hallway, Tankhun orders them to take up a post
outside and Pete doesn’t even bother to pretend it’s unexpected.

What does surprise him is that Kim appears around the corner a second later, slinking into the
hallway like he’s just fashionably late and not a rare sighting in the household. He strides over to
Tankhun, who makes an immediate scene at the sight of him, before launching into a very loud
criticism of Kim's jeans and footwear as if this meeting required a dress code than nobody else was
aware of.
He’s playing at standoffish and rude, like he doesn’t want Kim there, but Pete knows better than to
take that at face value.

Because Tankhun’s body language is leaning towards Kim, subconsciously seeking closeness even
as he seems to dismiss him at the same time. Kim seems fairly used to this interaction, because he
replies calmly enough, completely unbothered by his older brother and Tankhun’s voice settles
down to acceptable levels again.

It rises as soon as Mr Kan and Vegas stride into the hallway though, flanked by the minor family
bodyguards.

Immediately Pete backs away, far enough that he might escape Mr Kan’s notice. But once again
his eyes never seem to slide over in his direction, as if Pete blends in with the rest of the suits, the
black and white of the bodyguard’s uniform as uninteresting to Mr Kan as the wallpaper.

Suddenly Pete is glad of the camouflage when Mr Kan nods at his nephews and strides into the
meeting room without any other kind of greeting. All business. No small talk.

“What are you doing here?” Tankhun demands of Vegas, but Vegas isn’t looking at him, seems
content to hang back several metres from the rest of the group as his eyes are scanning the length
of the hall, in clear search of someone.

Pete can admit to his own disbelief when Vegas’ eyes find him, linger for half a beat too long
before sliding over his face, continuing the search.

He doesn’t have to wonder for very long when Porsche comes jogging up from the opposite
direction just as at the same time Kinn steps out of the meeting room to locate his siblings and call
them inside.

Porsche blazes past Vegas, clearly ignoring him with intention as he abruptly pulls to a stop at the
sight of Kinn. Pete wonders if they talked since Porsche found out about the GHB, about Kinn
knowing everything about who attacked him.

From the expression on Porsche’s face, Pete can’t quite tell. Kinn is a little harder to read and he’s
distracted even as he sidles up to Kim’s side. “It’s time.”

Porsche, who is still staring as Kinn, looks up and catches his eye and it’s the exact wrong thing to
do because he’s forgotten that Vegas is behind him.

But Pete hasn’t. He watches as Vegas presses up against Porsche’s back, taking hold of his arm as
he leans over to whisper something in his ear.

Porsche’s expression ripples for a second, spiralling towards fury before he manages to regain
control of himself and then Pete really can’t read the emotion on his face.

But he’s not the one whose attention is being called for.

That doesn’t detract from the way the sight of them jerks into him like a knife, annoyance rising up
even as Vegas isn’t even looking at Porsche. Or Kinn even.

His eyes are solely on Pete when he murmurs some kind of seductive line in Porsche’s ear.

Instantly Pete cottons on to what he’s doing and he can see that it’s working from the way Porsche
doesn’t immediately push him off and Kinn stiffens up like he’s suddenly made of unbreakable
stone. It’s almost funny how easily Vegas digs into tender flesh, with a well-placed word as he
stands way too close to Porsche with a smirk at his mouth.

He’s got a stranglehold of Kinn’s attention as if he physically reached out and snatched it up.

When Vegas continues to look at Pete like he did when Pete took his swimming shorts off in that
shower stall, Pete feels a flash of heat rush through him and finally turns away.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Vegas back off only a split second before Porsche elbows him
hard, forcing him away just as Kinn is striding forward to intercept them. To intervene.

He looks like he’s a second away from throwing a punch so Vegas is forced to focus on his cousin
and the other bodyguards are already rushing forward, sensing an altercation might be in the air.

Pete couldn’t have planned a better diversion if he’d asked for it and seizes upon the distraction,
uses the commotion to slip away.

By the time they’ve managed to resolve the situation, Kinn has a firm hold of Porsche, is talking
quickly into his ear in a strained, intimate way and Porsche finally seems to relent. Allows Kinn to
drag him off, away from the meeting room so they can talk in private.

The rest of the Theerapanyakul family are disappearing into the room, the remaining bodyguards
returning to their posts outside and by then Pete is long gone.

In the end Pete sneaks out the same way Vegas showed him last night. Through the bodyguard’s
pool area, the hallway at the back that leads towards the emergency exit.

Pete is expecting to find some kind of complication at the door, because it’s meant to be alarmed
but when he inspects the handle Pete sees that someone has thrown tape over the door latch so that
it can’t click into place when the door is shut.

So the alarm can’t go off because the door is somehow already continually open. Someone must
have messed with the alarm too. Maybe the person Vegas has working for him in the household.
It’s possible they’ve isolated this whole area entirely so that it doesn’t draw any attention.

Pete should rip the tape off but he’ll need to return anyway and it will be easier to come back this
way then to reveal that he’s snuck out.

If he’s quick enough Pete should be back before the meeting is even finished. So he grasps the
handle and pulls the door toward him, knowing not to turn the handle down as it will engage the
latch and disrupt the tape that's currently blocking it.

Then Pete is slipping out and emerging into the alley at the back of the hotel letting the door ease
closed behind him, the latch still not engaging.

He glances down the alleyway, spots the loading dock about fifty metres ahead and realises this
was probably where Vegas was going this morning. He was using this broken doorway to sneak in
to the main family house. Is this the same way he's gotten inside every time?

Resolving to remove the tape when he returns, Pete hurries out of the alleyway, moving toward the
main road where he’ll have to try and flag down a taxi.
It’ll be easier because it’s near the hotel, Pete will just have to try and stay as far out of sight as he
can.

He sets off determinedly towards the main road.

Pete makes it to the medical clinic without issue and when he steps inside and talks to the
receptionist, using the fake name again for his appointment, the waiting area is full of people due
to it being the middle of the day.

So he takes a seat as far away from everyone else as he can and waits for his fake name to be
called. It takes longer than he’d like it to, and he’s tapping his foot impatiently the whole time
watching the clock run down, watching as Pete slowly runs out of time. But eventually the name is
called and he’s back in the room again with Doctor Kunakorn.

Pete had almost forgotten how unpleasant of an experience it had been the first time around.

“Let’s get this over and done with,” he says by way of greeting, closing the door behind him and
stripping off his blazer.

Doctor Kunakorn seems startled by his energy and then he’s scrambling to get everything ready so
he can draw Pete’s blood.

“How is everything?” he wonders as he gets Pete to remove his shirt and ties a clip around Pete’s
arm to put pressure on the vein where he’s about the extract the blood. “Any issues with your ribs?
How are the wrists going with the cream?”

“Fine, fine,” Pete says tersely. Wanting to rush this but knowing that he can’t. “Chest is healed
now. Wrists aren’t looking as red. My ribs are tender but not as bad as they were.”

Doctor Kunakorn inserts the needle into the vein at the crook of his arm, skillfully drawing several
vials of blood. Pete doesn’t even blink at the sting of the needle.

“All done,” Doctor Kunakorn declares, putting a cotton swab on the area and asking Pete to apply
pressure with two fingers. “Can you step onto the scales there? I’d like to check if your weight has
changed at all since I last saw you.”

Pete acknowledges the request with a grunt and steps on to the scale.

“Very good,” Doctor Kunakorn says approvingly, glancing down at the reading. “You’ve gained
another kilo. I see you’ve been taking care of your diet since I last saw you. Very good.”

Pete jerks his chin in a short response, well aware that he doesn’t have the patience for this at the
moment. “How long until we know my results?”

Doctor Kunakorn is turned away from him, disposing of the materials just used into the biohazard
bin near his desk.

“It should only take a couple of days and I will call you again with the results.”

Pete considers the situation. “Actually can I give you my direct number?” he wonders, bringing up
his burner phone and calling Doctor Kunakorn’s desk phone to find out the number because he
doesn't actually know it himself.

Doctor Kunakorn reads it off the display and writes it down on the same piece of paper where he
must have written Porsche’s number the first time they were here.

A second later he’s asking for Pete’s hands so he can inspect his wrists again.

“Much better,” he agrees, turning them over. “Make sure you use that cream for the next few days
or so until the inflammation is gone completely.”

Pete nods, glancing at the time on the burner phone, knowing that he needs to leave as soon as
possible.

“Is there anything else you wanted to discuss?”

Pete hesitates for the briefest second. “Do I need to be tested all over again if I’m having sex?”

Doctor Kunakorn squints at him. “If it’s unprotected sex with another person? Then yes, it would
require another STD screening.”

Pete scratches at his chin and tries not to flush. “What if I’m having sex with the person I had to
get tested for in the first place?”

For a second Doctor Kunakorn just looks at him, taking in the words. “I’m sorry I don’t follow.
Are you saying you are still being assaulted by the same man who inflicted your injuries?”

Now Pete is flushing.

“It’s- consensual,” he admits. “Now.”

He can tell that Doctor Kunakorn has no idea what to say to that. Pete uses the awkwardness to put
his shirt back on again, rolling the sleeves up to expose his wrists.

“I- see,” Doctor Kunakorn says very hesitantly. “And since you were last tested, this man hasn’t
had any other intimate partners?”

Abruptly Pete remembers the man in the club and feels like a fool. “There was a man who- sucked
him off.”

Doctor Kunakorn takes another long pause to be certain of his next words. “And he- told you this?”

As if this line of questioning wasn't already uncomfortable enough. Pete sighs. “I was there. I- saw
them together.”

At that Doctor Kunakorn is looking even more perplexed

Pete nods as if in acknowledgement of that too, regretting bringing it up in the first place. “There
hasn’t been any uh- penetration between us. Just mouths. And- and hands."

“And what about the other man?” Doctor Kunakorn. “Do you know if they used a condom?”

Pete has absolutely no idea and shrugs helplessly, wanting to cringe at the concern on Doctor
Kunakorn’s face.

“Well if you were solely engaging in sexual acts with your uh- attacker I would say we don’t need
to conduct another STD screening. But since you know there was another sexual partner involved
and it’s uncertain whether they practiced safe sex during the encounter, it might be prudent to do
another round of testing.”

Pete wants to groan at that. He's never really liked visiting hospitals. Talking to doctors.
Experience has shown him things often always get worse for him after that. “I don’t have the time
today. I have to get back before they notice I’m gone. But I could ask? If he used a condom.”

Although Pete doesn't relish the idea of it. Doctor Kunakorn seems deeply uncomfortable. “That is
an option.”

“So if he used a condom with that other guy I won’t need to do another STD screening test? We
can assume that he’s still clean from the first result?”

Doctor Kunakorn shakes his head. “I wouldn’t like to rule it out without more testing. Why don’t
we revisit this when you return again for the next check up. Then we can see how your wounds are
doing and perform another screening test if necessary.”

“Fine,” Pete agrees, sighing. Reluctant but accepting that it's necessary.

Doctor Kunakorn picks up a business card and delicately hands it to Pete. “I think you might really
benefit from contacting this number,” he says gently and Pete is still flushing when he sees it’s the
contact details for a therapist.

Trying not to laugh, Pete stows the card in his pants pocket and slowly shrugs his blazer back on,
careful not to twinge his ribs.

“Would you like the schedule the appointment now?”

Pete agrees to a date in two weeks, and flushes again when Doctor Kunkorn gives him a stern
expression and reminds him how important the use of condoms are for future sexual encounters.

Pete is glad to end the conversation after that and then he’s rushing out of the room, stopping by
the receptionist desk and giving her a handful of cash before moving straight for the exit. Mostly
before she can question him on the form he filled out with made up information.

He steps outside just as his burner phone is ringing in the pocket of his blazer jacket.

It’s Vegas.

Pete isn’t sure that he wants to talk to him right now. Not so soon after having to take yet another
blood test and have an extremely uncomfortable conversation because of him so he frowns, feeling
aggravated and declines the call.

A second later the phone is ringing again and Pete lets out a sigh.

So fucking persistent.

“What?” he says, by way of hello, not sounding very polite.

“Where are you?” Vegas demands, and Pete is a little taken aback at the urgency in his voice.

Does he know that Pete snuck out during the meeting? Is he worried about him? Or is he upset that
his bodyguards weren't able to track Pete's movements this time?

“Out.”
“Where the fuck are you?” Vegas says, and he’s yelling now. “Specifically. What the fuck is your
location?”

Instantly Pete is on the defensive. “And why the hell should I tell you?”

“Fine. Don’t. Just come back.”

So there is urgency in his voice. Vegas wouldn’t be so concerned if there was nothing to worry
about. Something must have gone bad in the meeting.

“What happened?” he wonders, glancing about automatically as if expecting somehow to find

some of Vegas’ bodyguard’s tailing him.

But Pete is alone.

“Go back the main family home. Do it now. I’m fucking serous, Pete.”

It’s obvious that he’s serious. Because he hasn’t called Pete baby once. But that doesn’t mean Pete
wouldn’t like a little more information to go off. He walks over to the sidewalk, sees a taxi coming
towards him and tries to flag them down.

“What’s going on? Did something happen?”

“That fucking asshole,” Vegas yells, and he’s practically spitting with rage. “That fucking asshole.
Get back to main home now. Don’t stop anywhere. Don’t come to the compound. And don’t let
Tankhun out of your sight.”

Fuck. What the hell is happening? The taxi pulls up to the curb and Pete steps off the sidewalk,
approaching the side door. “Tankhun?” Pete echoes, completely at a loss of what Vegas is talking
about right now. What the hell happened in this meeting? “Vegas-“

“Do you have a gun with you? Are you with someone?”

Pete feels a flutter of anxiety. Should he be expecting some kind of attack? Is that why Vegas
sounds so frantic? Why he's insisting Pete return to the protection of the main family?

“Yes I have a gun. But I’m- alone.”

Vegas starts swearing explosively then and if Pete wasn’t so completely bewildered by the
situation he’d be surprised by how musical it sounds on his tongue. “What the hell, Vegas?”

“I’ll fix it,” Vegas snaps, and then his voice seems to soften a little. “I’ll fix it baby, I promise. Just
get back to the main family.”

And then he hangs up before Pete can interrogate him further.

What the fuck happened?

Pete sneaks back into the main family house the way that he snuck out and this time he does rip off
the tape, listening to the emergency exit as it actually clicks shut this time. Vegas won’t be
sneaking his way into the house using that method again.
Then he tries to walk quickly, decides to forgo heading up to the meeting room and makes a direct
beeline for Tankhun’s rooms instead.

When Jirapat posted on his door sees Pete coming, his expression is quietly alarmed, tight with
concern. Instantly Pete realises whatever this new issue is, Jirapat already knows about it. Maybe
all the bodyguards do.

It must be bad for word to have spread amongst the guards so quickly.

Pete feels a flash of fear that Kinn might have exposed him. That everybody knows about him and
Vegas now. He knocks softly on the door and a second later it’s yanked open so violently Pete
nearly falls inside.

“Jirapat! Did I not say not to disturb us whilst we’re in crisis mode-“

He lets out a shriek at the sight of Pete, yanking him quickly into the room by the front of his
uniform. “Pete where the fuck have you been?”

Pete glances around the room where Porsche is visibly slumping back into the seat in relief, and
both Arm and Pol are awkwardly hovering behind the couch where they were obviously holding up
motorised fans at Tankhun’s face a second ago before they were interrupted.

“The doctor called,” Pete says in a low voice. “I had to go and get another blood test.”

Tankhun looks like he’s about to cry. “Ah you idiot. Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

Pete glances over at Porsche briefly. “You were already in your meeting and Porsche is- upset with
me right now. There was no one else to tell.”

He glances between them all again at their alarmed faces. What on earth did Pete miss? He's
almost afraid to ask if someone died but surely they would have just told him that straight away if
it had happened? Why keep him in suspense?

“What happened? Why did I get some inexplicable phone call from Vegas demanding to know
where I was before ordering me back here?”

Somehow, even more shockingly, Tankhun lets out another sound of relief at that. “Thank
goodness he called you.”

And something must be deeply wrong if Tankhun is saying something like that with any real
sincerity. As if he truly believes it. Does this have something to do with Pete? Is that why everyone
was so worried about him? Or did they think Vegas had kidnapped him again or something?

“Tankhun, tell me what's going on.”

The fact that Tankhun throws his hands up in the air in a kind of beseeching way before
immediately pacing across the room does not seem like a great sign. “The meeting with Amara did
not go well. She wants Vegas’ head but my father wouldn’t hand over family, not even Vegas so
she wanted permission to kill- instead she asked-“

“Who,” Pete demands, really concerned now. “Who did she ask to kill?”

Tankhun looks like he wants to cry. His face is surprisingly red. Pete suddenly understands the use
of the fans like Arm and Pol were trying valiantly to cool him down.
“She asked for you.”

Pete is genuinely stumped for a second. “Me? I’ve never even-“

Suddenly the night at Hum Bar is coming back to him. The way Vegas immediately arrived as
soon as Amara tried talking to Pete. How he’d gone out of his way to protect Pete first. To shield
him from the other men on Amara’s payroll. Pete was drunk enough to be all over Vegas he
recalls, and Vegas hadn't pretended anything less. Had held onto him just as possessively.

Vegas, a man well known for his ruthlessness.

She might not have understood what was happening between them but she’d seen enough to
identify the best way to punish Vegas. By going after Pete. It seems almost like karma that Pete
should be the one to feel the effects of just being associated with Vegas. That he would be the
collateral damage this time.

Because why would Mr Korn start a war between the two families over one bodyguard?

“Did she get it?” Pete wonders dully, resigning himself to his sudden misfortune. “The
permission?”

Tankhun looks deeply chagrined. “It came down to a vote.”

Of course. Of course it came to a vote.

“Just tell me,” Pete says. “Just tell me, Tankhun.”

“It was a tie,” Tankhun says miserably. “We didn’t reach a decision but Pete I don’t think that
matters. I think she’s angry enough to go after you anyway. Which is why when we couldn’t find
you-“

Pete takes a seat on the couch, feeling unsteady all of a sudden. “I’m sorry I didn’t know. I thought
I could just sneak out and come back once I was finished.”

Now it makes sense why Vegas wanted him back at the main family house. At least he’s better
protected here.

“What happened- after that?” he wonders, picking up the pillow next to him and running his hand
over it absently.

Tankhun sits down right next to him as the others are still staring across the room. Arm and Pol
seem to shuffle over, lifting the fans up to Tankhun's face again and he almost doesn't even seem to
notice.

“Vegas totally lost it. He stormed off- presumably to go and find you and then my father said we’d
consider Amara’s suggestion and come back to her. She did not seem happy.”

Pete remembers suddenly the conversation with Vegas on the phone.

“He said he was going to fix it,” Pete says, reaching in to his blazer pocket and dragging out the
burner phone. “I think he’s about to do something stupid.”

He checks his phone and sees there’s already a text from Vegas.

Don't leave the hotel again, it says and Pete shivers when he checks the time it was sent. Less
than five minutes ago.
Somebody told him as soon as Pete was back in the building.

Whatever you're thinking of doing. Don't, Pete sends and waits for Vegas to reply.

When he doesn’t answer, Pete tries calling him instead.

But Vegas doesn’t pick up.

Which pretty much guarantees that he is going to do something stupid. And what can Pete do with
that information? It's not like he has any contact information for Vegas' bodyguards. Not like he
can call anyone else to check in and make sure someone stops Vegas from going to far.

There's literally nothing he can do except hope that Vegas picks up the phone. But the call simply
rings out.

Once when he’s certain that Vegas won’t answer, does he finally look back up and meet Tankhun’s
eyes. He looks anxious, concerned. It’s never a nice feeling when someone goes after one of their
own and Pete wonders how Tankhun feels about Vegas being so reckless.

Pete knows how he feels about it.

“This is not good,” he admits, glancing down at his phone again and wondering what the hell
Vegas is doing right now.

What is planning? What the hell could he do that could possibly fix this?

“No,” Tankhun agrees, squeezing Pete’s hand. “I’ll be right back. I’ve got to tell Kinn and my
father that we found you. I’ll make up some excuse for where you were in the building, don’t
worry.”

Pete nods, only half paying attention when Tankhun waves Arm and Pol away and rushes out of
the room in a whirlwind. When Porsche approaches him then, Pete finally manages to drag his
attention away from the phone screen.

“I’m really sorry,” he says immediately. “I should have told you. I just didn’t know how to. I
thought it might make things worse knowing- that after everything Vegas did to me and to you that
I’m-"

He glances over at Arm and Pol who are subtly moving out of earshot. "-still attracted to him.”

“It’s not fine,” Porsche says in a short tone, but his expression isn't as harsh as it was before. “And
I’m gonna need some time to get over it. But look, I don’t know what you did to get Vegas to help
me with Kinn but- I appreciate it.”

Pete nods and feels so tired trying to keep everything together. And now to have someone he barely
knows seeking out his death because of his association with Vegas just feels like a lot.

All of this is a lot.

“Just, don’t lie to me again okay?” Porsche says after a pause. “I’m sick of people lying to me.”

“Okay,” Pete promises and wonders how he’s meant to tell Porsche that he had sex with Vegas.
Twice now. “I promise.”

Pete is really the worst kind of person.

Later that night Pete discovers just how much Vegas’ interference helped when Porsche quietly
slips out of his bed and disappears into the living room.

Pete waits a beat, listening until he hears the door to their apartment close.

He doesn’t need to guess where Porsche is going. The destination is a well worn path by now.
Straight to Kinn’s bed.

Pete takes a second to marvel at how effective Vegas can be when his talents are applied to
mending things rather than tearing them apart before he lets his eyes shut and tries to go back to
sleep.

Tries not to wonder what thing Vegas is doing right now. And whether he’s doing it alone. Or is
about to get himself killed.

It takes a long time for Pete to drift off again.

What feels only like minutes later, is the sound of a crashing thump echoing in Pete’s ears. He’s
awake at once, the clock on the bedside table announcing its 1:52AM as he rolls out of bed naked,
gun already in hand and blinking rapidly in the shadows.

When he waits a couple seconds and there’s no other movement, Pete’s eyes seem to adjust to the
semi darkness a little better.

His eyes sweep automatically over Porsche’s empty bed before he thinks a little more on the
strange sound that woke him up and realises it wasn’t actually in the room. It sounded further away
than that. Slightly more muffled.

Pete takes a deep breath to calm himself and once he’s finished, his brain has caught up with itself
and is now suggesting he go and check the front door. Pete slinks out quietly into the living room,
gun still drawn and eases his way over towards the door slowly.

He’s not confident it’s an assassin. Surely they wouldn’t have announced themselves like that if
they were here to kill Pete. If they somehow managed to get all the way into the bodyguards
quarters and figured out what room Pete is even sleeping in.

They might have paid off one of the men working for the main family but Pete doubts it. If they’re
likely to take bribes it’s usually from the minor family, not from outside influences.

When he reaches the door, Pete can’t hear a thing and it’s the silence that seems to be keeping him
on edge the most. It’s too dark to look through the peephole, so Pete unlocks the door and eases it
open as carefully as he can.

At once a shadowy figure is sprawling at his feet and Pete immediately recognises him even as he
smells the metallic tang of blood. Pete flicks the light on at once.

Vegas is on his back, the black and white flowy shirt he was wearing earlier is now spattered red
with blood. Pete realises he’s bleeding all over his floor.

“Vegas,” Pete hisses at him, watching Vegas’ eyelashes flutter open.

He looks like he’s having trouble focusing, but his mouth stretches wide when his eyes settle on
Pete crouching over him in alarm.

“Heyyy baby. Bet this wasn’t what you had in mind,” Vegas murmurs with a frenzied kind of grin
before slumping back against the door again without another word of explanation.

And then just like that he's completely unconscious.

 you ain't got to say one word to me, one word, because I feel it, I feel it
Chapter Notes

chap title is from Jon Bellion's I feel It feat Burna Boy

ooh boy we are in the weeds now friends.

also just a heads up because of all the AI crap running around ao3 i've locked nearly
all of my fics (except this one) which i will also be locking once completed. this means
only registered viewers can read it once i do this which just makes it harder for the
robots to access the archive.

but that being said if you do want to read this fic again after its complete i recommend
making an account with ao3 as its very likely other authors will begin to do the same
thing to prevent their data being stolen.

anywho please enjoy the latest update! here's my brief summary of the chap

vegas: im injured and im about to make it everyone else's problem ( '̀-'́)

everyone else, whose problem its about to be: ヽ( _ )ノ

Fuck. Fuck.

For a fraction of a second Pete stares at Vegas’ insensate form slumped against the open door,
taking in all of the most salient details.

The sheen of blood now coating the side of his head, trailing down his throat in a cascade of
crimson, wetting the neck of his shirt at the collar and staining the silver chain splayed across the
visible dip between his clavicles. His face is paler than usual, the split skin of his lower lip from
where Porsche punched him earlier a darker red in contrast.

There’s an ominous bloom of red at his left forearm and a hastily wrapped strip of fabric tied
securely around it, the excess blood dripping a reddish trail down his hand before he managed to
bind it properly and which appears strangely bare without the addition of the wrist brace.

Vegas must have taken it off before he went wherever he went. Before he did whatever he did.

Pete is unfortunately not so privy to those particular details. So there’s no real telling of the kind of
destruction that Vegas left in his wake. Not that that is the most important thing right now.

There’s so much blood. Too much to not feel a spark of fear at the danger.

Vegas’ body is wet with it, drenched and concealed beneath a cherry red façade as if there’s more
blood outside of his body than skin at the moment. And because of that, Pete can’t truly assess
whether he’s in this state from natural movement and the energy it would have taken just to get
here or if it’s from the seriousness of the wounds.

Blood spreads quicker when you’re running for your life and not wasting thoughts about
staunching the flow. Or when a person hits an artery and is completely unaware of the fact that
they're slowly bleeding out.

But no, not that. If he was bleeding out, he wouldn’t have made it here at all. He’d be dead
somewhere in Bangkok and Pete would have had no idea he’d even lost him.

Might still die anyway if Pete doesn’t do something about it.

That’s about when he starts swearing again.

“Are you fucking kidding me with this shit,” he snarls, keeping his voice low as he reaches out and
presses fingers against Vegas’ pulse which faster than he’d like, elevated beyond the norm.

Not good for the potential blood loss route except Vegas stirs again beneath the press of his
fingers. Rousing at the touch. So he’s not in hypovolemic shock yet.

Pete stands up hastily and switches on the light for the living room, retreating back several steps to
judiciously set the gun on the desk first before returning to Vegas and determinedly dragging him
off of the door.

Once he has a proper hold, he’s turning Vegas’ body with the intent of dragging him completely
into the room. But he gets distracted from sliding his hands beneath Vegas’ armpits when he spots
the stains of red at his lower back. Pete was going to lay him down facing up but if there’s a wound
also hidden there that plan isn’t going to work.

He reaches out and peels the shirt away from Vegas’ skin before seeing the bloodied mess, the
smear of it around the gun Vegas has hurriedly stowed beneath the waistband.

It’s not another injury after all. It’s just from Vegas leaving stains at his lower back when he’d gone
and hidden the gun away again. Satisfied by that assessment, Pete quickly draws the gun free,
leaning over to deposit it on the desk next to his own since it’s probably not a good idea to have
Vegas lying on his weapon.

No matter how certain Pete is that the safety is on.

Once that's out of the way, Pete bends down and finally slides his hands between Vegas’ armpits,
transferring the weight of him into Pete’s hands so he can lift him. When he’s got a suitable hold,
Pete bends further down and using his knees, manages to mostly heave Vegas up from his position
on the floor.

It’s difficult work. Vegas is practically a dead weight and Pete feels the wetness of blood
immediately against his own skin transferred by the necessity of close contact.

There’s no way Pete is getting out of this situation cleanly that’s for sure.

“Don’t know why the hell you came here,” he grunts, groaning with effort as he slowly brings
Vegas’ legs into the safety of the room.

He doesn’t know what anyone else will do to him, but the fact that Vegas came here instead of
seeking medical attention doesn’t bode well for his trust of inside or outside help.

“Do I look like a fucking doctor, Vegas. I don’t know fuck about shit!”
This accusation goes unaddressed but Vegas’ eyes are still fluttering beneath his eyelashes
nonetheless. Some kind of reaction to Pete’s outburst. So he seems semi-conscious at the very least.
Pete knows he'll have to worry more when and if Vegas becomes completely unresponsive.

“Fuck!” he hisses at the gravity of the situation, as he steps over Vegas’ body to grab the handle of
the door.

Vegas obviously didn’t want witnesses for this.

He doesn’t waste any time checking the hallway to see what kind of bloody trail Vegas has left
behind on his way over here. It’s not a huge priority at the moment. Hardly anyone else but the
night guard will be awake at this time anyway and they wouldn’t patrol the bodyguard quarters
unless there was a disturbance that called them out here.

And despite Vegas clearly leaving a line of his own blood to find, he was obviously careful enough
to sneak inside the main family house without first getting caught. So they won’t be discovered
here. At least not straight away.

So Pete closes the door as quietly as he can, trying to keep up the pretence of an undisturbed
evening, even whilst swearing quietly under his breath and wondering what the hell he’s supposed
to do next.

He’s in no way equipped for this. Any medical knowledge he has are purely rudimentary levels of
first aid and questionable life hacks picked up from being poor and living with a heavy handed
father. But it’s not like using tape to set and splint his own broken fingers. That kind of approach
isn’t going to fix this situation.

And he doesn’t even have bandages in the room.

When Pete returns to Vegas, he lifts him up the same way again but only to pull him further inside
until they’re across from the lounge where there’s more space to manoeuvre.

He’s careful not to touch Vegas’ arm during the transition but Vegas’ head lolls against him and
then there’s a smear of fresh blood across Pete’s collarbone and shoulder once he’s finished setting
him down flat on the floor. Not out of any desire to deny Vegas comfort but for the simple fact that
it’s easier to get blood out of the tiles than it would the fabric of the couch.

And Pete isn’t sure he can lift Vegas’ dead weight up onto that surface at the moment. Not without
a lot of heaving and huffing and he knows there are more vital ways to be exerting his energy right
now.

Besides Pete needs to get a look at Vegas’ wounds. Or at the very least stop the bleeding from his
head first.

Still quietly swearing in one long winded ramble, Pete takes hold of Vegas’ chin and gently tilts his
neck to the side, ignoring the redness now on his hands too as Pete bends to inspect the source of
the blood still sluggishly oozing out of him.

Vegas’ hair is wet and matted with it and Pete does his best to be gentle as he brushes it out of the
way, trying to figure out what kind of injury he’s looking at through the mess of scarlet. The
wound seems shallow enough. It’s probably a good thing that he can only see red and torn skin and
not the white of bone protruding out of the wound.

Hopefully his skull isn’t fractured.

That doesn’t necessarily fix the current problem though. Head wounds tend to bleed profusely no
matter how deep or shallow the cut. Pete knows that from experience.

If he could apply some real pressure to the wound-

Vegas stirs under the touch again, eyes unfocused before they somehow manage to lock on Pete.

“You’re naked,” he says, grinning, and of all the things, Pete can’t believe that’s what he’s
choosing to focus on right now.

Even if one glance tells him that Vegas isn’t simply delirious, Pete had genuinely forgotten to get
dressed first before answering the door. Even though his intention had been to fight off an attacker.
Or an assassin sent to kill him.

Neither of those would have been great to do naked. Not that the reality was much better it turns
out.

Pete’s swearing again as he springs up from the floor, racing into the bedroom and quickly
snatching up a pair of boxers from an open drawer. In one swift movement he's dragging them up
past his hips in only a matter of seconds, not wasting any time beyond necessity. He relocates some
of the blood from his hands onto the blue boxers but that's probably a moot point anyway.

It’s likely he’ll end up with more on him before the night is over so Pete doesn’t dwell on it, just
strides into bathroom next, taking a deep breath to calm himself and think clearly.

What are the essentials right now?

Pete needs a way to stop the bleeding, something to cut Vegas’ bloodied clothes away from his
skin so he can get at that forearm and possibly his burner phone so he can ring someone for
medical assistance.

He does have Doctor Kunakorn’s number saved but it’s his work phone and not likely he’d be at
the clinic to pick up the call at this time in the morning. Even more unlikely that he’d be willing to
come out to a known mafia location in order to treat gunshot wounds.

Pete’s second option are the doctors on call downstairs but he doesn’t like to use them himself and
feels reluctant even now to consider turning to them for assistance. It doesn’t help that he’s
particularly wary of doctors in general and would rather not approach whoever is posted there right
now. He’s been lucky so far not to be seriously injured at work and hasn’t had to deal with them all
that often.

Pete genuinely doesn’t know any of their names.

So the third and likely best option is Duan. Duan, who worked as a nurse for five years before he
fell into the wrong crowd and ended up here as a bodyguard working his debt off.

Pete has his number. But it’s not saved in the burner phone. It’s in the work phone currently stored
down in the armoury, waiting until his next assignment. Of course. Of course. Because why would
any of this be easy? Or simple?

“What a clusterfuck,” he acknowledges to himself before quickly grabbing everything that he

needs from the bathroom.

By the time he returns with the burner phone, two fresh towels and another knife that he’d
concealed in the bathroom, Vegas is half sitting upright like he’s intending to go and walk this all
off or something.

“Lay back down,” Pete hisses, without a hint of warmth, genuinely appalled that Vegas could still
lack self-preservation even in moments like this.

Why push himself when he’s already at the limit? Pete doesn’t spare a thought on his bedside
manner, nobody could expect miracles with such an unruly patient.

Vegas hardly listens to anyone else in his everyday life, how much worse could it be now that he’s
hurt and critically injured?

Pete sets everything down on the floor by Vegas before putting a hand flat on his chest for good
measure, finally succeeding in encouraging Vegas back down again. Then Pete’s kneeling down
next to his side, wadding up one of the towels and applying pressure against the part of his skull
where the skin has been split open.

Pete’s no expert but after close enough observation, he does recognise a bullet graze when he sees
one.

Which means Vegas was shot in the head.

It seems counterproductive but there are actual worst places to be hit by a bullet. It’s actually more
than likely people can survive being shot in the head which is why trained professionals usually go
for the chest instead.

At the compression, Vegas jolts beneath his hand with a groan, an aborted spasm before realising
he can’t escape, not pinned underneath Pete’s hand like this. Even bleeding everywhere, he’s all
movement with none of the usual speed. His eyes are sliding erratically around the space, blinking
in rapid succession as if in sensitivity to the light and Pete would guess that he’s concussed as well
as dizzy from the blood loss.

Right now he has no way to confidently tell if Vegas’ skull was fractured. It’s one of the rare bones
that Pete actually hasn’t broken himself. He really has no expertise to offer there beyond trying to
stop the bleeding. Or at the very least slow it down.

Only when Pete has the head wound satisfactorily covered, does he notice the sensation of
dampness under his knees. Distractedly, Pete glances down and sees the way the blood is
spreading across the floor beneath Vegas’ forearm. It’s not coming at the same rate as Vegas’ head
but he is soaking through the bandages there too.

How long ago was he shot? How much blood has already been lost?

Pete reaches over and grabs Vegas’ right hand, lifting it up off the floor and guiding towards his
own head. Then he encourages Vegas’ hand all the way up until it meets with the towel.

“Hold your hand here,” he commands, shifting to get a look at Vegas’ left arm. “Keep the pressure
on it. I need you to try and stay awake for me, okay? Is the bullet still in?”

When Vegas does reply it’s extremely slowly. After the kind of pause that Pete would have
otherwise attributed to dramatic effort. If not for the situation.

“Hmm? What?”

Definitely concussed then. He’s normally much more alert.

“Vegas,” Pete snaps, trying to hold his attention because he doesn’t have enough hands to do this
alone. “Focus. Is the bullet still in your forearm?”

He's just as slow to respond the second time around.

“No, no,” Vegas sighs, still sounding far away and distracted. “It went through. And kept going. I-
just strapped it. Best I could- do.”

Yes it does look like that’s what he did. Pete has no idea what that fabric is and where Vegas got it
from because the rest of his clothes are stained crimson but are otherwise completely intact. He
tries not to think too much of the possibility that he grabbed it off someone else's corpse.

“Okay,” Pete says, with some relief about the bullet passing through, trying to get his thoughts
together. “Okay, fucking hell.”

“Hey,” Vegas starts when Pete touches the strip of fabric around Vegas’ forearm in order to
examine it better. Is this someone’s neck tie? “Baby. Bet this wasn’t- what you had. In mind.”

Pete grits his teeth and tries to keep himself calm as he looks over Vegas’s forearm. It’s not
surprising that Vegas is repeating himself. With the bullet grazing his skull like that a head injury
is almost expected. And Pete still can't rule out if he fractured his skull or not. Maybe he did.

When Pete peers at the arm, the makeshift bandage is almost entirely damp with blood. But he
knows better than to remove it even if it is soaked through. He has no idea how long it’s been since
Vegas was wounded and how consistently he’s been applying pressure to it even if the bullet went
all the way through.

Good thing if it did. At the very least it wasn’t in the upper arm where it would likely have been
fatal if he’d hit the brachial artery.

Since he can’t check the wound itself, Pete slips his knife into the fabric of Vegas’ shirt higher up,
towards his upper arm, easily tearing through the material so he can inspect around where the
bandage has been tied. He searches for discolouration, swelling and any other signs of
haemorrhaging but thankfully Vegas doesn’t have any of those potential danger signs around the
wound.

After confirming that, Pete hastily picks up the other towel, unfolding it neatly before easing
Vegas’ forearm carefully inside the cocoon of it, carefully wrapping the rest. He moves the arm
slowly, well aware that there may be shattered bones lodged into places it shouldn't be. Only once
it’s completely covered does he start applying direct pressure against Vegas’ wound.

After Vegas swears explosively when he does so, Pete doesn't let off the pressure and tries his best
to ignore him.

“Thanks- for the warning,” Vegas manages to hiss out, sounding distinctly disgruntled at the rough
treatment.

But Pete can’t really afford anything less. Not if he wants to keep Vegas alive.

“I don’t know how long you’ve been bleeding for, but I’ve got to keep this up for at least ten
minutes. If you’re still bleeding at the same rate- I’ll- I’ll need to apply a tourniquet.”

Vegas curses again but mostly for the sheer effort of it. Just a way to expel his frustration. He’s
still holding the towel against his skull and Pete is thankful that he can still manage that right now.
When he’s confident about the amount of pressure, Pete decides to move the arm, making sure to
elevate it in the hopes of slowing the bleeding down whilst keeping up an adequate amount of
pressure.

“Where are we- again?” Vegas asks, still blinking rapidly and sliding his eyes away from the lights
in the ceiling to rest on Pete.

Pete’s never seen him so confused before.

“At the main family house. You’re in my room. You’ve got a concussion and I don’t know how
much blood you’ve lost but I can’t help with this. Do you understand that? Dammit- I have to get-“

“Don’t go,” Vegas says immediately, knuckles tightening as he grips harder on the towel.

It’s not like Vegas has given him much choice. And Pete’s not confident he won’t just slip into
unconsciousness or bleed out if left unattended for too long anyway.

Pete needs to get his hands on actual medical supplies but how is he meant to travel all the way
down to level two and somehow slip past the doctor on duty there?

It’s probably not a good idea to move Vegas at the moment either. There’s not a lot of options here.

“If your bleeding doesn’t slow down I’m going to have to,” Pete mutters eventually, aware of the
strange waver in his voice. “I don’t have any medical equipment to deal with this. You probably
need to get your head and arm X-rayed too to make sure the bullets didn’t fracture anything. I
don’t know what else kind of damage you’ve got in your arm- it’s full of nerves and tendons and
bone and muscle. I don’t know what that bullet hit when it passed through.”

Vegas seems to take all of this information in an unflinching manner. From his reaction, Pete could
be talking about a distant relative the way Vegas seems to be listening with polite but detached
interest. In spite of this Pete, stubbornly powers on.

“Your head will need stitches too. I don’t like how much blood you’ve lost either. Although it
could just be because head wounds bleed a lot. That's normal a lot of the time. But then your arm-“

Yes, his arm.

Except the bullet went all the way through. That’s usually better than staying lodged inside the
body, right? Or at least it means there was less opportunity to create more damage as it went
through him. Pete’s heard horror stories of bullets ricocheting off bone and changing direction
inside people’s bodies before.

The damage left in its wake was near catastrophic.

There’s a reason why guns are often fatal.

“Don’t- leave me,” Vegas says simply, and at complete odds with the indifference of his
expression, effectively cutting off Pete’s wordy speech. A second later his eyes are fluttering again,
reacting to the light as his attention pivots away from the conversation again.

Pete jolts closer in alarm when Vegas’ eyes start to roll back.

“Vegas,” he says sharply. “Don’t go to sleep.”

Immediately Pete is raising his voice, trying to keep his hands steady against Vegas’ forearm,
whilst fighting the urge to reach out and touch his face. His increasingly pale face. But Pete needs
both hands to keep up the compression on his forearm.

“Are you still applying pressure against your head? How do you feel?”

Vegas’ brow is almost pinched together, the pain of it actually revealing itself in his face for once.
That’s how bad Pete knows it must be.

Usually Vegas just shrugs off his injuries like it’s nothing. Pain, an old but welcome friend.

Not this time.

“Dizzy. Tired.”

Pete’s eyes are roaming over Vegas attentively, searching for any signs or forewarning of danger.
He knows he should be afraid. That a normal person might not be able to cope with such high
stakes as this without completely losing their head but Pete has grown up in chaos from a young
age, has learned to thrive in it.

So he feels alert instead. Awake. Motivated. And utterly calm.

“Say more,” he urges steadily, just to keep Vegas talking.

The more he talks the better. Pete can’t have him passing out again. That, he knows for absolute
certain would be very bad right now.

“Fuck. My head hurts. Unlucky for- that bastard. That he missed. I returned that favour- at least.”

Pete has no idea who he’s talking about. Was it one of the Italians? The one who’d been following
Macau? How many people did he kill tonight? “What did you do? Tell me what happened."

Vegas needs a lot longer to organise his thoughts. “Well- Amara isn’t a problem. Anymore.”

Pete almost snorts out a disjointed laugh at that very simple declaration. He doesn’t doubt Vegas in
the least. He’s very determined once he puts his mind to things.

“Obviously.”

But Vegas doesn’t feel the need to respond to that any further. It unsettles Pete when he goes quiet
all of a sudden. He can't help but feel a frisson of unease.

“Because-“ he prompts, pushing harder now.

Is Vegas getting paler? Pete realises he should have checked the time before he started
compression against the wounds. Now it will all be guesswork for how long they’ve tried to slow
the bleeding down. Has it been five minutes? More than that?

“Because she’s- dead.”

That's probably the least surprising thing about this. Pete figured she was dead. It would have been
more shocking for Vegas to have suffered so much and not achieved his goal in the end. “And you
went ahead and did all this alone? Why didn’t you ask for help? Where were your guards?”

He probably left them all back at the compound Pete would guess but he waits patiently for the
explanation. It's still taking a noticeable time for Vegas to assemble his thoughts. Pete can literally
see it on his face before he answers. “Too difficult. My father- was keeping an eye on them. And
me. Simpler to just- go it alone.”

“But not safer,” Pete can’t help but point out. Because Vegas could stand to be lectured on his own
safety for once. “You are aware of that, right?”

Vegas' expression takes on a stubborn edge. “I couldn’t trust it- to someone else. Was too.
Important.”

He’s not even trying to be subtle about it. Pete instantly knows what he’s talking about. Or more
specifically who. Pete wonders if there’s any merit to saying he doesn’t need the protection. That in
the end, he does know how to take care of himself. Has proven it time and time again.

But there’s something about not having to put his own neck on the line for once. Something about
Vegas taking care of it before Pete ever has to. Before Pete has to drum up his very limited
resources and try to think his own way out of the mess alone.

So he doesn’t say that all of Vegas’ many efforts to win him are mostly transparent. He doesn’t say
that Vegas still must views things between them as transactional to come here and expect Pete to
take care of him. That these acts of service won’t smooth over the core of their many issues.

Except.

Not everything has been transparent. Pete hadn’t even noticed about the food. It’s possible that
there are other things he’s missed. Other quiet things that Vegas has done as a means of showing
his devotion. Of proving he can take care of Pete.

Pete doesn’t need anyone to take care of him.

But can’t deny that there’s a small sense of relief in having someone like Vegas at his back.
Someone firm. And unrelenting. Someone Pete might possibly be able to lean on if he ever
allowed himself to need it.

Maybe it isn’t about Vegas believing care was owed to him that had him dragging his injured body
all the way up here to Pete’s room. Maybe it was about that surefire way he seems to cut through
to the very centre of Pete and still understands what he sees there.

Was it trust that brought Vegas here? Or was it just the certainty of Pete’s character, knowing he
would do his best to keep him alive?

When maybe others wouldn’t.

Pete automatically glances at the towel at Vegas’ head, checking it once again like he has been
every minute or so and is pleased to note that it’s still white. He hopes that means that the bleeding
has slowed. That it might be clotting at the source of the wound and not that thickness of the towel
takes longer to absorb blood than whatever kind of cloth was around his forearm.

Pete also checks him over for other visible issues but there aren’t any other injuries besides the
ones given by Porsche earlier in the day. So does that mean there was more guns firing than actual
fighting? Or was Vegas just fast enough not to take as much damage as he should have?

“How’d you do it?” Pete eventually wonders, still struggling to picture how he achieved such a feat
alone.

Or was he with his own men before he was injured and simply abandoned them? It’s harder to wait
for his explanations now with Vegas’ taking so long to formulate his thoughts but Pete reminds
himself that they have nothing better to do at the moment anyway. Neither of them are going
anywhere.

He doubts that Vegas will be able to resist going into detail about this either. He’ll want to brag to
Pete. To show off his skills. Prove himself Pete’s equal.

“Easy,” Vegas murmurs as if to support Pete's expectations. “Dom’s family- is big on wine. I paid
off the wine company- that keeps them. Well stocked. Intercepted the latest- shipment to their
house. Went in- as the delivery guy.”

It’s not entirely terrible as plans go but Pete makes the intended connection immediately. “Sounds
familiar.”

Vegas grins then, private and amused.

“I- learned from the best.”

Pete doesn’t even bother to defend himself. It was hardly an ingenious plan and Pete certainly
never managed to get out of the compound once he’d snuck himself in with nothing but a baseball
cap, face mask and an orange jumpsuit. It’s a wonder Vegas even escaped the Italians at all.

“How many of them did you kill?”

Vegas’ eyes shift away, trying to recall the numbers. Pete has no doubt that whatever happened it
went down very quickly. These kind of things always do. But the head injury might be leaving
some gaps in the memory itself.

“At least six of them- all Amara’s.”

He sounds oddly definitive for one who appears like he’s summoning something from very far
away. Pete's honestly surprised he can remember it at all. Concussions always make things fuzzy.

“How can you be sure?” Pete wonders, naturally doubtful of the words. “Was it certain she had a
completely successful takeover after Dom’s death? Were there really no other rivals?”

He finds that hard to believe. Whenever there’s power in families like this there is always a rival
looking to cut them down. In the Theerapanyakul's case from within their own family itself.

“Most of them- were trying. To shield her. While they were fleeing. But I got her- in the end. I got
her.”

Pete doesn’t even react at the gratified tone of his voice. The pride. It’s not surprising that Vegas
has killed. Definitely wasn’t the only time and absolutely won’t be the last.

Although Pete is painfully aware that this is the first instance where Vegas has killed for him. Has
killed on his behalf in some kind of indirect way. By proxy. Should he feel guilty for that? Are the
blood of those men now on his hands too? The blood of Amara?

Pete thinks that he can probably live with that.

“But who’s to say the next person to take over won’t have the same vendetta against you? And
me.”

“By now they’ll- have realised. It’s. Not worth it.”

That's never a complete guarantee and Pete can’t hide his scepticism. “You sound so sure but even
you couldn’t have predicted what Amara demanded of your family. And you can’t guess what the
Italians will do now. None of us can.”

There’s no possible way they’ll just walk away from this unscathed. Vegas can’t make moves like
this and expect there won’t be any repercussions. It’s never that simple. Pete knows that. Vegas
should know that too. Has no excuse to be so optimistic.

But Vegas doesn’t seem all that bothered now that he’s here looking at Pete and he’s eliminated
the threat against him. Like always, consequences are of no interest to Vegas. And Pete can’t help
but be fascinated by his strange way of moving through the world

“Wait- and see,” Vegas says, and then leaves it at that.

There’s not really much they can do for now anyway. The family will just have to wait and see
how the Italians respond. Whether they will retaliate.

Pete just hopes they don’t try to bring in affiliate gangs to assist them. At the very least the
Theerapanyakuls will have more than enough significant associations to defend themselves. That’s
the appeal of being at the centre of an empire. People flock to you in the hopes of amassing power
of their own.

If it really came down to it the Italians aren’t strong enough to take the Theerapanyakuls down. But
they could cause some serious damage on the way out.

Pete doesn’t want to be responsible for that. No matter how indirectly.

“Why did you tell me earlier,” Pete suddenly wonders. “On the phone. Not to let Tankhun out of
my sight?”

When Vegas doesn't even bother to respond Pete knows it's not out of struggling to speak or
understand him. It's because he knows that Pete won't like the answer. But Pete uses his knee to
nudge at Vegas' hip.

“He voted- in your favour,” Vegas slowly explains. “Knew he’d step in. If the others went after
you- whilst I was gone.”

“But.” That doesn’t explain things. “Why did you say not to let him out of my sight? You made it
sound- like he could be up to something. Or he was in danger and I needed to be guarding him.”

Vegas only levels Pete with a knowing look. “If I’d told you- to hide behind Tankhun. To let him.
Protect you, would- you have done it?”

Pete opens his mouth to protest, but then really considers the question and realises that he doesn’t
have the answer. Would he have accepted the help? Or would he have given himself up to spare
everyone else the risk?

“So cavalier. With- your own body. Your own. Safety.”

Pete doesn’t like to be psychoanalysed on a good day and he especially doesn’t like it when it’s
coming from Vegas. As if he is the paragon of good behaviour himself. “And? Could you say any
different? You’re exactly the same.”

It’s obvious that Vegas treats his own body with a sense of detachment. That he could be so
indifferent to his own safety, his own existence and its relationship to pain. As if he’s learned to
store that part of himself somewhere down deep where it’s safe and hidden and can’t hurt him.
Pete knows that Vegas is only ever really that present in his own body when he’s seeking out
pleasure. And really only then.

“Which is why. We balance out,” Vegas suggests as if he’s trying to make an argument for their
compatibility. “I’ll look- after you. And you’ll look. After me.”

Is that what this is? Why Vegas came here specifically? Does he really believe that Pete can
balance him out? It feels like an understatement to say Pete is taken aback by the suggestion.

“You want me watching your back?” he echoes, incredulous.

How the hell can he be so certain that Pete won’t turn on him? That he doesn’t have many, many
reasons to betray Vegas?

“Why? Aren’t you- trustworthy? Loyal?”

“Not to you,” Pete has to say, feeling like he’s repeating himself. Like he’s going to have to keep
repeating himself because Vegas can’t seem to listen. Refuses to let the truth sink in. “Not to you.”

“You know, baby. Your actions- don’t always match. Your words.”

Has Vegas met another human being? They’re nothing but a mess of contradictions and flaws. Pete
merely scoffs at what he's trying to suggest. “And you say everything you mean?”

“Most of- the time.”

Unfortunately, Pete thinks that might be a little bit true. Vegas isn’t really all that interested in
lying to people. He likes to manipulate, to coerce, to ease people slowly towards the line, drag
them over so far that they have no idea they ever crossed it.

Is it working on Pete? Has it always been working on him? Or is Tankhun right? Is this honesty a
product of Vegas’ feelings for him? A way to treat him like an equal?

If that’s the case then why shouldn’t Pete demand the truth? Why shouldn’t he use that influence,
that sway to get more information about their plans to attack the main family? Vegas is aware that
Pete wants to stop it. He knows that Pete is trying to figure out the details.

Is it still manipulation if Pete is direct and asks for it?

Pete takes a breath and makes his decision. “Alright then. What’s the plan for your coup?”

There’s a pause but it’s not because Vegas isn’t going to answer him. It’s because he wants to look
at Pete’s face first.

“Is that you- asking prettily, baby?”

Something in Pete protests the idea, though it was him that started bargaining his pleasure for
information in the first place. Why is he surprised that Vegas ran with it? That he wants to continue
the same type of bargain.

That he’s still trying to take it further?

Even though Pete wants the information, he knows he can’t keep doing it like this.

“Is everything a transaction for you?”

Vegas just looks at him, peeling him down to the bone. “You know it’s just- pretence. At this
point,” he says. “You know.”

At the firmness of the words, Pete realises what he’s trying to say. What he’s implying. It’s just
like Pete thought. Just like everyone else thought. Vegas will give him whatever he wants.

So why shouldn’t Pete ask this of him?

“Tell me.”

Vegas' eyelashes flutter closed for the briefest of seconds. “My father said. It’s my coming- of age
moment. My time to prove- myself. A first son. As his son.”

Pete can’t conceal his shock. “You’re running point on the attack? You?”

Vegas glances down at his injuries with a wry expression.

“I was.”

The current situation has undoubtedly thrown a wrench in that plan. Maybe his father won’t even
trust him to lead the attack now that Vegas has disobeyed his orders so blatantly. And for the
second time.

With an ego like that there must be only so much that Mr Kan can tolerate from a son that he
already holds little respect for. And how is the attack meant to continue, with Vegas’ supposed
devotion to him? Pete isn’t leaving the main family anytime soon. He’ll be in the building when it
happens.

How is Vegas willing to do things like this in order to protect him and then lead the coup which
will undoubtedly put him in danger? Pete can’t understand the inconsistency.

“And where do I stand in all of this?”

The line of Vegas’ mouth goes thin and Pete realises that this potentiality has been on his mind
after all. Maybe that’s the cause of his increased efforts to win Pete over. Maybe he's trying to lure
him out of the house first. It would be easier for him, if Pete abandoned the main family. If he
defected from their ranks.

“I won’t let- anyone hurt you.”

“What about your father?” Pete asks, genuinely curious how this is all coming together in Vegas’
mind. “I bet he didn’t vote to keep me alive. How can you navigate your own split loyalties?”

Vegas tenses under him. “There’s- no choice.”

Disturbed by this, Pete goes to pull away but Vegas reaches out and cups a hand across his bare
thigh.

“Pete. There’s no choice.”

He understands then what Vegas is trying to say, and then he has to break eye contact, has to
scratch nervously at his cheek to offset the intensity in Vegas’ eyes.

How can he still be so certain? After everything how can he sound so sure? Is there really no
choice simply because the decision is that easy for Vegas? Would he really choose Pete over his
father?
“So- the vote,” Pete says, changing the subject to bring up what’s been on his mind since his return
from Doctor Kunakorn’s clinic. “I heard it was deadlocked. A tie.”

Vegas seems to shift under his hand. But he doesn’t deny it. Pete decides to just come flat out and
say what he means rather than skirting the question. Because he knows that Vegas will tell him. He
won't hide the truth like Tankhun would.

“Who voted against me?”

He’s watching carefully so it’s clear the way the surprise registers on his face. “You didn’t- ask
Tankhun?”

There hadn’t been much point at the time. Tankhun had been too busy being glad Pete was still
alive and then he was running off to tell his father straight after. Even though at the time Pete had
wanted to know he’d held off, reasoning that he’d find out what happened eventually.

And then Vegas had crashed through his door several hours later.

“No,” Pete admits, willing to acknowledge that he also probably wanted to be in denial for a little
while longer too. “I didn’t. I already knew how he’d vote.”

Of Tankhun, he could at least be certain. There was always a degree of predictability to his
unpredictableness. He was never Vegas’ brand of unbridled chaos.

“And- you’re asking me? Why?”

It’s an evasive response even if it is delivered at a fraction of his usual speed. Pete suspects this
state he’s in is probably going to make it harder for Vegas to lie. Which is to Pete's advantage.

“Why are you stalling?” he wonders, intrigued at the avoidance.

It’s not really Vegas’ usual style. He prefers an earth shattering bombshell. “Don’t think I’ll like
the answer? I think I can already guess.”

Vegas doesn’t smile.

“Then- guess.”

Well it’s not like either of them are going anywhere at the moment. Pete may as well make his
assumptions now. “Your father voted against me of course. I’m too much of a threat to him now.
Taking up all of your attention. Distracting you.”

Vegas’ lip curls but he doesn’t deny it. Doesn't make any disparaging comments about his father
either.

“My father recognises. The danger- you pose. Yes. And?”

“Kim would have voted against me too,” Pete decides, almost one hundred per cent certain of that
at least. “Not out of any malice. He’s just too practical not to. You could never feed the Italians one
of your own, what kind of precedent would that set for everyone else in the family? So if it was
between one bodyguard and a war- he’d have chosen me.”

Ever practical to the point of viciousness, is Kim, the youngest brother. No, Pete doesn’t think his
vote was out of personal dislike or cruelty. He really is just too efficient for his own good.

Vegas nods, conceding to the fact. “He did.”

“So then it was really just between Mr Korn and Kinn. Well that’s not exactly surprising. Mr Korn
hardly knows me. It’s not like I was expecting him to-“

“Sweetheart,” Vegas interrupts, face rippling with anger and in conflict with the sensitive way he’s
attempting to speak. Seemingly restraining the force of rage now rattling through his body and
trying to hold on to composure. “Even now. You’re still expecting- my cousin. To be decent. Like
you.”

Pete’s taken aback for a moment. By the praise and then the implications of it.

“Oh,” he says, realising, and feeling foolish for not having seen it sooner.

So Mr Korn hadn’t voted against him after all. He shouldn’t have jumped to his own conclusions
so quickly.

Suddenly he knows who Vegas had been calling an asshole during that phone call outside the
doctor’s clinic all those hours ago. There’s only one person who can really turn his blood to acid
like that.

Is this why Tankhun had been so upset as well? Yes, of course. Who else would he feel the
frustration of betrayal from in the vote? Everyone else seems to have gone in line with their own
character or morals.

But didn’t Kinn also do the same? He’d put the family first over nearly everything, even with the
relationship he and Pete have had in the past.

Pete wonders if Kinn ever hesitated in the decision. Or if it came easy to him.

It seems almost a reversal now that he would see in Vegas the care taken to look out for Pete, to
spare him the hardships of the truth and instead witness the cruelty in Kinn, the almost callous
dismissal. How could Pete’s perspective have changed so much? Is he seeing things as they truly
are now? Or is he finally beginning to appreciate the layers of the Theerapanyakul men?

Eventually Pete reaches the conclusion, the natural decision that he really doesn’t want to know.
Whether Kinn hesitated or if he made the choice without blinking.

Neither of these things will change the reality of the situation. That Kinn hasn’t been Pete’s ally for
a long time now. Maybe he never really was.

Vegas may have killed Amara but he couldn’t have killed all of her sympathisers. All of the men
who might have been loyal to her. No, Pete is far from out of the woods yet. And without the
family to back him, their current indecision in this probably isn’t helping the situation either.

He knows better than to believe that because of Vegas he’s completely safe. Safer, possibly. But
the Italians will know who killed Amara and why. It’s enough to spark anyone’s vengeance.

And Pete is still the perfect target of that regardless of how deserving of it he might be. Amara may
have been their first enemy to realise going after Pete would hurt Vegas, and she definitely won’t
be the last.

Briefly, Pete’s almost glad that he didn’t ask Tankhun directly about the results of the vote. He’s
painfully aware that it would have put him in an awkward position.

He knows what Vegas has told him just now is the truth. Vegas wouldn’t have made such an effort
to soften the news if it wasn’t.
It’s a wonder he even tried to be gentle about it. Pete has seen Vegas’ bluntly deliver harsh truths in
the past without a hint of sympathy or remorse. That’s his usual modus operandi. Or at least Pete
thought it was.

“You believe- me?”

Pete considers the double meaning behind the question. Does Vegas truly think that he can still lie
to Pete? That Pete doesn’t recognise most of his tells? Or has he figured out a method to deceive
him somehow? Pete knows he’s not infallible.

And clearly neither is Vegas.

He makes a point to choose his next words carefully, well aware that Vegas’ dislike of Kinn runs
deep. Possibly even deeper now following the vote. “I believe that Kinn would put the family
first.”

The sneer at Vegas’ mouth is plain and contemptuous. Not for the first time, Pete wonders how
much of his mental energy is spent constantly belittling his cousin.

“Even if he knows. How much- his precious boyfriend Porsche. Cares for you?”

Yes, even then.

Pete really can’t blame Kinn for being practical. Although there is less detachment in it than Kim’s
decision to vote against him. He wasn’t ever Kim’s bodyguard. Didn’t nearly lose his life in
service of Kim’s orders. Even with the purpose being the same between the two brothers, the
intention still feels different somehow.

More personal from Kinn.

Still, Pete is cautious. Unwilling to give a negative opinion. Because his thoughts on the
Theerapanyakul family’s conduct aren’t supposed to matter. “I guess he was optimistic that
Porsche would get over it eventually. If I’d died.”

And that’s a heavy thought. Pete wonders how Kinn planned to absolve himself of that decision,
but at the end of the day he probably won’t ever know what he was thinking in that meeting room.

There’s no point wasting his energy dwelling on it.

“I wouldn’t,” Vegas says abruptly, interrupting his thoughts. “You’re not- disposable, Pete. Not to
me.”

The fervour and the intensity of his tone is unmistakeable. And at those words Pete can’t help but
compare the change from when he’d first been caught in the compound. When they had crossed
paths as mortal enemies and in such an explosive way. Because Vegas had seen him as someone
disposable then.

There’s a strange kind of absurdity to that change now. To that inexplicable earnestness.

Because he knows that Vegas means it.

Pete looks away immediately at the sincerity, heat climbing in his face at the words. “You’re
probably delirious. From all the blood loss.”

Vegas snorts at that and does it seem like his forearm is bleeding less too? Pete’s been keeping
pressure against the arm, still keeping it lifted at an angle and whilst his hands feel damp and
warm, the towel is still mostly white.

That must be a good thing right? Has the bleeding finally slowed down a little?

“Sure, baby,” Vegas says, agreeably but they both know that’s for show.

Pete chooses to focus on his wounds instead. Trying to keep up the detachment as much as he can
when it literally feels like he’s holding parts of Vegas's body together.

“I think the bleeding has slowed. I’m going to try-“ he eases one of his hands off of Vegas’ arm,
making sure not to displace it too much as he reaches for the burner phone he left on the floor.

“You’re not calling- an ambulance?” Vegas demands, incredulous.

And how the hell would Pete explain that over the phone? How many people would the family
have to pay off afterwards to keep their silence?

“No, but we do need help,” Pete admits, and he’s already dialling the emergency line, praying that
someone amenable is operating the phones this late at night.

If not then he’s going to have to be very, very convincing. To make the person believe it’s not a
prank first and foremost, and to encourage them to abandon their post so they can come up here
and help him.

“Chan speaking.”

Pete actually sighs in relief at the sound of his voice. The unmistakeable sternness.

“Chan, it’s me,” he murmurs, tucking the phone between his ear and shoulder so he can keep his
hands on Vegas. “I need a medikit brought to my room. And Duan if he’s on shift.”

He desperately hopes Duan is on shift right now.

“Pete,” Chan says, surprised at the time of the call and the peculiarity of the request. At least
enough to be openly suspicious. “What’s going on? Who’s injured?”

Somehow it doesn’t seem like a great idea to mention Vegas’ name yet. It's not like he really thinks
that Chan won't help him if he does but Pete thinks it's probably a better idea that they don't know
immediately who they're dealing with.

“I’m currently trying to treat two gunshot wounds. One a through and through in the left forearm
and the other a bullet graze on the side of the skull-“

“Someone’s been shot in the head?” Chan demands, as if he thinks the entire building is under
attack at nearly two o'clock in the morning. “Duan is not going to be able to handle that, Pete. You
need to go down to level two for the doctor on call. And don’t think I didn’t notice you not
mentioning who’s injured. Is it Porsche? Kinn will want to know if it is.”

Unfortunately Pete's aware that he wasn’t being subtle about that. Or that Chan isn't the type of
person to miss those kinds of things.

“It’s not Porsche. I’m pretty sure he’s with Kinn right now. But the- uh patient- I don’t think I can
move him. The bleeding has only just started to slow down. It’s better- if you come here and I can
just show you.”
Chan doesn’t answer immediately and it’s agony having to wait on the confirmation. Pete doesn’t
really like being beholden to anyone else if he can help it. He’d rather do things on his own. It's
even worse having to ask someone who he trusts and respects even if he's ultimately certain Chan
will come through.

Which is also why it’s difficult to admit how out of depth he is right now.

“Give me five minutes,” Chan says brusquely, which feels like its own kind of blessing and then
he’s hanging up.

Pete grimly sets the burner phone down, and has the sense to slide it across the floor so that when
it finally stops moving, it’s hidden underneath the gap of the couch.

He can get it later. It’s better not to have it in his hand when Chan arrives. Less questions that way
about how he managed to smuggle an untracked phone in.

“Do you think- that was a good idea?”

Pete glances at Vegas and tries not to lose his temper. “It’s not like you gave me many options.
You do realise my room isn’t a medical clinic.”

Vegas is still blinking fast but apparently his ability to be sarcastic wasn’t been damaged in the
shootout.

“Funny. I did notice- that.”

Pete nods, absently, glancing about the living room and wondering what else he might need to hide
now that they have an audience coming. It only takes a couple seconds to settle on their guns, piled
together atop the office desk.

“I need to hide those,” Pete admits, inclining his head towards the weapons. “They won’t want you
armed and I don’t want to explain where I stole mine from.”

Vegas tilts his head up a little as if trying to figure out what Pete’s referring to, then he seems to
give up.

“Go ahead,” Vegas says on a sigh. “Not like I’m- going anywhere.”

Pete sets his forearm down gently and gets to his feet, approaching the table and picking up both
the guns, reflexively checking the safety is on for each before heading into the bedroom. He
doubts the others will do a proper search so he stows them in the drawer of the bedside table for
the time being.

When he comes back out, Vegas is half sitting up, and breathing noticiably faster, peering down at
his forearm with interest.

“Can’t you stay still?” Pete complains as he reaches him, settling down into a comfortable position
before setting his hands on Vegas’ forearm, interlocking his fingers back together in order to
reapply pressure as he elevates it again.

Without saying anything, Pete quietly starts counting Vegas' breaths per minute, trying to
determine if it's faster than normal. Pete's pretty sure that it might be and that it's another symptom
of significant blood loss.

“Shouldn’t you- be weeping over me?” Vegas asks, with some difficulty as he tries to arrange his
thoughts. “What if- I die.”

Pete feels his own chest constrict.

“Or,” Vegas says heavily. “Would you- be celebrating?”

Anger flares in him at the suggestion. That Vegas thinks Pete wouldn’t have any complicated
feelings about it. As if the last few times they’ve touched each other, when they’ve had sex, when
they’ve kissed could all be so easily forgotten.

“Shut up. You’re not going to die,” he snaps, as if offended by the idea. “I’m not done with you
yet.”

If anything, Vegas’ attitude seems to improve after that. But Pete is too busy making sure the
towels weren’t disturbed from the movement to notice when Vegas obligingly lays back down
again. Still absorbed by the task at hand and trying not to linger on how pale Vegas looks. How
can they be certain he’ll recover from this?

Will he need a blood transfusion? Can they even track down blood for a transfusion at this hour or
will Vegas have to go to a hospital after all? Something tells Pete that Vegas won't like that
possibility one bit. But maybe it's all fine and Vegas doesn't even need it.

Pete wishes he understood more about human anatomy.

“Why did you come here first?”

The look Vegas gives him is canny and deliberate. “Why do you- think?”

Pete doesn’t have an answer to that. He doesn’t have a lot of answers to anything anymore. Least of
all how he’s meant to deal with Vegas. How he’s meant to feel about Vegas bleeding on his floor.

In what seems like barely a few minutes, there’s a knock at the door to interrupt them.

“It’s unlocked,” Pete calls softly, gently setting Vegas’ forearm on the floor and getting to his feet
when nobody walks in.

He takes a couple steps towards the door until Chan finally steps inside, a bespectacled, middle-
aged man in a doctor’s coat trailing in behind him, medikit tucked firmly under one arm.

Oh great. A doctor Pete doesn't know or trust.

Chan takes one look at Pete, at the blood covering his hands and knees, across his bare chest and
raises an eyebrow in one perfectly succinct gesture that adequately sums up the situation. The
question in his eyes is plain.

Pete shrugs in answer before stepping to the side to reveal Vegas Theerapanyakul laying on the
floor behind him.

The doctor takes one look at Vegas and the utter horror show he is right now and the colour is
rapidly draining from his face. “Oh shit.”

Oh shit is right.

Pete falls back on the practical requirements immediately. It’s easier than focusing on his emotions
which are in their own kind of complete and utter upheaval. More so than they should be.
“We held pressure on the wounds for a good ten minutes or so and the blood flow has slowed
down significantly. So I didn’t apply a tourniquet. I think he’s got a concussion too but he’s
managed to stay conscious so far.”

The doctor marches over towards Vegas’ prone form, Pete trailing just a step behind, watching as
the man sets his medikit down by Vegas’ waist and kneels beside him. Then he's making the
mistake of turning away from Vegas as bends down to open up the kit.

But Pete is still looking at Vegas, noting how he’s no longer holding a hand to his head, that he’s
got Pete’s knife in his clenched fist and is looking like he’s about to do something stupid.

Thankfully Pete catches on quickly, already rushing forward to intercept the attack. He’s just in
time to snatch at his wrist, easily preventing Vegas’ from sticking the knife into the doctor’s
exposed back.

“Vegas,” he shouts, jerking his thumb at an impossible angle so he’s forced to relinquish the grip
on the knife. “Shit. It’s just a doctor. And Chan.”

At his voice, Vegas stops thrashing. Doesn’t try to go for another weapon because Pete
unthinkingly knelt beside him and automatically placed a hand atop his chest.

Then Vegas' expression is twisting in confusion again. “I thought,” he murmurs, sounding

helplessly honest and a little lost. “You’d left.”

That’s when Pete realises that from his previous position holding the towel to his head, that Vegas
view of the open doorway, where Pete retreated earlier, is mostly impeded.

Vegas wasn’t just attacking for no reason. He’d genuinely thought for a second that Pete had
stepped aside and given him over to Chan without another thought.

Pete shifts closer into view, brushes some of Vegas' hair off his forehead and picks the towel back
up again himself, placing it against Vegas' head. “I’m not going anywhere. Just- stop making this
worse for yourself, alright?”

The doctor doesn’t seem to take the almost attack personally, doesn’t have room for that in his
mind when his eyes are already raking over Vegas to assess the extent of the damage.

Pete is kneeling right by Vegas’ shoulder, eyes trailing intently over Vegas’ towel wrapped
forearm, thankful to see the pool of blood surrounding him on the floor is no longer as fresh. It’s
thin and displaced, probably from Pete kneeling in it himself and constantly moving around Vegas’
body.

As he continues to watch over him, the doctor is quickly opening up the kit and dragging out a
handful of bandages, antiseptic and a blood pressure device.

“Pete,” comes Chan’s order from behind his back. “Out of the way. Let the man work.“

Pete is only a split second behind obeying and when he does finally move, thighs flexing as he
goes to rock up from the kneeled position, Vegas’ right hand shoots out, seizing on to his knee with
surprising strength.

“He stays right- where he is,” Vegas pants out, somehow still managing to sound firm despite how
disordered he’d seemed earlier.

Pete keeps his patience as he generously sinks back down, unconsciously leaning into the touch.
“Do you honestly think this guy is going to kill you?” Then he lowers his voice by Vegas’ ear. “Do
you think I’d let him?”

Vegas turns to stare at Pete and doesn’t answer. But he doesn’t move again when the doctor peers
up at Vegas’ face before quickly glancing away, seems to prefer to ignore anyone in the room but
Pete.

Now that Vegas seems more or less cooperative, Pete finally has the breathing room to take in the
doctor’s skittish behaviour and redirects his attention just in time to see his eyes flick over Vegas
again before he's swallowing hard, still dragging out items from the kit.

Pete sees a whisper of unsteadiness in his hands and how the doctor is much paler than a man in
his profession has any right to be and something in him hardens at once.

The issue seems obvious to him straight away. This man was brought in to help the bodyguards
with all their injuries and sicknesses. The ones who were not as important. The stakes not as high.

He obviously never expected he’d be operating on a Theerapanyakul heir tonight.

It’s clear he’s afraid of the consequences if anything goes wrong. Pete doubts Mr Kan will take too
kindly to him if Vegas manages to die under his care.

“Get out of your head,” Pete snaps, annoyed that the doctor has the space to worry about himself
right now rather than simply treating Vegas. Which is literally his job. “You’re just treating
another patient.”

The doctor winces at that and suddenly Pete’s not so confident he can take the pressure when he
opens the cuff and wraps it around Vegas’ uninjured upper arm with slightly shaky fingers. Pete
doesn’t feel the need to comment whilst the doctor is busy taking Vegas’ blood pressure.

When he lets out a sound it all but confirms Pete’s earlier suspicions. “Blood pressure is only
slightly higher than I’d like it to be. I’ll need to treat these wounds as best as possible before he’s
ready to transport.”

Pete nods, spotting the needle and surgical thread in the medikit and impulsively reaches over
Vegas to pick them up himself. Then the antiseptic which he uses to clean his hands first, uncaring
as the mess of it spills on to the tiled floor.

“You sort the arm. I’ll do the stitches on his head.”

The doctor jolts in alarm at being addressed again and suddenly he’s leaning over Vegas, gently
dragging the towel off of Vegas’ skull to inspect the graze. He’s quiet for another moment,
assessing, before he places his fingers against Vegas’ skull, trying to parse out any kinds of
ananomalies to the shape of his skull.

Pete wonders if he’s searching for an indication of the bone fracturing. Do they need to do an X-
ray first before they can sew him back up?

“I’m checking your skull for signs of swelling at the trauma site,” the doctor explains to Vegas as if
he genuinely believes that Vegas will trust he’s telling the truth.

At least he’s somewhat gentle when he probes the area. Pete didn’t have to guts to do it himself
earlier. He hadn’t wanted to feel any depressions or unevenness in Vegas’ skull which would have
only confirmed the extent of the head injury.
A concussion was bad enough.

Pete is fairly confident that’s not the case here. He’s seen a man’s skull be fractured at one of his
father’s boxing matches before. The end result was a bit more messy than this and the man had
severe facial bruising, and a set of racoon eyes to match.

Vegas isn’t showing any of those signs at all. He was just bleeding profusely from the cut left by
the path of the bullet as it had glanced off the side of his head. Pete can only hope those differences
are a good thing.

“Any nausea or vomiting, Mr Vegas?” the doctor asks. “Any blood from the eyes, nose or ears?”

Vegas just looks at the man with the most disdain that he can muster. He might be even more of an
unruly patient than Pete is. Because even in the state he’s currently in, operating at marginally less
cognitive power, the doctor practically quails under that look.

Maybe because the doctor has learned the rumours about Vegas as well.

“Stop that,” Pete mutters, finding it in himself to be annoyed but not surprised that Vegas would be
just as uncooperative around medical staff as Pete is.

There’s something about having these people patch them up whilst giving the kind of knowing or
pitying looks that show they understand exactly how the injuries occurred. Something worse about
the ones who try and report it, who bring more attention to their heavy handed father’s which
inevitably leads to more punishment unloaded back on to the child.

Yes, Pete understands how Vegas’ bitterness of medical professionals might be warranted just as
much as his own.

But they don’t have time to be cautious and guarded right now. “Answer his questions.”

“No.”

Pete raises an eyebrow at that. “No?”

“No- to all those things. Maybe a- little nausea.”

Pete squeezes at his shoulder and turns his attention back towards the doctor again. If Vegas is
both struggling and reluctant to talk, then Pete can do some of it for him.

“He fainted at the door when he first arrived. He’s been showing sensitivity to the light and some
confusion about his surroundings. He repeated a couple sentences and has had some difficulty
focusing. All sounds like symptoms of a concussion to me.”

The doctor raises an eyebrow as he pulls his hands away. “You seem certain.”

With his upbringing of course he should be. But Pete only shrugs in response.

“I’ve experienced a couple myself when I was young. Before I got better at dodging.”

Vegas hand digs sharply into Pete’s knee again as if in disapproval of what he’s saying. Of what
he’s admitting to this undeserving audience. But the doctor doesn’t feel the need to question him
further on that. He understands what Pete is implying relatively quickly.

“And you’ve had medical training? You can suture?”

Should he admit that he's done it before? That he's done it to himself on more than one occassion?
Pete has learned things that no one should ever have had to figure out how to do. But they've
always been tools he's used later on. “I’ve been around a lot of injuries in my life. My grandmother
taught me to sew.”

The doctor hesitates briefly, attention unwittingly dragging back to Vegas’ forearm.

“With no training I can’t possibly allow-“

“Don’t think this is a time for debating,” Chan interjects calmly from his standing position, arms
folded and completely at ease amongst all the blood. “Mr Vegas’ arm is what needs the most
attention, Doctor Rueng.”

“Yes, yes,” Doctor Rueng agrees distractedly and Pete is already threading the thin surgical string
on to the hook like needle, scooping up the pairs of tweezers from the kit.

“I need water to clean the wounds first,” Doctor Rueng announces. “Chan, if you wouldn’t mind-“

Pete points in the general direction of the living room table. “There’s an empty water bottle over
there I think.”

Chan goes and fetches the water bottle before disappearing into the bathroom to fill it up. He’s
back in less than thirty seconds and Pete desperately appreciates his speed.

He hands the unscrewed bottle to Pete first, who splashes only a small amount onto the graze on
the side of his skull, enough to clean the wound and reserve the rest for Vegas’ forearm.

When he moves to pass it on to Doctor Rueng, he's in the middle of putting on surgical gloves.

Pete has needed stitches before. On four separate occasions and each time whenever he could, he’d
always watched the process when the doctor had started the suturing. So Pete knows that he should
probably be wearing gloves too but doesn’t want to waste more time, just goes about splashing
more of the water onto the split skin which mercifully is not bleeding as liberally as it was before.

Even someone like Vegas, who hardly blinks at being choked to death, still inhales sharply at the
sting. And Pete is very aware of the pain he must be in right now.

Then he sets the bottle down again to the left of him so that it’s within reach for Doctor Rueng.
Who will probably pass it back to Chan again so he can go and refill the bottle when it runs out.

Pete suspects he’ll need a bit more water to clean the wound at Vegas’ forearm once he’s finally
got it unwrapped.

“I don’t think a general anaesthesia is a good idea at the moment,” Doctor Rueng is saying to the
group at large as he carefully removes the towel from Vegas’ arm, attentively inspecting the blood
soaked fabric Vegas had first wrapped around it. “With the blood loss and the likely concussion,
the last thing we need is for Mr Vegas to fall unconscious.”

Still, Pete hesitates. “Don’t you at least have numbing cream?”

Doctor Rueng rummages in the kit for a second before returning empty handed. Then he looks at
Pete and shakes his head severely.

“Not in the kit. It must be downstairs with the medical supplies.”

Cursing under his breath at the ineptitude, Pete doesn’t spare a second to think about it, just leans
in and brushes Vegas’ hair away, exposing the open wound properly. Then he’s using the tweezers
to pick up the thin needle and adjusts his grip before slowly applying it against Vegas’ flesh.

But he doesn’t press down yet.

“Fine. He doesn’t really need it,” Pete says firmly. “Ready, Vegas?”

Vegas makes another aggravated sound which Pete takes as agreement so he presses on the sharp
point, pushing vertically through the length of the wound, starting at the corner of the torn skin so
that he can stitch it back together. “He can handle the pain.”

For once Vegas doesn’t even contradict him and Pete is tempted to shift and confirm he’s still
conscious when Vegas’ hand tightens on his knee again in answer.

He’s still there. Not quiet because he’s unconscious. Quiet because he doesn’t like their audience.

Grimly taking that as a sign that he’s at least semi-aware and relatively calm now knowing his
hand is on Pete, as a way to confirm he’s still in the room. Since Vegas can’t move his head at all
whilst Pete is doing this. Not if he wants to start bleeding all over again.

Taking a breath to settle himself, Pete uses both hands to pass the needle back and forth across and
through the skin, every stitch bringing the wound closer together as he hunches awkwardly over
Vegas’ head.

In the background, he can hear Doctor Rueng requesting Chan hold the torch light from his phone
over the wound so he can see it better but Pete doesn’t allow it to interrupt his focus.

Pete does his best to be extra careful, hands almost impossibly steady and he works, feeling the
pressure in his knees and thighs, keeping him fixed and balanced as he hovers over Vegas.

But this isn’t the first time Pete’s had to put someone back together like this. It’s not even the first
time he’s done sutures. Pete’s done them to himself when necessity had called for it.

If he wasn’t confident in his skills he would never have offered.

The work, though not recently utilised, is familiar enough, and Pete falls into the rhythm of the
needle and surgical thread, the push and pull of simple process. He’s concentrating so deeply that
in next to no time, he’s reaching the opposite end of the ruined and exposed flesh.

He’s done just over eight stitches and from one lingering look, he’s certain that should be enough
for the skin to fuse back together again so it can heal.

Chan crouches down next to him suddenly. Not to distract, just to watch how Pete is progressing
and suddenly Pete remembers his presence and feels stupid.

Chan. Of course. Chan, who has been trained in the armed forces and would easily know how to
perform a field dressing. Who could have done this faster. Probably more efficiently too.

Why didn’t he think to ask Chan? Why had Pete insisted on doing this himself?

“Very neat,” Doctor Rueng says, leaning over Pete’s opposite shoulder to inspect the work as well.
“Nice work. Do you need me to tie it off?”

“Do I just-“ Pete demonstrates the tie using his hands without actually performing the final step.
“Yes,” Chan agrees, so Pete bends back down again and finishes off the suture by himself without
another word.

He uses the knife to cut the remaining surgical string and then sets the tools down by Vegas’ head
once finished. After that, he turns to briefly inspect the doctor’s handiwork on Vegas’ forearm
before reaching over and covering the wound with gauze before dragging out a roll of bandages
from the medikit.

Then he carefully eases the bandage over the gauze now covering up Vegas’ stitches, wrapping
several times over the crown of his head before sealing it off completely.

It should do for now. At least until Vegas is moved to a much more suitable environment.

He feels Vegas’ hand close around his own a second later. “Don’t- go anywhere,” he says, again so
quiet that Pete needs to lean in to hear him.

There’s something explicitly unguarded in that. A part of Vegas that he hasn’t really seen before.
At least not in the same way. It’s a very different thing to be physically vulnerable than it is to be
emotionally exposed.

He wonders how many more layers of Vegas there are still there for him to uncover, and is then
surprised to realise that’s of any interest to him. That even now, there’s parts of Vegas that are still
so wholly intriguing.

Would Pete have failed so terribly at ignoring him if he hadn’t been otherwise?

Cautiously now, Pete responds back just as quietly. “I won’t.”

Now that he can, Pete has the opportunity to focus on what Doctor Rueng is doing. He’s missed
most of the pertinent stuff but now Doctor Rueng seems to be packing the open wound with wet
gauze. The water bottle is now empty again.

Does that mean he won’t require surgery?

Mentally bracing himself, Pete leans closer to the man, hoping that whatever the answer, Vegas
might not be able to overhear it. “How bad is the arm?” he wonders, keeping his voice low and
even.

Doctor Rueng’s expression is stern but not particularly alarmed. “The bullet went straight through
the supinator muscle.”

Pete suddenly wishes he’d paid more attention during his schooling days. Anatomy had been
interesting but Pete had been more taken by the bones. A practical decision only because the
information had real life application for him. At least before his grandmother finally took him out
of his father’s house.

“It’s extremely lucky it didn’t hit the radial artery because he would have been unconscious in
thirty seconds.”

Doctor Rueng meets Pete’s gaze squarely. “Then bled out in about five minutes. I couldn’t see any
bone fragments near the wound but we’ll have to do an X-ray to be sure the radius wasn’t also
fractured. Thankfully, no immediate nerve damage.”

With his minimal understanding, Pete chooses to take that as extremely good news. It probably
helped that Vegas can move so fast. It would have made him a harder target to fire on. He’s
extremely lucky to have scraped by with only these kind of glancing gunshot wounds.

Pete knows that it could have been fatally worse. There’s a reason that the lone gunman
triumphing against a band of heavily armed men is only a blockbuster fantasy.

Well, at least the ones where the lone gunman is still alive afterwards.

Even now Pete still can’t wrap his head around the fact that Vegas ran off and did this alone. And
that he somehow survived it.

“We need to get him downstairs,” Doctor Rueng says once he’s finished bandaging Vegas’ arm.
“Get that X-ray done and set up an IV.”

Vegas lets out an unimpressed sound. Which feels like it should be ironic or at the very least not
well received considering the pool of blood he’s spilled out onto Pete’s floor. The fact that his
clothes are eighty percent scarlet now seems to have escaped his notice.

When he feels the pressure of Vegas’ hand around his own, Pete absently squeezes back. He knows
how uncomfortable Vegas is here. How defenceless he feels to be at the mercy of the main family
when he clearly holds no trust in them.

Was it so important that he come here first? See with his own eyes that Pete is alive and
unharmed?

Pete glances at the doorway and tries to picture the logistics of Doctor Rueng’s suggestion. Clearly
they do need to get Vegas down to level two but Pete doubts he can walk unassisted. And he also
doubts Vegas would permit anyone else but Pete to touch him right now.

“How are we meant to do that?” Pete asks, wondering how best to imply that Vegas is going to
make things difficult without directly saying it.

He glances over at Chan who is still silently watching them. Posted like a sentry between their
strange little group and the door. Is he expecting Vegas to run off?

“I don’t think we should carry him like this.”

“No,” Doctor Rueng concedes, easing back out of Vegas’ reach now that the wounds have been
taken care of. Less chance for Vegas to lunge at him again that way. “There’s a stretcher down in
the doctor’s examination room though. We could bring it back up here and use that to transport
him.”

It doesn’t exactly sound ideal. How much of a gamble would that be? Or is it riskier not to move
him? Pete knows they’ll need the additional information from the X-ray. That Vegas’ body will
also need the extra fluids and the rest after the recent blood loss.

It’s not like he can just stay here hiding out in Pete’s room.

“Is Pete coming?” Vegas demands, seeming like he’s only half following the conversation. “I’m
only- going where he is.”

Pete bites at his lip and resists the urge to glance up at Chan again. If he wasn’t already aware
there was something going on between them it would be impossible to ignore it now. Not from the
way Vegas is acting.

“Stop being irrational. I’m going.” Then he lowers his voice again, this time directed back to
Doctor Rueng. “How much blood do you think he’s lost?”

“Around 750 to 1000 ml.”

Pete can’t really figure out the difference between acceptable blood loss and dangerous levels. But
he does know that the average body is meant to hold just under five litres. “How much is that?
Does he need a blood transfusion?”

Doctor Rueng is now systematically repacking the medikit, returning all of the items they recently
used and placing them neatly inside. Obviously intending to clean them later. He doesn’t remove
the gloves from his hands, doesn’t really seem to realise there’s blood on them.

And he doesn’t pause to consider the question either. Like it’s all routine for him now.

“Percentage wise? Between 15 to 30 per cent. To put it into perspective, a person only gives about
8 per cent of their blood volume when they donate. For now, Mr Vegas seems alert and lucid,
blood pressure normal with an elevated heart rate. Any higher than this and he would have required
a transfusion.”

Pete spares at glances back at Vegas. “He’s still breathing fast too.”

Doctor Rueng inclines his head in acknowledgement of this. “Yes, but he’s still in the stage 2 range
at twenty two breaths a minute. Any higher-“

“And he’d need the transfusion,” Pete finishes, catching on to the process now. “I understand.”

Maybe Vegas’ temporary bandage worked enough to keep him alive. Or maybe it was the fact that
he came here to Pete instead of going to his father. But Mr Kan wouldn’t have let him die would
he? Not even if he was furious with his son.

“He’s currently stable but we can better monitor his vitals back in the examination room.”

Chan nods in agreement and drifts towards the door. “I’ll go and get the stretcher now.”

He slips out without another word and Pete resolves himself to the additional minutes of
awkwardness waiting here with Doctor Rueng. Neither he nor Vegas seem to feel the urge to talk in
mixed company.

He did his job at least, but Pete doesn’t really feel any particular warmth towards him.

Pete would be lying if he said he fully trusted him either. And Vegas must feel the same because
he fought so hard not to be left alone with him. Or was it Chan that he didn’t trust?

Pete settles further into his own thoughts, allowing his mind to drift, still keeping a keen eye on
Vegas even as he does so. He's not sure he'll be able to relax now if he's not looking directly at
him. Pete doesn’t think he’s glanced away from Vegas for more than thirty seconds since he
showed up at Pete’s door.

And that’s for good reason. Slowly Pete turns the hand curled in his own, exposing the inner wrist
so he can place two fingers against the pulse point. Just to keep track.

For Pete’s peace of mind. Because Vegas' heart rate is still elevated, he’s still breathing faster than
normal. But Doctor Rueng stated it was still within acceptable ranges.

That doesn’t mean it sits right with Pete to see him like this. It makes him almost as anxious as
Vegas was at the thought of Pete leaving.

At the touch to his wrist, Vegas is squinting again under the light and looking generally indifferent
to the situation. He doesn’t let go of Pete’s hand but he also doesn’t question the fingers at his
pulse point either even though Pete knows he despises the situation. Vegas clearly doesn’t take too
kindly to being physically helpless.

It seems cruel to find anything positive in it, but Pete can’t help but notice the parallels to their
previous interactions. Pete hanging from the chains and utterly, physically helpless as well.

Maybe Vegas deserves a taste of this feeling for himself. It seems a little fitting somehow.

“How are you feeling, Mr Vegas?” Doctor Rueng wonders when it seems like he can’t take the
weight of the silence.

Pete sees the exact moment Vegas’ eyes slide toward the knife again. So fucking predictable.
Without a word, Pete carefully pushes it out of his reach though he can admit to seeing the
pointlessness of the question also.

“Fucking peachy,” Vegas agrees, somehow managing to drum up a flash of the usual offensive
charm.

The kind where he says things that are just so awful that it’s impossible to look away, like watching
a car crash play out in front of your eyes. Vegas talks like people can’t help but witness it, and it’s
true. He never seems to struggle to command the attention that he wants.

Except perhaps from his father.

Doctor Rueng’s brows pinch together at his answer and Pete has to turn his face to hide the smile
curling at his mouth but he suspects Vegas catches that also.

They don’t seem to be able to mask their intentions that well from each other anymore.

Doctor Rueng gives up on trying to talk to Vegas after that.

Thankfully, Chan is quick and doesn’t waste any time. He must have used the stairs over the
elevator for speed because they don’t have to put up with Doctor Rueng for much longer. Soon
enough the door is opening again and Chan is striding back inside holding the stretcher aloft by
way of greeting.

Pete gets to his feet and steps out of the way so that Chan can lie the stretcher next to Vegas' body
where it will be easier to transfer him.

“Get a grip at his left side,” Doctor Rueng suggests, getting to his feet also and pushing the medikit
out of their way. “Best not to disturb his arm too much.”

Pete wisely inserts himself into that position, sensing Vegas is the least likely to lash out at him
whilst leaving Chan to lift his uninjured side. With the help of Doctor Rueng taking a hold of
Vegas’ feet they manage to get him on top of the stretcher with a minimum amount of jostling.

Once they’ve he's properly settled, and Doctor Rueng checks him over for what feels like the tenth
time, suddenly Vegas is all movement again. Using his usable hand to dig into the pocket of his
trousers before they can lift him up and carry him out of the room.

“What?” Pete asks sensing the agitation as he reaches out and catches his wrist.
Because Vegas seems to lack the coordination to remove the item himself. Not to mention Vegas’
trousers are too stiff with half dried blood.

“I need to-“ Vegas starts, blinking rapidly, as his fingers try pushing at the pocket again.

Pete bats his hand out of the way and reaches a hand deep into the pocket himself. Then he’s
dragging out Vegas’ phone and handing it over to him.

“What do you need this for?” he wonders, not catching on when Vegas’ brings his bloodied hand
up and unlocks it, letting out a snarl of frustration when he leaves a smear of crimson on the
screen.

“Macau,” he says simply and Pete understands the urgency.

Was Macau waiting up for him? Did he know that Vegas had snuck out to attack the Italians?

“You want to tell him you’re alright? Did he know you were sneaking off to do this?”

Pete can’t imagine Vegas being so transparent with his little brother. Most of his efforts seem
focused on shielding him from the realities of their hard life. The brutality of their father.

“No,” Vegas admits quietly. “My father forbid it. When he- realises I’m not home. He’ll take it
out- on Macau.”

Above him Chan’s expression is still as water. But there’s no surprise there. No extreme shock or
disapproval. Pete doesn’t know anyone here who isn’t at least somewhat aware of their family
situation.

How familiar might Mr Korn be with the truth of how badly his nephews are treated at the hands
of their father? And why has he never taken action on it?

“Fuck,” Pete mutters, surprised when Vegas pushes the phone back into his hands.

“You talk. I don’t- sound right.”

Pete nods and goes to Vegas’ favourites bar in his contact list, heart thudding unevenly when he
sees the contact name Baby at the top of the speed dial. Pete uses the edge of his boxers to wipe
off the blood and then goes to press Macau’s name before Chan reaches out a hand to stop him.

“Why don’t you stay here and make that call.”

Pete glances up at him in surprise. Wonders at being sidelined now when his role was so vital
earlier. Why would Chan want him out of the way? Is he planning to do something to Vegas when
Pete isn’t around to stop him?

“He won’t cooperate without me,” Pete can’t help but point out.

Vegas is already especially difficult on a good day. Being injured like this seems to have made him
into a very particular type of unrestrained hellion.

“But you can’t walk out of here like you are.”

At the reminder Pete glances down at himself, taking in the blood stains on his bare chest, the
splashes of blood across the blue fabric of his boxer shorts, the red rings painting the skin of his
kneecaps and shins.
Right. Chan evidently has a point. He probably can’t walk out of here like this. It’s not like he’ll be
able to contentedly sit at Vegas’ bed side covered in his blood either.

Pete needs to clean himself up first. If he walked out now and anyone else saw him, he’d look like
a horror show.

So he bends low towards Vegas ear, trying his best to make the words private even with both
Doctor Rueng and Chan hovering above them. “I can’t come with you like this. I have to shower
and get changed first. Can you do it without me? I’ll come down straight after. I just need ten
minutes.”

Vegas is still several beats too slow at responding but that’s the concussion’s handiwork. He’s
sluggish and not able to keep up with the flow of conversation like he usually would.

“Macau first,” Vegas warns, but lets out a sigh at the rest. “Ten minutes, baby. After that I’m-
coming for you.”

Pete’s surprised by the urge to kiss him, but he squashes it down forcefully, refuses to allow that
kind of weakness right now among their audience as he hastily pulls away. But something in
Vegas’ expression tells him he didn’t miss the reluctance.

“Ten minutes,” he promises, for the benefit of the others. Then he nods, as if giving permission to
take Vegas away. Except he steps closer to Chan first, grips tightly at his elbow.

“I’m trusting you with him,” Pete says, in a hard voice that even he doesn’t fully recognise. “Don’t
leave him alone with Doctor Rueng.”

Doctor Rueng splutters out some kind of offended noise but Pete levels him with a sharp look.

“I don’t know you,” he says bluntly by way of explanation but Pete doesn’t really need to justify
his mistrust.

Not in this building.

Chan doesn’t shake his arm off but he meets Pete’s gaze unflinchingly. “I’ll protect Mr Vegas.”

Pete nods and that settles things. Chan takes the end of the stretcher by Vegas’ head and Doctor
Rueng takes hold of the feet, looking relieved at the positioning. A second later they’re lifting him
together and easing him carefully out of the open doorway.

Pete hits Macau’s name in Vegas' contact list and hopes he doesn’t sleep through the call. Prays
he’s sleeping lightly or not even asleep at all. Maybe he’s up and awak right now playing video
games.

The call rings out for a long time. Long enough that Pete worries he won’t be able to get a hold of
him. Won’t be able to warn him in time.

At what feels like the last possible second Macau picks up.

“Vegas?” he murmurs, sounding muddled and sleepy. “What-? It’s like two thirty in the morning-“

“Macau, it’s Pete,” he says, trying not to sound too demanding. Or serious.

“Pete-“ he yawns, surprised and suddenly much more alert. “What’s going on?”

Pete looks down at the blood all over his body and feels a strange kind of tightness in his chest.
He's not sure how to explain the situation. How to break the news in any way that won't leave
Macau feeling panicked and alone.

“You need to lay low for a bit.”

He can hear the sounds of sheets shifting, of Macau moving across the mattress. “Why? What
happened?”

Pete wonders where best to even start. Does Macau just need the basics or all of the facts? How
much does Vegas want him to be aware of? “Do you know about what happened with- the vote?”

“Not really,” Macau whispers as if he somehow expects his father to appear in the room. “Vegas
wouldn’t tell me but dad yelled at him for over an hour once they got home. I think-“

He pauses for another second and seems to reconsider his words. “I think he had some of his men
restrain Vegas just so to bring him back home because he wouldn’t cooperate. He wanted to go
somewhere else.”

Yes, that does sound a lot like the reaction Tankhun was referring to. “It was about me,” Pete
quietly admits. “His father forbid him from getting involved so Vegas snuck out and- took care of
it. But-“

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Macau promises, still keeping his voice uncommonly low.
“It’s not so bad. I don’t really get- punished all that much when Vegas is around.”

Pete feels like his heart is tearing in two. Because Macau’s thoughtless comment derails him so
completely. “And when he’s not around?”

Macau is silent for a moment and pointedly doesn’t answer the question. Which Pete would argue
is its own kind of painful answer. In that pause, Pete deeply resents all of the harms which adults
get away with inflicting on their children. Wishes he could deliver it back tenfold.

“Pete, just say it, okay? I can handle it. What’s- what’s going on?”

He takes a breath. Reminds himself that Macau might just be a kid but he’s a Theerapanyakul kid.
“Vegas isn’t coming back home tonight. He’s been injured.”

Macau needs a few seconds to process that so Pete doesn’t rush in with an explanation.

“How- how bad is it?”

“Two bullet wounds. He’s with the doctor now. I don’t think it’s life threatening anymore. He’s got
a concussion as well so he wanted me to call you. To warn you.”

If Macau was half asleep before he’s definitely awake now.

“Right,” Macau says seriously, still sounding much too young for Pete’s conscience to bear.
“Right.”

How do you tell a kid that he needs to go and hide from his own father? How does he tell Macau
that no one is going to be there to protect him in Vegas' absence? None of this sits right with Pete.

“He’s not going to be happy about this, Mr Kan,” Pete eventually says. “Do you- do you have a
place that you hide when he’s especially angry?”

Not everyone’s experiences are universal but Pete is probably betting on this one. And hiding is
one of the more baser instincts when people are frightened.

“Yeah,” Macau admits, his breath a small helpless sigh. “I’ve got a place.”

Pete wishes Macau wasn’t currently alone in the minor family house. If he could somehow go and
get him without having to leave Vegas behind, he would. Without question.

“Go there then,” Pete tells him. “Try and stay hidden as long as you can. Do you- do you have a
backpack?”

The pause doesn’t bode well for ‘yes’ being his answer.

“A backpack?” Macau whispers, sounding confused.

“I had one- when I was younger,” Pete admits, wiping a hand across his face before remembering
there’s blood on it. “You put all the shit you need in there so if- things get bad you can just grab it
and get out. No wasting time.”

It’s a practical thing to have in a house where you might not always feel safe. Makes the thought of
escaping a more physical kind of thing. In the form of a backpack.

“Oh,” Macau realises. “No. I never thought- I’ll make one.”

“You’ve got to hide it really well,” Pete insists. “Somewhere accessible but also in a place where
your father would never find it. I hid mine in the roof space in my room but only because I had a
window I could climb out of if I ever needed to leave. It has to be somewhere you can just grab it
and run, okay? Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” Macau agrees quietly. “It makes sense.”

Suddenly Pete wishes Vegas was here to make the call instead, but he was right. Macau would
have been more alarmed at the way he was speaking. Pete's not so confident that he was much of a
comfort either.

“Alright good. So hide out, lay low for a while and I’ll text you updates on Vegas when I have
them.”

Or he’ll get Vegas to text him when he takes his phone back down to level two. That’s probably
better. Pete shouldn’t have to feel responsible for this but he does anyway. He's honestly not so
sure that he can help it anymore.

Macau might be a little bit of an idiot, but so is pretty much every teenager Pete’s met, including
himself, and he doesn’t deserve to be left exposed like this.

At least Pete gave him the warning. He knows it’s better than having an angry father storm into the
room, dead drunk and ready to punish for whatever little thing they think they’ve done. Whatever
crime they believe has been committed. Or maybe it’s worse for Macau, whose father does these
things perfectly sober.

No their experiences are not the same.

“Okay,” Macau says, perfectly agreeable and Pete feels a twang of indecision leaving him alone
like this.

He seems so young. And unprotected. Do the guards ever intervene if Mr Kan goes too far?
Pete doubts it.

“If you need me. Call me, Macau. Okay? I’ll come.”

And it’s worse because Pete means that. Even if it might cost him to go back to the compound.
Even if it might mean a confrontation with Mr Kan. But Pete doesn't make false promises. He will
show up if Macau calls.

“But I don’t have your number.”

Ah right. Damn. And Pete doesn’t know it either. “I’ll text you off of my phone after I hang up,”
he promises, already moving towards the couch and bending down to reach for the burner phone
still concealed beneath it.

“Okay, thanks Pete. Please- look after my brother for me.”

“I will,” he says, meaning it as his hand closes around the phone, dragging it back out with him. “I
promise.”

When Pete hangs up it he goes back into Vegas’ contacts and brings up Macau’s details. Then he
unlocks the burner phone and types in the mobile number.

Hey this is pete, he sends out.

A second later he receives from Macau so at least now they've shared their details. That makes
Pete feel a little calmer in the event of an emergency.

He’s right in the middle of closing out the contact section to save battery on Vegas' phone and locks
it but he barely takes both phones into the bedroom before Vegas’ is buzzing in his hand again.

Automatically assuming it’s Macau, Pete lifts the phone up so the screen gets illuminated and
quickly realises it’s from someone else.

It’s a message from someone called Kantee, and Pete automatically reads the first sentence of the
message u missed the RP? Where are u? Whats going on- before the phone naturally cuts off the
rest of the message. He’d need to unlock it to read the entirety. It’s probably from one of Vegas’
men, wondering where he is right now but Pete wasn’t looking at the code when Vegas unlocked
his phone and he doesn’t think it’s urgent.

The message can wait for Vegas when Pete takes the phone back downstairs. Surely Macau will
talk to Vegas’ men and let them know he’s alive if they’re still in the compound. Pete hopes
Macau considered going to them tonight for protection.

He puts both phones on to the bathroom counter so they’re within reach and in case he needs to
clean them of any traces of blood later but as he goes to move away, Pete accidentally catches a
glimpse of himself in the mirror.

The smudge of red is shocking enough to give him pause before he realises that he did wipe some
of Vegas’ blood across his face after all.

Pete quickly recoils from the sight, feeling unsettled by the image before he’s dragging the boxers
down his hips and stepping into the shower bath.

It’s not a big deal. The blood. It just is. There’s no permanent stain. No impossible mark. Pete can
wash it away like it’s nothing. He shouldn’t be experiencing this kind of revulsion at the sight.
Only it doesn’t feel like nothing and Pete doesn’t understand the nugget of tension now coiled up
in his chest. He’s been covered in blood before. Some of it not even his own. So what’s the
difference this time? What is it about the situation that’s so disturbing to him?

Pete takes another breath, then he’s reaching for the nozzle and adjusting both until it’s warm
enough to step fully under the spray.

Once it’s how he likes it, Pete is shuffling under the warm water and turning his back to it, letting it
cascade over the crown of his head, running a warm path down his neck and shoulders.

He gets the blood off his hands first, watches it turn the water into pale streaks of red as it runs
eerily down the drain and then he’s vigorously washing at his face to get it clean too. Pete hopes he
didn’t somehow get some in his hair either, and washes that as a precaution as well.

It’s funny to be the one washing Vegas’ blood off of himself now and to find a sense of unease at
how much there is.

Pete can remember a time when he wanted nothing else than to see Vegas bleed, to have been the
one to injure him. It wouldn’t have bothered him then, to be covered in his blood, to see Vegas
made weak as Pete tore him apart. Made him experience the depth of the pain he’d inflicted on
Pete and return it back to him with interest.

Pete isn’t sure how it could have changed so drastically. That washing off Vegas’ blood now has
left him a little shaken.

A little unsteady.

As he cleans himself off, Pete almost can’t pay attention to the blood on his skin any longer. He
squeezes out a generous amount of body wash and then he’s scrubbing determinedly at his skin
until it looks a little raw and sensitive. Until the outside of him seems to reflect how he’s feeling
inside.

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when all of the blood is finally gone. Can’t
allow himself to focus on what it all means. What it could have meant.

What would his life be like now if Vegas had died? If he’d died trying to help Pete? To protect
him? How would he feel about him then?

Was Vegas right? Would he have been relieved? Would he have celebrated the idea?

Pete grits his teeth and switches off the taps, stepping out of the shower bath and having to go into
the cupboard for a spare towel because he used them all up trying to stop Vegas from bleeding to
death.

Well aware of the time limit, Pete dries off and gets dressed quickly into a loose fitting shirt and
sweatpants, rubbing distractedly at his still damp hair when he picks up the phones and uses wet
toilet paper, dampening them with water from the tap to give them a cursory wipe down.

He flushes the bloodied toilet paper and puts the phones into the deep pockets of his sweatpants,
heading back out into the living room and drawing up short at the mess of blood on the floor.

Something hard pulses in Pete’s throat at the sight, like he’s short of breath and he can’t swallow
properly and then he’s taking the key card out of the slot by the door and heading out down the
hallway.
Immediately he can see the spots of blood on the carpet, the path Vegas left on his way over here
as he hurries in the opposite direction. Towards the cleaning supply cupboard for the maids that he
knows is stored on this level. When he reaches the doors it's unlocked and he finds a roll of paper
towels and floor cleaner and figures that will have to be enough for now.

Pete will send word down to maintenance eventually. Let them know that there’s potentially a
bloodied trail all the way from his room to however Vegas even got inside the building in the first
place.

More headaches for someone else to worry about.

Pete moves fast back to his and Porsche’s room and unscrews the cap on the floor cleaner,
spreading enough of the liquid across the floor so that the fumes start to make him a little
lightheaded. Then Pete uses nearly half the roll of paper towels mopping it up, using the cleaner to
assist in dilute the blood. He has to scrub at the places where the surface is thinner, where the
blood had the time to dry and leave a stain around the edges.

The living room stinks of lemon and citrus afterwards and Pete fills up the little bin by the office
area but he gets all of the blood off the floor and in the rest of the apartment. Has to wipe some off
the back of the door where Vegas first collapsed against it.

He knows he’s cutting close for time so Pete leaves the cleaning chemical and the roll of paper
towels on the counter and moves back out into the hallway, deciding on a whim to follow the line
of blood.

Vegas must have been moving fast. Or at least as fast as he could manage because thankfully there
are spots of blood every few steps or so. He must have been pressing something against his head at
some point, that’s why there isn’t such a bigger mess in the carpet.

The drops seem to stop at the elevator so Pete presses the button and waits for it to arrive,
wondering if it will bring up the lift that Vegas clearly came out of or if another one will arrive
first.

Luck seems to be on his side because it’s the one Vegas must have arrived in. Pete can tell this with
a very simple kind of deduction.

Because there’s blood all over the floor of the elevator.

Not to mention a scrap of balled up fabric that’s mostly red but was clearly a different shade of
green before Vegas got his hands on it. This must be what he was holding against his head before.
He must have dropped it and not noticed when he made his way towards Pete’s floor.

Marvelling a little at the kind of journey he must have had tonight, Pete selects the second floor
and wonders about which level Vegas came in from. The lobby seems unlikely.

If Pete had the time, could he follow the bloodied bread crumbs to try and figure out how Vegas is
getting into the building? Or would it simply lead him back through to the pool area and those
emergency doors? The exact way he got in here last time?

Pete decides to worry about it later because he knows if he takes any longer, Vegas is going to
make good on his promise and come and find him. Vegas isn’t the type to make those kind of
declarations and not mean them.

The hallways are quiet and empty when Pete steps out and moves down towards the medical area
but the closer he gets towards the examination rooms the louder it seems to get in his ears.
Things are clearly not going well in there but he’s too far away to make out exactly what the voices
are saying. Pete increases his pace, not out of nerves, but a grim understanding of the kind of hell
Vegas must be raising in there.

When he’s close enough, the first thing Pete overhears is the pleading.

“Please Mr Vegas, be reasonable,” Doctor Rueng is saying, sounding extremely terse and frazzled.
He has clearly not been enjoying their time together. “I need to insert the IV to restore the blood
volume lost from your wounds. This will help you recover faster.”

Vegas’ response is nothing short of scathing. “Come closer- then. I’ll show you- what to do with
that sedative.”

Pete starts walking even faster.

“For the last time already it is not a sedative. You have a concussion! We’ll need to monitor you
for a least three hours before you’ll be permitted to fall asleep again. Chan, can you please-?“

“Don’t look at me,” Chan replies, his calm an infuriating contrast to Doctor Rueng’s frustration. “I
finally wrestled that shirt off him and he jabbed me in the kidney for the trouble.”

Clearly Vegas has been making friends.

“Mr Vegas, if you’d just- your pants are covered in blood. Let us clean you up a little and we can
insert the IV and-”

Vegas makes a particularly unflattering sound.

“Please relax. I have no reason to be administering a sedative- put that down!”

Pete rushes into the room just as Doctor Rueng is trying to wrestle the intravenous needle out of
Vegas’ hands. Chan is standing against the wall, watching the proceedings with unmistakeable
interest and apparently without any real urge to intervene and help Doctor Rueng overpower Vegas.

From what Pete just overheard, he’s probably less keen after he took a shot to the kidneys. Pete
intimately knows how much that one hurts.

Vegas is sitting up on the bed and the generic thin sheets, his injured forearm now in a sling and
looking very much not like a patient and more like someone who’s been kidnapped and placed in a
hospital bed against his will.

Pete stalks into view, pointedly showing his face so that Vegas will spot him first.

“Would you,” Pete says slowly, trying to keep his temper in check as he approaches Vegas’
bedside. “Stop being such an ass for a minute?”

Vegas drops the needle and instantly cranes his neck over to look at him better. Pete can actually
see some of the tension leave his body at Pete’s arrival.

He’s sprawled awkwardly on the bed, no doubt from his struggles to leave it and he’s shirtless and
still in his bloodied trousers and those fancy shoes of his.

Pete goes straight for the shoes and starts untying the laces, ignoring how Vegas seems perfectly
content to watch him work. He wonders if the only reason he’s succeeding where Chan and Doctor
Rueng failed is because he didn’t bother to ask Vegas’ permission first.
But it’s probably not for that reason alone.

“Let him give you the fluids,” he continues, seeing how Doctor Rueng appears just as relieved by
his arrival when he removes a shoe and sets it down on the sheets before starting on the next one.
“You left most of your blood on my living room floor. You obviously need the IV.”

Vegas’ right arm, which he was keeping tightly folded, fist tucked protectively underneath his own
chin so that Doctor Rueng wouldn’t have been able to extend his arm in order to slip the IV in,
finally relaxes a little. His eyes seem to slide over Pete attentively, taking in all the changed details
since he saw him last.

The wet hair. The new clothes. The pained expression from having to deal with Vegas’
disruptiveness.

“That was- longer than ten minutes.”

Pete gets the last shoe off, picking both up so he can set them down atop one of the chairs resting
against the wall. “I was busy cleaning up your blood. Why the hell do you want to sit in these
messed up clothes?”

Vegas raises an eyebrow at him like the answer is obvious. He didn't want either of the two men
touching him. But he doesn't seem to have the same issue now.

“You can take my- pants off, baby.”

Immediately, Pete flushes.

At the suggestion. At the audience. At the fact that Chan is less than a metre away and Vegas just
called him baby.

“Fuck off,” Pete says, but he returns to the bed and reaches over to unbutton Vegas’ trousers
without further comment, painfully aware that he’s being watched.

That this needs to be nothing more than a perfunctory task. He’s not embarrassed. Vegas needs to
get out of those pants. Pete’s not embarrassed. Except, Vegas straightens up a little, like he’s trying
to lean into him, only he glances over Pete’s shoulder instead to address their audience.

“Like to watch?” he purrs, making his words come out like a suggestion.

Fine. Okay, Pete’s embarrassed. And he fumbles with the zipper whilst Doctor Rueng splutters
unintelligbly in the background behind them.

Small blessings for Chan’s continued silence at least.

“You can figure it out from there,” Pete mutters once he's done, but Vegas scoffs and snatches at
his wrist before he can effectively pull away.

“Not one- handed. I can’t.”

Pete sighs and helps Vegas’ shimmy his hips out of the trousers, bracing his hands on Vegas’ trim
waist and carefully pressing down against his briefs so he doesn’t accidentally expose Vegas to the
rest of the men in the room when they inevitably stick to Vegas' pants being pulled down.

Once it’s past his thighs it becomes practical again and less- revealing. Makes Pete feel less like
he’s being judged for something, so he manages to tug the trousers off completely, leaving Vegas
in only his socks and briefs. Then he folds the trousers and throws them over the back of the same
chair the shoes are sitting on.

If they’re washed correctly the pants might still be salvageable.

When he turns back to look at Vegas half naked, he has a better opportunity of inspecting that state
he’s in. For one, there’s a lot more unexpected bruises then Pete was expecting. More so from his
earlier fight with Porsche. Was this all from the confrontation with the Italians? Or has Vegas been
in- other fights?

There’s still sections of dried blood across his body too especially from the left side of his head,
where it travelled down his neck, pooling into his collarbone before spilling down the rest his chest
in scattered patches.

His hands are still red and his forearm, not hidden beneath the bandages still needs a proper wipe
down. Not to mention all of the other places Vegas has accidentally touched and spread blood
around.

He probably needs a shower too, though it’s probably not recommended that he get the bandages
wet at the moment. Besides he needs the fluids first.

So Pete steps over to the right hand side of the bed next and slowly takes hold of Vegas’ clenched
fist still held underneath his chin. It twitches at his touch, slowly unfolds like a flower extending
its petals for sunlight, and Pete is able to ease his arm down flat on the bed before turning his wrist
over, exposing the back of Vegas’ hand so Doctor Rueng can insert the IV in.

He eases away only to give Doctor Rueng enough room to work as he goes to bend over towards
Vegas’ right hand.

“You’d better get it first fucking try,” Pete mutters out of the corner of his mouth, aiming for
Doctor Rueng’s ears only.

He tenses at that, but doesn’t outwardly respond, understandably focused on locating the best vein.
Vegas is staring at Pete so he has no idea once the IV is inserted because Vegas, now seeming
more like himself, doesn’t even react at the pinch of the needle. But Doctor Rueng finishes taping
over the IV to stop it shifting or slipping out and straightens back up again, creating distance
between them with a notable sigh of relief.

After that he ends up standing right next to Chan as if he’s the one who might be in need of a
bodyguard after being forced to deal with Vegas.

“Please don’t leave again,” this Doctor Rueng tries to whisper to Pete in a low voice but Vegas
evidently still overhears because his mouth pivots from irritated into a gratified smirk.

Pete trails his fingers absently along Vegas’ arm, an unthinking reward for good behaviour and
retreats to the corner of the room where the visitor chairs are all placed against the wall. He picks
the empty one next to the pile of Vegas’ remaining clothes and brings it closer to the side of Vegas’
bed before sitting down in it next to him.

“What now?” Pete wonders, glancing back at Doctor Rueng and Chan, feeling slightly more
relaxed since he’s held Vegas off from maiming the doctor for the second time in a row.

Chan shrugs in a noncommittal way. “I’d better get the rest of the blood sorted out. Mr Vegas left a
path through the hotel.”
Vegas doesn’t apologise which Pete doubts Chan was expecting from him anyway. He’s a
generally unapologetic person. But Pete nods at Chan, silently communicating his thanks for
everything he’s done tonight.

Chan returns it with an incomprehensible kind of look. One that hints at the many questions soon to
be directed Pete’s way when he gets him alone next. But that's expected to some degree. Especially
after everything that has been said and done tonight.

When Chan disappears from the room, Doctor Rueng still keeps up the same degree of distance as
if he’s choosing to play it safe now that his protection has left the room.

“We’ll need to keep Vegas awake and regularly monitored for at least three hours due to the
concussion. But after that he’ll be able to rest. Let the IV do its work.”

Pete nods and startles a second later when Doctor Rueng is setting a bowl in his hand with a thin
layer of water in it and a sponge.

“Here,” he says, already backing well out of reach. “To mop up the rest of the blood.”

Pete knows for certain that his face is turning red again.

“I’m not going to-“

“What?” Vegas mutters slyly from his position on the bed. “No sponge bath?”

And Pete had previously thought he was an uncooperative patient. It’s probably for the best that he
didn’t get Doctor Kunakorn involved here tonight.

Vegas might actually have murdered him.

Pete winces but decides not to address that comment. At least not where Doctor Rueng can hear
him.

“And the X-ray?”

Doctor Rueng is busying himself on the furthest side of the room but from what Pete can see he’s
not actually doing anything. What the hell did Vegas do to him in those ten minutes Pete was
gone?

“Mr Vegas has managed to avoid any damage to his radius,” Doctor Rueng confirms. “But the
strangest thing came up on the X-ray. There’s already an existing distal radius fracture, that’s only
recently begun healing-“

“Oh that was weeks ago,” Pete explains, feeling like he’s remembering another lifetime. “When I
broke his wrist.”

Doctor Rueng glances between the two of them, eyebrows scrunching together in confusion.

“So violent. Isn’t he Doctor?” Vegas declares, but he looks delighted by the fact.

Pete doesn’t even bother to explain himself. Not with Vegas so thoroughly enjoying the situation
now. He just sighs and looks at the monitor Vegas is now connected to, keeping track of his heart
beat and blood pressure. Pete isn’t really an expert on such things but it looks steady. Stabilised.

“I see,” Doctor Rueng says, sounding very much like he doesn’t see at all. “Well it’s good news.
No broken bones means no fragments embedded in the trauma site so Mr Vegas won’t require
surgery.”

“Great,” Pete agrees flatly, knowing exactly what kind of nightmare Vegas would have been if he
had required that surgery.

They probably would have had to wait those three hours and then sedate him first before even
thinking about operating on him.

As if to contradict those thoughts, Vegas expression is entirely pleasant when he looks at Doctor
Rueng and says, “You can go away now.”

Doctor Rueng purses his lips at the dismissal before glancing hesitantly over at Pete. But
something in Pete’s expression must convince him he's not needed at the moment.

“I’ll give you some- privacy. Just call for me if any issues.”

Pete doesn’t feel the need to respond and neither does Vegas because Doctor Rueng pauses only
once before the silence helps encourage him out of the room. He leaves looking almost as
disgruntled as he was when Pete walked in.

“Here,” Pete says, digging Vegas’ phone out of his pocket and placing it in Vegas’ lap.

Vegas barely spares a glance at it. “Did you speak- to Macau?”

“Yeah,” Pete says, picking at the edge of Vegas’ blanket with his fingers and setting the bowl
down by his hip on the bed. “He said he’d lay low.”

“And you?”

“Me?” Pete wonders, surprised as he looks up. “What about me?”

Vegas doesn’t seem to have the patience for any evasion.

“Are you going- to lay low?”

Pete opens his mouth. Then he closes it and dips his hand into the bowl, squeezing most of the
water out before dabbing at Vegas’ throat. Immediately he wishes he’d brought the paper towels
down with him because trying to sponge the blood off is not an easy tasks. Pete feels like he’s
making a bigger mess somehow.

“You know I didn’t- kill off everyone. Who was loyal. To Amara,” Vegas tells him. “You need to
keep- your guard up. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Pete can’t believe he’s saying that with any kind of sincerity. “Of the two of us, who is laying in a
hospital bed because he ran off and arguably did something really fucking stupid?”

Vegas just smiles for his own private amusement.

“Stubborn, baby.”

“Hypocrite,” Pete fires right back.

“Doctor,” Vegas calls suddenly in an obnoxiously loud way. “How soon can I- be sexually active
again? Pete wants to know.”

A split second later Pete reaches out and cups a hand over Vegas’ mouth to smother the rest of the
words but he’s not nearly fast enough. The words travel loudly out through the open doorway.

And just like that Pete is rendered utterly speechless, feeling the heat ripple across his cheeks, in
the tips of his ears as turns his head in search of an audience.

Damn, Vegas.

But thankfully, Doctor Rueng seems to know better than to respond to the bait.

With some inappropriate touches from Vegas, Pete manages to clean most of the blood off of his
skin and get him underneath the blankets. It's nowhere near as simple a task as it should be because
Vegas is there trying to trip him every step of the way. Doesn’t seem to be able to resist several
suggestive comments in quick succession

Pete puts up with all of it without succumbing to the urge to smother him with a hospital pillow.

The first hour passes quickly, with Doctor Rueng ducking in and out of the examination room to
check on Vegas every now and then before Vegas does something heinous enough to force him out
of the room again.

After that first hour, the IV seems to have had some effect because Vegas stops looking as pale and
he’s able to talk in fuller sentences. The delay between him responding also gets narrower and
narrower.

Over time Pete sees him come further back to himself. By the second hour, he's almost entirely
normal, well what's normal enough for Vegas if not for the careful way he moves his body,
compensating for the new aches and pains.

They spend most of that time bickering and debating how best to respond to situation of the vote.
Naturally, Vegas wants to punish Kinn with extreme prejudice and Pete couldn’t be less interested
in that if he’d tried.

He does make several attempts to probe further about Vegas’ spy. Tries to ask about when the
minor family is planning to attack the main family and why they’ve waited this long but Vegas
easily steers the conversation away or refuses to outright answer when Pete won’t back off.

There's some reason he's holding back on this, when Vegas has previously had no issues giving
Pete what he wants. But Pete has no idea what exactly that might be.

Eventually it’s been more than three hours and Doctor Rueng has checked on Vegas again, giving
him some pain medication that Vegas swallows dry and only at Pete’s insistence. The entire time
Doctor Rueng is looking very much like he regrets approaching the bed even when he backs away
and says Vegas should be fine to sleep now if he wants to.

Vegas responds in a way that paints Doctor Rueng in a very unflattering light and Pete thinks
Doctor Rueng is probably lamenting not going with the sedative after all when he stomps away,
appearing harrassed.

Pete doesn’t leave the chair the entire time. Not even when Vegas’ body seems to overpower his
will and he finally falls asleep half propped up against the wall behind him.
When he's asleep he seems smaller somehow. More fragile and delicate. Pete stays there for what
feels like a long time, just watching Vegas breathe. Comforting himself with the fact that at least
this bastard seems just as unstoppable as advertised.

“Pete,” Chan says quietly and Pete startles at the sound of his voice, having not even realised he
was there. “He’s asleep. Go back to your rooms and get some rest. That’s an order.”

Pete sighs but accepts the reprieve and slowly peels himself out from the chair. “You’ll watch over
him?”

Chan nods and Pete knows he can be trusted with this. As Mr Korn's right hand man there's no way
he'd ever let Vegas come to any harm under his watch. Of that Pete can be certain.

”Alright. Thanks, Chan.”

“I’ll have to reports this,” Chan says when Pete is on his way out the door. “In the morning. To Mr
Korn.”

Because there are always consequences for Vegas' actions. Pete wasn’t really expecting anything
else.

“I understand.”

He’s halfway to the open doorway when Chan speaks again. “He seems very taken,” he comments.
”With you. Much more cooperative then I’ve ever known him to be.”

Pete is almost too horrified to respond. Definitely doesn't have the guts to turn around and face
him. If there was ever a person that he might have looked to as a father figure, it would be Chan.
And this is the last kind of conversation he’d want to have with him about Vegas.

Pete barely understands it himself let alone enough to confidently talk about it.

“He knows how to play nice- when it suits him.”

That at least is true. But Chan doesn’t seem to know what to say back either because he doesn’t
respond when Pete walks out.

Getting back to bed seems almost impossible. Falling asleep even more so but Pete barely has to
slip in through the door, remove the rest of his clothing and put his head against the pillow before
he’s falling back into sleep again.

Just as exhausted as Vegas is.

The first thing he’s aware of is the perfect cocoon of heat surrounding him.

Pete’s warm. So warm. But there’s something physically tugging at his upper arm, pulling at the
edges of sleep.

“Sweetheart,” comes a soft voice at his ear, a steady murmur. ”You need to let me go.”

Pete ignores the murmur of words like they’re a distant incomprehensible noise. But then the
tugging is back, a little harder now and he resists, forehead scrunching up into the beginnings of a
frown. Swimming slowly to the surface of consciousness when he’d rather linger in the
weightlessness of dream.

It was a nice dream too, he thinks. Pete’s so tired. Why couldn’t Porsche let him sleep a little
longer?

But then there’s a laugh. A familiar, heart wrenching laugh, and Pete is launching into alertness at
the sound, eyes now open, and hands automatically clenching around the heat enveloping him.

It takes a beat too long to realise that source of the warmth is alive and moving against him. Pete
blinks through his confusion and tilts his chin up to catch the sight of Vegas leaning over him, still
heavily bandaged, arm tightly tucked up in the sling with an expression grown soft in amusement.

Vegas’ body is curled intimately against his, legs tangled, with Pete’s own hands firmly clamped
down around his lower back and Vegas’ free arm wrapped around his shoulder, the source of what
was pulling at Pete a second ago.

How the hell did he-?

Of course. Of course Vegas would ditch the examination room the first chance he got. Probably as
soon as he'd awoken to discover that Pete was gone again. For a confusing moment. Pete wonders
if he should be impressed that he somehow got past Chan. Or maybe he just persuaded him to look
the other way. Maybe Doctor Rueng simply couldn’t take another moment alone with him.

Pete has no idea what’s more likely.

“Are you going to let me go now?” Vegas wonders, and Pete realises the sensation of being pulled
was Vegas trying to break free of him. But he can’t seem to disentangle from Pete one handed.
“Because I seriously need to piss.”

Pete releases his grip and reels away with the speed of a man diving from gun fire but what he’s
really recoiling from is his own deep embarrassment at the situation. That Vegas snuck into his bed
at one point and Pete ended up holding on to so tightly that Vegas couldn’t even get free if he'd
wanted to.

Is it worse that he slept so well wrapped around Vegas? Or better? He honestly can’t tell.

Thankfully Pete manages to roll completely on to the opposite side of the bed, offering Vegas
nothing but the naked line of his back and the shifting mattress, the pad of footsteps moving away
from him, tells Pete Vegas didn’t stop to linger. How long did he lay there needing to piss until
Vegas was forced into breaking free of him?

He hears the bathroom door close gently and then Pete is closing his eyes again, the tinge of
exposure from his unconscious desire to hold Vegas close, now simmering to manageable levels.
Pete refuses to let himself feel awkward when Vegas is the one who snuck into his bed without
permission. When he needed to badly to be close to Pete that he left a literal hospital bed to come
back here.

Pete sighs, as his heart beat slows down again, as he settles back into the warmth of the bed and
the impression left from Vegas’ body. His eyes slip shut of their own volition. Somehow still so
tired.

The interrupted sleep and the stress of early morning certainly played a part in impacting how well
rested he feels.
Despite his earlier surprise, Pete’s exhausted enough to find the softness of sleep again before it
completely deserts him, sinking back into that mellow space. His thoughts are fuzzy and shapeless
when the bed dips again and the warmth is back.

Only now he knows that warmth is Vegas, and the chest pressing up against his back, the press of a
hand cupping the back of his neck, all belong to that one, infuriating person. Who seems fairly alert
now considering the concussion and blood loss barely hours ago.

Vegas doesn’t say anything for once. Just presses an absent kiss at the flexing tendon between
Pete's neck and shoulder before settling down comfortably against him. He doesn’t have the hands
to slide across Pete’s waist, can feel the press of Vegas’ wrapped forearm against his shoulder but a
second later Vegas’ fingers dip between Pete’s side and the mattress, finding the curve of space
that allows him to slip his arm through.

Pete lifts himself up from the bed a little in order to allow it, just like he seems to allow a lot of
things now, and tries not to worry about how he might wake up clutching Vegas to him again when
Vegas’ right arm curves loosely and wraps across his lower abdomen, hand settling firmly atop
Pete’s opposite hip.

Instead he relaxes back into the mattress. Into the puff of Vegas’ breaths against the back of his
neck, his nose pressed into Pete’s hair. He should check in and find out how Vegas is feeling. See
for himself if he’s bled through the bandages and if they need redressing. But his thoughts are still
circling on a quick moment of rest.

Before he has to get up and get dressed and face everything that’s happened. Before a direct plan of
action is required.

Just a quick moment-

Pete emerges into wakefulness at the sensation of a warm hand gently kneading his ass.

For a moment he takes stock of the surroundings before opening his eyes. His face is turned to the
side, now lying on his stomach and his cheek is resting against warm skin, the scent of which is
lingering with each familiar inhale. His left arm is now looped around Vegas's shoulder, the press
of his hand flat under Vegas’ back, and a little numb as if he turned over at some point and rolled
Vegas over as well.

He can feel the line of Vegas’ right arm slotted underneath his armpit, curving over the splay of his
ribs, the ridge of hip before it had settled at the mound of his ass, generously cupping a cheek in
hand. They feel fused together now and Pete’s other palm is curled up around Vegas’ waist, Vegas'
own injured arm elevated and resting atop Pete’s shoulder blade.

Their bodies are impossibly and intimately looped together and Pete’s body is exceedingly warm
now but that’s probably because he’s lying on his stomach half sprawled against Vegas’ chest.
Their legs are also tangled and firmly locked whilst the base of Vegas’ chin is pressed against his
head. Pete couldn’t be more securely held by him if he’d consciously sought it out.

He can also thoroughly feel where his own thigh is spread liberally across Vegas' hip, his calf
slotted between their open legs, and through the fabric of Vegas’ briefs the firmness from the base
of his cock, and the softness of balls eased up against his inner thigh.

The hand on his lower extremities shifts again, rubbing gently at his left ass cheek and Pete
realises the cock he’s pressed against is stiff and raring with interest.
He knows that it’s Vegas. Pete knows that Vegas snuck in here without asking and Pete is still
cuddled up against him as his reward.

But Pete is comfortable and maybe a little hard now too and Vegas’ hands on him always feel
good. So he doesn’t open his eyes, lets himself sink instead into the lazy buzz of growing pleasure.

Vegas squeezes once before his hand trails over to the centre of his ass and dips below, fingers
drifting past his perineum and finding purchase at the base of his balls, firmly cupping Pete’s ass in
his hand in the kind of touch that can’t be accidental.

Pete jolts a little as his ass cheeks naturally spread open under the force but Vegas only pushes his
hand, moving Pete up a little bit higher before easing him back down. There’s a tingling sensation
in the tip of his cock before Pete realises it’s dragging across the warm skin of Vegas’ side which
he’s still sprawled against.

He swallows hard when Vegas repeats the movement again, and Pete realises he’s trying to grind
Pete’s body against him whilst stimulating his own cock and a spark of heat coils through him at
the thought. The lazy, unhurried motion of it. Pete’s breaths against Vegas’ skin are coming faster
now but he doesn’t make any effort to extricate himself, curious and aroused, and wondering what
Vegas might do next.

What he could to next with only one useable hand?

When Vegas lifts Pete’s ass up to grind back and forth against him again, Pete eases himself back
in tandem, anchoring further onto Vegas’ hand before thrusting his hips forward instinctively.
Vegas murmurs a soft noise of encouragement that has Pete’s hand gripping tightly to Vegas’ side,
using the handhold for purchase as they fall into an easy flow of rutting against one another.

He doesn't lift his head up to stare into Vegas' eyes. Seems to think it's safer to leave his head
pressed against Vegas’ chest and firmly turned away from him. Too shy to acknowledge what
they’re doing in any real way, well aware of how naked he is. How Vegas is still only in those
briefs and it would take nothing to have them skin on skin.

Soon enough the slow friction is almost unbearable and Pete is the one who increases the speed,
chasing the sensation at a higher intensity, climbing towards the irresistible peak of an orgasm. The
flurry of movement momentarily displaces Vegas’ hand beneath his ass and the thumb which he’d
anchored on to Pete’s right ass cheek for support, shifts unexpectedly between his cheeks and
skates briefly across his hole.

Pete gasps against Vegas’ neck at the suddenness of it, the jolt of remembered pleasure and the
thrill of anticipation from the unexpected touch. Neither of them give voice to comment on it but
he feels Vegas hesitate for a fraction of a second before he’s adjusting his grip and the thumb is
returning to the inner heat of him again.

Right at the entrance and Pete has to bite his lip, slowing his hips down at the pressure. The
lethargy of lazy rutting is quickly dissipating in the rush of expectation when Vegas rubs gently at
his rim without actually pushing inside. But Pete’s body is still in the pace of it, instinctively rocks
against that sensation before he can think better of it.

At the firmer touch, Pete makes a strangled noise into Vegas’ skin and the both of them freeze at
the sound which shatters the hazy silence. They’re paused for a moment. Impossibly still. Waiting.

And then Vegas deliberately removes his hand and speaks.

“You want my fingers?”

Pete pulls away from him as if there's no other conclusion, struggling to free his left hand which is
starting to tingle with pins and needles.

“No,” he says, retreating and feeling as if he’s peeling their bodies apart when he eases up onto his
knees, hard and half sitting on Vegas’ thigh.

“Liar.”

Coming to his senses, Pete rolls off of him completely, wisely moving to create distance but Vegas
just follows straight after him, pushing at Pete’s shoulder so that he overbalances and tips onto the
mattress, landing on his back.

Pete raises an eyebrow and goes to sit up but with surprising flexibility, Vegas is slinging a leg
over Pete’s hip and settling down onto his crotch instead, bracing against Pete’s chest with his one
useable hand.

He’s grinning at Pete, sly and sultry as he goes to align their lower halves, hissing out a moan when
the stiffness of his erection presses up against Pete’s own.

“Like this then?” he wonders innocently, a question in his raised brow.

And Pete is suddenly breathless when he bites at his lip and nods.

This isn’t the kind of way that Vegas has been on top of him before which becomes even more
apparent when Vegas’ hand remains where it is to anchor himself above Pete and he starts to
move.

Pete’s hands shift too of their own accord and suddenly they’re sliding up Vegas’ thighs, curling
around his lower back as Pete tries to surge up towards him.

Vegas is grinning as he nearly over balances but recovers quickly, wrapping his arm across Pete’s
neck to draw their chests together. Whilst Pete soon has both hands clutching tightly at the muscle
of Vegas’ back, colliding together so easily that it’s not even a thought when he tilts his face up and
Vegas is already there, leaning down to kiss him.

Vegas kisses him slick and easy, open mouthed with a syrupy kind of heat that’s meant to simmer
not boil.

Pete groans into his mouth because Vegas hasn’t stopped moving his hips at all, seems to content
himself with the messy incoordination of it all as the kiss deepens, Vegas’ tongue slipping inside
and kissing Pete so deeply that his heart is pounding hard in his chest.

When Vegas’ nails dig into the skin of his shoulder, Pete hips jerk upward in reaction, an
instinctive thrust that has Vegas gasping as his mouth slides off of Pete’s, curving towards his ear
instead.

“Fuck, baby,” he says in a low voice and then he’s moaning when Pete uses his hands to take
control of the pace, dragging Vegas’ body down into his next thrust.

And Pete realises suddenly that he likes having full use of his hands, likes have Vegas along for
the ride when he grips him tight, moves Vegas' body how he wants it. Because Vegas can't move
as freely by himself.
And Pete really likes him here too. Vegas’ in his lap, pressed tight against Pete’s chest as his kiss is
stealing the breath from his lungs.

His hips are moving, the steady rocking motion drawing a pleasant burn in Pete’s thighs from
where he’s continually pitching his hips up to meet him, an even more exquisite friction between
their cocks.

When Vegas’ hand shifts and find the back of his neck, Pete is distracted by the strength of his
grip, the power he hadn’t quite noticed before. As if now that he has him, there’s no way Vegas is
ever letting him go.

The way he’s moving his hips, suddenly controlling the pace in Pete’s lap is entirely telling.

It hits him suddenly that the position they’re in, the movement they’re imitating, that this is
something Pete has imagined before. And then his mind does the rest, fleshes out the fantasy until
it’s something concrete.

Vegas in his lap, on his cock. Riding him.

Pete does let out a gasp then, feels the scorching spark of their bodies moving with each other and
then he’s gripping fiercely at Vegas’ lower back, fingers digging tightly into skin as the orgasm
slams into him.

The unexpected rush of it takes him by surprise as he comes all over Vegas', sapping him entirely
of strength from the force of it. Pete didn’t think that the fantasy was so appealing to him.

He starts to slow down then, drawing away from Vegas’ mouth so he can pant unevenly for a few
seconds into his sternum, head spinning as Pete tries to stop convulsing, to steady the pulse of
dwindling heat in his already shaky limbs.

Vegas’ hand shifts up into the base of his hair and suddenly he’s massaging at his skull, holding
Pete against him as if he wants to linger in this moment forever.

But Pete can’t stop the reality from setting in. Can't let his mind slow down for even this moment.
He takes a deep breath and pulls back, eyes flicking up to look at him.

When Vegas’ eyes lock on his they’re absolutely smouldering. “Just like that?” he asks, the awe in
his voice plain.

Pete flushes and groans when Vegas’ hips rock up against him, body now sensitive and cooling,
the reminder of his hard, unspent cock, still tightly pressed against Pete in the confines of his
briefs. Those briefs now wet with Pete's spend. He wonders if the truth, the seductive pull of the
fantasy which brought about his orgasm might somehow show on his face.

“I- shut up,” he says breathlessly.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” Vegas wonders, slowly warming to the idea and teasing him now. “Is
that what you want then, baby? Me riding your cock?”

Pete drags a hand across his face and pulls his hands away in order to shoves gently at Vegas’
stomach, pushing at him until he finally climbs off. Then he’s sliding from the mattress next,
wincing at the stickiness across his own stomach, most of which he spilled across Vegas as he pads
towards the other side of the room. In direction of the bathroom.

Vegas doesn’t mention anything about his own awaiting orgasm, just gets up and follows after
Pete.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” he demands, almost gleefully. “You want to fuck me, don’t you, Pete? Want
to give it to me so hard and fast that I can’t walk after? Hold me down and make me take it?”

Pete doesn’t respond, considers closing the door between them but Vegas slips inside the bathroom
before he can.

"I couldn't fight you off, baby," Vegas murmurs, stalking close to him like he can smell weakness.
"You'd be able to overpower me so easily."

He ignores the words. Ignores the simmering arousal banking low in his gut at the vivid image and
helps drags Vegas’ dirty briefs off for him, knowing it’s not an easy task one handed. Then Pete is
tossing them into the laundry basket and stepping into the shower bath.

And Vegas is right there, naked, still hard and climbing in behind him like he's refusing to let this
go.

"And you'd like that," Pete responds eventually, remembering the way Vegas had gotten so hard
when Pete was choking him. When he was trying to kill him. "Wouldn't you?"

Vegas isn't so quick to answer then, and Pete turns his back on him. Still retreating from the
intensity of the words even as he reaches out to start turning the faucets on.

“Sure fire way to get you running,” Vegas murmurs, hand sliding down Pete’s side. “Just talk
about sex.”

Pete stiffens, hands falling away from the taps as he stares at Vegas in genuine surprise.

“What?” Vegas wonders, staring at him hungrily. “You didn’t think I was figuring you out either?”

“I- you don’t know me,” Pete says, a half-hearted declaration at best as he returns the faucets
again, succeeding in getting the water running. Placing his hand beneath it to check the
temperature.

A second later he sighs when Vegas’ lips come down across the back of his neck, mouth sliding
persuasively across the sensitive skin. Pete shivers at the touch and struggles to focus when Vegas
nuzzles the side of his face, mouth pressing against his ear.

“I’m trying to,” he murmurs. “Can’t you see I’m trying, baby?”

Pete flushes hard then, fiddling with the taps still, trying to get the temperature right so he can step
under it. A second later, the stiffness of Vegas’ erection is against him. A reminder that Pete wasn't
likely to forget anyway.

“You’re trying something alright,” Pete mutters, feeling the weight of his desire.

Vegas lets out a snort of laughter into his skin, before he’s back to mouthing determinedly at Pete’s
throat again. Suddenly his hand is on the base of Pete’s head, tilting him so Vegas can get better
access.

And- Pete moves underneath his hand, allows himself to be further exposed.

When Vegas' mouth settles back onto the hickey he left there days ago, Pete’s hands fall away from
the taps again, losing his train of thought when Vegas sucks heat into his skin.
“I-“ he tries to say as steps out of reach and into the running water but Vegas merely follows again,
wrapping his arm across Pete’s midriff, the solidity of his erection pressing against him again like
an announcement.

Pete’s still so naked and on display for him. There’s lube which is still hidden underneath his bed.
They’re dangerously close to something now.

“Vegas,” he says warningly, hand already encircling Vegas’ wrist in preparation of freeing himself.

But Vegas is too busy kissing along his throat, searching for that spot where Pete is the most
sensitive. And Pete gets distracted again when he finds it.

“Aren’t you gonna play nice, baby?” Vegas asks against his skin, still pressing kisses like a brand
of fever against him. “Don’t I get to come too?”

Pete, like always, is not particularly swayed by Vegas’ reasoning. “You have hands, don’t you?”

It sounds particularly ungrateful but it’s mostly that it doesn’t sit right in Pete, the idea that he
might owe Vegas. Even if he can acknowledge there is some element in the recent events which
suggests he does. It’s not like anyone else did something to try and eliminate the target on Pete's
head.

Vegas is in this state because of himself, yes. But there is also a little bit in Pete that can recognise
it’s partially because of him too.

“One hand,” Vegas corrects.

Then, when that doesn’t seem to get the reaction he was hoping for, “So cruel,” he murmurs and
Pete is still completely unmoved by the argument.

He won't let Vegas play with his emotions like he plays with his body. But Pete hears the slick
movement of his hand a second later, the press of cock against Pete’s hip when he moves in closer
to his side whilst jerking himself off.

That has Pete spinning around, knowing it’s safer to be facing Vegas. Always good to keep his eye
on a predator.

Pete cups a hand over the back of Vegas’ neck, drags him in for a kiss just as his hand is dropping
lower, brushing up against Vegas’ knuckles and nudging his hand out of the way. Vegas' eyes glint
with unrestrained interest as Pete turns his body around, facing away from the water.

“Don’t get your bandages wet. Your arm has to stay in that sling,” he points out. "Don't fuck
around with it."

The noise he makes next can only be classified as begrudging acknowledgement. Pete presses up
against Vegas’ back then, easing his arms around him, careful not to knock Vegas’ strapped arm as
he tucks his chin across Vegas’ shoulder. Just so he has better visuals when he reaches down and
takes Vegas’ cock back in hand.

Vegas inhales sharply on a gasp, as if he didn’t expect Pete was going to do it.

It thrills Pete a little to know that he can surprise him and Pete shifts his head back and bites at
Vegas’ shoulder in answer, liking the way he jolts under that sensation too. How a dribble of
precome spills from the tip of his cock and into the taut circle of Pete’s hand.
He strokes a little faster, gripping Vegas tightly whilst his cock twitches beneath the firm grip and
the unevenness of his next breath only reveals how excited he is.

Pete can’t help a stir of his own pleasure at the sight, wondering how quickly he’ll get hard again
with his hands on Vegas’ like this. With Vegas making those fucking noises.

“Are you gonna put your fingers in me?” Vegas breathes out abruptly, the next time Pete presses
solidly against him, still wrapped tightly together as he strokes him towards completion. “I can
show you how.”

Pete blinks in surprise at the fervour in his voice, losing a spark of his previous rhythm.

“You- want me to?”

Before, Pete hadn't been entirely confident that Vegas was serious. That he wasn't just spouting
some fantasy in the hopes of getting a reaction from Pete. But now, the fact that he's repeated the
same sentiment in a much more direct way-

Is he actually serious? He wants- he would let Pete fuck him?

Before Pete can even begin to question him further on that Vegas pushes his ass back against him
and spills into Pete’s fist, swiftly ending any need for a decision. But he's panting hard through his
orgasm as it splatters at the base of the bath and Pete doesn't think Vegas was simply taunting him.

When he sags against Pete, he also realises Vegas might be a little lightheaded from the exertion of
what they've just done. So Pete edges him forward, still careful not to wet the bandages as he uses
his own hands to transfer the water, cleaning him up and wiping Vegas down as best he can.

It’s not perfect but it’s better than the sponge he’d use to mop up the blood all those hours ago.

Vegas leans heavily against him and lets Pete do whatever he wants. Surprisingly agreeable now
that he's had his orgasm. Pete wonders if it’s his injuries that have made him like this or if he’s so
desperate for the chance to touch Pete that he’ll let him get his way on most things.

Is this another reflection of the power everyone believes Pete has over him?

Afterwards, Pete helps Vegas out of the shower bath when they’re done and he’s switched off the
taps to stop the running water. Then he picks up one of the few remaining towels and carefully but
efficiently dries Vegas off.

“Gentle,” Vegas admonishes when Pete forgoes tenderness over speed. “I’m delicate.”

Pete snorts at that, because he was nowhere near Vegas’ injuries at the time and then pulls back to
quickly dry himself off too. “You’re pathetic.”

This doesn't appear to bother him in the slightest because Vegas stands before him completely
naked and grabs Pete's hand in order to drag him out of the bathroom. “Come on,” he murmurs,
already tugging him towards Pete's side of the room. “Back to bed.”

Pete follows him out, watches as Vegas cautiously eases himself down onto the mattress again,
taking care not to jostle his injuries. And then Pete glances over at the chest of drawers.

He should be practical about this. Mr Korn is likely to question him today about his relationship to
Vegas. It’s probably a good idea that they don’t- get distracted again. That they don't do anything
further.
Pete doesn’t want to be in the middle of something when Chan or even Porsche finally come back
to the room. So he walks over and pulls out a new pair of sweatpants before stepping into them.

“Hmm you can be naked,” Vegas says softly from the bed. “I love you naked.”

Pete flushes and ignores him, glancing over at Porsche’s made bed with a considering look. Is it
safer to avoid temptation if he sits there instead? If he doesn't crawl under the covers where Vegas
already is and temptation waits?

“Are you coming back?” Vegas asks, and he sounds just as hesitant as Pete feels.

And suddenly Pete remembers that he could do anything to him right now with Vegas in such a
weakened state and it’s a wonder that Vegas trusts him not to. Vegas has so many enemies he can
afford to show any fragility. And it’s not like Pete has given any concrete reason to solidify the
idea that Vegas can trust him completely.

So why did Vegas come to Pete first? And not to his own father?

He should ask. And find out what Vegas suspects the consequences are going to be for all of this.
Because there will be consequences. There always is.

But for now Vegas is here. In his bed.

He’s not sure why he’s indulging this except for the fact that Vegas has clearly risked his own life
to protect Pete. Or more accurately, to clean up his own mess which endangered Pete in the first
place. It’s not some grand gesture or anything remotely like that. But Pete can’t deny that he’s
feeling somewhat appreciative.

The strings that seem to tie them together are so much stronger than the ones that could pull them
apart. Pete looks away from Porsche’s bed and slowly pads his way back towards Vegas. “I’m
coming.”

When Pete slips under the covers Vegas is already there, waiting expectantly. Half turned towards
him with an outstretched arm. Pete’s skin already feels hot when he lets himself fall into it.

Vegas moves in closer so that they’re both lying on their sides, tucked together with a restful sigh.

“Have you spoken to Macau yet?” Pete wonders as they shift to get comfortable. “Is he alright?”

Vegas waves away the question quickly. Obviously not wanting to talk in any great detail about
the threat of his father hanging over them. “He’s fine. I texted him. Where were you yesterday.
When I called and you weren’t at the main family house?”

Pete closes his eyes briefly and wonders if the confrontation now will be worth it. Is now the time
to talk about heavy things? Or should Pete not even bother to tell him?

But shouldn't he know? Shouldn't he be aware of all the unpleasantly invasive doctor visits Pete's
been forced to endure because of him? Almost immediately, Pete's lost the ease of a few seconds
ago.

“I had to go and get another blood test,” he says, real anger in his voice, surging up at the
reminder. At the cause of all his problems. “For HIV.”

Vegas stiffens against him, looking shocked. “What? Why?”

And Pete is glaring at him now because what a thoughtless question. Because of Vegas.
Everything is because of fucking Vegas. He considers if it's worth it now to push him away. To
climb out of the bed and leave him in it alone.

“Because I don’t know if I have any diseases or not.”

To no one’s surprise, Vegas lets out an incredibly dismissive sound. Not fully understanding the
significance of what Pete is trying to communicate. “I get tested regularly. I had you tested.”

“Again,” Pete mutters, infuriated now. “Why should I trust anything you say? The doctor was
confirming it with bloodwork.”

Vegas’ arm tenses around him and then relaxes immediately. “Didn't you believe me when I said I
won't put you in danger?" he wonders, as if there was any other way Pete could have taken that.
"Your bloodwork will be completely normal. I’m regularly tested and I didn’t get rid of the
condoms until your results came back first. You have nothing to worry about.”

How could he not when Vegas barely communicated any of this to him before? When Pete had to
put the pieces together himself and hope for the best that Vegas wasn't lying? When Porsche
convinced him to visit Doctor Kunakorn and make sure?

And didn't he say that he would ask? That he would talk to Vegas for more information?

Awkward as it is, Pete finds it easier to conduct this conversation with his eyes shut so he doesn’t
have to look at him.

“And what about that guy at the club?” he demands, tone a bitter allegation. “Ay.”

When Vegas doesn't respond, Pete sighs and opens up his eyes again in preparation of another
fight. But he stops at the way Vegas is genuinely looking puzzled. As if he has no idea what the
hell Pete is talking about.

“Who?”

Apparently it was so unremarkable that Vegas has fucking forgotten. Pete can’t believe that after
everything he doesn’t even remember the man’s name. Especially when he took such great joy
rubbing him in Pete’s face straight after it had happened.

“That guy working at the club where you left the traitor for Kinn. The one who gave you a
blowjob.”

When Vegas has to stop and think about, Pete lets out sound of disgust and finally frees himself,
rolls away from the heat of his body without another word. Vegas just lays there and sighs as if
Pete has ruined the ease of the moment.

“Am I stupid?" he says, trying to abate Pete's displeasure. "I was wearing a condom then too.”

Of course Pete's mistake, no problem then.

What kind of fool does Vegas take him for? Why shouldn't he demand answers? It’s his own safety
at risk here. How can he be certain of Vegas if there's the chance he could run off and sleep with
someone else?

“So you say,” Pete mutters, but he’s already thinking hard at the confirmation.
At least Vegas seems to be relatively consistent in trying to hold up safe sex practices. Pete knows
how to read his lies at least. But he doesn’t relax quite yet, holds the rest of the tension in his body.

Vegas is familiar enough to see the danger in it.

“What else do you want to know about that?” he wonders, pressing closer. “Because you keep
bringing him up.”

Pete flushes at the accusation. It’s not like that. It’s not about jealousy. It’s about how Vegas risked
everything, banking on the fact that it would outrage Pete enough to guarantee just a moment alone
with him. A way to ensure Pete would confront Vegas instead of running away.

“No. I don’t care.”

It's not his best work. But Pete has never been a particularly skilled liar.

“Really,” Vegas says in disbelief. “Because I think you might be as jealous as me, baby. What do
you want to know? That it was a test to see if sex with someone else would be as satisfying after
you?”

Pete inhales a little sharply at how easily Vegas comes out and says it. He’d suspected that was the
case but he’d always thought Vegas had too much pride to admit to such a thing. That he would
simply pretend he hadn't made these deranged choices all in the hopes of holding Pete's attention.

Does he truly have no shame?

“Because it was a test. And it wasn’t satisfying,” Vegas mutters, hand settling on Pete's chest now,
watchful and attentive as he reads Pete's reaction. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

What’s worse is that to some degree it is what Pete wants to hear. He feels a sense of- gratification
to know the truth. Especially more so to understand that it didn't actually work. How deluded must
Pete be now to find relief in that?

"I-," Pete tries, then gives up entirely. "Maybe."

Vegas slowly starts to smile. "I like you like this, baby," he murmurs, an intense kind of fire in his
eyes when he looks at him. "When you admit you want me as much as I want you."

Pete buries his face into the pillow and fights the rush of heat crawling across his face. "Don't get
ahead of yourself."

But when Vegas throws an arm around him again Pete grudgingly allows it, lets his body sink into
the comfort of permitting another person so close. Of wanting another person like this.

Somehow it devolves into Pete trailing his fingers through Vegas’ hair whilst Vegas tucks his face
into Pete’s neck, the pattern of breathing easing off so much that Pete suspects he might be asleep
again.

Unthinkingly, Pete leans down and unable to deny himself the impulse, places a kiss to the crown
of his head, avoiding the line of the bandage.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Vegas,” he whispers quietly, disturbed at the way it comes out mostly
fond.
Pete dozes only a little during that time and it’s a good thing too because he reacts much faster
when there’s a heavy knock at the door.

Vegas and Pete spring apart immediately, Pete taking up a defensive stance as Vegas unexpectedly
pulls his gun out from under the pillow.

When nothing else happens but the person politetly knocks again, Pete raises an eyebrow over in
Vegas' direction, realising he must have searched for his gun and found it in whilst Pete was
asleep. Before he snuck back into his bed.

At least he's taking some precautions.

Vegas shrugs a little in answer, but it looks more like he’s rolling the stiffness out of his shoulders
when he goes to climb out of the bed as well. Since he is still naked, Pete holds him back with a
warning hand and the intent to go out to investigate alone.

Vegas seems to acquiesce to the vulnerability of his situation because he tosses his gun to Pete
instead.

Unthinkingly Pete catches it, eyes flicking back to Vegas with an unscrutable look before he turns
and walks out.

He wonders if they managed to clean up all the blood yet. Or if it’s someone who happened to
follow the mess of it all the way up to the door where it abruptly ended. He's not sure that he's in
the mood to be answering those questions.

Pete wonders briefly, if this is going to end in another gun fight when he flicks the safety off and
reaches the door handle and opens it, keeping the gun low and tucked out of sight. But ready to fire
if he does end up needing.

Except it's Chan again.

Pete tenses at the sight of him. Intimately aware that Vegas is hidden in the other room. Is naked in
the other room. And that Vegas very much does not have permission to be in said room. And
neither does Pete to have allowed it. Bodyguards are not authorised to have guests either.

What's the best course of action here? Should he feign surprise when Chan tells him that Vegas is
gone from the examination room? Or should he act confused and concerned?

“Chan,” he says carefully, in an entirely even tone, carefully flicking the safety back on and
stowing the gun into the waistband of his sweatpants.

But it appears Chan isn't interested in questioning him about Vegas at all. “Mr Korn wants to see
you,” is what he says instead and the words sink straight into Pete's chest like an ice pick.

Right. Chan warned him about this hours ago. That he would tell Mr Korn exactly what happened.
There was always going to be the possibility it would escalate further. Even so, Pete wasn't
anticipating a meeting with the head of the family.

“Mr Korn?” he repeats, trying not to let any alarm show on his face. “He wants to talk to me
directly?”
Somehow Pete wasn’t expecting it to go this far. But he should have. He’s been making waves for
the Theerapanyakuls ever since he returned.

Chan nods grimly and then he’s turning around and striding off down the hall without waiting on
Pete to join him. Clearly giving him the time to make himself presentable first. Or maybe it's to do
with the fact that he knows Vegas is currently hiding out in Pete's room.

Perturbed, Pete quickly closes the door behind him and tries to reassess his options.

“Don’t go.”

He whirls about to find Vegas leaning against the wall of the bedroom, watching. He should have
known Vegas would be listening to their conversation. “Are you joking? You want me to just
ignore Mr Korn? He’s the head of the family.”

The frustration in Vegas' expression is plain. Because try as he might, Vegas must clearly recognise
that Pete has no other choice but to go and talk to Mr Korn. Pete can't afford not to. And Chan
definitely didn't make it sound like a request.

It was an order. And Pete follows orders.

But Vegas still rubs a hand over his face anyway like he's resisting the urge to tell Pete it's a very
bad idea. “Fine.”

Pete glances around the place, feeling lost when he moves back towards Vegas, passes by to get to
the bedroom and sets Vegas’ gun back down on the bed. Then he’s rushing around the space in a
anxious whirlwind, fetching the bodyguard uniform off the hanger in the cupboard, stripping
quickly out of his sweatpants, throwing on underwear before going off in search of the matching
shoes.

“I’ve- never had a private audience with him before,” Pete quietly reveals as he shoves a pair of
socks on, his voice betraying the undercurrent of nerves as he slides a foot into the pant leg.

The head of the family. Has requested an audience with Pete. He knows this is so very dangerous.

But Vegas just looks at him.

“Don’t lie. I know your instinct is to hide when your back is against the wall but he won’t take any
kind of ambiguity. Just- tell him exactly what happened. My uncle will be fair to you. Fairer than
Kinn at least.”

Pete pauses in between zipping his trousers up, turning in surprise when Vegas passes over the
dress shirt before he can reach for it. “You really want me to tell him everything?”

He bends down to shoving a foot into his dress shoe, then does the other one, tying the laces as fast
as he can. By the time he glances up again, Vegas has already eased himself back on to the bed and
is playing with Pete's blazer.

“Better than the alternative," he says before handing the jacket over too. "Trust me.”

Pete decides in this instance, that he does.

When he’s fully dressed, Pete leaves Vegas in the room and takes the elevator up towards the
penthouses. To Mr Korn’s main rooms.

The guards on duty there Pete doesn’t know by name but they nod at his arrival, clearly expecting
it when he sets off down the hall towards Mr Korn’s study.

He reaches the doors just in time to discover Tankhun standing outside there waiting for him.

“Tankhun,” he starts, surprised and a little startled to see him. Does he know everything about last
night already? “What-?“

“Pete,” he whines at a much louder volume, grabbing on to the line of his jacket and pulling him
closer. ”Where did you put my Eone Sunflower Rose Gold Switch?” Then in a lower voice.
“Whatever you do, don’t lie to him. It’s the only thing he won’t tolerate.”

He recognises the name immediately. It’s that frivolous brand of watch that Tankhun purchased
recently, not because it was particularly expensive but because it was so unusual looking. Pete’s
pretty sure it has a tiny ball which visibly moves about inside the circle of the watch and that’s
how it was meant to tell the time.

He’s also definitely sure that he’s never touched it and that it’s right where Tankhun always leaves
it before going to bed every night. Right next to where Tankhun leaves a variety of sleepmasks on
his nightstand. And Pete’s also one hundred per cent certain it’s a woman’s watch. Not that that
particularly matters.

But it’s obviously not the watch Tankhun came here for. It’s the warning. So Pete nods, and plays
along even as he’s mentally preparing himself. “Your watch? It’s on your nightstand, Mr
Tankhun.”

Then he leans in and lowers his voice by a margin. “He voted against me, didn’t he? Kinn?”

Tankhun’s expression twists and for a second he looks genuinely exhausted.

“I’m sorry, Pete.”

He’s not surprised. Not after Vegas told him first. Pete knew that he wasn’t lying but there's no
sense in not making certain. Of having one more person confirm it. When Pete nods perfunctorily
and steps back, Tankhun grumbles something unflattering instead and wraps his robe around
himself, striding off in a performative huff that’s for the benefit of the other guards watching them.

But Pete catches the sharp look of concern Tankhun still shoots him before he goes.

Briefly, he marvels at how quickly information must come to Tankhun for him to have arrived here
just in time to intercept him. Whoever is talking to Tankhun, be it one person or a whole network of
spies, they’re obviously quite loyal to him.

Feeling prepared or at least as ready as he’ll ever be, Pete goes ahead and knocks at Mr Korn’s
door. When it opens, he enters almost automatically and nearly walks straight into a departing Mr
Kan.

Pete couldn't be more astonished if he'd tried.

The fact that Mr Kan’s furious expression almost ignites into something tangible at the sight of
Pete standing in front of him, is definitely not an auspicious start. Fuck. Pete hastily steps out of
the doorway, leaving the path clear with as much deference as he can muster in the tense setting.
His face is carefully blank and doesn’t reveal any of the deep disdain he feels for Vegas’ father but
Mr Kan seems to feel the touch of it anyway.

Because Mr Kan doesn’t take another step. Too preocupied with the opportunity to inflict some
damage first. The way he’s looking at Pete has the hair rising on the back of his neck, even as his
fingers are curling slowly into fists.

He’s not like Vegas. No amount of respect in the world is going to make Pete stand there and take
it if Mr Kan tries to strike him. He’s too much like Pete’s father for him to ever allow that without
fighting back.

But there’s a tinge of surprise on his face too that Pete wasn’t entirely expecting.

Did he truly not know that Pete was still alive? Is this the exact moment that he found out? Or is he
so angry because Vegas still hasn’t returned home? It doesn’t seem hard to guess where he could
possibly have gone instead. Mr Kan already knows that Vegas is obsessed with Pete. He could
make that connection easily.

Especially if he was present this morning when Chan finally informed Mr Korn of everything that
happened.

At the threat of confrontation, Pete doesn’t know what to do with himself. Isn’t sure how to
respond as he glances behind Mr Kan to see Chan standing at Mr Korn’s back, the look in his eyes
also a warning.

“Pete, is it?” Mr Kan practically spits out and that startles Pete too almost as much as actually
being addressed.

He doesn’t necessarily think it’s a good thing that Mr Kan has remembered his name.

“You’ll forgive me for not approaching you sooner,” Mr Kan continues, and Pete hardly knows
this man but it’s easy to recognise the way he’s winding up for a hit. If at the very least a verbal
one. So very like Vegas. “But you do all tend to look alike in those uniforms. And the last time I
saw you, you were naked in my son’s bed.”

If there was any colour left in Pete’s face, it’s now fled at the impact of those words. Mr Kan eyes
glint with vindictive pleasure when Pete is unable to conceal his shock, the rush of shame and
humiliation as it overwhelms and briefly overtakes his blank expression.

Pete can't help but react. Even as the anger rises up a second too late to matter.

At the delicate silence his eyes sweep automatically over to Chan and Mr Korn but neither of them
seem particularly fazed by this announcement. Although Chan has definitely raised an eyebrow at
him that feels worse than anything Mr Kan could ever have said.

“Where is he then?” Mr Kan demands, uprooting Pete’s attention and reclaiming it when he steps
forward. “Amara’s dead. Half of the Italians are out for our blood. Do you think I can’t recognise
Vegas’ handiwork?”

Nobody told him. Because Chan already knows where Vegas is. The fact that Pete has been
brought here probably means that Mr Korn knows Vegas' current location as well. It seems
especially significant that neither of them felt the need to inform Mr Kan of this.

Does that mean Mr Korn is aware of how Mr Kan treats his own children? Or is this just another
way to hold power over him by withholding suhc important information? Information that Mr Kan
desperately wants?

Pete recovers himself.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he says, bowing respectfully and lying through his teeth. “I have no idea.”

This, if anything, makes Mr Kan even angrier.

“Don’t play dumb,” he hisses, his voice a grating volume as he snatches hold of Pete’s arm. Then
begins squeezing painfully. Pete’s expression doesn’t flicker in response. He won’t allow Mr Kan
the satisfaction of that. “We all know why he did it. Who he did it for. Don’t you for one second
think that-“

“Kan,” Mr Korn interrupts in that slow, easy tone of his. “I’d like to question him myself first
please.”

Mr Kan swears under his breath, and with one last look of venom viciously unloaded upon Pete,
releases hold of him in order to straighten the ascot at his throat. An absent preening gesturing that
only makes him more ridiculous before he storms out of the room like a heavy roll of thunder.

Silence settles in his wake and Pete doesn’t dare to approach after he just lied straight to Mr Kan’s
face.

After Mr Korn and Chan obviously both know that he did it too.

This has already gone from bad to worse and the meeting hasn't even started. Pete has to resist the
urge to turn around and flee.

“You can shut the door, Pete,” Mr Korn says with surprising warmth and waits whilst Pete takes a
deep breath and carries out the command without another word, turning and slowly approaching
the lounge.

He doesn't like the situation, feels cornered already but Pete does his best to get a hold of his
emotions. Mr Kan had been unexpected but it's not like he pulled a gun on him. He still doesn't
know where Vegas is so Vegas is safe from his wrath for now.

Things could be much worse. When he reaches the table Mr Korn already has a pot of tea set out
but it looks like Mr Kan didn’t touch anything.

“Please sit.”

It goes against every instinct in his body but Pete does. Tries not to betray any of the nervous
energy he's feeling but letting it show on his face. Pete lets himself go blank, becomes an empty
slate for Mr Korn to observe.

“You were at the heart of quite a commotion yesterday, do you know why?”

So they really are just jumping straight into it. Pete wishes he’d had more time to mentally arrange
his thoughts. To put some space between himself and Vegas so he could get his emotions under
control first.

Pete hesitates, thinking on the best answer and then remembers both Vegas and Tankhun’s earlier
warnings. “Because Amara wanted your blessing to kill me.”

“Yes and- not exactly,” Mr Korn continues in his oddly genial way and Pete doesn’t know if it’s
making him feel more on edge that he’s can appear so calm right now. “It was an unexpected
request I’ll admit. We don’t often get appeals to murder our own bodyguards but that wasn’t really
the most surprising part.“

No, it definitely wasn’t. From Tankhun’s impression Vegas practically lost his mind. Although
Pete can’t exactly guarantee it was an unbiased retelling. Tankhun is a known fan of the dramatics.

“I’m assuming you know what that was.”

Unfortunately, Pete has some idea but that doesn’t mean that he wants to come outright and declare
it to Chan and Mr Korn. “I couldn’t really say, Mr Korn,” he admits, evasively, falling back on
semantics as its own kind of shield. “As I wasn’t in the room.”

The evasion doesn’t appear to upset him. Mr Korn actually smiles then as if he appreciate the
cleverness of the sidestep.

But he won't allow Pete to sidestep for much longer. “If you had to guess then.”

Damn. No point in resisting it now. Pete does his best not to actively sigh. “If I had to guess, the
most surprising part was probably Vegas’ reaction.”

Mr Korn nods with great solemnity and then picks up the cup and saucer, making Pete have to wait
for his reaction to this whilst he drinks the tea.

Pete shifts, only once, an uncomfortable fidget to try and get some of the tension out of his body
and something flickers behind Mr Korn’s eyes then. “So my brother is correct. You are lovers.”

Of all the things- Pete cringes at the question, eyes automatically sliding towards Chan but there’s
no judgement there. Chan is almost as good at Pete at hiding his thoughts from everyone else. Pete
wishes that he wasn't so good in this moment.

“No,” he feels the need to insist. Because there are distinctions to be made in this. Elements that
prove the situation is much more complicated. “It’s not like you’re thinking. But- we have a
history.”

Mr Korn sets the cup and saucer down so gently the china doesn’t even make an audible sound
when it rests back on the wooden table. His expression is still open and extremely intuitive.

“There’s a story here in your eyes. I’d like to know it.”

Right. The truth.

Mr Korn won’t tolerate lies. But Pete is sick of being cornered. Of being pressured into giving
truths that he might not have preferred to unveil otherwise. He told Porsche because he had too
much of the puzzle pieces already and it was just safer. He told Tankhun because Tankhun refused
to trust him otherwise. And he told Kinn-

Well, Tankhun told Kinn because he wasn’t going to ever leave Pete alone until he’d proven him
an enemy. None of them were one hundred per cent his choice and Pete knows that and maybe in
some small way has been carrying the resentment of it being taken from him.

That he’s not even permitted to keep the facts of this ordeal to himself. Because there's so much
talk. So many witness. And probably just as many rumours.

So Pete wavers for just a second, eyes sliding towards Chan again out of instinct.
“Does Chan need to know it too?”

If Chan feels betrayed by this question he doesn’t show it and Pete is feeling too boxed in, too
protective of himself to worry about his feelings at the moment. They can talk after this. Pete will
make the time to try and explain himself properly.

“No,” Mr Korn agrees and he seems genuinely contrite. “But you can understand my caution in not
doing this one on one.”

Of course. He’d be a fool to have Pete in the room alone with him. Not when his loyalty might be
in question. Not when they didn't even check him for weapons first.

“Yes, I can understand that.”

Pete sighs and considers his options. Which aren’t many. Then he folds his arms across his chest,
the only defensive barrier left that he can offer. And then he leans forward and tells Mr Korn
everything.

The silence after. That empty void that seems to take away people's ability to speak every time he
tells this story. Pete always hates the silence after.

He leans forward and gulps down several mouthfuls of the tea before setting it back down with an
audible clink of the ceramic. It’s lukewarm by this point but it’s better than nothing and Pete’s
throat feels a little dry from talking for so long uninterrupted.

He’d looked at his hands for most of it. Especially the parts where he’d mentioned the sexual
assaults. The mindfuck of it all and the sex that came later. When the talk of feelings came too. The
sudden inexplicable devotion Vegas seems to have for him now. He stares for so long at his hands
that Pete discovers there’s still lines of dried blood underneath a few of his fingernails.

Something he hadn’t noticed when was showering.

Afterward Mr Korn presses his fingers together underneath his chin and seems to need a minute to
assemble his thoughts together. Pete doesn’t dare to look over at Chan again but he hasn’t moved
the whole time Pete was speaking. Is so still it’s like he’s not even breathing.

Pete’s too afraid to ask what they’re both thinking. So he pushes on. “If you need to corroborate
you can speak to some of Vegas’ men, they’ll confirm it. They were there in the compound. In the
safe house. Or talk to Mr Tankhun or Mr Kinn.”

Somehow their expressions seem to worsen at Pete's suggestion. The idea that they wouldn't
believe him.

“This is- beyond the pale of what I was expecting,” Mr Korn breathes out, looking at Pete like he
doesn’t understand how he could be sitting here so calmly. “Unfortunately your experience is
much too rich with detail to be anything short of the truth.”

Pete scratches awkwardly at his neck, suddenly aware of the hickey lovingly marked into his
throat. A visible sign of Vegas' touch.

“Probably would be simpler if I was a traitor,” he manages to joke but it comes out flat and
uncompromising.

Neither Mr Korn or Chan laugh. It's much too serious for that, the tension weighing heavy over the
room. Pete runs a hand through his hair and lets out another breath, trying to shake off the strain
still lingering around them.

“And what would you say of his actions now?” Mr Korn wonders after a time. “Is Vegas trying to
make things right?”

If only it was something that simple.

“No,” Pete admits. “It’s Vegas trying to make this real.”

Mr Korn leans back in his seat, expression disturbed as he tries to work through everything that
Pete has told him. “Then you know that he did you a great disservice during that meeting.”

Pete allows his expression to admit a lack of understanding and Mr Korn is quick to explain
himself. “By showing the rest of us that a reliable way of getting to Vegas was to make a play for
you first.”

Oh. That. Yes, Pete figured there would be consequences. It was only a matter of time before it
backfired on him as well. Pete was never expecting to get out of this unscathed. He's not
completely delusional about that.

“Yes,” he sighs, resting his hands back across his knees. “He doesn’t know how to cover up his
weaknesses. It just spills right out of him.”

Chan shifts a little then and Pete is distracted enough by the movement, looking up into his face.
He’s genuinely surprised by the degree of fury there.

“It seems that you’ve been greatly mistreated by our family,” Mr Korn continues quietly so that
Pete is forced to drag his eyes away.

Has this changed things between him and Chan now? Pete doesn’t know how he’s meant to live
with that.

So he focuses on Mr Korn and tries not to laugh at the gentle probing. Is he hoping to discover the
depths of Pete's bitterness? But even Pete can admit he was no innocent in this either. Not really. “I
knew the risks. When I broke into the minor family house. I wasn’t completely naïve to the
danger.”

Some dangers he was unknowing of at the time but he’s not now. Vegas quickly cured him of that.

Mr Korn’s expression doesn’t change. “I wasn’t only referring to Vegas.”

Ah yes. The ongoing internal struggles between the cousins. But to think he’s been mistreated only
seems to betray the arrogance of an ego that he shouldn’t have. An idea that he deserves more than
what's been given to him.

But Pete knows better than to think he deserves anything. Not from this family. So he shrugs,
because that’s all he can offer. A small measure of his own indifference.

Mr Korn refuses to be satisfied with that however. “I wouldn’t be surprised to find out you harbour
some resentment.”
“I don’t,” Pete assures him and he’s not lying. He just doesn't have the room for it. Not with Vegas
around. “I prefer not to carry things like that. Grudges can weigh a person down.”

If he kept all of his anger for his father inside him it would have eaten him up by now. It was hard
won, but Pete learned how to let things go. Knows that he can't carry all of it. That some hurts he'll
have to relinquish eventually.

“But you are still carrying something.”

Mr Korn is much too observant and Pete knows that he can’t hide from this. Not entirely.

“Yes,” Pete admits and leaves it at that.

He glances at the tea again, considers reaching for it for a second time but changes his mind last
second. Pete has a feeling that his hands aren't all that steady at the moment.

“So this does put you in an interesting position,” Mr Korn declares, struggling to figure out what to
do with someone like Pete. “You are aware that there is some existing- tension between the
family.”

Tension. Is that ever an understatement. Pete struggles to hold a neutral expression. “I’m aware.”

“And if it comes down to that. To making a choice between your responsibilities and Vegas. Do
you believe that you will be able to make that choice?”

He did wonder when the question of loyalty would come up. Pete is surprised they didn’t get to it
sooner. “I’ll always put the main family first.”

It’s an easy statement to make. Is still an easy statement to make no matter how uneasy the
question makes him feel. He’s not compromised. He doesn’t belong to Vegas. Pete still belongs
only to himself.

“Even with my brother’s plans for a coup? Even when he plans to use Vegas to carry them out?”

Pete can’t hide his wince. To have already shared what Vegas told him this morning still doesn’t
sit right. Feels like its own kind of betrayal even when Vegas had encouraged him to be truthful.
There's no way Pete's words won't backfire on Vegas' too. He's painfully aware of that.

“Yes- even then.”

“I see,” Mr Korn says heavily. “You still hope that you can stop him. That you can convince him
not to go through with it.”

Pete’s surprised all of a sudden to be understood so quickly. And so plainly. It’s not a thought he’s
made consciously yet but the truth of it lingers between them. Because Mr Korn is right. He does
think that.

If he can influence Vegas, why can’t he do this too?

“I- I wish he’d realise this isn’t the only way to change things.”

This feels dangerous now. And much more of a confession that Pete was planing to admit to. When
it's something he's refused to focus on in any great detail. Fully aware of the implications.

Is Pete trying to save Vegas? Does he even want to?

“And what if you can’t sway my nephew? And he has to be stopped. What then?”

Another question he wasn't all that prepared for. Pete’s fingers curl into fists but he doesn’t flinch
from the hardness of the truth. Can acknowledge that he’s not leaving this room until Mr Korn is
certain of his conviction.

“Then I’ll stop him,” he says firmly, and means it. “I can do it.”

It's better this way. If there is going to be a person capable of stopping him, Pete would rather it be
himself. Even though he worries where that line might be. Even if he's not sure the degree in which
Vegas will permit him anything.

“Yes, I can see that you’re resolved to the possibility of it. So I have to wonder with things as they
are now, do you truly believe that your loyalty isn’t skewed?”

No. It's not. Not in the ways that matter. In the ways that really count.

“Yes,” Pete promises confidently. “I’m not torn on this. I’m not siding with Vegas.”

Mr Korn considers that as he takes one final sip of his tea. But he seems more confident now.
Settled in his assessment of the situation. And of Pete.

“Thank you for your honesty today. And I can only request that should the day ever comes where
your answer changes. That you set down the pin that marks you as a bodyguard of the main family
and leave us forever.”

Pete swallows hard. Can’t imagine a reality where that would ever happen.

But he nods. Accepting the terms.

When he leaves the room Pete can hardly concentrate on keeping two feet in front of him. His
expression must seem strange because the guards are all staring at him as he moves past. Even
more so when Chan comes up behind him, gets another bodyguard to take over his post before
following Pete towards the elevator.

Pete doesn’t speak on the way there. Doesn’t even acknowledge his presence until they’re alone
and the doors are sliding shut in front of them.

Then he presses the button for his floor and leans against the railing, turning to face Chan head on.

“Just say it.”

Chan can only frown at him. “Why didn’t you come to me for help?” he asks, and the sincerity in
his tone makes Pete’s head hurt. “Did you think I couldn’t be trusted? That I wouldn’t back you
up?”

Pete quickly looks away and tries to find the best way to explain why it wasn't even an option.
That he was too far in denial to even think about asking for help.

“I was too ashamed,” he admits. “I didn’t want you to look at me differently. And I didn’t need the
pity.”
“It’s not pity,” Chan returns, saying it like it’s an ugly word. “I could have done something about it.
Kept him away from you.”

Pete wants to laugh at that but keeps the noise to himself in order to spare Chan’s feelings. There's
only person capable of stopping Vegas and that's Vegas. Chan honestly never would have stood a
chance.

“Chan, you couldn’t even keep him in the examination room.”

Which is true but Chan seems to be affronted by that anyway. “If you’d given me some context to
what was going on, I would have tried harder to keep him out of your room. I thought he’d gone
home to his father with his tail between his legs.”

It's not an unreasonable assumption. Vegas does hide behind Mr Kan as much as he does hide from
him. But Pete doesn't wish to encourage the idea that he's the victim in all of this. That he's still
being pursued by someone that he doesn't want. So Pete wonders if it’s worth admitting how he
feels no matter the awkwardness.

“I’m not- trying to keep him out of my room.”

No. Just as awkward as he thought it would be. Pete quickly looks away again, preferring not to
catch Chan's reaction. He doesn't exactly enjoy talking about sex in any great detail but it's even
worse the idea that he could be discussing it with Chan. The father he never had, but wanted all the
same.

Chan is quiet whilst processing that. “So this is by choice now? Your choice?”

Damn. He's going to make Pete come out and say it. No matter how terrible. No matter how badly
it makes him cringe. Pete straightens and shifts his gaze over to the wall which feels safer
somehow. “Everything that has happened since the safe house I’ve consented to.”

Pete doesn’t bother to mention their arguments about boundaries. The times Vegas has
intentionally snuck past his defences. The push and pull whilst they figure out where the limit is.
Chan is concerned enough already.

“Really,” he responds, and he couldn’t sound more surprised. “Out of the hundreds of men around
here you want him?”

Pete doesn’t even bother to defend himself or the references to his sexuality though he knows
there’s heat in his face now revealing a flush of embarrassment.

“Unfortunately.”

Chan lets out a curse. “Yes, unfortunate, Pete. You never do seem to take the easy route.”

No. But what would be the point of that? Pete’s life has never been easy. He knows he’s not built
for it.

“Not usually,” he's forced to admit. “But I’m handling it.”

Chan sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Yes, I wouldn’t have believed you if I hadn’t already
witnessed it. But you do seem to be able to handle him. Most wouldn’t even bother.”

Pete can acknowledge there’s merit in that. “It wasn’t really a conscious decision,” he says by way
of explanation when the lift stops and the doors slide slowly open. “It kind of just happened. I
didn’t even-”

As they step out together Vegas chooses the exact wrong time to show his face. Because he's
approaching now, less than a metre away, dressed in Pete’s clothes when he shuffles over in clear
search of Pete.

Uh oh. Pete barely has a moment to lock eyes with him before Chan is launching out of the
elevator, fist pulled back as he goes straight for Vegas’ face.

Pete is too slow to react, it’s Chan, he can't stop him, and then he's clips Vegas so hard in the
cheekbone that he goes flying back against the wall.

It’s a testament to how injured he is that he doesn’t just spring back up for the ensuing fight. Just
lets out a sharp breath and shoots a venomous look in Chan’s direction. Pete sincerely hopes that he
didn’t hit his head.

“You piece of shit,” Chan growls and Vegas pauses in the awkward one handed scramble to get
himself upright again before glancing between the two of them.

Pete’s so shocked that unshakeable, meticulously controlled Chan actually hit one of the
Theerapanyakuls. Pete’s never seen him act short of perfectly respectful. In this profession, he's the
standard Pete has always been working toward.

Vegas cottons on to the reason for this attack pretty quickly. “I’m guessing Chan was in the room
with my uncle during your meeting?”

Pete nods, still looking at Chan in disbelief who’s now smoothing his hair back down and
adjusting his suit like he totally didn’t lose his mind a second ago. Pete wouldn't have believed it if
he hadn’t witnessed the whole thing.

It's a small miracle that no other bodyguards were in the hallway when it happened. Something like
this would spread like wildfire. And Pete can't take anymore heat right now.

“You take one step wrong with Pete,” Chan hisses, looming impossibly large over Vegas’ body.
“And I’ll kill you myself, got that?”

Vegas’ expression is no longer as vicious as it was before he knew the reason Chan had hit him.
Now he’s just resigned. Sulky and resentful. Pete can't believe how ridiculous he is.

“Understood.”

They don't shake on it or anything but Pete is still glancing between the two of them in
astonishment. So he’s even more surprised when Chan doubles back to squeeze at his shoulder
once and then storms off without another glance in Vegas’ direction.

When Pete's eyes meet Vegas again, he’s half managed to climb painfully to his feet. At least until
Pete rushes over and helps him with the rest of it. “I wasn’t expecting he would do that,” Pete
offers, by way of explanation for not intervening at all. But he doesn’t apologise. That would feel
even worse.

Vegas tries to shake it off like it’s nothing but he’s visibly wincing and his cheek is already red and
starting to swell a little. Chan evidently hits harder than Porsche.

“All part of the routine now,” Vegas agrees with a wry kind of expression. “I only know I've met
your friends once they’re punching me in the face.”
Pete doesn’t laugh but it feels more obvious to him, the care that Chan, Porsche and Tankhun must
have for him to have taken such extreme measures on his behalf. It seems wildly transparent now
that Vegas has pointed it out.

“Did you hit your head? How are your bandages?”

Vegas manages another grim little smile but he doesn't protest when Pete wraps an arm around his
waist, assists in walking him back down the hall. “You don’t have to fuss, baby. I know it was
deserved.”

As if that was ever in question.

“I’m not saying you don’t deserve it,” Pete mutters, because what a lie that would be. “I’m trying
to see the extent of the damage.”

Vegas just reaches down and takes Pete’s free hand instead by way of answer. “Nothing I can’t
survive I promise. I’d rather find out how it went.”

Oh right. The reason he must have left Pete's room in the first place. Did the meeting take too
long? Was Vegas worried? Pete glances at Vegas out of the corner of his eye but slowly takes him
back to the room. He let go and doesn’t try and extract his other hand either.

“It was- fine. I told Mr Korn everything along with Chan. Your father was there.”

Vegas’ hand tightens in his own. “My father- you told him?”

Like Pete would willingly talk to Mr Kan. Or give him such intimate details of what happened
between them.

“No,” Pete says, unable to conceal his disdain for Vegas' father. “But he was leaving as I arrived.
Made a wonderful comment about how he hardly recognised me with clothes on outside of your
bed.”

“Fuck,” Vegas mutters, recognising the implications of that immediately. And how it might have
ruined things for Pete. “Sorry. How much worse did he make it?”

That's a question that Pete never quite got the answer to. Mr Korn is a very enigmatic man but he's
almost impossible to read.

“I don’t know,” Pete admits. “But nobody seemed surprised. I think he was already there to tell
them I’m your spy.”

Vegas’ mouth purses at that. He seems to dislike the idea almost as much as Pete does. “And they
believed everything when you told your side of it?”

“I said they could ask you if they wanted but I also gave them the names of some of your
bodyguards to verify- any events in question.”

What other option did he have really? This was never going to stay concealed for long. Pete just
hopes that it doesn't trickle down to the other bodyguards, he's not sure he'd be able to survive it.

“If my uncle asks, they’ll talk,” Vegas promises. “I’ll tell the truth.”

Pete finds himself to be genuinely curious of that. Because it won't benefit Vegas at all. In fact it
paints him with a horrific brush. Why would he be so keen to confirm it's the truth?
“Why would you?”

“Because anything else would brand you a liar. That’s your currency here. How honest you are.
How loyal. I said I won’t put you in danger and I meant it.”

He seems very certain of that. At least he's confident in his own skills. Pete just shrugs because
Vegas still doesn’t see the danger the coup represents. Not yet. And Pete doesn’t have the energy
right now to try and convince him to abandon it.

When they reach the correct door, Pete uses his key to get back into the room but the lights are
already on when they step inside. Which means that his roommate is back and he barely has a
chance to encourage Vegas down onto the couch, which he does so with a low aggravated noise
before Porsche is wandering back out to meet them.

“Pete, what the hell is with all these bloodied paper towels in our rubbish?”

Porsche draws up at the sight of Vegas sprawled across the couch, cheek visibly bruising, mouth
scabbed from where Porsche split it open yesterday and head still wrapped tightly in bandages. Not
to mention the sling his forearm is still in.

Pete is well aware of how beat up and pathetic he looks. But obviously to Porsche, who hasn't seen
Vegas yet since yesterday it's an incredible shock. Because Porsche just stares at him for a couple
of seconds, mouth open.

“Surprise,” Vegas says, deadpanned.

Pete glances at the tightened skin around his eyes, the way Vegas is just barely holding back a
wince and asks. “Did Doctor Rueng give you any more painkillers?”

“Yeah,” Vegas admits, not looking away from Porsche. “I left them on your bedside table.”

Why the hell didn't he take them earlier then? Was it because he was waiting for Pete?

“Give me a sec,” he says to Porsche as he passes by him, aiming for the bedroom. “I’ll explain.”

Porsche does not seem especially pleased with the idea of having Vegas in their room. Chilling on
their couch.

“You better, Pete,” he says in a warning voice even as he stalks after him. “Is he- living here?”

Pete snorts at the absurdity of the suggestion. Like no one is going to notice if he has Vegas
Theerapanyakul living in the bodyguard quarters of the main family house? Like no one would
ever question why he’s sleeping in Pete’s bed?

When he returns to the living room, Porsche trails back out after him, a collection of agitated
energy. But Pete ignores it in favour of passing over two pills which Vegas swallows dry and then
Pete starts to wonder if he’s eaten at all yet. If he’s had any water since Pete left.

“Vegas got shot,” he explains, taking the vacant spot next to him on the couch. “He showed up at
nearly two in the morning, bleeding everywhere-“

“And looking great while doing it,” Vegas interjects unnecessarily, sounding almost bored.

Pete continues on as if he hadn't heard him. “I called Chan for help and he brought one of the
family doctors to treat him. Then about an hour ago Mr Korn called me upstairs for a meeting
about it.”

“Oh,” Porsche says, looking worried. “Did it go alright?”

Pete shrugs. “He didn’t kick me out so it must have.”

Vegas audibly scoffs but his right hand comes down possessively on Pete’s thigh a second later
without even a hint of warning. Pete jolts at the unexpected touch, and flushes when Vegas only
smirks at him in response.

“So who shot you?” Porsche asks Vegas, smiling nastily at him.

Vegas smiles back just as viciously. “Nobody still living.”

They seem like they're already gearing up for a fight, which Pete is not in the mood for so he sighs
and pushes Vegas’ hand off of him. “It was because of the vote. Vegas went up against the
Italians.”

“Alone?” Porsche wonders, shocked again into silence. Then he seems to look over Vegas’ injuries
instead and reassess them with new eyes. “Too bad it didn’t kill you.”

This apparently doesn't seem to hurt Vegas' feelings. Not that Pete was thinking it would. It's like
he's watching two incompatable creatures try to fight one another. Different breeds of animal that
might never have come into contact otherwise. So they don't seem to know how best to devour the
other. Like a tiger and a box jellyfish.

And he doesn't think it's a great idea to intervene either. If he takes Vegas' side he betrays Porsche
and the very real anger he currently feels towards him. If he takes Porsche's side- well Porsche
might actually try to beat Vegas up again and he is in no state to handle that. Chan tossed him
around that hallway like he was nothing.

“Pete seemed pretty happy about it when he came all over me this morning.”

At the sudden declaration Pete immediately leans away from Vegas. Utterly mortified to hear him
say that out loud. And in front of Porsche.

“Would you stop talking.”

Unfortunately Porsche isn’t the type to be embarrassed by these things. In fact, from the glint in his
eye Pete has the feeling he’s about to make this so much worse.

“Must be hard for you when you can only get pity sex.”

Vegas doesn’t even blink. “It was hard. And thick, with a nice long curve-“

“I hate this,” Pete interrupts, cheeks now so inflamed that it's impossible to miss. “I hope you both
know that.”

Porsche grins at him but thankfully eases off. Vegas just lets out a non-committal grunt and slumps
further down into the cushion, pressing back against Pete again as if he doesn't even have the
energy to annoy Porsche.

But before Pete can reach for him, Vegas groans a little and gets slowly to his feet. He’s still
moving awkwardly, not with any of his usual smoothness. Or speed.

“I’d better head back,” Vegas tells him, ignoring Porsche completely. “My father’s punishment
awaits.”

Pete realises that Vegas only waited to find out the outcome of the talk with Mr Korn. He wanted
to know if Pete was safe first. For a second Pete feels a twinge of unease, almost wants to tell
Vegas not to go back just yet. He’s not doing well right now.

What if his father does try to physically punish him? Makes his injuries worse?

But Pete keeps his silence. Knows he can’t keep hovering over Vegas like a concerned parent.
Vegas doesn’t need it.

Automatically Pete goes to stand up too, but Vegas leans down without warning whilst he’s mid
shift, capturing a hand on Pete’s jaw and kissing him deeply on the mouth.

Pete goes loose under the kiss, a small sense of relief in him, before Vegas’ pulls away and he
remembers Porsche is still in the room and watching them. When Vegas shoots a look back at
Porsche for his reaction, Pete realises some of it was a display and regrets losing his head so easily.

Porsche’s expression is tight with anger. His obvious dislike for Vegas has grown exponentially
now that he’s found out Vegas was his attacker as well. Pete doesn’t think there’s anything he
could do to change that and he would never even dream of overstepping. It's not his business that
Porsche hates Vegas.

Porsche is absolutely entitled to feel how he’s feeling. Just because Pete reached a different
conclusion about Vegas doesn’t make Porsche wrong.

“And you,” Vegas murmurs to Porsche. “Stop being such a hypocrite.”

Immediately Porsche is defensive. “Me? Are you fucking serious?”

“Oh yeah?” Vegas demands. “Whose bed were you in last night? Surely not the man who voted in
agreement of having Pete killed yesterday.”

The colour rapidly drains from Porsche’s face at that and Pete wishes he’d noticed Vegas was
preparing to drop another bomb on him again. “Fucking hell Vegas,” he snaps, pushing at his leg
so that Vegas is forced to step away as Pete stands up. “Leave him alone already. Stop being such a
dick.”

Vegas shrugs and slides a pointed hand across Pete’s waist before heading for the door.

“Just the truth, baby.”

“What?” Porsche demands, trying to recapture their attention. “Kinn voted- ? Kinn-?“

Pete shoots him an apologetic look. “I only found out this morning and Tankhun confirmed it.
That's why he was so angry yesterday.”

“I’m still angry,” Vegas interjects because he can't help but draw attention to himself.

“Aren’t you leaving,” Porsche says coldly and when Vegas glances back at Pete again he somehow
awkwardly waves in his direction.

Then wonders why the hell he just did something like that. Vegas genuinely smiles afterward and
disappears out of the door without another word. Pete wonders if he should text him later to check
in and make sure he’s still alright. Whatever happens with his father now probably won’t be good.
“Oh no,” Porsche says faintly and when Pete turns back to look at him he’s staring carefully at his
face. “You’re down bad. You’re so into him.”

Pete flushes. “Wasn’t that already- established?”

“Well yeah but that was when I thought you were just horny,” Porsche insists, still looking a little
incredulous. “But the look on your face when he kissed you-“

Instantly Pete is defensive. More embarrassed than ever. He can’t help it if kissing really does
something for him. if Vegas happens to be especially good at it.

“There was no look.”

“Fuck. This is insane,” Porsche mutters, dragging a hand across his tired face. “How is this so
insane? Look I gotta go talk to Kinn but meet downstairs in ten for a smoke? I want to talk to you
some more. Get the full details of what happened.”

“Okay,” Pete agrees because even though he was rostered on today he doubts Tankhun is going to
be chasing him after immediately.

And it’s not like Tankhun is planning to go anywhere.

Ten minutes later when Porsche meets Pete in the lobby his expression is livid.

“Vegas was right,” he snaps, once he reaches Pete's side, furious to even admit that much. “I flat
out asked him and he didn’t deny it. Honestly what the fuck.”

Pete follows Porsche out into the driveway not especially upset. Yes, he was a little surprised at
first but Kinn made the decisions in the interest of the family. Pete might not have to agree with it
but he does respect it to some degree.

“It was the practical choice. I’m not worth a war with the Italians.”

Porsche, who is already in the middle of lighting a cigarette shoots Pete a quietly incredulous look.
“You’re so weird sometimes, Pete,” he says. “Maybe take a deep breath and stop trying to sacrifice
yourself every five minutes? I think that could be good for you.”

Then he hands over the cigarette, leaving enough room for Pete to protest. But only a little. “I’m
not always sacrificing myself. I’m just saying I understand his reasoning-“

“Where he approved your death! Can you really not see how fucked up that is? I swear, working at
this place warps your brain. You sound like all the other bodyguards around here.”

Pete doesn’t deny that. Because there is a certain shared sentiment amongst the guards. A level of
group think that means always putting the family first.

“I’m not really meant to be smoking,” Pete admits after he takes a quick puff of Porsche’s cigarette
and hands it back to him.

Porsche smirks but doesn’t try and pressure him. Just takes a generous inhale himself.

“So what happened with you this morning then?”

Pete tells him everything. Vegas showing up looking like a mess. Pete patching up what he could.
Doctor Rueng and Chan’s arrival. Stitching Vegas up-

“You stitched his head up?” Porsche demands, almost recoiling at the words.

But Pete merely shrugs and keeps going. Tells Porsche about moving him down to the examination
room. About how Vegas was such a pain in the ass he was close to spiralling Doctor Rueng
towards a mental breakdown before Pete returned. Then when Pete finally went back to his own
bed and woke up with Vegas.

“And that doesn’t bother you?” Porsche demands, interrupting again. “That he broke into your
room. Into your bed without asking?”

Pete sighs a little. “I was the one who told him it would be empty in the first place. If he fixed
things with you and Kinn.”

“Oh,” Porsche realises, turning away and exhaling an impressive cloud of smoke. “So that’s why
he was suddenly so helpful before the vote.”

Right. The thing he'd said to Porsche in the hallway that made Kinn angry enough to miss the
beginning of the meeting. When Pete had used that opportunity to slip away unnoticed. He'd been
curious then. About exactly what Vegas had said that worked so effectively.

“What did he whisper to you anyway?” Pete asks, it had been on his mind before he’d managed to
escape the main family house and visit Doctor Kunakorn for their appointment.

“Right. That,” Porsche mutters, and he’s halfway down to the filter now. They move further up the
driveway and out of earshot when a car pulls into the entryway, obviously intending to drop off
more guests.

“He said something like ‘if you don’t react right now or push me away, you’ll have Kinn’s
undivided attention’. And he was right then too, the bastard. It worked.”

But exactly how much did it work? To what degree if Porsche is already upset with him again?

“So you sorted things out?”

Porsche lets out another angry sigh. “Well we did until I just found out he went and sacrificed you
to appease those bullshit Italians and now I’m angry all over again.”

Makes sense. Pete sighs too and rubs idly at the hickey on his neck. “He’s not the only one who
voted to give me up to the Italians. I’m not taking it personally.”

“But it was personal,” Porsche insists. “You worked under him. He actually knows you. That’s
why it’s more shitty coming from him than it is from Kim. You’ve probably barely spoken two
words to Kim.”

Clearly Kinn must have told him the exact way the votes went for him to be talking like this wich
such certainty. Pete wonders what kind of conversation they must have had if Porsche emerged still
looking so agitated. It feels like they're always fighting now which Pete knows he's in part
somewhat responsible for and can't help feeling a little guilty.

Especially since whilst Porsche and Kinn are in another argument, Pete seems to be continuing in a
similar style with Vegas.
Except their arguments are usually the type that end with Pete having an orgasm.

“Probably,” Pete agrees, stopping himself from getting distracted by thoughts of Vegas in his lap
again.

“And well Mr Kan hates you because you’ve got more power over Vegas than he does now. So
that decision was obvious. But I don’t know, just the way Kinn went ahead with it- oh hey what do
you think of that?” Porsche wonders abruptly, nodding his head towards bodyguard going to open
the car door at the opposite end of the drive.

The man is practically towering over the door and he’s pretty cut. His biceps are practically
squeezing out of the fabric of his dark suit. More muscular than Chan for certain with handsome
enough features and a narrow kind of waist.

Pete thinks he’d be hard to beat but he’d probably be able to fight him and not get completely
pulverised.

“He looks fine?” he says, wondering why Porsche suddenly wants his opinion.

Does he think the man looks suspicious? Pete is pretty sure he’s seen that bodyguard before even
though he works for a separate security company that provides security for celebrities or
influencers.

A second later the person he’s holding the door for steps out and it’s a Thai woman emerging in
particularly tall and striking set of heels. There's hardly any support in the leg. It looks like one fall
would snap her ankle.

“What about her then?”

Pete glances over at Porsche before looking back again. He doesn't actuall recognise the woman
but she’d have to be about their age, maybe a little older. Definitely some type of rich heiress from
the amount of jewellery draped over her waifish frame. Her hair is perfectly styled and curled in
long waves that reach the middle of her back. Most of her features are hidden behind a face full of
makeup but it’s almost understated, less eye catching than her fashionable outfit.

She’s attractive of course. But Pete doesn’t know why Porsche has pointed her out too. Does he
think there's something suspicious about these guests? Should Pete make a report to Chan?

“She’s very pretty?” he agrees, bewildered when Porsche raises an eyebrow and takes another
considering look.

He seems much more interested in her than Pete is. “She’s gorgeous,” he insists, pressing at little
harder when he's not satisfied with Pete's lack of enthusiasm. “Don’t you want to fuck her?”

The questions honestly shocks him into a reaction. “What?” he splutters, appalled. “I- I don’t even
know her.”

“Ohhhhh,” Porsche says, like he’s finally realising something. “So that’s your thing then. I finally
get it. That makes so much sense.”

“What thing?” Pete mutters, looking away as the bodyguard escorts the Thai woman inside,
glancing over briefly in their direction before deciding they're not a threat.

Maybe Pete should have just had that cigarette anyway. It would probably help him relax. “Are
you trying to set me up with hotel guests because you think they’re a better option than Vegas?”
“Oh yeah definitely,” Porsche agrees, not seeing the irony, considering who he's currently sleeping
with. But Pete isn't cruel enough to point that out when Porsche drops the remaining part of his
cigarette and crushes the filter beneath his shoe.

“Okay,” Pete says, finding their interaction exceedingly strange. “I’m gonna go back inside now.”

“Wait hold on,” Porsche calls. “How much do you trust Vegas? Would you say he’s credible?”

Pete snorts and then realises that Porsche is being serious.

“He doesn’t really seem that interested in lying,” he offers, confused as to why Porsche is asking
him this. “I think he has more fun- hurting people with the truth. Or trying to trick people in other
ways. He will lie to get his way though- if it suits him.”

Porsche expression is still hard. “But do you trust him?”

“Yes,” Pete confesses, feeling foolish to even admit as much. “For the most part. But that’s
because he’s making such an effort not to piss me off too much.”

Porsche nods thoughtfully at that and they’re silent again for a moment. Pete can’t really keep up
with Porsche’s odd line of questioning right now. In what direction are his thoughts going?

“Why do you want to know anyway?”

“No reason,” Porsche says cheerfully which is clearly a lie but Pete doesn’t have the energy to call
him out on it right now. If Porsche wants to tell him he will. If it's serious, he'll find out about it
sooner or later.

So Pete shrugs and turns to walk back towards the main doors.

“Just don’t freak out if I don’t come back for a while.”

Immediately he stops retreating, the odd feeling of suspicion growing. “What? Why? Are you
going somewhere?”

When his answer isn't immediately forthcoming Pete knows for certain that something is
happening. Something that he doesn't want to tell Pete about. Because Porsche only shrugs and
gives him a strange little smile. “Just in search of some answers.”

Oh. The thing about his family. Pete shouldn't have forgotten about it because Porsche clearly
hasn't.

“Your uncle?” Pete realises straight away, then he doubles back and lowers voice. “You found the
money?”

Porsche nods and suddenly his look is far off. Unreachable.

“I found the money.”

This is all making Pete increasingly uneasy. Who would pay for something like this? Who would
be so invested in the connection between the Theerapanyakuls and Porsche's family? Why would it
be of interest to anyone else?

“Where are you going?” Pete demands, already preparing himself for a vague response. “I can
come-“
“No. You can’t,” Porsche says sharply and Pete is a little surprised by the tone. But he shouldn’t
be. Of course Porsche is still angry with him.

“Right.”

“Because of the Italians,” Porsche reminds him, raising an eyebrow at Pete's shuttered expression.
“Or did you forget they want you dead?”

“Oh.” Pete had forgotten in fact. “Right. Stay safe- then. Call if you need any help. Are you sure
you don’t want back up from someone else? I think Pol is free today.”

But Porsche shrugs again, still perfectly evasive. “I’m not going alone.”

“Okay,” Pete says, not liking this situation one bit but figures he can only leave it for now.

There’s no point adding more strain to their friendship by proving to Porsche that it’s a bad idea to
trust him. So Pete nods once and heads quickly back inside, where he runs directly into Tankhun in
the lobby.

“There you are,” Tankhun says, brightening at the sight of him. “Did you forget you’re on roster
today? There’s still one episode left of The Devil Judge!”

Pete actively has to resist the urge to groan. “Sounds great,” he says weakly and follows after
Tankhun back towards the elevators.

Damn, Porsche managing to wriggle his way out of this one.

But Pete could probably stand to cover for him this one time. He probably owes him a few at this
point. More than a few. Pete knows he owes Porsche a lot for everything that he's done for him.

“Do you want to talk about how it went with my father?” Tankhun wonders seriously once they’re
alone in the elevator, taking them back up towards the penthouses.

Pete grimaces a little, remembering the expression on Chan’s face before he went and hit Vegas in
the face.

“Not really.”

“Well it’s good news right?” Tankhun continues happily. “You still get to work with the main
family!”

Pete manages to smile but there are plenty of other things he’d rather be doing right now.

And The Devil Judge is not remotely at the top of his list.

They do finish off watching the show. Finally.

And Pete is tired enough that he manages to doze through the entirety of the episode, cheek
pillowed on his own hand so that Tankhun won’t notice he’s sleeping.

Jirapat and Arm manage to hold his attention for the duration of the episode though so Pete isn’t
really required to make comments. Which is good because he’d have no idea what to say. Based
off the simple fact that he has genuinely no idea what just happened.

Tankhun has only begun a heated debate with everyone about what to start watching next when
Kinn storms straight into the room, looking visibly harassed and upset. Khom and Satang
following after him like quiet perfectly dressed shadows.

Pete sits up a little straighter at his expression.

“What’s happened?” he asks before Tankhun has even noticed Kinn's arrival.

Kinn glances at Pete, and seemingly gets distracted for a second from his goal. Pete can see the
awkwardness register on his face. The fact that both of them clearly know how he placed his vote
yesterday.

“Porsche is gone. He left a note.”

Shit. Pete looks away quickly. He didn’t realise that Porsche hadn’t told Kinn directly that he was
going off to meet his uncle but considering their recent fight it’s not exactly surprising. Should he
admit to knowing anything?

“What note?” Tankhun demands, immediately concerned by Porsche's absence.

Everyone is exchanges the kind of glances that suggest something terrible might have just
happened but Pete is too busy trying to figure out if he should speak up or if Porsche wanted to
keep this private.

Kinn only shrugs, looking more uncertain. “Just said there’s something he needed to find answers
for and that he’d be back soon.”

“What if he’s kidnapped?” Tankhun demands, jumping to the worst sort of conclusion and
sounding a little shaky with the idea. "What if he's already dead?"

And that's when he realises that he'd better say something after all.

“He’s not,” Pete mutters, regretting the certainty in his voice when everyone turns to look at him.
“He told me he was going to talk to his uncle. That he wasn’t going alone.”

Kinn latches on to that fact immediately.

“Who was he going with?”

Pete can only shrug helplessly. “He wouldn’t tell me.”

“You could ask the doorman,” Arm interjects with a kind of steady calmness. “He might have seen
who Porsche left with. Didn’t Tankhun find you in the lobby earlier, Pete? You were outside
smoking together.”

Pete shrugs again, not wanting to make things difficult for Porsche but gets up when the rest of the
group make it clear they're going to go downstairs to question the other staff in the hotel. So Pete
goes with them as they heads down to the lobby, Tankhun’s anxious chattering filling the silence as
Kinn seems to get tenser by the minute.

It seems like a lot of anxious hand wringing in Pete's opinion because he doesn’t really think that
Porsche is in danger. If he was, Pete would have insisted on going with him. Wouldn’t have just let
him walk off in mysterious circumstances.
When they make it to the lobby, Pui is on the front desk so Kinn heads straight over to talk to him,
Khom and Satang still shadowing silently at his back. A second later Pui calls Waan the doorman
over too and they seem to have some kind of whispered conversation.

Tankhun throws his hands up when Arm tries to massage his shoulders. “What am I doing over
here?” he grumbles. “I’m going to find out what they’re talking about.”

And then he stalks off to join his brother.

“Do you think it’s bad?” Arm asks Pete and Jirapat once they’re left alone.

Jirapat looks concerned but not particularly worried. “He’s probably fine. Porsche is pretty smart,
isn’t he?”

Pete doesn’t say anything. Mostly because he’s still watching the group by the main desk which
means he happens to catch the exact moment where they all seem to turn and stare at him in
unison.

Then he gets a very bad feeling.

Especially when Kinn storms toward him, Tankhun frantically whispering at him like he’s trying
to calm down an approaching storm.

Pete doesn’t bother to speak first. Because he has no idea what's going on yet. Just waits for
whatever accusation Kinn is about to unleash on him.

“Waan says he saw Porsche leave with Vegas.”

That’s definitely news to him. The last Pete had heard Vegas was going home to face his father.
Pete isn’t quick enough to conceal the surprise but at least he knows now. Where Porsche got the
money to pay his uncle off. Of course Vegas would be intersted in the potential of a cover up from
the main family.

“Do you know where they are?” Pete asks.

Kinn is still glaring at Pete mistrustfully as if he thinks he was somehow in on this ridiculous plan.
“We’ve been searching for his uncle for a while now, he’s been in hiding. He ran off the last time
we gave him money.”

“So you know where he is?” Then Pete is already frowning as the thought occurs to him. “Why did
you give him money?”

Kinn’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t answer. Why would he be honest with Pete? That seems a little
too much of an unreasonable expectation on Pete's part. He should know better.

“Khom, go and bring the car around.”

They all watch together as Khom disappears on Kinn's orders whilst Satang remains posted
faithfully by Kinn’s side.

“You’re going alone?” Tankhun demands, absolutely surprised by this. He obviously doesn't think
that it's a great idea either. Neither does Pete but Kinn clearly isn't all that interested in his opinion.

It's probably safer that he keeps his mouth shut.

“No,” Kinn says sharply, his eyes sliding over towards Pete. “He’s coming with me too.”
Not the solution that Pete was expecting either.

Tankhun sucks in a sharp breath. “You can’t do that,” he insists, instantly trying to shoot down the
idea. “The problem with the Italians hasn’t been resolved yet. Pete is still a target-“

Kinn gestures towards the lobby doors, completely disregarding his brother. “Go and get in the car
Pete.”

This is a very interesting turn of events now. Pete just looks at him. “Why?”

Kinn’s face shifts as he turns his back to all of them. “Because I need Vegas on his best behaviour
and you’re my incentive.”

That's not a better explanation at all and Pete doesn't like the idea of being used like this. When he
glances around at the group, it's clear he doesn't like being the centre of attention either. He could
say no. Tankhun would back him up.

But what the hell is Vegas thinking? Running around injured like this?

Pete can admit to himself wherever Porsche and Vegas have run off to that he also wants to go.

When he steps forward, Tankhun reaches out and takes firm hold of his arm. “You don’t have to do
this Pete,” he whispers frantically in his ear. “You’re my bodyguard now. Not Kinn’s.”

“It’s okay,” Pete mutters, patting gently at Tankhun's soft hands. “I want to.”

But Tankhun clearly doesn’t like the idea of this. Neither to the other bodyguards from the way
they're looking at their feet and shifting uneasily. “Are you sure, Pete? You don’t have to follow
Kinn’s orders.”

Pete doesn’t think that he does. Not anymore.

“I want to make sure Porsche and Vegas are okay.”

Tankhun’s expression is grim but he does back off, letting go of Pete with great reluctance.
“Please- be careful.”

Pete nods. Then considers the situation. “I don’t have a gun. I didn’t check anything out from the
armoury today.”

Without a word, Satang hands Pete his Glock. “Thanks,” he says, checking the safety before
stowing the gun at his lower back beneath the waistband. At least he's carrying the burner phone at
the moment. Has some way of contacting Vegas and Porsche if he needs to.

By the time he’s ready to move, Kinn is already out of the lobby, waiting impatiently in the drive
for Khom to bring the car around. They stand there in silence and barely a minute later Khom
drives the Mercedes into the drive, parking carefully abreast of where Kinn is impatiently standing.

He doesn’t turn the car off, just steps out of the driver’s seat for the sake of expediency and Pete
automatically moves towards the driver’s side before Kinn waves him off.

“Get in the passenger seat,” he says shortly. “I’m driving.”

Pete isn’t interested in arguing with him. He gets into the passenger seat.

There's barely a chance to buckle himself in before Kinn is peeling out of the driveway, tyres
spinning so fast they screech when he shoots into the main streets.

Immediately Kinn cuts someone off into order to get into traffic and then ignores the furious
honking as he hits the accelerator.

“Where are we going?” Pete decides to ask, figuring it's a neutral enough question.

“He’s been hiding out in a temple,” Kinn explains tersely. “He and Porsche’s father used to
volunteer there as kids. It’s not far.”

Pete nods and doesn’t need to ask any further questions beyond that. Clearly he's just along for the
ride so he lets the silence sit around them, his thoughts focused on Porsche and Vegas. And hoping
this is all just a case of being overly cautious and they're both still alright.

He’s not sure what Kinn isn’t telling him but whatever it is- it’s probably not good. It feels to Pete
like the secrets he's holding on to are the kinds that could rip a family apart.

And the last thing either of them need is more danger.

They make it to the temple grounds without anything else going wrong and Kinn slides into a
suitable parking spot, locking the Mercedes once Pete has already climbed out and begun scanning
the area.

“Where do you think they are?” he wonders, quietly thinking that they should have brought more
bodguards.

From the look of it it’s a big space to comb through. Pete hasn’t been to this temple before but the
grounds are definitely extensive. No wonder they needed volunteers.

Kinn doesn't have an answer for him so they end up wandering for some time. That is until Pete
spots Porsche’s familiar frame at the end of an alleyway, Vegas at his side with his new bike
parked behind them.

Pete wonders idly when he replaced the last one Pete destroyed, as his eyes slide over to the man
standing between them who is dressed in white and has his back to them.

“There,” Pete says unnecessarily to Kinn almost a split second before a gun fires.

Then he’s running flat out, pulling his own weapon free and flicking the safety off as Kinn now
has a gun in hand too, rushing down the alley towards Vegas and Porsche who are hovering over
Porsche’s uncle who was the clear target.

Pete glances at the windows on either side of the alley as their feet slap across the pavement, trying
to figure out where they may have been aiming from to have made that kind of shot. He’s almost
tempted to rush past Kinn, who is just in front of him and who doesn’t seem to be picking up the
pace as much as Pete would like.

But he doesn’t dare to eclipse him right now. In this moment Pete's role is to hang back. To be the
bodyguard.

He gets one good look at a man now lying prone on the ground, Porsche crouched over him to
listen to what is clearly the man’s last words. Pete sees the blood pooling at the back of the man’s
shirt and can tell even from such a distance that it doesn’t look good.

That has to be Porsche’s uncle, right? Who else could it be?

Then his eyes are sliding towards Vegas, and he can see that he’s already spotted Kinn’s approach
as his eyes narrow. He turns away too quickly, doesn’t notice Pete at Kinn’s back which might be a
good thing. Pete doesn’t know how to explain how he ended up here with Kinn of all people. How
after everything it still looks like he’s on Kinn’s side somehow.

A second later Vegas is grabbing at Porsche, lifting him off his feet one handed and dragging him
back towards the bike, And even from this short distance Pete can read his intentions even as they
struggle to reach them in time.

But they’re not going to make it. Not from the way Vegas’ clambers up onto the bike, Porsche
stumbling almost drunkenly after him.

It comes out of Pete before he makes the conscious decision to shout.

“Vegas!”

At Pete's voice Vegas tenses all over, twisting to look across his shoulder as his eyes land on Pete
still running towards him. Running towards him with Kinn.

During that brief moment Pete doesn’t really know what to expect but then astonishingly, Vegas is
sliding off the bike, Porsche hurriedly scrambling to take the empty space left behind as Vegas
stops trying to escape. As he steps forward to meet them. Abandoning the Ducati and Porsche
without a second thought.

Pete immediately slows and Porsche guns the engine a second later, peeling out of the alleyway
and leaving the man he was questioning and Vegas behind. Without ever looking back.

Even in moments like this Pete can’t help but be practical. So when he finally reaches the man he
suspects to be Porsche’s uncle, Pete bends down and puts two fingers to his throat in order to check
for a pulse first. But it’s much too late.

The man is already dead.

Whoever shot him could still be around here though. Pete straightens up into a standing position as
he glances around the alleyway, not liking the narrow space. The opportunity for some many
different angles to come at them from.

And the fact that Pete has two important members of the Theerapanyakul family here with him.
Not to mention the target on his own back. They really should have brought more bodyguards.

When he looks back again, Vegas is striding towards him determinedly.

“Why-?” Pete starts once he's within hearing range, before glancing at Kinn and trailing off.

It’s not a question he would comfortably ask in front of Kinn but Vegas answers anyway as he
closes the distance. “I heard you call,” he explains as if it’s that simple.

As if it's that easy to make him change his mind about something. As soon as he'd realised Pete
was there.
Then Kinn, unthinkingly steps closer as if this is still a casual conversation. “Whatever you did to
Porsche-“

Vegas throws a punch so quickly it’s a blur and Kinn goes down surprisingly hard, his expression
betraying his shock even as the anger is rising in Vegas’ eyes as he's forced to focus on Kinn.

“That's for putting Pete in danger. Again. Why the hell did you bring him?” he demands angrily,
without even slowing and then he's coming to stand in front of Pete.

It takes a beat too long for Pete to realise that Vegas has now positioned himself between Pete and
the direction of where the previous gunfire came from. The bullet that just killed Porsche’s uncle.
Pete quickly straightens up and ducks out of the protective line of his body but Vegas isn’t finished
talking.

“It’s still not safe for Pete outside the main family house.”

Kinn rubs a hand at his jaw in disblief and promptly ignores the lecture. Dismisses Vegas’ words
as if they mean nothing to him. Which they probably don’t. His only worry right now seems to be
Porsche when he hastily climbs back to his feet again and picks up the gun he'd dropped. At least
he genuinely does care about him.

“What the hell is going on with Porsche?" he demands, foolishly inserting himself between Vegas
and Pete. "What were you doing?”

He barely gets through the question before Vegas is shoving past Kinn, intent on getting closer to
Pete so that he can protect him.

Pete briefly has his back to them for a moment and is still taking in the surroundings as he slowly
turns, eyes slipping over Kinn, who still has his gun out before finally resting on Vegas as he draws
closer. Then he's noting the fresh line of blood along his arm. The fact that Vegas doesn't have it in
a sling any longer.

Pete rushes to meet him at once, taking his elbow none too gently in order to inspect it. There’s
blood seeping through his long sleeved shirt in the exact place where his bandages are. Right
where he was shot. Not to the same level as Porsche’s uncle but he’s still very much bleeding
through his shirt.

“You took off the sling,” Pete snaps, infuriated that he had to chase him down and annoyed now
that all of Doctor Rueng’s hard work was for naught. “Shit Vegas, I said no fucking around with
it.”

Vegas is nodding along, only half listening as he does the very same thing that Pete did a second
earlier. Eyes trailing across the two buildings in search of potential danger. It seems wild that he’d
only be interested in that now that Pete is here.

How deep does his lack of self-preservation go?

“You let him talk to you like that?” Kinn wonders, with unmistakeable surprise and it takes a beat
too long for Pete to realise that Kinn is referring to him.

Pete realises that he was talking to Vegas normally, like he would when they’re alone. Not with the
clinical, polite distance of a bodyguard. Of someone with a different status to his own. Someone
beneath them. Suddenly Pete’s aware of himself again, shifting awkwardly under the restrictions of
Kinn’s expectations.
But the disdain on Vegas’ face is plain. He has no patience to spare fo Kinn right now. “Because
you prefer them when they bow and simper and lie?”

That one feels particularly barbed and aimed at Porsche. Which Pete doesn’t exactly think is very
fair. Porsche is obviously in the middle of making an important discovery about his family history.
He wouldn’t have run off like that unless he was truly desperate for answers.

Pete’s mouth twists and he can see from their expressions that they’re seconds away from a fight.

“Can we focus? Where was Porsche going, Vegas? He was trying to get information about the
connection between the family and his parents, right?”

Vegas blinks as he turns to look at him in surprise but it's clear to see he's impressed that Pete is
aware of the situation so quickly. “What kind of spy network do you have to have figured that out
already?”

Pete waves off the assumption. “None. I just asked Porsche what was going on.”

Kinn is glancing between the two of them, expression slowly darkening as if he doesn’t appreciate
being ignored. But if he doesn't have anything to offer to the conversation then it's really no
wonder they're proceeding without him.

“So what happened then?" Pete asks. "Did you get anything before his uncle was killed?”

Vegas automatically glances over at Kinn because he can’t help but hold back if there’s the
possibility it might benefit his cousin. But Pete doesn’t have time for his bullshit either. They need
to make sure Porsche is alright first. So already Pete's hand is curling around Vegas’ bicep, pulling
his attention back.

“What did he say?”

This time, Vegas doesn’t look away again. “He admitted the story about Porsche’s parents dying in
that car accident was nothing but a lie he’d told Porsche. He said that they were shot to death at
home instead and Porsche witnessed it.”

Fucking hell. At this point what haven't the Theerapanyakuls done to get their hands so dirty? Pete
wrenches away with a curse just as Kinn’s expression is clearing with a grim kind of
understanding.

“What is it, baby?” Vegas asks, already back to intently scanning the windows around them. Still
in search of the shooter.

Absently Pete pats at Vegas’ chest as if in a silent reminder to not call him that in front of anyone,
especially not Kinn but his can see they're already on the same page with this. Kinn, who reached
the same conclusion that Pete did.

“Why would he lie?" Pete asks Vegas. "No, think of what Porsche’s uncle is motivated by. Who
are the kind of people who would pay him to lie?”

Vegas takes Pete's hand and start encouraging him further into the temple. Just for the sake of
getting him out of the alley. “Right," he agrees, clearly distracted now. "The main family.”

Kinn shoots him a look at Vegas’ comment. The clear distinction between the main and minor
family. As if the minor family is any better. Any more honest. And he starts to follow after Vegas
and Pete, still wanting answers from them.
“So he’s gone back to the hotel?”

“No,” Pete guesses, pulling Vegas to an unwilling stop. “He’s probably gone home. That’s where it
happened right? Porsche is still looking for his answers.”

Vegas is still looking above them and starts trying to pull Pete along again but this time he resists.
“He was acting strange after that gunshot too,” he tells them both but he's mostly talking to Pete.
“Like the sound had triggered something. Maybe a memory.”

And there’s only one person alive now that can answer Porsche’s questions. The family.

“You probably don’t need to keep looking for him,” Pete tells Kinn. “I’m pretty sure he’ll end up
back at the main family house eventually. ”

Kinn is looking increasingly pale and agitated by the discovery. But he should have known this
was a possibility if he knew that they'd already paid off Porsche's uncle once. There's obviously a
lot more going on than anyone has been admitting to.

“To question my father.”

“He’s got a gun, too,” Vegas points out, suddenly optimistic and back to enjoying himself again.
“Seemed a little unstable actually.”

Pete wishes Vegas wasn’t specifically celebrating Porsche’s misfortune but he knows it’s
motivated by Kinn and not out of any genuine maliciousness towards Porsche. At least that's what
he hopes.

“Not helping,” Pete snaps before looking back at Kinn again to reassure him. “Porsche won’t do
anything stupid. He just wants the truth.”

“And what if he doesn’t like it when he gets it?”

“Then he’s got the gun-“ Vegas starts to say, gleefully relishing the agony of Kinn's expression
even as Pete’s arm comes down just above the crook of his elbow, close enough to the still
bleeding wound so that Vegas will feel it when he squeezes.

Which is what he does a second later.

“Fuck,” Vegas grits out. “Easy, Pete.”

When his hand comes away wet, Pete’s pulse flutters at his throat. “Aw shit,” Pete insists, pressing
closer again. “I think it's getting worse. You need to go and see a doctor.”

Vegas scowls, affronted by the mere suggestion. There's clearly no love lost between him and
Doctor Rueng. “I’m not going back to the main family house again.”

Because he can't do things the easy way. Pete tries his best not to get frustrated.

“Fine,” he mutters. “There’s a clinic nearby I can take you to.”

For a second Kinn looks at Pete incredulously. Still somehow surprised by this after everything
he's already seen and heard. “What the hell is this? Are you- helping him? After everything he’s
done?”

This is not an argument that needs to happen right now. There are more important things going on.
They need to find Porsche. They need to get Vegas' bleeding arm check out. So Pete drops his
hand immediately and steps back in an attempt to diffuse the building tension. “No.”

But Vegas is only grinning at Pete's poor attempt to lie. “Mind your business, cousin,” he mutters,
taking hold of Pete’s arm and happily dragging him away. “Alright let’s go.”

“Not so fast,” Kinn calls after them, sounding increasingly suspicious. “How are you going to get
to this clinic?”

Pete glances back and shrugs, looking at Vegas next.

“You got any money?”

Vegas raises an eyebrow like the question is ludicrous so Pete gestures in the direction that he and
Kinn first appeared from. "I think the main road is that way."

So Vegas shrugs and turns them around again, moving with Pete back down the alley which leads
towards the parking lot.

“You’re really just going to leave with him,” Kinn says disbelievingly, trailing behind the both of
them as he follows them out, glancing around uncertainly for the gunman. “Don’t you care about
Porsche?”

Pete suspects that person who shot Porsche’s uncle has fled by this point and they'd better get out
of here quickly before the police arrive, discover the dead body and start asking questions. The
Theerapanyakuls have paid off a lot of the police but Pete doubts they have all of them in their
pocket. Their reach isn't that far. Not yet.

“Of course I do,” Pete says, wondering how Kinn could ever doubt that fact. Part of the reason he
went to Vegas' compound in the first place was to help Porsche. To clear his name when Tawan
had dragged it through the mud. “That’s why I came here in the first place. But I don’t think he’ll
be in danger. The person obviously wanted to silence his uncle. They could have shot Porsche and
Vegas at any time if they’d wanted.”

He doesn’t glance over at Vegas as he says this. Doesn’t admit that Vegas was also partially the
reason he’d arrived with Kinn as well. If Vegas won’t be concerned for himself why shouldn’t Pete
worry for him a little? What’s wrong with what?

When they reach the parking lot their paths quickly diverge and Pete watches Kinn out of the
corner of his eye, keeping track of him to make sure he departs safely once he starts the Mercedes
and reverses out.

He doesn’t offer to give either of them a ride. Seems to know that Vegas won’t accept it. That Pete
won’t leave without Vegas.

Once Pete has seen the back of Kinn's taillights, he stows his gun back in its original place and
drags Vegas over towards the main road, trying to find an area where they can flag down a taxi.

“Did you hit your arm or something?” Pete wonders when he sees the spot of blood seeping
through the shirt is steadily growing larger. Then, realising that Vegas obviously went home and
got changed first in order to be wearing these clothes. That he must have run into Mr Kan. “Did
your father-?“

“No,” Vegas says, still overseeing their surroundings carefully. “He just yelled at me this time. I
think I overextended it when I was driving the bike.”
Pete can’t believe he would think that was a great idea. It hasn’t even been twenty four hours since
he was shot! He can’t honestly have expected to be healed enough to operate a motorbike. And the
Ducati doesn’t seem like the type of bike a person can keep upright one handed.

“Why didn’t you let Porsche drive it?” he demands, almost disbelieving of how Vegas seems to
like to make things so much harder for himself.

Vegas just looks at him like he doesn’t understand the question. “It’s my bike. The only other
person I’d have let drive it is you.”

Pete flushes a little and finally manages to flag down a taxi. When it pulls up to the curb, he gets
into the back seat first and helps take most of Vegas' weight since it’s harder for him to manoeuvre
one handed.

Then he gives the driver the address for Doctor Kunakorn’s clinic.

With traffic, they’re arriving in twenty five minutes and the bleeding isn’t necessarily worse but it
hasn’t stopped during the ride. Pete keeps glancing at Vegas’ arm every couple of minutes,
concerned about the state of it but Vegas just lays his head back against the headrest and lets his
eyes fall shut. Uninterested and unconcerned.

He keeps a hand pressed on the seat, right against Pete’s thigh though as if he needs the
reassurance that Pete is still sitting there. That he won’t close his eyes without it.

When the car slows to a stop, Pete glances at Vegas expectantly and he gives Pete his wallet to
open. Pete ignores the wad of cash tucked inside it and hands the correct amount of baht over to the
man with a tip for driving so fast.

Then he’s nudging Vegas back out onto the sidewalk.

“This is the place?” Vegas wonders, dubiously, but he still allows Pete to drag him inside.

The place is a little more crowded today which doesn’t help the anxiety already rattling around in
Pete’s chest. But thankfully the timing works out that just as they’re walking inside, Doctor
Kunakorn seems to be entering the waiting room, escorting a patient out and sharing a view words
before she goes to the front desk instead.

Pete locks eyes with him and lifts Vegas’ bloodied arm by way of explanation.

Doctor Kunakorn seems startled by his arrival. Then even more surprised that he’s brought another
person. He sighs at the sight of them both before leaning over towards the receptionist and telling
her to hold back his next appointment.

Then he waves Pete over to approach.

“That’s the guy?” Vegas wonders, still suspicious and sounding like he’s gearing up to select his
next target in a fist fight.

Pete is already well aware that this is going to be a very unpleasant experience. He definitely has
no intention of mentioning who Vegas is and how he might be related to Pete’s previous injuries
that brought him here in the first place.

“He’s not so bad,” Pete assures him. “I trust him. Mostly.”

Vegas just raises an eyebrow at that glowing commendation but allows himself to be led down the
hall in the direction of Doctor Kunakorn’s office. When Doctor Kunakorn, who is standing by the
doorway, meets his eyes and Vegas does nothing but smile menacingly, Pete grips at his elbow
again.

“So try not to make this a living hell for him, okay?”

Vegas looks Doctor Kunakorn up and down as they approach and seems to find him lacking in
some way.

“No promises, baby.”

Pete doesn’t have any more patience left for his bullshit. “So make one,” he hisses back, taking no
trouble to lower his voice.

“I will if you make it worth my while.”

So predictable. Pete rolls his eyes and pulls away. “Don’t I always?”

Vegas grins back at him then and decides to follow Pete into Doctor Kunakorn’s office. When he
doesn’t sit down, Pete nudges him over towards the nearest chair and makes him sit before he
starts swaying. The last thing he needed at the moment was to lose more blood but here they are
and it's happening all over again.

Pete still hasn't cleaned the blood out from underneath his fingernails from the first time.

“What’s happened now?” Doctor Kunakorn wonders, apparently unfazed that Pete seems to have
invaded his clinic again.

“Gunshot wound,” he offers shortly, trying to keep as close to the point as possible. The faster he
explains, the faster Doctor Kunakorn can fix it and the faster they can get out of here. “He
overexerted it.”

Doctor Kunakorn seems smart enough not to approach Vegas directly. Not from the 'just try it'
signals Vegas seems to be naturally emanating on his own power. “Alright when were you shot,
young man?”

Vegas stares at him plainly for a moment before Pete nudges at him again, in silent reminder of
their deal.

“Around one forty AM,” he grits out, like he’s having teeth pulled.

Pete winces as Doctor Kunakorn raises an eyebrow at him. “How many days ago- ?”

“This morning,” Pete interjects impatiently, knowing better than to leave this round of questioning
in Vegas' hands. They'll be here for hours. “The idiot was shot this morning. We had a doctor patch
him up earlier get him on some fluids but it started bleeding again anyway.”

“How long ago did it start?”

Pete glances at Vegas who shrugs.

“Maybe half an hour at most? He’s bleeding through the bandages and it hasn’t really slowed
down.”

“Why didn’t you return to the doctor who treated you initially? Why come here?”
“Here was closer,” Pete reveals quickly. “And the other doctor isn’t really an option anymore.”

Doctor Kunakorn seems to consider that before letting out another overdrawn sighs. “Alright,” he
says. “Let’s get that shirt off and have a closer look.”

Vegas just stares at him like he’s daring him to come closer. Pete curses underneath his breath,
leans over and starts working on the buttons himself. Trying not to notice how close to Vegas he is
when he does so. Pretends he doesn't see Vegas lick his lips and spread his legs a little under the
pretence of helping Pete drag his shirt out past the waistband of his trousers.

Pete is taking very short breaths to avoid being overwhelmed by the smell of him because he's
wearing that stupid cologne again which has the unfortunate affect of making Pete's knees feel
weak. When he’s finished, he carefully helps Vegas slip his bandaged forearm out so they can get
a closer look.

And the circumference of the blood isn’t as large as he was expecting. There’s still some remaining
white on the bandage. So he hasn't bled through it entirely.

Doctor Kunakorn already has gloves on by that stage and he’s set a pile of gauze and bandages
down atop the examination bed.

“Please come up here and take a seat,” he says, gesturing at the bed.

Vegas looks like he’s a second away from lunging for the man’s throat so Pete bends down and
grips at his uninjured arm, lifting him to his feet.

“Are you going back on your word?” Pete demands and Vegas finally stops outright resisting. But
he's struggling with himself, fighting an instinctive urge when he stalks towards the bed and lays
down on it.

He really doesn't like being here.

“You make a wrong move and you’ll regret it,” Vegas says to Doctor Kunakorn in a tone that is
nothing short of terrifying and a promise that Vegas won't hesitate to fulfill if crossed.

Pete feels a flutter of exhilaration at the intensity of it and comes over to place a hand on Vegas’
shoulder. Ready to hold him back in case he tries to do anything violent.

Doctor Kunakorn raises an eyebrow at him but bends down and starts to lightly unwrap the
bandages, careful to start as slowly as possible to avoid agitating the wound.

“Oh good,” he says, once it's completely exposed. “The bullet went through cleanly. Alright, so
your doctor has packed this quite nicely but yes it looks like there was some strain on the muscle
and it’s caused you to begin bleeding again.”

“And?” Vegas asks bluntly. “What are you going to do to fix it?”

Doctor Kunakorn somehow isn’t remotely intimidated.

“I’m going to wash it out again with some warm water and soap, repack the wound with gauze and
apply fresh bandages. Is that alright with you?”

Vegas opens his mouth, no doubt to make the situation worse and Pete’s grip on him tightens.

“Fine.”
“Were you given any pain medication?” Doctor Kunakorn wonders as he sets about doing exactly
what he explained he would, laying a towel beneath Vegas’ arm so when he starts cleaning out the
wound the mess doesn’t go everywhere.

“He got a couple pills but I think they’re gone now,” Pete tells him. “He had a concussion earlier
so the doctor was more interested in keeping him conscious.”

“And what about this?” Doctor Kunakorn wonders, gesturing at Vegas’ skull. “Does that need to
be checked out too?”

“Is it bleeding as well?” Pete wonders, peering around to see for himself but the bandage is
thankfully still dry. “It was from another bullet. He needed some stitches.”

Doctor Kunakorn nods, evidently deciding to leave it alone for now since it's not bleeding through
the bandages and goes back to cleaning the exposed wound on Vegas’ forearm. Pete steels himself
and finally peers over Vegas’ lap, taking a look at the entirety of the injury for the first time. Then
immediately wishes that he hadn’t.

“Your arm should be in a sling,” Doctor Kunakorn says, carefully placing wet gauze down on to
his forearm now. “You need to be moving it as minimally as possible. The less you use your left
hand the better. You can still do small hand stretches but nothing more than that. Nothing too
strenuous.”

When he finishes wrapping up Vegas’ arm again Doctor Kunakorn goes and picks up a particular
type of material that’s stretchy but not too thick. When Pete gets Vegas' shirt back on again,
another silent ordeal that Vegas smirks at him throughout because Pete has to lean in close to do it,
Doctor Kunakorn uses that strange material to fashion a sling for his arm.

When he’s finished, Vegas is still looking disgruntled but at least a lot less hostile than he was
when they'd originally walked in here.

“We don’t keep the kind of pain medication you need stored in this clinic. I can write a prescription
but-“

“I don’t need it,” Vegas mutters with a surprising degree of honesty. “They make me feel hazy
anyway.”

Doctor Kunakorn seems reluctant to let that go but he relents under Vegas' insistence. And then
he's redirecting his attention to Pete.

“And what about you?” he wonders. “Any more injuries to show?”

Pete shrugs and helps Vegas stand back up again.

“None so far.”

Doctor Kunakorn glances at Vegas once again before continuing. "Would you like to discuss-?"

Pete realises he's about to mention staying behind so they can discuss the blood test results in
private and instantly knows what a terrible idea that would be. "Another time," he says quickly.

When Pete leans over again and finishes up with the last of the buttons, Vegas doesn't even
hesitate. Suddenly he’s up and striding straight out of the room without so much as a thank you to
Doctor Kunakorn.
Pete still thinks it’s preferrable to how he acted with Doctor Rueng and can't really find it in
himself to complain. At least he didn't try to stab him. At least he didn't make any inappropriate
advances towards Pete in front of Doctor Kunakorn. Well, at least none that he said verbally.

“Thanks for this,” he says, keeping an eye on Vegas who is lingering in the hallway waiting for
him. “I promise not to keep showing up here and disturbing things for you.”

Doctor Kunakorn is still looking at the doorway, a thoughtful expression on his face. “That him,
isn’t it? The man who attacked you.”

Pete doesn’t confirm it, but doesn’t deny it either. He won’t lie to cover for Vegas. Especially not
for this. It's not like Doctor Kunakorn can do anything about it either. He doesn't even know Pete's
name and he certainly doesn't know Vegas'.

“Please keep coming back,” Doctor Kunakorn says after a beat. “I’d rather you come here and get
treated than not seeking treatment at all.”

It makes him feel worse somehow, that this man hardly knows Pete and seems to genuinely care
about him. Pete smiles awkwardly and raises his hand hands togehter, lifting them up respectfully
against his forehead before heading out of the room in search of Vegas.

He finds him by the receptionist desk, tossing a handful of baht down on to the table and grinning
like a shark at the receptionist who is actually physically recoiling from him.

Pete takes a hold of his uninjured arm and drags him back outside before either of them can get
into any more trouble.

Right now he feels like he’s seen enough doctors for a lifetime.

When they emerge into the sunlight, Vegas is walking pointedly close to Pete’s side, pressed so
tightly that no one would miss what they are to each other, short of Vegas putting his hands all over
him. Pete honestly believes that's probably his next step when his phone buzzes.

He drags it out of his blazer and checks the screen.

Porsche is ringing him. Which is good. That must mean he’s alright. That he’s safe.

“Porsche?” Pete answers, relieved. “Where are you? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine I’m back at the main family house. And you need to get back here,” Porsche whispers,
and there are angry voices in the background, followed by a familiar kind of screeching.

That sounds like Tankhun. But if Porsche is back there safe and sound why would Tankhun upset?
It's serious too. Pete knows what Tankhun's distress sounds like.

“What’s happened now?” he demands, heart already sinking.

“Mr Korn- collapsed when I was questioning him,” Porsche tells him, sounding distinctly
unsettled. Pete has no idea whether he got the answers he wanted or not. “He’s in the hospital now.
They’re saying he’s been poisoned.”
Shit. Pete goes very still at the horrible news, thoughts working fast in his mind. “I’m coming back
now.”

He glances over at Vegas, carefully analysing his body language, trying to determine if he knew
about this. If he’s somehow responsible.

Because this is it, isn’t it? The first stage of the attack. The beginnings of the coup. How long it
must have taken for them to get close enough to Mr Korn to be able to poison him?

“What is it, baby?” Vegas wonders, curious but not particularly concerned.

Pete decides the best way to test him is to tell Vegas the truth. “Mr Korn,” he offers slowly enough
to watch Vegas’ shifting expression. He grows tense at the name, guarded but not arrogantly
pleased. Not triumphant. “He’s been poisoned.”

Vegas is actually surprised for only the briefest second.

Then he smiles, showing all of his teeth and Pete feels the certainty in that dangerous grin. The
ache of its sharpness. Because of course Vegas knew. This was all part of the plan. Despite how his
father has treated him, how he’s acted recently. Vegas still knew and did nothing. Just let it happen.
He lied to Pete when he said he wouldn't put him in danger.

Why the hell is Pete even surprised?

Nothing has changed. And Mr Kan has finally made his move against the head of the family like
they always knew that he would.

That's when he remembers suddenly. The confrontation with Mr Kan in Mr Korn's study this
morning. The tea pot he'd sat in front of. That he'd left without drinking. Was that how it was all
done?

How could Mr Kan have gotten something like that past Chan? Past even Mr Korn's keen notice?
Unless-

Unless it was already poisoned when one of the server staff brought it into the room.

It takes a second for Pete to catch up, so focused on the worry of Mr Korn. Of him being
strategically moved from the chess board before Pete realises another important fact.

That he drank the tea as well.

Vegas is still talking to him but Pete doesn’t have the capacity to listen, unable to focus on the
words and they flow easily over him like water. Because he can't direct his attention properly.
Can’t concentrate beyond what's happening. Was it the tea? Has Pete been poisoned too?

And if Mr Korn actually dies, won't Mr Kan step in to usurp Kinn’s role in whatever way that he
can?

What then? What can any of them do to stop him?

He's distracted suddenly, when Vegas grabs hold of his shoulder and actually shakes him. "Baby,
baby. Pete," he says, looking concerned as he makes another attempt to recapture his attention.
"What-?"

And Pete doesn’t even have to think about it then. He just runs.
 i don't know why i'm running away, if i end up back at the start with half of
my heart
Chapter Notes

chap title is from grandson's half my heart

man we made it through a ddos attack, huh. ao3 really does have nine lives (pour one
out for the volunteers guys)

anyways can summarise this chapter as below:

me: okay so there will be a bit of a confrontation, bit of sexy tension but then thats
where the rest of the plot will come back in...
this fic, knowing full well that's not going to happen: um no sweety, vegas and pete
will be arguing, making out, then arguing again the whole time instead and it WILL be
messy
me: alright then carry on

lol anyways enjoy!!

The tight, constricting feeling in his chest is definitely akin to panic but Pete can’t seem to prevent
it from expanding further. From growing beyond the measure of what he can handle, until it’s an
irrepressible sensation, encompassing everything around them and leaving no room for rational
thought.

Logic peels away from him like a second skin. And suddenly he’s nothing more than instinct,
ensnared by an aura of impending danger, that intuitive and unseen warning signal animals receive
right before the approach of natural disaster.

Pete is powerless against it, unable to curb the recklessness of the impulse.

So he doesn’t. Just sprints from Vegas as if every single bad thing in the world is chasing after
him.

He takes off at a speed quicker than even Pete might have expected of himself. Eating regularly
and not exacerbating his remaining injuries does actually seem to have left reserves of energy
because the sidewalk flies away underneath Pete’s feet. So fast it’s almost effortless as he
navigates nimbly through the range of natural obstacles crowding a typically busy street path.

In hardly a breath he’s more than ten metres away, turning recklessly into the closest recognisable
alleyway just as the sound of Vegas pelting after him, in hard pursuit of Pete, is pounding
warningly in his ears.

That at least, he had anticipated.

It’s almost routine now, Vegas chasing when Pete is running. Literally and figuratively. Like they
don’t know any other meaningful way to interact with each other.

But Pete won’t do it the injustice of labelling this a one sided effort. He’s too aware of himself now
to pretend there aren’t similar parts of himself chasing Vegas down; in his thoughts, in his dreams.
Seeking Vegas out when he knows he shouldn’t.

Only Pete’s definitely not seeking him at the moment.

With the confirmation of his approaching shadow, Pete still doesn’t slow down. Doesn’t even
hesitate whilst he’s still all reflex and movement. Even the pursuit at his back, the warning of an
imminent confrontation doesn’t affect his speed.

In fact, it makes Pete run faster.

Now that he’s finally moving, it’s like standing in front of a disintegrating barrier that’s been
holding back a wall made entirely of water. The initial burst of release from an impossible pressure
that physically cannot be held back any longer.

Pete just wants to run and run and run. As if that’s the best way to escape everything going wrong
for him at the moment. The sudden and painfully obvious discovery that the solution to life’s
problems really are as easy as getting your feet under you and pushing forward as far as you can
go.

Pete is pushing forward now, no thoughts except retreating from the man who makes him careless,
who renders things so offensively hazy in his mind. He doesn’t understand how smoothly Vegas
can throw a sensual filter over everything when they’re together. Or how he brings Pete’s
awareness of his own body to the forefront when he’s always preferred not to notice it.

Has refused to pay it very much attention.

And Vegas somehow turns this back around on him. Makes it everything to Pete. Until his body is
all he can think about.

Only now is definitely not the time for that kind of distraction. Why else would Pete be running
away as swiftly as his feet can carry him? How else can he face this new dilemma except alone?
Free of unwanted distraction?

Of course he needs to be alone. If he just had a moment to think-

But it’s not in Vegas Theerapanyakul‘s nature to be deterred by things like this.

Because hardly a second later Vegas is shouting, “Pete!” And sounding much closer than he'd
predicted.

Closer than Pete was hoping he’d be.

It’s too much. Vegas will catch up and Pete doesn’t know how to survive it. Survive him. The
arrogant play by play of how the minor family finally triumphed in their efforts to take out the
head of the Theerapanyakuls.

Does Vegas seriously expect Pete to nod and approve of this achievement? To stand there like a
doll and let himself be kissed, let Pete simply be conquered too?

Even if it’s a success at the expense of Pete’s own life.

Does Vegas know that Pete drank the tea too? Would he still be celebrating as much then?

“Pete!”

Much too close now and he jolts at the sound, recognising the danger of proximity in Vegas’ voice
but doesn’t dare to turn around and confirm it. Pete needs these last few precious seconds. Needs
them to remind himself that he can’t disappear into emotion. Not when it’s indisputable that Vegas
will be within touching distance soon.

How long does Pete have? Seconds now?

But after succumbing to the senselessness of instinct, he refuses to be so easily discouraged. Still
thinks- maybe. If he’s fast enough. If he can put enough distance between them-

So Pete doesn’t give up. Is instead breathing harder, shoes clipping sharply on the firm ground, the
deeper into the alley he runs, barrelling towards an emblematic dead end.

No real sense of direction now except away.

Which is why it’s such a shock when a familiar arm comes solidly around his midsection, with the
strength to lift Pete entirely off his feet.

Pete curses at the press of Vegas’ warm skin against his, both of their chests heaving against one
another as they connect, hearts pounding furiously as he’s turned completely around. It’s a violent
shift of direction that offsets his balance entirely, even as gravity is naturally pulling his feet
towards the earth again.

The soles of his shoes barely hit the pavement before Pete is already rebelling against the embrace,
hands scrabbling on Vegas’ forearm and trying, ineffectually, to pull free.

Vegas might have one useable arm wrapped around him at the moment but it’s deceptively solid.
Or maybe he’s just motivated by a stubborn refusal to let Pete go.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Vegas demands at his ear, sounding out of breath and utterly at
a loss when his chin tucks intimately over Pete’s shoulder, their bodies slotting together with a kind
of instinctive fluency that’s not deliberate but unconsciously earned.

Before he can act, Vegas draws Pete against the full line of his body more firmly as if knowing him
well enough to predict he’ll wriggle free the first chance he gets.

But Pete is sick of letting his body speak for him over and over again, sick of losing all sense of
reason now that it’s thoroughly overrun by yearning. By appetite and compulsion.

He’s not sure exactly when it happened. What catalyst exists to explain the change but it’s
impossible to ignore that he’s not completely in control of himself when Vegas is touching him
now.

How insidious the power of that touch must be. So much that Pete never really even noticed what
it was doing to him. Never realised he was losing this particular battle. As if Pete’s been standing
vigilantly by a locked door, physically barring entry whilst his intruder slipped in through the
undefended window at his back.

He’d known before that Vegas was slick. Always slithering out of disadvantageous situations,
blame rolling off of him like oil on water. The negative consequences of his actions always just out
of reach, never quite latching on.
Nothing ever sticks to him.

Of course he’d be the same in his pursuit of Pete. Of course he’d manage to slip through Pete’s
defences. He’s done this before.

Pete doesn’t know when his lust started to push back against hard won, level-headedness. When it
stopped being about not physically reacting to Vegas. Of proving that Vegas hadn’t won
something over him.

All Pete can do is stay as present and aware of himself as possible. And he knows can’t do that
effectively right now. Not with Vegas’ hands currently on him.

“Let me go!” he exclaims, still fiercely resisting so he’s momentarily shocked when Vegas pulls
away and does exactly that. Unthinkingly obeying the request and leaving Pete near stumbling
when there’s no longer a man at his back holding him upright.

Jarred by the sudden shift, Pete staggers forward several steps before managing to reclaim his
balance. But even as he turns around for the ensuing fight, Vegas is already rushing forward,
pushing Pete further into the narrow space. Persuasively enough that Pete’s stumbling back until
his shoulder blades are smartingly introduced with the opposite side of the alley wall.

Automatically, Pete throws a hand up between their bodies then, palm landing flat across Vegas’
sternum as if in a pre-emptive effort to hold him back. As if Pete knows that he’ll need to hold him
back eventually.

Because he always does.

How did it get like this? Why is the warmth underneath his hand and the look in Vegas’ eyes so
disarming?

“What’s going on, Pete?” he demands. No teasing.

Or sultry and frisky remarks. No plain amusement etched into his sharp features.

It takes a second for Pete to realise the source of sudden coldness emanating from Vegas, the
absence of a habitually superior and playful demeanour. These features, now bluntly smothered,
hint at real concern rather than misplaced fury. Because Pete knows enough to recognise the
difference.

The signs that Vegas is openly worried.

Pete doesn’t know what to do with those emotions so clearly visible to him on Vegas’ face.

How can Vegas still look like that after what he and his father just did? Does he truly not see the
terrible ramifications of his actions? Even now Pete doesn’t understand that drive for power, the
unquenchable fanaticism dwelling deep in their hearts that has the minor family so certain there’s
no other solution.

No other choice than this.

Why give up everything for a fragile seat atop a now fracturing empire? One they weakened
themselves?

Vegas’ expression changes when Pete, still lingering in his earlier panic, tries to push him away
again. Suddenly there’s a hint of impatience in Vegas’ clenched jaw, a flicker of frustration lurking
behind his eyes. It’s obvious that he won’t just roll over like this. Because he’s never done that
before. Not when they come face to face in such an explosive way.

But if what he wants is a fight, then Pete is the exact right person to give it to him.

“Don’t just look at me like that,” Vegas says instead, direct and terse as always. “Talk to me. Tell
me what’s wrong.”

As if he doesn’t understand the situation already.

Why is he playing it like this? What’s the point of pretending not to know? Or does he think he can
keep Pete on the hook longer if he upholds the lie?

“I already said it,” Pete spits at him, almost vibrating with unchecked indignation. “Mr Korn has
been poisoned-“

Vegas does step away from Pete’s hand then, raking an unrestrained hand through his hair in order
to push the loose, fallen strands off his face. He’s flushed and divertingly dishevelled but clearly
has no interest in revisiting this topic of conversation in any great detail.

Because the idea of Mr Korn’s life potentially hanging in the balance is profoundly uninteresting to
him.

Boring.

Vegas seems to only care about what’s happening to Pete right now, not what could possibly be
going on with his uncle. Even in situations like this, his empathy has such a narrow focus.

“And why does that mean I betrayed you?” he wonders, unable to make the connection yet. Not
seeing the situation for what it is. “I saw the way you looked at me before you took off running.
There’s an accusation in your eyes, baby.”

Pete is still panting a little and has to stop and take a deep, steadying breath, trying to resettle his
pounding heart into something manageable. Something under his control. But it doesn’t change the
fact that everything feels off kilter.

That Pete is wholly unprepared to face this.

“Because you fucking smiled like that and I knew you were in on it,” he bites out eventually,
knowing any allegation against Vegas will only reflect poorly on himself. Because he’s the fool
that believed in him. That allowed himself to trust in the first place. “That you lied to me. Tricked
me.”

Vegas takes another step back at the level of fury in his tone and it does nothing to offset the
tension when his eyes don’t stray from the blame in Pete’s. It doesn’t matter how far away he is,
when Vegas stares at Pete like that, as if he’s peering into him, right through the skin and blood,
into the very marrow of his bones. When he stares deep into the very heart of Pete and find that
sameness reflected back in his own eyes.

Even when there’s this distance, Pete can almost feel the touch of him anyway.

When neither of them move, the strain is so palpable it’s a physical presence weighing down the
air around them. Pete can still sense the wall at his back but he’s tensed to move again, actively
resisting the urge to narrow the space again.
Then Vegas raises a vicious eyebrow, an innocently barbed expression stealing across his face. “In
on what? I don’t-“

“I drank the tea,” Pete blurts out, scouring every part of him in search of a reaction. Some spark of
awareness. A smoking gun behind his eyes. “This morning in the meeting with Mr Korn. He had a
pot of tea on the table- and I drank it too.”

There’s a brief second where Vegas disconnects entirely, that he’s so preoccupied by the
strangeness of it that it’s impossible to focus on anything else but confusion. Pete has seen that
happen before. How bewilderment can snap a person out of their intense emotions. That it’s enough
of a distraction to temporarily rewire the brain a little if applied correctly.

Except it wasn’t Pete’s intention to confuse him.

“Tea?” Vegas demands, and it’s not the response Pete was anticipating either. He truly looks
disbelieving now. “What the hell does tea have to-?”

“Is that how your father did it?” Pete heatedly demands, trying to get to the point of the matter.
How does Vegas not understand what this all means? “Is that how Mr Korn was poisoned? How
was it done?”

At the question, Vegas’ agitated energy suddenly stands frozen, the colour rapidly draining from
his face. Then he swiftly narrows the distance between them, gripping tightly at Pete’s bicep and
locking on to him as if he’s going to physically hold to this plain of existence even with the threat
of death swimming around them.

His movements are abruptly as urgent as Pete feels.

“You- you think? You too? You think you’ve been poisoned as well?”

It’s obvious that he never considered this. That he’s now scrambling to reassess the situation.
Trying to think of some way out but what Pete is most surprised by is the lack of performance.

Vegas isn’t acting. And Pete’s ability to read him is enough for Vegas to not even bother to
pretend. So the raw fear now stirring every inch of his body, twisting through his expression until
he’s as restless and tense as Pete, is completely real.

And try as he might to doubt the reaction, it’s clear that Vegas genuinely had no idea about this.

Except- what does that mean? How could he not know? Has his father finally cut him out of all of
his plans now? Does he no longer trust the direction of Vegas’ loyalties?

“It’s the neatest solution, isn’t it?” Pete stresses as if almost disappointed Mr Kan hasn’t tried to
kill him again sooner. It’s not like him to leave these things unfinished. “You’re father wants me
gone and he wants his brother gone. And we were just in the same room sharing the same fucking
beverage-“

“How long ago did you have it?” Vegas wonders, grip tightening on Pete with a greater sense of
determination. “Are you actually feeling sick? Any different to what you were five minutes ago
when you learned of this?”

Suddenly he’s inspecting Pete intently, looking for obvious signs of sickness and then his hand is
sliding across his shoulder and coming down on Pete’s chest, right over where the life is
thrumming fiercely through him. As if Vegas needs to check for himself that everything under his
possession is still working correctly.
At the dark thought Pete pushes that hand off quickly, the rhythm of his heart unexpectedly
stuttering under his palm. But the brief touch hasn’t settled the matter at all in Vegas’ eyes. In fact,
he looks even more uneasy.

“Shit- your heart is beating too fast. We need that doctor again. No- the hospital.”

“I-“ the sureness of the words surprise Pete and he’s quiet for the moment, taking stock of his own
body.

He feels stressed and worked up and a little too warm from overexerting himself earlier but mostly-
normal. The sense of alarm that seized him before seems to have relaxed its hold now that he’s
certain Vegas wasn’t in on Mr Korn’s poisoning. But why should it matter to him so much? Why
should he care whether Vegas has betrayed him or not?

“It’s from running away from you.”

And Vegas is still examining him in that fixed kind of way now, appearing as if he’s reached the
same conclusion.

“And you’re sure that’s it? You don’t feel anything else?”

Pete hesitates and realises shockingly that he doesn’t. But maybe he’s not supposed to. Not all
poisons are fast acting are they?

Even so, most of the anxiety has escaped Pete now that the adrenaline is slowly wearing off and
Vegas’ brow begins to develop a furrow, outwardly reflecting some deep inner rationalisation.

“If you drank the poison at the same time and my uncle has already collapsed wouldn’t you also be
feeling different by now? Experiencing similar symptoms at least?”

Unfortunately, Vegas is presenting a well grounded kind of argument. The type that gets through to
Pete the most effectively. Because the tea is the only thing they shared during that meeting and
somehow, Pete is feeling perfectly fine.

It’s possible that their bodies might process the poison at a different metabolic rate but surely there
wouldn’t be that much of a significant time difference? But maybe the quantity is another detail
that’s just as important for making an assessment.

There are honestly too many factors involved for Pete to rule anything out conclusively.

“Chan was there too remember,” Vegas observes, already building on the questionable doubt he
seems to have now externalised. “How could my father have poisoned the tea right in front of him?
Right in front of you?”

Even his line of questioning feels irrefutable somehow.

Because Chan had been watching them keenly the entire time, Pete doubts he’d taken his eyes off
Mr Korn since his shift started this morning. And don’t the staff carefully test the food and drink
before kitchens send it up to the family? Aren’t there steps in place to avoid this exact outcome?

How could it have slipped past their nets?

And not to mention the fact that Porsche wouldn’t have called him straight away to deliver the
news. He would have been too distracted with seeking urgent medical care for Mr Korn. Informing
Pete of what happened wouldn’t have been the top priority. So there would have been a clear time
delay between Mr Korn’s collapse and the information being passed on to everyone else.

Pete can’t even accurately say when it happened.

It might have been almost immediately when Porsche returned back to the main family home. Pete
thinks it took between half an hour and forty five minutes when they were in getting Vegas’ arm
treated by Doctor Kunakorn. It wasn’t exactly a quick taxi ride either. If Pete was guessing he’d
say it’s been little over an hour now since he last saw Porsche.

There’s a definite time window for when Mr Korn collapsed. The Theerapanyakul sons might have
deliberated too on whether to make the poisoning public. On whether it would have made the
family vulnerable to admit their father was dangerously ill.

For them to have announced it now probably doesn’t bode well. Do they think that Mr Korn isn’t
going to pull through? That he might not make it?

Pete’s thoughts drift back to how it could have been done.

Logically it’s reasonable to assume that Mr Korn ingested more than tea today. Surely he’d eaten,
and had been kept sufficiently hydrated by his staff. Pete knows he prefers to drink lemon water
and have Jok in the mornings, purely from spending too much time in the kitchens eating his own
home cooked meals and watching the maids come in and out to deliver room service to the hotel
guests.

Even without paying very close attention to this routine, Pete has picked up general details about
Mr Korn’s eating and drinking habits by sheer proximity.

And since Porsche didn’t tell him how it was done, it’s likely they don’t know the exact method
yet. So it’s not absolutely certain that the poison was in the tea after all.

It could have been in anything.

Without the horror of it hanging over him, Pete has finally settled down enough for the self-
awareness to creep back in and point out that he’s clearly severely overreacted at the news. That
when he’d first seen Vegas smiling like that, the only thing he’d had room for was fear.

And self-preservation.

But maybe running off like he did hadn’t entirely been rooted in a threat of mortal danger. Maybe
Pete had been unprepared to confront the fact that it was wrong to have ever trusted Vegas in the
first place.

And isn’t that what worries Pete the most? That Vegas will charm him into unquestioning
dependence, that Pete will be deceived, and naively led by the very man who claims to want him
so badly that he’s forgotten everything else. And he’ll become so enamoured, so wrapped up in lust
and emotion, that he’ll learn to just eat up every lie that Vegas ever feeds him.

That’s the essence of the fear, Pete thinks. That he’ll willingly delude himself in order to keep
Vegas locked in the steps of their strange dance. This intricate circling of one another which holds
their lives in a prolonged and shared orbit.

That he’d eventually do anything to entice Vegas. And keep those dark eyes on him.

Isn’t that what Vegas wants?

Reciprocating his sexual urges, working out his lustful frustrations on Vegas’ body, aren’t these
things all leading towards the possibility that Pete will eventually compromise himself for good?
That he’ll keep taking small steps that go against his principles purely for the unassuming delights
of shallow and fleeting carnality? For the continuation of their sexual indulgence in one another?

Until the corrupting pleasure of Vegas’ touch finally leads him down a path he can’t ever return
from.

Where does it end if not with Pete becoming deeply entangled and as delusionally lovestruck as
Tawan was? Pete’s since heard the guards whispering about Kinn’s ex in the food hall. Talking in
low voices about how easily Vegas plucked Tawan like a string, led him around on a short leash
before he was finally killed.

Before Vegas discarded him.

Won’t that be Pete’s fate too one day?

He feels a flicker of unease at the thought and realises with some degree of horror that there’s more
to the fear that overwhelmed him today than simple distrust. Deep down, there’s a niggling
concern, a pool of anxiety in which he might eventually sink into if he ever lets his guard slip.

The thought is like an out of body experience. Abruptly, he can’t hear Vegas’ heavy breathing, the
sounds of traffic thrumming past in the distance, the echo of loud voices and a faint hum of music
resonating out of someone’s open window behind them.

The world falls away as Pete reaches a hideous, baffling conclusion.

In spite of how badly he wanted it. In spite of how hard he fought to break free and scramble at
distance and avoidance, there is a small, infinitesimal part of him, that’s actually afraid of losing
Vegas’ interest.

Fuck. Fuck.

What is wrong with him?

“Pete?” Vegas calls when Pete is rendered immobile by that unexpected insight. The terror of
knowing this is no longer his to control. Maybe never was. “Pete?”

His eyes lock back on Vegas, and Pete has to force himself to focus. This is not the time to get lost
in himself. Not the time to be weak.

“Yes. Okay, fine,” he says begrudgingly, unwilling to share the depth of the understanding he’s
just reached. “I admit that- sounds reasonable.”

The embarrassment of realising there are deeper, more emotional parts of him that want Vegas, and
the humiliation in admitting he was wrong to run are not sitting well in the back of his throat. Pete
swallows hard and can barely form the next sentence.

Except it has to be said.

“But how can I trust you now when you still won’t be honest with me? How many times have I
asked about your plans without getting a straight answer in return?”

And why hadn’t Vegas told him when he asked? Why hadn’t Pete tried to push harder to learn of
Vegas’ plots with the minor family before he let Vegas into his bed?
Because you’ve been distracted, a voice in his mind answers, because you’ve been more focused
on getting naked and putting your hands all over him than doing your job.

Pete flushes at the exacting truth in those words.

What is happening to him? Why can’t Pete just ignore the longing and the hints of something
deeper to do what he’s supposed to? What his job requires that he do?

Why can’t he just keep smothering his desire like he did before?

“It was never the plan,” Vegas says, practically dripping with sincerity, he’s so desperate to make
Pete believe him. To prove that this was never the intention. “To poison him. And my father would
have told me if-“

At the mere hint of that misconception Pete openly scoffs, rapidly losing confidence at the mention
of Vegas’ father. When he knows that Vegas refuses to think critically about him. Can only make
excuses for his father’s terrible behaviour.

Why would his father bother to inform him of this? When Mr Kan disapproves of his interest in
Pete? When he doesn’t even view Vegas as an equal?

“Right. Because you’re in such good graces at the moment. He still trusts your judgement enough
to openly share all of his plans with you.”

The tone comes across as sarcastic as he can manage, but it’s impossible to deny an edge of
mockery there too.

Vegas must sense it because his mouth turns down in reaction. Except he doesn’t deny the
assessment which is another kind of answer. But Pete can see that he’s still stubbornly rejecting the
idea of Mr Kan’s hand in this. Even after his father nearly shot Pete in the head, he’s still so
convinced that he’s not a threat to Pete.

He doesn’t understand how that reasoning comes together in Vegas’ mind.

“He knows better than to go after you,” Vegas promises, only confirming Pete’s misgivings. “We
have a deal. He won’t touch what’s mine.”

What deal is this? And why is now the first time Pete’s hearing about it? Was Vegas also hiding
this from him? Or has there been another conversation with his father about them without Pete’s
knowledge? Was it before or after his recent meeting with Mr Korn?

Whatever Mr Kan had to say about him, Pete doubts that it was good. It’s in his best interest now
to try and drive a wedge between Vegas and Pete.

So why is Vegas still so confident of Pete’s safety from him?

“I’m not yours, Vegas,” he snaps, full of hostility at the thought. “How many times do I have to say
it?”

What does it matter though when Vegas very clearly believes otherwise? Clearly still believes
otherwise no matter what Pete says or does. He makes it sound like Pete’s acceptance of this, his
consent to it doesn’t even matter. That he’ll belong to Vegas no matter how he protests.

Resistance bubbles underneath his ribcage, threatening to boil over. To bite back.
“Why not?” Vegas asks with such open incomprehension that it’s clear he doesn’t know. “Why
aren’t you? When you’re not giving this kind of attention to anyone else. When you’ve only been
letting me touch you.”

Pete leans more solidly against the wall as if he needs the certainty of it against his back before
responding. Something more solid than he feels. Then he’s unconsciously glancing around for
other witnesses, still flushing at the unexpected waver in the conversation.

These are the kind of things that should be discussed in private.

“Because I’m not some trophy, some toy. Some pet for you to play with and-”

Discard when you’re bored.

Pete closes his mouth quickly, feeling a pulse of dismay at how close he’d been to almost saying
that part aloud. It reeks of insecurity. Insecurity he’s never let the walls down low enough to show
Vegas before. What the hell is happening to him? How is so much anxiety and fear just spilling out
of his body like an open wound?

He used to be able to hold it together much easier than this. He was holding it together.

What finally caught up with him? The impossibility of the strain Pete was under? Or the
unrelenting, unending pursuit from Vegas?

“You think it’s one sided?” Vegas demands, affronted by the mere suggestion. “That I don’t
belong to you too?”

Somehow Pete is startled by these particular words. Even more startled when Vegas presses
forward again, hand tangling in Pete’s hair, keeping him pinned to the wall so that he can gaze
deeply into his eyes.

“I-“

“I’m yours, baby,” Vegas quietly murmurs, deliberately lining their bodies up, slowly pressing his
crotch against Pete’s in the most intimate way possible; a declaration and a claim all at once.
“Don’t you know?”

Pete swallows hard and glances at either side of the alley again, almost automatically sweeping the
area for onlookers. But they’re still alone.

He can’t do this now. Pete knows it. Knows it would be foolish.

“How are you so certain of your father?” he presses, changing the subject on purpose because he
can’t handle Vegas’ honesty right this second. “That he’s not going after me? He seems like he
wants to kill me very badly.”

Vegas doesn’t try to play it off as a joke. Doesn’t try to downplay the risk or the threat that his
father poses to Pete.

“I’m betting my own life on it.”

He does love to favour the colourful, almost zealous kind of declarations. And Pete can’t help but
snort at this one, wondering how he can say such a thing with a straight face. “Your life? It’s me
who’s-“
He realises there’s an ardent double meaning to the words when Vegas continues to watch him,
patiently waiting for Pete to understand and not backing down from the grandiose statement when
he does.

“Like I said.”

Pete’s mouth opens again but no words come out to dissuade him. He’s too lost in the heat
crawling all over his body at the realisation. Vegas really means it. He’s intertwined their lives
together so tightly now it’s no wonder Pete feels like he’ll never escape.

That he’s worrying in the end he won’t want to.

“My life has equal value to yours now?” Pete asks doubtfully. There’s something so deeply wrong
about that assertion somehow.

Something presumptuous and outside the previous social order of things. An audacious act, putting
the life of a mere bodyguard above that of a Theerapanyakul heir.

“No,” Vegas says and Pete slumps a little in relief. No, of course, it’s as it should be.

Pete, nothing more than a body guard, Vegas, a prince of Kings, an heir ascending a gilded throne.
He knows their roles in this. They’ve been assigned them since birth.

But then Vegas is easing the bridge of his nose into the side profile of Pete’s face, forehead
pressing intimately into the tangle of hair there and he can feel the penetrating warmth of Vegas’
lips against his hot own skin. The threat of a mouth by his ear, when Vegas draws in closer and
says, “More than. More than my life.”

Pete visibly jolts at the words, astonished and horrified by the pulse of powerful pleasure which
settles deep into him at the conviction of those words. Even if he still feels two ways about it. As if
his body and his mind can’t help but continue to fight from two fatally opposed sides no matter
what he's feeling.

But there’s no room for argument from Vegas. It’s not a sweeping announcement to him, loaded
with subtle and hidden meaning.

It’s a plain and simple fact.

“Don’t say that like you mean it,” Pete manages in half a whisper, sounding strange to his own
ears.

His heart is pounding in his chest and it’s taking every last bit of control not to bring his arms up
and wrap them around Vegas. To pull him in closer. Keep the both of them right here in this
moment.

Away from the threats and the dangers of everything else. Of everyone else.

“I do mean it. So let’s go to the hospital right now,” Vegas insists, sounding resolved and
unyielding under the pressure. “And clear up any uncertainty.”

But how would they even explain that? Without notifying the police somehow? Pete doubts the
clinic has the kind of facilities to test or treat suspected poisonings. Pete would need to go to a
hospital for that. And a hospital leads to all kinds of questions.

Besides now that he’s had a chance to look at it realistically, it does seem less likely that he was
poisoned after all. It’s acutely obvious now that Pete let his emotions get the better of him earlier.
He’d just seen that knowing smile on Vegas’ face and had felt as if the implications of it were
going to crush him.

But that doesn’t make his previous suspicion of being poisoned true. Besides, to everyone else in
the family bar Vegas, he’s not really that important. If Mr Kan wants to kill him he won’t need to
go to such extreme measures. Pete is in no way as well protected as Mr Korn.

There are so many ways he could get to Pete besides poisoning.

“No,” Pete answers, conceding again to practicality. “What you’ve said- makes sense. It’s more
likely that I just- overreacted.”

He doesn’t like to admit these things. Especially not to Vegas. Doesn’t like the idea that he’s just
as subject to his own emotions as everyone else is.

Vegas only sighs into his skin and Pete shivers at the sensation of it, has to shift his weight to
alleviate the pressure in the cut of his trousers because his body is waking up much too fast from
this brief contact alone.

“I panicked alright?” he repeats, wondering if Vegas intends to ignore the words. “I feel fine which
I probably wouldn’t if I really had been poisoned.”

Forget it, he very nearly says but they both know Vegas won’t accept that. Pete’s insistence,
doesn’t seem to be enough to erase the tension from Vegas’ limbs or wipe the fraught line of
rigidity from his spine either. He needs certainty before he can fully relax. Pete can already tell that
he’s not so easily convinced by this specific line of reasoning.

“All the same we should go,” Vegas murmurs as second later, visibly not backing down. “I can’t
risk you.”

Pete is open mouthed and flushed. Flustered at how easily Vegas makes these bold assertions, the
daring way in which he declares Pete’s importance to him.

More than his own life.

And what’s worse is he means it.

Pete used to hide behind the belief that Vegas was deluded to feel this way about him and so
quickly, but the turmoil swirling inside his own body is just another indisputable confirmation of
the real truth. That while Pete may not be equally of the same intense, overwhelming feelings,
there is still something stirring under the force of Vegas’ words, underneath his touch.

And that something might very well destroy him.

Pete’s eyes flutter shut when Vegas moves against his face, leaning in with a tormenting kind of
slowness. As he closes in, Pete starts breathing faster in response, knowing, sensing what he’s
about to declare next.

“Don’t-“ Pete tries again, really frightened now. “Don’t say-“

Vegas kisses him instead.

After that Pete’s stops worrying about the positioning of his hands or the sturdiness of the wall at
his back. Because suddenly his hands are everywhere, sliding over material, over skin, over the
light fabric of the sling and the sturdiness of the bandages at his skull. Vegas hisses under his
mouth, feeling all of it, feeling Pete as his hands roam Vegas’ body, all over him as he succeeds in
ensnaring them together, desperate, greedy as they fall into each other.

Pete can hear himself moaning, but it’s a distant, irrelevant concern in the back of his mind as he
twists, right hand on Vegas’ waist, bicep tucked between Vegas’ torso and arm as he leans right
into him. Already his hand is creeping up the shape of Vegas’ back, snaring at the fabric of his
collar.

Then he’s tugging them around, switching positions as Vegas’ hand grips the base of his skull,
fingers digging hard into the muscle there when Pete crowds Vegas into the brickwork. When he
exerts some of his strength to pin him there. Vegas makes a noise of surprise, another half moan
that has Pete’s cock twitching, rapidly coming to life under the ministrations.

Surging forward whilst Vegas’ gasps into his mouth.

He didn’t say it. Pete can hardly begin to sink into the relief of that interruption because this is
somehow so much worse. Vegas might not have actually verbalised his feelings this time around
but that doesn’t seem to matter much at the moment.

Not when he’s saying it with his body instead.

When Vegas slots a thigh between Pete’s legs as he deepens the kiss, Pete forgets everything else
much too quickly. Their argument. Mr Korn’s poisoning. The faint chance his life is in more
danger than it was yesterday. Vegas’ current injuries that he needs to avoid jostling. That they’re
right out in the open like this. Exposed like this. Where someone could see them and think them
lovers. That the Italians might still be keeping tabs on Pete. Might still be after Pete. Are definitely
after Vegas.

And it’s all much too public.

Pete’s body pulses with a deep, immeasurable want and suddenly none of these reasons are strong
enough to stop this. Not when none of it really matters. None of it compares to this.

Except the fact that he’s kissing back, tongue sliding against Vegas’ own as his mouth opens, and
their heads tilt into a position for greater intimacy. An act as natural as breathing.

Only Pete’s gasping now too, easing back but only so that he can use his teeth. To sink into the
flesh of Vegas’ bottom lip and claim it for himself. Wanting his teeth in Vegas in other ways too.

At the sensation, Vegas grunts and pushes his hips into Pete afterward, a friction so perfect he
wants to cry out again and Pete is moving instinctively against him as if finally recalling their
neglected lower halves for the first time.

Vegas releases the snug grip on the back of Pete’s neck, fingers pulling tightly at his hair too as
they pass through and Pete bucks into him under the touch, groaning and punching his hips
forward, grinding him harder into the wall whilst still vaguely trying to avoid his injured arm. The
tenderness of the stitches in his head.

Wishing that they were still back in his bed.

Wishing that neither of them had the barrier of clothes between them right now.

The pressure of Vegas’ mouth shifts, eases off somewhat as his hand is moving lower, partially
distracted by a new task, and Pete grips the collar of his shirt tighter, fingers digging into the fabric
at the base of Vegas’ neck as he tugs in warning.

Vegas makes a very suggestible noise then, renewing his efforts and Pete’s distracted by their
kissing again, lost in the heated conversation of their bodies.

It’s not until Vegas’ hand is skimming so gently down his achy ribs before reaching the curve of a
hip, easing over the flank of his ass that Pete realises there’s a clear destination in mind. Arousal
has him pushing his cock into Vegas again, still chasing that friction before he can start to
overthink things, to shut it all down.

Before the idea of Vegas’ hands on his ass has him pushing him back. And away from him.

But Vegas’ only seems interested in a brief grounding touch, squeezing at his left ass cheek,
keeping it firmly in hand before curving lower, easing across the back of his thigh and getting a
good grip of muscle.

Pete drags his mouth back for the sole purpose of breathing hard for a second but Vegas isn’t
deterred, just starts making his way across Pete’s chin with his mouth, digging into the soft skin of
his throat when Pete pants and tilts his head back, head swimming when he gives Vegas enough
room to taste skin.

A second later Vegas yanks his leg entirely up off the ground, bringing Pete’s thigh around his
waist and then the purpose of the manoeuvre is made apparent almost immediately when the
friction changes. When the pressure between their straining erections is now incredibly rougher
with Pete locked securely against his upper thigh.

When Vegas rocks his hips in the new position, Pete gasps and clutches at the back of Vegas’
head, fingers sliding down to move him, redirecting Vegas’ mouth until he’s biting into the
sensitive erogenous zone of Pete’s neck.

He does groan then, the heat between their shifting hips suddenly too much and the sharp and
deafening realisation that Pete’s about to come in his pants, about to come right now, abruptly
brings him back to himself.

Pete uses the hand still locked on Vegas’ collar to yank him back next, panting and red faced as his
cock throbs warningly in his pants, so close, so close, before his brain is furiously fighting the
approach of a satisfying ending.

Vegas’ eyes are ablaze and he looks as wild and deprived as Pete feels to be suddenly released. For
Pete to retreat from him again. To be robbed of this when they both wanted it so badly.

“Stop,” Pete gasps shakily when Vegas straightens up as if to launch off of the wall, in spite of his
own needs, still clinging to his warm body, making it such a struggle to get his head back on
straight.

It would be so much easier to forget everything else right now.

“What’s wrong?” Vegas asks, quickly eyeing Pete again like he’s trying to sense a threat of death
on him.

But when Pete just fights to get his breath back to normal and doesn’t explain himself, Vegas only
looks more lost. “Why are we stopping? I know you want it as much as me.”

Pete grits his teeth and has to link his hands decisively behind his own back in order to resist
reaching out and bringing their hips back together again.
“Not here I don’t. I was about to-“

Vegas raises an eyebrow at him when he trails off and doesn’t immediately finish explaining
himself.

But Vegas doesn’t try to guess for him. Just stares at Pete expectantly and waits.

“Come,” Pete eventually admits, wanting to die as Vegas’ expression clears with a thrilled kind of
understanding. “We shouldn’t be out here. We shouldn’t be doing this right now.”

They’ve been letting themselves become too distracted. Pete has been allowing it against all
common sense.

“Don’t want to come in your pants, baby?” Vegas wonders, amused again as he sways closer. A
second later, his fingers are on the button of Pete’s trousers. “Want my mouth instead?”

Pete bites into his lip this time as he looks up at the open sky and tries not to allow himself the
tempting picture of that offer. Vegas on his knees right now, right in the open where anyone could
see them whilst he bring Pete’s to orgasm with his mouth, swallowing down the evidence of his
pleasure.

And he would swallow, Pete thinks, he likes it too much not to.

“Fuck,” Pete groans, still fighting with himself. With his formidable urges. “- no.”

Vegas smirks and briefly presses his palm flat to the noticeable ridge of Pete’s cock. Right through
the material of his trousers, cupping him in a pointed tease of a gesture for one blissful, torturous
moment before his hand falls away again.

It takes everything in Pete not to follow after that hand. To stay exactly where he is.

“Such restraint,” Vegas says in Pete’s ear, pleased at how he’s still visibly struggling when he
rocks back and fixes his clothes up a little, trying to make it look like he and Pete weren’t all over
each other just a second ago.

The gesture feels pointless somehow. Pete thinks he might have lost a button on his shirt.

“But alright let’s go and get you checked out.”

Of course he wasn’t going to let it go. Why would he? When the only person in his life who’s ever
told Vegas no has been his own father. His father and the man standing right in front of him.

Why would he understand Pete’s refusal when the world is nothing but open doors for him?

“No,” Pete repeats, the same argument rearing its ugly head now that they can’t fall back on
physical diversion.

Now that they’re no longer allowing their bodies to do the talking for them.

Pete takes a deep breath and tries to ignore the throb of his untouched erection. The desperation of
fresh and unchecked desire. A kind that he hasn’t experienced in a very long while before Vegas.
And even then it was never exactly like this.

Is it the threat of danger from letting someone like Vegas close to him? The novelty of intense
experience that is making the heat of it so intoxicating? So irresistible? The ever present hint of
self-destruction fast approaching the longer Pete lets this continue? As if he’s walking into a fire
with nothing but a hope and a prayer that the flames won’t touch him.

That Vegas won’t let him burn.

Fuck, maybe Pete should have said yes and let Vegas finish him off with his mouth. Maybe he
might have. If they weren’t out in the open like this.

He’d rather let Vegas blow him, avoid the added complications of a hospital visit altogether.
Besides what if it’s all a waste of time? What if he’s right and there was never any danger? Time is
the one thing Pete can’t afford to lose at the moment.

“I’ll- monitor the situation and take action if needed,” he declares trying to keep firm without being
overly antagonistic. He doesn’t want this fight. “But for now the next step is getting back to the
main family.”

Vegas’ expression tightens and he seems genuinely upset by this. But why should it surprise him?
Did he honestly think that everything would change so drastically because Pete has allowed things
that he hadn’t before? Was a few frantic and rushed encounters between them enough for Vegas to
believe that Pete would finally turn his back on the main family?

“Can’t you focus on yourself for once?” Vegas asks him as if he can’t fathom Pete’s inability to do
so. “We have no real proof of anything yet. So confirming whether you might live or die seems
pretty fucking important to me.”

Pete wants to laugh at the emptiness of the words. He can’t keep saying things like this. Especially
when their world, when Vegas’ world won’t let it be true.

Mr Korn has been poisoned, the coup is obviously one step closer and the empire is on the verge of
falling apart altogether. How could Pete be more important than that?

“I made a mistake,” he repeats, trying to keep his voice calm and even. “I jumped to conclusions
without evidence-“

Then he’s jerking his arm back when Vegas tries to reach for him, lightning fast. As if he knows
using his body will be a convincing enough method to achieve the results he's after. Despite his
intentions, Pete’s temper gets the better of him at that.

“How many times do I need to say no before you back off?”

A ripple of naked emotion crosses Vegas’ face before his expression goes carefully blank again
and he lets his arm fall back. Indifferent to the point of implausibility. Implausible because Pete
knows that he felt the sting of the words.

Because Vegas doesn’t try to reach for him again.

Pete feels a flicker of regret for the bluntness. It’s not how he meant to deliver those words. Like a
weapon. Vegas makes it so easy to forget sometimes that his emotions can be wounded too.

“You’re still acting like I betrayed you. Like I’m trying to hurt you,” Vegas mutters with a trace of
the brittleness that they both feel. “When all I want is to keep you alive-“

Pete can’t allow himself to believe that’s only what he wants. Not right now.

Vegas’ intentions have never been pure.

“I’m fine,” he insists, taking several steps back towards the main street, all to create more distance
between them. “It was an overreaction to the news about Mr Korn. Everything just got to be too
much for a moment, alright? That's all it was.”

When Vegas’ eyes narrow further, Pete knows that this is an argument they won’t be able to pivot
away from any longer.

“Look at you,” Vegas laughs in such a muted, dead way that there’s clearly no humour in it.
There’s something jaded, something bitter in his eyes now. “You don’t even know why it freaked
you out, do you? You have no idea what that look on your own face meant.”

It’s the way he delivers the words. The way the expression on his face is so disdainfully knowing.
So certain of his understanding of Pete that it’s suddenly twisted into mockery, landing like a slap
across the face.

Pete flares with a white hot anger that threatens to burn him up from the inside.

“Oh and you do? You’ve got me all figured out now? Do you actually think you know me better
than I know myself?”

Somehow this time Pete’s outrage calls to him. Seems to awaken something in Vegas which he was
previously impervious to. Instead of slipping into that infuriatingly calm indifference, Vegas is
glaring right back with harsh eyes that blister as much as they pierce into him.

“You didn’t look at me like you were scared for your life. You looked at me like I betrayed you,”
he says, sharpening his words like knives. “And the only way you could have felt like that is
because there’s a part of you that trusts me. Even if you won’t admit it.”

Unease stirs within Pete at the thought, the precision of the accusation itching beneath the surface
of his skin. Because isn’t it a little bit true in a way? Why else would he have felt so painfully
deceived if not for the existence of trust first?

He could agree as much. Could allow the possibility. But why does Pete have to be the one always
admitting weakness? Why is it never Vegas unpeeling himself?

“That’s not true.”

The lie simply falls out of him because at Vegas’ probing Pete’s first instinct will always be to
protect himself. It doesn’t land all that well. Pete isn’t an expert liar and Vegas’ mouth turns down,
the mounting displeasure in him as obvious as it is unexpected. He knows that Pete is lying to him.
That Pete is lying to himself.

That’s not the part that’s surprising to Pete. It’s the fact that he’s angry about it. That Vegas is
unable to conceal the emotion behind his usual eerily hollow brand of apathy.

At least not this time.

“No? Not even a little? Why did you run then? If you were truly thinking straight you would have
returned to the clinic. Towards the medical professionals. Instead you ran away from me.”

He says the last sentence like it was Pete who cut him. Who abandoned him. Pete’s gut twists as he
takes another step back. Clearly retreating now as Vegas advances.

“Why else did you overreact when you’re normally so in control of yourself?” Vegas demands.
“Huh, Pete? Do you have an explanation for that?”
Damn him. Why can’t he just let it go? What does it have to matter if Pete ran? If he felt afraid that
he’d already given Vegas too much.

What right does Vegas have to demand more of him now?

“I-“ Pete falters, unable to find a way back from this confrontation. Doesn’t seem to have an
answer articulate enough to explain that won’t also compromise his sense of self.

His ongoing survival. His pride.

And Pete doesn’t want to have to explain. He doesn’t want to have to owe Vegas anything.

Because none of his own actions seem to belong to him anymore. Now they’re something for
Vegas to inspect, to analyse until he can find reasoning behind them that suits his purposes. That
bolsters the belief that Pete will completely be his soon.

Is already his in a way.

“Because that was an emotional response, baby,” he continues, eyes boring so unflinchingly into
Pete’s own that he feels shaky, insubstantial. “And the thought of you placing your trust in me and
it backfiring on you- of it hurting you. The idea that you were wrong to have given yourself to me,
all of that was enough to have you running.”

No- this isn’t-

Vegas isn’t right. Pete won’t allow him to be right about this.

“No,” he says but it’s an ineffectual comment now, not when Pete can barely deny it in himself.

It was an emotional response, strong enough that it overcame all rational thought. Pete wonders if
he can continue to deny it just as Vegas is pressing in on him again, like a man going straight for
the throat. For the final kill.

“You’ve got so many fucking walls Pete. Can’t you let me in just a little? I can’t figure out what
you want if you don’t talk to me.”

There’s something about the delicate line Vegas is now walking between his own desire and
frustration and the need to show Pete what they are to each other. What they could be if only Pete
would come to the realisation fast enough. Suddenly that line is so reminiscent of a patience long
wearing thin that Pete wonders how it escaped his notice for so long.

What happens when Vegas finally becomes bored of waiting? Will he stop playing at the overly
willing, agreeable partner desperate to satisfy all of Pete’s needs? Or will he shift again, transform
into the kind of man that needs cuffs and chains to get what he wants?

And how can Pete trust in either of those versions of him?

“I have nothing to say,” he coldly declares, a subtle warning that that more Vegas pushes, the
harder Pete will resist.

But already he can see it’s not clicking for Vegas. That it’s not enough of an answer to make him
drop it. He doesn’t seem to want to let it go.

Never wants to let Pete go. As if Pete could ever forget it.

“Or is it more than that?” Vegas wonders, still pushing, always pushing. “A culmination of seeing
me injured and taking care of it? Of being so attentive and concerned for me and finally realising
that the way I make you feel isn’t only physical as you thought-“

Pete recoils from the inevitability of those words, feeling more exposed than ever.

Because isn’t there a fragment of fact in it? Hasn’t Pete been diligently attending to Vegas’
injuries, taking care of him, worrying about him, investing all of his energy into Vegas at the
moment?

Isn’t that part of why Pete ran? When the reality of Vegas still continuing the family coup had
slapped him in the face, proving that Pete was wrong to have started to feel as he did? To have
considered placing any trust in him?

And even now that Pete has calmed himself and put some distance between them, isn’t Vegas still
pushing things too far? Always pushing too far?

When Pete glances behind himself at the lip of the alley, feet turning with the instinctive urge to
move, Vegas is already taking advantage of the distraction, lunging forward and wrapping an arm
around his waist again.

Holding tight.

“You run again and I’m just going to chase you,” he warns, eyes intent on Pete and reading the
flight response written across his pale face. “So face it. Face me. Talk to me about how you’re
really feeling. Stop denying it.”

Pete twists back to shove him off but catches the second Vegas glances impulsively behind them.
And then his heart is in his throat with fear and suspicion again.

“You’re just stalling,” he insists, forcing Vegas back even harder. “You’re trying to keep me away
from the main family house.”

It’s another trick. Another falsehood. How did Pete miss what Vegas was trying to do this whole
time? What other significant thing could be going on at the main house right now? With Mr Korn
suddenly out of the picture?

Vegas’ expression twists with an unending kind exasperation. As if he’s running low on tolerance
for all of this.

“I’m not stalling for anything. There’s no secret evil plan, here Pete. I just want to talk to you about
your fucking feelings.”

That’s worse somehow. And more than Pete is willing to give so he fires back just as quickly,
fighting the rising venom within. “And why the hell would I want to talk about that with you?”

But suddenly Vegas looks at him, a bolt of understanding passing across his expression as if he
knows what’s going on now. As if Pete’s defensiveness is something that he can lay bare.

“Because you are afraid,” Vegas realises, quietly astounded. “That I’ll realise the depth of your
growing feelings for me. The ones you weren’t ready to face yet. That seeing me injured forced
you to face. The feelings you’re still trying to pretend aren’t there.”

At once Pete wants to deny everything. Wants to run away again. Wants to be alone for one
fucking second so he can figure out if Vegas is right. If Pete is truly unable to face a deeper
emotional truth.
Because he wasn’t meant to have any feelings about this. About him. It was only meant to be
physical. The easiest, most direct way to satisfy his urges. Because- because-

Pete had never thought of anyone else but Vegas as an option.

“You’re so certain you know everything about me,” he mutters bitterly after they’re quiet for too
long, trying to figure out where they stand now.

Pete doesn’t know. Has no idea how to press forward.

“The only thing I’m certain of is that it’s stupid not to go to the hospital right now-“

Fucking hell why won’t he let this go? Why won’t he let Pete go? Is it really because he’s so
concerned for him? Or is it that things are finally happening at the main family house and Vegas
wants to keep him as far away as possible?

Is this the moment it all starts? Is the coup finally underway?

“Yes,” Pete announces. “But that’s my choice. I want to go back to the main family house. I want
to make sure- nothing else is happening. And- we don’t have the time for the rest.”

At Pete’s persistent caginess, Vegas’ expression clears, turning over to incredulity.

“You think the attack is now,” he grasps, recognising the source of Pete’s agitation. “That’s it,
isn’t it? You think that’s why I’m trying to keep you away. Is that part of why you ran too?
Because you still don’t trust me?”

Pete feels the agony of it for a second and is prompted into being honest. “Because I can’t trust
you. I can’t.”

He’d be so fucking stupid to. After everything. Wouldn’t he? When even Vegas’ own father
doesn’t seem to trust him. When his cousins wear their tension like an expensive dress suit
whenever he enters the room?

But the Vegas standing in front of him now is completely earnest. Unquestionably sincere.

And that’s the problem.

How does Pete reconcile the two?

“Nothing else is happening right now,” he promises like he’s making a personal vow to Pete and
only Pete. “Nobody else is in danger, I swear to you. I’m not lying, baby. I’m not trying to hurt
you. Not anymore.”

Pete brings a hand up to cover his face, shielding his eyes so that he can take a second for some
semblance of privacy. A respite to gather his thoughts and try to calm the ongoing war inside
himself. Because he wants to believe Vegas is telling the truth even as he knows that he can’t allow
it.

Pete can’t ever allow it because no matter what, that red torture room, the safe house, is always
there as a permanent reminder, an excruciatingly vivid memento of exactly why he shouldn’t.

But Pete’s hand is trembling as he drags it away again and the war is outside of him too.

“Why should I believe you?” he says quietly. “When you’ve done both of those things.” Then in a
smaller voice that makes him wish Vegas wasn’t looking at him right now. “When- you did it
before like I was nothing.”

Vegas inhales a harsh breath, sensing the degree of turmoil within him. The turmoil that he himself
has inflicted. Can a person truly be the one to heal a wound they fashioned with their own hands?

“But you’re everything to me now,” he declares with such an intensity that Pete is rendered
speechless by it. And can’t help but meet his eyes again. “I was a fucking idiot, I know it. I don’t
deserve you, I know that too. But I’m doing everything I can to show you that we could be
different. So you can trust me when I say I didn’t poison my uncle. That I’m positive the minor
family didn’t do this.”

Pete’s expression must still be doubtful because Vegas unexpectedly shoves a hand into the back
pocket of his pants, digging around for his phone.

“Here I’ll fucking prove it, okay?” he says as he brings it out, the screen flashing the background
for a second as he goes to unlock it, Pete jolting at the image of himself fast asleep, sprawled
across another body, across Vegas.

When did he take this? Pete hardly gets a close enough look to recognise his own bed sheets- it’s
from today, this morning- when Vegas is finally unlocking the phone and bringing up his contact
list.

He doesn’t seem to have noticed Pete’s reaction to his new phone background, even as he glances
at Pete out of the corner of his eye. As if checking he’s still there.

“Just don’t go running anywhere,” he says, only it doesn’t come out firm. Pete can hear the
insecurity in it. The desperation.

His mind is still swimming over the photo. Did he mean to show Pete that he’d taken that? How
many other photos did he take whilst Pete was asleep?

Pete’s about to ask but Vegas has already dialled his father’s number and selected the option for
the speaker phone, leaving no room for that discussion. Pete can’t help but notice there’s no
emoji’s next to this contact name even as he quietly steps closer to listen in, unable to resist
glancing at Vegas out of the corner of his eye either.

But this proximity is only by necessity. Because Vegas doesn’t need him to speak. That at least
seems obvious.

Thankfully they don’t wait long. Mr Kan answers almost straight away.

“You!” he shouts angrily enough into the speaker that the sound crackles disjointedly in Pete’s
ears. “Where the hell are you now, boy? I said you weren’t to leave the house until your injuries
have healed.”

At the degree of his fury, Pete wonders if Vegas was downplaying it earlier when he said that he
was only yelled at by his father for disobeying the orders about the Italians. He glances over
Vegas’ body again, trying to determine if there are any more injuries then there were when he left
Pete to go home earlier.

But how could he know just from looking at him when Vegas has such an unusual relationship
with pain? When he retreats so far into himself it’s like he doesn’t even feel it? Pete wouldn’t be
able to know for certain unless he had Vegas naked again and could inspect his body himself.

Pete hastily rubs at a spot above his eyebrow, trying not to react to that idea. He doesn’t follow the
thought further.

It’s safer not to.

Vegas, typically, is not in the least perturbed by Mr Korn’s anger.

“Hello father,” Vegas says in that overly respectful way of his and Pete almost wants to walk away
at how jarring it sounds. How deeply it pains him to hear it. “I had an errand to run.”

But Pete doesn’t walk away like he should. He stands there quietly to listen to Mr Kan talk. Intel
on the minor family would be good right now, and if Pete needs to convey information later when
he’s back at the main family house at least this way he’d be getting it directly from the source.

“Where are you?” Mr Kan repeats, clearly at the end of his rope patience-wise for Vegas’ constant
little acts of rebellion. “Are you with that insolent bodyguard again?”

Vegas glances at Pete, the insolent bodyguard in question, for only the briefest second as if Pete
had any doubt of who Mr Kan was referring to in the first place. His mouth curls up, involuntarily
at the accusation. Like Pete is the one who’s the bad influence to be avoided somehow. It’s
astoundingly farfetched in Pete’s opinion.

“You mean Pete. And no. I was with Porsche. Helping him with a- personal matter.”

Yes an extremely personal matter. That ended with the death of Porsche’s uncle. Pete winces a
little at memory. Of the corpse they left tucked away in one of the narrow walkways of the temple.
Someone will likely have already discovered it by now.

He knows he’s going to have to sit down with Porsche and find out exactly what happened to him
before Mr Korn collapsed. Of everything that he’s gone through this afternoon. He’s confident
Porsche is in his own personal hell of inner turmoil at the moment and it’s not like he and Kinn
were in the best of places when Porsche ran off either.

Pete knows he needs to talk to him. That Porsche should be the first person he speaks to once he’s
back at the hotel.

It’s not like Pete is high enough in the ranks to demand to talk to anyone else either. Tankhun will
probably still be sitting with his brothers, trying to find out the fate of their father. He won’t have
any need for Pete just yet.

“Porsche,” Mr Kan repeats, clearly thinking this bit of information over before deciding what to do
with it. “That’s good. That’s good. Keep him distracted. Keep him away from Kinn if you can
manage to charm him again. Kinn is quick to go to pieces over that boy and the more unsteady he
is right now the better.”

It’s cruelly transparent but Pete can’t exactly fault him for it. Kinn doesn’t behave very rationally
about Porsche, Pete could say the same about himself and-

He shivers when he and Vegas lock eyes again. Then he can see the expression on Vegas’ face
burning into him, an unspoken declaration of how little he intends to follow the request from his
father.

It’s not like it needs to be said anyway. Because Vegas hasn't shown any real signs of disinterest in
Pete. Not yet at least.

Pete swallows hard and breaks eye contact, staring determinedly down at the phone in Vegas’ hand
instead. As if that will somehow sever the intense feelings rattling around inside him.

“Did you hear about Uncle?” Vegas wonders eventually, not denying the order but not exactly
agreeing to it either.

Pete doesn’t know what to think about that. Or the obvious way he ducked out of acknowledging
the command. Of showing his father that it’s something he intends to do.

Mr Kan, obviously waiting for this subject change, doesn’t call Vegas out on it either. Merely
snorts at the question. It’s an unpleasant, unfeeling kind of sound.

“Yes, the fool went and got himself poisoned.”

If Vegas is surprised by the confirmation, by the idea that Mr Kan thinks someone else did it, it
doesn’t show on his face. Although Pete is still reeling from his own astonishment somehow.

It’s too honest of a reaction to be a lie. But Pete had been so sure of Mr Kan’s involvement-

“Learn this lesson well Vegas because that’s all his version of loyalty can buy. A bunch of suited
up men who would easily turn on him for the right price. That’s why I select every one of our
guards carefully. So we can condition them to be faithful to the minor family only. Their positions
under us are coveted. Earned in sweat and blood. None of them would ever dare to move against
us. Do you see how weak Korn has let the main branch grow under his care?”

Pete suspects this is not the first lecture that Vegas has ever heard on this matter. The fading lack
of interest on his face tells Pete as much. But it’s the first time Pete has ever heard Mr Kan speak
like this. How often does he go off on these kinds of tirades?

It’s a certain type of man who can talk like the whole world is against them and it’s usually the
same type of man, arrogant and narcissistic enough to place himself at the centre of it.

Pete doesn’t need to confirm if Mr Kan fits that description. He already knows that he does.
Abusive men are rarely able to separate from their own ego.

Could this be why he’s so certain that the coup is still necessary? Because Vegas, like his father,
believes the main family is unable to keep its house in order?

Don’t the circumstances show that, though? A voice wonders in Pete’s head that sounds alarmingly
like his own. There’s so much corruption and mistrust among the guards now how could anyone
be certain who is loyal and who isn’t?

“Of course,” Vegas says smoothly. “But do you have any idea who did it? How could they manage
to poison him like that when he’s so well protected?”

Why is he asking this if he’s certain his father never did it? Or is it that he knows Mr Kan has all of
the details already? Are their sources of information really that efficient? Not for the first time,
Pete wonders how many moles the minor family have on their payroll.

“I’ve been hearing all sorts of report from our spies since he was hospitalised,” Mr Kan says as if
in answer to Pete’s thoughts. “The general consensus is that he was poisoned during his breakfast
meal about an hour or so before I met with him. I’m certain it was one of the bodyguards. Likely
acting on someone else’s orders but impossible to narrow down when anyone could have paid them
off. The Italians are unlikely- they’re in too much disarray after you went in and tore their
operations apart last night.”
Pete grimaces at the unfortunate reality of that. He glances around their surroundings again out of
reflex but there aren’t any foreigners nearby this time. There isn’t anyone nearby. Isn’t that
suspicious in and of itself? Surely they’d be gunning for Vegas after what he’s done?

Or are they still too busy mourning and burying their dead?

“The Russians are still leaning towards our side, keen for future business with us. They may have
wanted to rush the timeline but I doubt they’d make a move without my say so. Besides no one has
confirmed it’s fatal yet. I wouldn’t rule out my brother being the one behind this.”

Pete very nearly opens his mouth, remembering that Mr Kan is unaware of his presence and that
he’s not supposed to be listening in only at the last possible second. Vegas shoots him a warning
look that Pete soundlessly waves off.

He’s not a novice. Vegas can trust Pete not to blow something as simple as this by announcing
himself even as he’s still dwelling on everything Mr Kan has said so far.

Because Mr Korn? Vegas’ father truly thinks that Mr Korn is responsible for his own poisoning?
Or- what? That the whole thing is pretend or something? But why would he do such a thing?

“You think he faked it?” Vegas wonders, an echo of Pete’s question, raising an eyebrow at Pete
and not sounding particularly shocked by the idea.

Is this his real opinion of his uncle?

Mr Kan makes another unflattering sound. “Korn does love chess. Those little strategies of his.
Don’t rule it out. So finish things up with Porsche and come home now. Those sons of Korn’s love
to point fingers and who do you think they’ll blame for all of this once they come up for air?”

Vegas meets Pete’s eyes with a resigned kind of expression on his face like he’s seen this outcome
before. It’s a surprisingly weary expression.

“They’ll blame us,” he agrees, with a note of resentment in his voice. “They always blame us for
their problems.”

Is that how he honestly views it? Pete’s taken aback by the certainty in his tone.

“Exactly. So don’t give them any opportunity by being stupid. I’m ordering you to return home
now, Vegas. Are you listening? No more running around. Especially after that bodyguard. Don’t
even think of disobeying me.”

Pete wonders if he should find it strange that he’s the one Vegas currently needs to be warned
away from. That Mr Kan feels strongly enough about it to mention him twice now.

There must be a kind of irony in that.

“I’ll be back in a hour,” Vegas promises, ever the dutiful son.

But that’s a good sign right? If there really was something else going on at the main family house
why would Vegas be promising to return home? Pete still feels wary of the situation but
significantly more relaxed about it after hearing from Mr Kan.

Although that doesn’t answer the question of who poisoned Mr Korn.

“See that you do,” Mr Kan says haughtily. “I’ve had enough defiance from you today already. If
you want to be my heir, you better start learning the true meaning of obedience. Otherwise you’re
of no use to me.”

Then he hangs up without even saying goodbye.

Pete is dragged back into the conversation by the abrupt sense of relinquishment, the severe
criticism directed at Vegas like a parting jab. But Vegas’ expression doesn’t even flicker at the
harsh dismissal from his father.

It’s astonishing the kind of treatment that he’s grown used to.

“Pleasant as always,” Pete says as sardonically as he can manage but Vegas doesn’t even bother to
acknowledge how awful his father is.

They’re both clearly well aware of that fact.

“Well?” Vegas says, looking at Pete expectantly as if that conversation should be enough to settle
his concerns.

Except it really didn’t. Not completely.

“You’ve been talking to the Russians?” Pete wonders, surprised by this somehow, and focusing on
the entirely wrong part of the conversation.

Thinking like a bodyguard.

Vegas just smiles at him grimly. “Always gathering intel, aren’t you baby? Yeah, but whatever you
heard him right? Dear old Uncle Korn was poisoned at breakfast. So at least we know for certain
the tea was just tea.”

Immediately Pete is probing at the cracks of his argument. “He might have known I was listening
in. You might have warned him somehow to lie.”

Vegas waves this possibility away as if it’s meaningless. Because it is. To him that’s the one thing
he’d never play around with- Pete’s life. It’s something Pete feels an urge to push back on, even
though he can see the evidence of that written in Vegas’ body. In his injuries. The bullet wounds.
The blood loss. The stitches.

All of them for Pete. In service of Pete.

In this case Vegas’ actions do speak for themselves. This, he wouldn’t lie about.

“You know I wouldn’t never risk your safety. Your life. So you can either believe me or not,
baby,” Vegas tells him, so certain that Pete will believe him.

That he has no reason not to.

But Pete just looks at him, torn.

“Go on,” Vegas encourages. “Overanalyse it. Dissect it. Do whatever you need to do in your mind
to make this right for you.”

It should concern him that Vegas is so certain of how Pete will react to these things. How the
stages of his thought process works. But mostly Pete just considers the new information Mr Kan
gave them.
Was he being entirely honest with his son? Or did he somehow know that Pete was listening?

“So then who do you think it was?” Pete asks him, not one hundred per cent confident in Mr Kan’s
assessment. “I don’t believe it was a bodyguard. We’re hardly ever alone. Whoever is behind this
would have had to buy out several of them at once to ensure silence. And that only increases the
likelihood of exposure with more than one person in on it. I think it’s possible one of the maids or
the cooks in the kitchens did it. Probably a maid.”

Vegas is listening to him talk attentively, an expression of open curiosity on his face. “Why a
maid?” he wonders, interested by the speculation.

Because that seems the most obvious method. Didn’t Vegas suspect that also?

Pete can’t help but raise an eyebrow at him. “Because women go largely unnoticed at the main
family house? They don’t often work in groups like the bodyguards or the cooks do. They have
access to the entire building and would know all the spots out of view of the cameras. Besides, the
bodyguards are warned to stay out of their way. Not to socialise. They’ve been trained, incentivised
to ignore them.”

Vegas nods at that. “Makes sense.”

This is all guesswork really. Pete doesn’t have any evidence yet to support this claim. It’s just a
possibility. An idea at most.

“What do you think about his last comment?” he asks, probing for Vegas’ opinion.

Vegas smiles then. “About me being disobedient and not staying away from you?”

He’s amused again. Pete can admit to there being a kind of paradoxical thinking to Mr Kan’s
complaints. Well, they should probably talk about that later but that’s not what Pete is referring to.

“No, the one where he said Mr Korn poisoned himself.”

Only Vegas seems a lot less concerned by that. He adjusts the knot of the sling at his top of his
shoulder almost absently as if testing the give of the tie and shrugs. Wearing a neutral expression.

“I couldn’t say. Not without going back to the main family house for more information. But he
does like to play games. Likes to move people around like they’re players on his chessboard.”

Pete is aware that Mr Korn enjoys his chess but is that really how he operates the business? Pete
has honestly never been close enough to him bar this morning, to actually know how his mind
works. Every bit of information he’s gathered about him has only ever been on the peripheral,
spoken about but never directly witnessed.

It’s not like Pete has had much opportunity to witness Mr Korn. Not when he’s been assigned to
protecting his children. So he doesn’t exactly understand what the benefit would be, if by some
wild chance Mr Kan was right about Mr Korn poisoning himself.

Only a truly desperate person, completely backed into a corner would do something like that. And
Mr Korn doesn’t strike Pete as desperate.

“But what’s the motive?” Pete wonders helplessly at that. “What’s the advantage of taking himself
out of play?”

Vegas only shrugs again, uninterested because it doesn’t directly affect him. At least not in the way
he truly cares about. “Maybe he wants to reset the board.”

Pete has no idea what he should think about this except Vegas is probably right. He does need to
get back to the main family house for more information.

And of course he needs to talk to Porsche too and make sure that he’s alright. Maybe Pete can find
an opportunity to get Chan alone and pick his brain about everything that happened too. Whether
he noticed anything strange before Mr Korn fell ill.

“So do you believe me then?” Vegas asks, distracting Pete from his plans. “Do trust that I would
never have put you in danger like that? That I’m not going to betray you?”

Pete doesn’t like that he’s brought the conversation back to this again. Back to them. It’s easier to
talk about the main family problems than whatever the hell is going on between them.

Safer.

But he should have realised that Vegas wouldn’t leave it alone. Not when it was a matter of trust.
Not when he cares about the outcome too much.

“Fine okay,” he decides, averting his eyes away for a second just for some semblance of distance.
“I believe you.”

And then Vegas’ expression is softening with relief as he slides an arm around Pete’s lower back
again, tucking his face into Pete’s throat and pulling him irresistibly forward.

It’s so startling that Pete’s rocked into stillness, inhaling the familiar scent of Vegas, the warmth
and strength of his body. Even though he doesn’t want to, even though he shouldn’t, Pete’s stiff
form relaxes in his arms and his hands come up hesitantly before they’re folding across the bare
flesh of Vegas’ exposed neck.

They’re both still a little warm, breathing not quite even from the run, the kissing and the fighting
earlier but Pete still leans into it, powerless against his own instincts when Vegas holds him
tighter.

“Fucking hell, Pete,” he murmurs into his skin, sounding half muffled with relief. “You scared the
shit out of me.”

Pete flushes at the abrupt shift. The rush of fear and betrayal, the adrenaline of the chase, the spark
of arousal before their furious confrontation. Suddenly all of it is too much to handle. Pete feels
like he’s literally coming apart at the seams.

And already he’s drawing away again. Knowing that he can’t allow this to continue like it is. Not
without doing something terrible. Something drastic.

Besides what’s happening at the main house is more important now.

It always is.

“I have to go back.”

Vegas pins him with a look as if he knows that Peter is trying to avoid this. As if he recognises that
Pete is trying to hide behind his role of bodyguard again.

“Do you honestly think it’s safe for you there right now?”
He’s going to try and stop him, Pete can sense it. As if he doesn’t trust Pete’s judgement in this. Or
that he doesn’t believe Pete is truly capable of taking care of himself.

When has Pete ever shown himself as anything but capable? Does he actually believe that Pete is
this helpless? Anger burns through him again at the thought. At the condescending nature of it.
That Vegas can still think like this when he’s the one injured and barely qualified to defend
himself.

Already Pete’s hands are curling into fists, preparing for another round. “Are you going to try to
stop me from doing my job? Why do you insist on making this about me? It isn’t even-“

“Yes, it is,” Vegas fires back and just like that the same argument is back in full force. “All of this
is about you, don’t you get that? Can’t you see that I’m only trying to protect you?”

Pete laughs then but it’s stilted. Harsh.

“Protect me? You can barely protect yourself right now. And did you ever consider that I don’t
fucking need it? That I don’t need you?”

Vegas jerks back at the tone of Pete’s voice, the barely hidden layer of fury in it. And then he’s
just staring at him, pinning Pete with his assessing gaze.

“Why are you so afraid of needing or wanting anyone else?” he murmurs softly. “Why can’t I be
the one to protect you? Why can’t I be the person you lean on?”

Is he honestly being serious about this? Pete explodes into movement at the interrogation, ready to
fight back.

“Because your idea of protection is lying to me,” he snaps, crowding into Vegas’ space, pressing
hard enough that Vegas is surprised into stepping backwards. “By steamrolling over the walls I try
to put up between us. Ignoring my words whenever I try to hold you back.”

Vegas recovers himself quickly, seems to rally and then he’s staring into Pete’s eyes, holding him
there like he wants nothing more in the world right now than this. This fight. This challenge.

Because it’s always about the challenge for him.

“You honestly still want a wall between us? After everything we’ve done? Everything we’ve been
doing?”

Pete won’t let himself be embarrassed by that. He knows there’s hypocrisy in it. Knows that none
of it makes sense. But it wouldn’t be like this if Vegas wasn’t always pushing the boundaries of
what Pete isn’t ready or is unwilling to give. It’s always at Vegas’ pace, Vegas’ demands, Vegas’
pushing.

How else should Pete feel except hounded? Hunted? Cornered?

Just like he’s feeling right now.

“I want to be able to say no and be certain that’s enough for you.”

And it should be enough. Pete saying no should not mean that he needs convincing. Except Vegas
is always trying to convince him, always whispering in his ear, offering and demanding more.

Vegas’ expression wrinkles at Pete’s statement, not recognising the layers to it. “You say no all the
time-“

“And you keep pushing anyway. Like you’re trying to persuade me out of it,” Pete snaps, resisting
the urge to put his hands on him and physically shake the words into his body so they sink in this
time. “To charm me back into your arms. Like you think you know better.”

“Because I do know better,” Vegas declares and Pete thinks he actually wants to hit him. To strike
the asinine certainty out of his words. “You’re so in denial about all of this when we both know
you want me. Do you know how hard I’ve worked just to get to a stage where you trust me even a
little bit? Where you finally feel safe enough to show me your desire?”

Involuntarily, Pete winces. Because he’s not ignorant to the way Vegas has been trying to win him
over. To the way he’s been trying to pretend things could possibly work between them.

“But you can’t even give me an explicit yes for that. And now. Now you’re just looking for
excuses not to trust me, for reasons to run. You’re pulling away and I haven’t even done anything.
You won’t even tell me why. Do you think I don’t see all of that?”

Now there’s anger in Vegas words too, his voice rising and Pete knows what he's doing isn’t
exactly right. Isn’t exactly fair. But it’s the look on Vegas’ face that has Pete drawing away again.

He’s aware that he has been holding back certain things but it’s another thing for Vegas to openly
talk about it. The way he’s talking right now- has Pete been taking parts of this for granted? Has he
been pressing the advantage of how intensely Vegas wants this to work between them?

“Every time I see how deep your desire is, I can see it right there in your eyes but instead of saying
it the best you can do is nod along. Like it’s some great mental anguish to do anything as small as
that. You can’t even fucking admit out loud how much you want me.”

Is that how Vegas sees it? As Pete still in denial that any of this is happening?

“That’s not true,” Pete argues, even as he starts to feel the ambiguity of their situation. “I’m not in
denial.”

Suddenly Vegas’ hand is seizing onto the front of his shirt, fingers digging through the gap
between the buttons as he tightens his grip, accidentally brushing against warm skin as he drags
Pete in closer again.

“Oh yeah? Tell me then, did you like what we were doing earlier? When I was kissing you? And
you were hard and I was grinding my cock against yours?”

At their close proximity, Pete opens his mouth and flushes. Finds that he can’t concede to it even as
his eyes slide away from Vegas’ own. It is such a direct question that it shouldn’t need over
explanation. Only requires one simple answer. The truth.

Yes.

But he can’t say that. Not to Vegas. And it seems incredible that Vegas hasn’t figured out why. Of
all their problems to fixate on Pete can’t believe that this is where he’s chosen to start. Why should
Pete’s consent be so important to him now when he never gave a shit about it in the beginning?

“That’s what you’re saying we need to work on? Our communication?” Pete wonders
incredulously, without trying to pull free of Vegas’ hand. “Do you honestly hear yourself right
now?”
But Vegas’ expression only darkens further as the grip on Pete goes slack and he suddenly lets go.

“This is exactly what I’m talking about,” he snarls, using that same hand to furiously shove his hair
back out of his face. “Stop being so fucking evasive. I know that you liked that. I’m listening when
you tell me to stop or when you push me away. I’m not trying to force you. What more do you-?“

“You didn’t before,” Pete snaps, amazed that he even needs to point this out. How convenient for
Vegas that he’s forgotten this too. “You haven’t before.”

Vegas straightens up and watches Pete likes he’s trying to decipher what his next move should be.
Of course Pete would have some difficulty admitting to the man who raped him in the past, that he
now wants to have sex with him.

That he has any desire for him at all.

How in the hell could Vegas have overlooked this? Or was he so focused on getting Pete willingly
into his bed that he’d ignored the reality that there would always be consequences to their fucked
up, utterly disturbing beginning. To every single thing that happened in that safe house. To
everything he’d done to Pete there first.

Did Vegas truly believe the slate would be wiped clean because he changed his behaviour a little?
Because he stops now when Pete tells him to?

As if that could ever be enough.

“So that’s it?” Vegas says quietly, finally understanding the density of the obstacle between them.
“That’s why you can’t be clear with me? You can’t ever articulate how I make you feel and
whether you want to keep doing it because of how this all started?”

Pete can’t just erase all of their history because it would be convenient. Because it would be easier.
As if he even really has a choice in the matter. If things were truly like that everyone would set
their traumas aside, abandon them completely and move on in life unhindered by them.

But that’s not how this works.

“You made this complicated,” Pete tells him. “You made this about dominance and power right
from the beginning. Did you think I could just forget about that now that we’re- doing this?”

Vegas’ expression is stricken. It seems like he finally understands and Pete feels sick with the
reality of it. Because he didn’t want things to be complicated like this. He just wanted it to be about
sex. About thoughtlessly finding mutually satisfaction in one another.

“What can I do then? Am I’m just supposed to keep taking cues from your body and your silence
then, is that it? And if I ever get it wrong, aren’t we just falling into the same pattern again?
Somehow that’ll be on me for not perfectly reading your mind?”

It’s the worst kind of point Pete wants to hear right now. Because he knows there’s some real
weight to it.

Abruptly Pete can’t help but see their dynamic with new eyes and is quick to recognise how much
he’s been relying on the fact that Vegas can read him. Enough that he’s been saved from having to
articulate what he wants to happen between them.

There is a kind of awful truth to what Vegas is saying. Pete has never admitted to him directly that
he likes what they’re doing and that he wants Vegas to touch him. For it to continue in any kind of
meaningful way.

All of his words have either been evasions or sidestepping. Or unspoken body language. Pete
hasn’t been as clear as he should have. Has literally been unable to be as clear as he should have
purely for the fact that it’s Vegas.

Pete never had any problems talking with Ngam about their sex life. But that’s probably because
the relationship with his ex-girlfriend had started out consensual.

It’s because it’s Vegas. It’s because of how this all began.

It’s always been because of that.

Pete can see now that a lot of these conversations have gone unsaid.

When Vegas first forced himself on Pete, he was using the pretext of Pete’s bodily reactions to
excuse his own actions. As if it was less of a rape because Pete had orgasmed, because his body
had enjoyed being touched even if his mind loathed the helplessness of the situation. That loss of
his own autonomy and power.

And what has Pete really done since then? Except keep letting his own body speak for him in
situations like this.

Isn’t it like Vegas is saying? Aren’t they one wrong move from falling back into that first pattern if
Pete can’t articulate what he wants? Even if he has no trouble saying no?

“The silence was my protection,” Pete finally manages once he can find his voice again. “Because
you wanted me to plead for your mercy, to beg you to stop. You wanted me to break! Why would I
have given you that then?”

He takes a breath, realises how deep the problem still goes. “And I still can’t now.”

Something flickers behind Vegas’ eyes as if he can sense impending doom lurching towards them.

“What are you saying? That we’re done? That I can never touch you again? Because you’ve said
that before, Pete.”

It’s not an enjoyable experience being forced to face his own inconsistency. His own hypocrisy.
And Pete can’t help but flush at the hidden accusation there. The idea that he’s been the one giving
unclear messages.

Which, unfortunately, he can’t exactly deny at this point.

So he doesn’t try to.

“You’ve never given me the chance to mean it,” Pete says, the words rushing out of him like a
confession. “You never stop chasing. Never leave me alone. Like you’re trying to wear me down
eventually. You make me feel like I’m your greatest challenge, your eventual and inevitable
conquest. You’ve backed me into a corner where the only options I have are to fight or deny I feel
anything for you.”

The anger on Vegas’ face is plain. The hurt is more subtle. But Pete can see the traces of both.
Knows there’s no other option. Not now that Vegas has backed him into a corner again.

“Because of what? Your yes is a such victory for me?”

“Of course it fucking is!” Pete shouts at him. For the insular touch of obliviousness to the question.
The stain of born advantage, of privilege that ever allowed Vegas to heedlessly believe otherwise.
When Pete was never afforded that chance. “You get exactly what you want then- proof that you
conquered me. Proof that every terrible thing you did could be washed away. All because you
decided to make a lover out of me instead of a slave.”

Vegas’ expression is suddenly as still as water. The rest of him retreating behind a shield of
vacancy. Even his eyes have sought to conceal the real chaos within.

To see him rendered speechless is to see him weakened. Because Vegas always has a smooth
answer to absolve himself. Always has a painful jab of truth to slip between the ribs when you’re
not looking out for it.

His silence now is almost as impossible as this ending with a positive outcome. Of them going
down in anything else but flames.

But Pete isn’t daunted by this. Knows that he might not be the only person needing to face their
reality here.

“A yes is the proof that you would have brought me back eventually, back under your power.
Proof that all of your relentless seducing and obscuring of the situation, was just to convince me
it’s what I must have wanted all along.”

Vegas just watches him, expression unchanged.

“You give me too much credit,” he finally says, meeting Pete’s eyes and holding them. “How
calculating I must be to you. How base and monstrous.”

Pete doesn’t bother to deny that he’s ever had these thoughts. Doesn’t pretend that he’s always
bought Vegas’ words. Taken them at face value.”

“What are your intentions then?” he wonders, trying to understand what the hell Vegas was
expecting to come of this. How he believes it’s supposed to work out somehow. “How do you see
us?”

Vegas blinks at him as if the answer was obvious. Or at the very least that it was always obvious to
him.

“I see us running this town. Together.”

It’s not what Pete was anticipating. Vegas has said that he wants an equal, said that he sees Pete as
the same but even so Pete could never really bring himself to believe it.

Now there’s no avoiding that truth.

And Vegas’ words are staggering. “You actually want- together?”

When Vegas nods in confirmation, somehow it shouldn’t be as surprising as it is but Pete is

completely floored anyway.

Because Vegas truly thinks that they can be an equal partnership.

Pete’s thoughts automatically slide back to Porsche. Who may not be forced into being a
bodyguard anymore but isn’t really doing anything for himself to pass the time. Who may have
power within the family, but it its power given to him by Kinn, power only at Kinn’s behest. If
they were to break up for good what’s to happen to Porsche? Is he to be banished back to a house
and the bills he can no longer afford?

They’d cut him loose like a dead fish in the water.

But Vegas clearly wants something different. It’s no wonder he’s been so impressed with Pete’s
skills this whole time. He’s not looking for a new head bodyguard. He’s looking for a partner. An
equal partner.

To Pete right now it screams only of fantasy.

“That’s the problem,” Vegas says seizing on to Pete’s shocked silence. “Men like us
Theerapanyakuls- we weren’t built to rule alone.”

Even with his skills and talents, Pete’s not sure that he understands the reasoning. “Why do you
event want me? You know there’s plenty of other agreeable men who’ll kneel for you. Who will
worship you. You’ve had some of them already.”

Surely he doesn’t really mean what he’s proposing. He wants to give equal power to his partner?
When his own father won’t even allow power for his son? When Vegas has to carve it out himself?

Why would he share that hard won authority?

“Because they’re boring and it’s shallow. Not real. Because I don’t want a trophy or a prize. Or
some gorgeous little sex kitten that never even thinks to use their claws. I told you I want an equal.
I want a man who’ll look me in the eye and tell me I’m wrong when there’s a smarter option. Who
thinks I can do better for myself, who demands it of me. Holds me accountable when I don’t. Like
you’re doing right now.”

Pete doesn’t look away and Vegas takes that as a sign to shift closer.

“Like you did in the compound. When I held your life in my hands and you still looked at me and
found me wanting.”

Oh. Pete hadn’t realised he was so obvious then. He’d been open enough with his disdain but
Vegas must have seen what else was lurking behind his eyes when he'd looked at him. When he
told him to do his worst and didn’t show any fear.

It seems overwhelming that that moment could make such a difference, could change the entire
course of Pete’s life. But here they are. And Vegas clearly hasn’t forgotten it.

When Vegas reaches out and takes Pete’s hand next, Pete is astonished enough to let him.

“This isn’t my victory,” he says quietly. “It’s ours. It’s mutual, Pete. We’re not on opposing sides-”

“Yes, we are,” Pete murmurs, slowly coming back to himself. Coming back to their circumstances.
“Your father wants to kill me. He wants to tear down the people that I work for. That I’ve
dedicated my life to. We are literally on opposite sides.”

Vegas, in the most typical of ways, is completely undaunted by this.

“Not yet. Nothing has happened yet.”

“But it will,” he snarls, anger spiking again at how Vegas continues to defy their reality. “You
know it will. What then, Vegas? What then?”
That’s when they’ll be forced to choose sides. When they’ll be forced to turn on one another
because Pete won’t join Mr Kan. He can’t work for a man so much like his own father. No matter
what he feels for Vegas.

That’s their future. Not some fantasy of them ruling together. Not some hope that they could find
love buried somewhere in this mess.

It’s going to end with a bullet in the head. Pete’s or Vegas’.

That’s what this life is.

“We’ll figure it out,” Vegas promises, and he sounds so sure, so confident that Pete wants to feel
that same fury again but he mostly just feels tired. Drained. “Together we can do anything. Trust
that you’re not at risk from me. I won’t ever be a danger to you.”

How does he still not fucking understand?

“You’re every kind of danger to me,” Pete says with a fierceness that surprises them both.
“Because if this does go any further I’ll be giving you the power to hurt me. To destroy me. Which
is what you wanted when I was chained up and at your mercy in the first place. How do you not
see that?”

When Vegas opens his mouth again Pete is already prepared for what he’s about to say. “It’s
different-“

“For you maybe,” Pete interrupts, unwilling to debate the semantics of that difference. “But not for
me. I’m the one risking everything. Compromising my beliefs. My whole future. What have you
risked? When have you ever been vulnerable?”

Because he doesn’t know how to be. Pete knows it was one of the first things that Mr Kan beat out
of him. He only knows how to play at weak, to tug at other people’s sympathies when he needs
something from them.

If there’s ever been a true moment of weakness from him Pete doesn’t know it.

Except.

That scream. That scream he’d let out when Pete had escaped him in the safe house, abandoned
him, left him alone all over again.

Maybe Pete has seen a trace of it after all.

“Bleeding on your doorstep wasn’t enough for you?” Vegas offers wryly but there’s a distance to it
that doesn’t escape Pete’s notice. A steady shoring up of his defences.

Vegas doesn’t want to be weak for him either. Instinctively, Pete can recognise that.

“You know that wasn’t the kind of vulnerable I was talking about.”

But Vegas is undaunted by this. “When was there a right time to have shown that part of myself?
When you were so mistrustful of me that anything I said you’d automatically view as a lie? A
trick? Or should I have done so any one of the many times you rejected me? When you pushed me
away? What would have been the point?”

What would have been the point? Vegas willingly carving out a piece of himself and offering it to
Pete. Instead of the pieces he’d unwilling carved out of Pete. The vulnerability he’d stolen from
him.

“Because at least I would have known it,” he says, stubbornly refusing to back down from this. “I
would have seen a side of you that was painfully honest. Real.”

He’s the one always saying he wants the real Pete. What kind of incentive does he have to show it
if Vegas never offers anything real in return?

Pete’s not the only one keeping distance between them. Vegas is very good at pretending that he’s
giving everything to Pete, but he knows there are still parts of himself that are still hidden. That
he’s intentionally holding back.

“And what about you Pete?” Vegas wonders, taunting now. “You haven’t exactly been vulnerable
with me either. How could I do the same when you refuse to tell me how you’re feeling?”

Vegas won’t take the first step. Even knowing that Pete cannot go against his own values, his own
sense of autonomy and self to take that first step himself.

They’re both trapped by the same circumstances, somehow on opposite sides of the spectrum.

“Because I told you I can’t,” Pete mutters, repeating himself again and again until Vegas will
listen. “Because everything is weighted by that first time. You robbed me of my own power. My
own body.”

They’re standing much too close still, not looking away from one another and Pete won’t be the
first to step back. To walk away. Not this time.

“I can’t take back what I’ve done,” Vegas says quietly, and he’s the first to break eye contact. To
turn his face and look away from him. And Pete wonders if it’s shame he’s detecting in his
expression now. Because it’s a reaction he’s never seen before. “I know that.”

Pete reaches out and cups Vegas’ chin, forcing his head around so that he’s meeting his eyes again,
wanting to understand the strange reaction taking over his features.

“Do you?” he wonders, not releasing him.

Vegas doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t look away from Pete for a second.

“So how can we ever move forward, then Pete? You tell me. Do you even want an apology?”

Does he think he’s capable of giving one? It’s such a disconcerting thought that Pete releases him.
And takes his hand back, already cringing at the idea. “No. I don’t want to watch you try to mean
it. You have no remorse for what you’ve done.”

That’s always been very clear to Pete. He’s never seen him remorseful in anything. Pete doubts that
anyone ever has.

“How do you know?” Vegas replies with an odd kind of tension in his throat. “You never asked.
You ran the last time we tried to talk about it.”

At this point running is the only thing Pete knows. The only effective result that seems to work on
Vegas until he’s hunting Pete down again.

He doubts very much that Vegas feels regret for what he’s done. Why would he when it helped
him realise that he wanted a real relationship with Pete? When it was only a stepping stone to
something better?

“Because you don’t internalise consequences the same way,” Pete tells him, wondering if this is
something he’ll have to explain to him. His upbringing has shielded him from the reality of so
many things. “You never do. You only feel regret for how it’s affecting you now. Because of how
my rejection impacts you.”

Pete does believe that. Because Vegas is never denied anything. Except for the things he was
already denied at birth. Becoming the first heir of the family. Being loved by his father.

Everything else Vegas has been handed. Or has stolen for himself. He’s struggled, yes. But not in
the same ways that Pete has struggled.

What does he know of sexual rejection before he’d met Pete?

“Are you rejecting me? ?” Vegas wonders, not appearing at all worried by the suggestion. “Truly?
Because lately it looks like you’re fighting yourself more than you’re fighting me.”

That Pete can admit is probably more accurate. Nearly every interaction he has with Vegas now
seems to results in a herculean struggle within himself.

He might understand why but that doesn’t make it any easier to know it.

“I don’t know,” Pete repeats. “I don’t know what I’m doing. What the hell makes you think I have
any more control over this than you do?”

Vegas takes his hand, just at the base of his palm, thumb sliding gently over the faded redness of
his wrists. They’re only a faint pink now, the paleness of newly healed skin.

“Baby, you have all of the control,” he says with a kind of tenderness Pete’s usually only heard in
the past when they were naked together. When they were in the safe house. “I’m practically
kneeling at your feet. I have been kneeling at your feet. All the cards are in your hands. What more
do you want?”

Pete watches their joined hands, lingering on the marks at his wrist before gently pulling away.

“It doesn’t feel like that,” he admits quietly more to himself than to Vegas. “It doesn’t feel like that
for me.”

Vegas lets out a soft sigh but it doesn’t enrage Pete to hear it. There’s a weariness between them
now as if they’ve expended all their energy already.

“So how do I change it for you?” Vegas asks, perfectly serious. “Do you want to return the favour?
Chain me up? Beat the shit out of me? Break my ribs? Fuck me?”

Pete inhales at the last one. His eyes snapping up towards Vegas’ face. At the nonchalance there in
his features. He truly means it too. He’d give himself over to Pete’s hands in some kind of
backwards offer to change things between them.

“Do whatever you need to. I don’t care.”

Pete can’t help but recoil a little. At the casual words Vegas uses to throw himself away. His lack
of self-preservation is rearing its ugly head again.
How could he have such little regard for his own body? His own safety?

This can’t only be the work of his father, can it? Was it safer for him not to care about what
happened to his own body when his father treats it as his possession? When he uses Vegas as a
punching bag for his own uncontrollable emotions?

Pete hates that this has been offered to him. Hates the part of himself that can’t help but be
intrigued by it in the same instance.

“Why would that make any kind of difference?” he asks, trying to understand Vegas’ mind and
why he’s said this.

Proposed this to him.

Does he honestly believe that Pete will take him up on it? That he wants to repeat the safe house
with Vegas chained up in his bed and at his mercy?

Pete inhales sharply, glancing at his own wrists again. He won’t deny that he’s fascinated by the
thought of fucking Vegas. That he’s had several thoughts on the subject lately. But why would he
want it like this?

Why would anyone want it like this?

“It will to you, I’m betting. So go on. Fuck me then, do your worst” Vegas suggests, without the
slightest hesitation. “How’s that for regaining some control?”

It sounds so ugly like this. So unfeeling. This time Pete really does flinch at the proposition.

“Why would you put yourself into my hands like that?” he demands, appalled by the thought. “I
know that you have a unique relationship to pain, but why throw yourself to people who have
every reason to mistreat you?”

“You wouldn’t,” Vegas says with such a confidence that Pete finds excruciating. “I know you
wouldn’t.”

What does it matter if he wouldn’t? There’s still a bitter, resentful part of Pete that wants to. How
can Vegas trust that Pete won’t get swept up in his own anger if he was the one doing the fucking?
Is he expecting Pete to treat him gently? Or would he rather that he didn’t? Would he rather Pete
treat him roughly, uncaring, just using his body like Vegas used his in the beginning?

What kind of foolish trust is he placing in Pete right now?

It’s that, that reminds Pete just how powerfully he doesn’t want it. How it won’t really affect things
like Vegas assumes it will.

“What you’re offering me- doesn’t change anything that happened.”

That’s the reality of it. Vegas should have known that. Pete can’t understand why he thinks the
situation would be improved if Pete was the one to take a wrench to Vegas’ ribs. If Pete was the
one to hang him from the ceiling for days and slide his fingers into his ass.

“But you’re interested,” Vegas announces, too smart not to notice Pete’s hesitation. “At least in the
last part. I know you’re interested.”

Pete turns away from him, feeling the heat in his cheeks and doesn’t answer.
“But look at you, still can’t even admit that much.”

Vegas sighs and takes a step back and Pete feels reckless and stuck all of a sudden. Because they’re
trapped in this. Together. And they can’t go any further until they try and find a way out of it.

“I told you I can’t,” Pete offers quietly. “Maybe I won’t ever. Can you be satisfied with that? And
if you can’t would you actually accept it if I wanted to stop? If i decided to walk away? Could I
even do that without you trying to convince me out of it?”

This is another thing they’ve never acknowledged. That Vegas has never walked away. Not once.
No matter how many times Pete has told him to. No matter how many times he’s wanted him to.

“Could you walk away?” Vegas asks and the question is so startling that Pete loses his train of
thought.

“What-?”

Vegas steps into him again, so close they could be sharing the same breath. Pete has to actively
resist the urge to glance down at his mouth. He settles for the heat in Vegas’ eyes, the pull of him
dragging Pete forward.

“Right now. Could you walk away right now and forget about me? Is that what you truly want?”

The significance of the question knocks the rest of the conversation entirely off course. Especially
when Pete hesitates too long in trying to answer it.

“If- I had to,” he finally manages, wondering if he’s trying to convince Vegas or himself. “If it’s
necessary.”

Vegas’ face is suddenly blank again, full of apathy as if he’s hiding away parts of himself in
preparation for a blow.

“You’re not answering my question. Do you want to walk away and forget me? Because if you can
say that, look me in the eye and mean it, I will. I’ll walk away, Pete. I give you my word that I
will.”

This, somehow feels more alarming than Vegas' offer for Pete to fuck him. In all the time they’ve
spent together, Vegas has never once mentioned walking away. No matter how many times Pete
has told him to go.

It shocks him to hear it now because Vegas wouldn’t have said it if he didn’t mean it. If he wasn't
intending to stick to his word. But why now? Why suggest this now?

Pete suddenly isn’t meeting his eyes. “You’re not actually serious. How many times have I tried to
get you to leave me alone. To back off. To walk away. You ignored me every time.”

And he has done this so many times. Completely steamrolled over what Pete wanted like in the
earlier days so it feels impossible not to doubt him. Even though he knows Vegas isn’t lying, Pete
still can’t conflate the two.

“Because I knew you didn’t truly mean it.”

He honestly believes that? That's his excuse for not leaving Pete alone? He can't help but scoffs at
the idea. Because Pete had meant it every time when he’d told Vegas to go. “That’s ridiculous.”
It’s probably because his body was already working against him at that point, broadcasting
different things than what he was saying out loud. Of course Vegas would have assumed he didn’t
mean it. He was already too used to reading between the lines. To listening to Pete’s body first.

“Look at me,” Vegas says, impossibly steady. “Look at me right now. Say it and mean it. And I’ll
go.”

Pete turns to glare at him and doesn’t speak.

They’re silent for a beat. Waiting.

But Pete has nothing to say.

“That’s not even the point,” he argues, continuing on as if nothing happened. “Even if you walked
away, you wouldn’t ever let this be over in your mind.”

Vegas doesn’t look like he's interesting in defending himself.

“What does that matter? I gave my word I’d walk away and I meant it. I’d leave you alone, you
wouldn’t be able to avoid seeing me because of your job but I wouldn’t seek you out. What does it
matter what I keep alive inside my own head?”

Pete’s hands are suddenly tangled in the front of Vegas’ shirt. He doesn’t know when they got
there.

“Because you’d still be like this. Thinking about me. Obsessing over me. Even if we never spoke
again it wouldn’t be over. I’d still know.”

Vegas is staring at him blankly, still retreating further into himself. Pete wants to shake him until
that anger comes back again. At least that was something real.

“And that’s the only thing you want now?” Vegas wonders with a kind of detachment that makes
Pete uneasy. “For it to be over?”

He lets go of Vegas again, worried that he won’t be able to control himself. That he really will
shake Vegas. Or kiss him again. Neither of these feel like options at the moment. Pete’s in as much
danger of surrendering completely as he was when Vegas had him chained up and Pete almost
ordered Vegas to fuck him.

“And you just want me to say yes,” he says, knowing things are just as precarious as they were in
that moment when Pete almost forgot himself. “That’s your endgame. For me to give in and be
yours completely.”

It’s always been his endgame. It’s always been what Vegas wanted. To find the one person who
could really look at him, see the obscene, flawed truth of him and not flinch away from it.

Of course it’s Pete. Pete, who stares into the hungry, dark abyss of things because always at the
core of him, he just wants to understand.

And Vegas, desperately wants to be understood. Wanted.

They’re caught in each other’s eyes for a moment and while Vegas doesn’t admit to what Pete is
accusing him of, the truth of it is written in his eyes.

He feels the pull like Pete does but instead of resisting, instead of cutting the cord he wants to
strengthen the connection. Wants them impossibly bound together.

In the realest way imaginable. He wouldn’t have bothered to try and ease Pete into it like this
otherwise. Wouldn’t be so determine to audition himself as an ideal partner, to showcase all of his
strongest qualities. And present them to Pete like one irresistible offer.

If he didn’t care about Pete truly being his, by Pete’s own choosing, he would have just tried the
same tactics as before. Overpowering Pete. Drugging Pete. Locking him away from the world so
only Vegas can enjoy him.

The way he’s done things since the safe house, have all culminated towards that triumph. The
success, not born of fantasy and indulgence, but of reality. Of choice.

But he’s gotten ahead of himself again. Has skipped a few steps on his way towards trying to make
Pete his.

“How will you ever be certain it’s real,” Pete says quietly, unable to turn away from him. “Unless
it’s outside of your influence? Until I can willingly choose it myself?”

Vegas opens his mouth and Pete continues to talk over him, already sensing how easily he’d tangle
the problem further if Pete let him.

“It’s only an actual choice if I have the chance to say no. If I can walk away.”

Vegas makes a sound with such uninhibited fury that Pete goes completely still.

“I’m trying to give you the chance right now,” he hisses, practically scorching Pete with the
intensity of the emotion. “But you won’t fucking take it.”

The anger is good. Something familiar to Pete. Something comfortable. It’s a sign of his
upbringing that he’d prefer it over all of this uncertainty. The unsteadiness of this lighter, tender
emotion.

“Stop trying to tell me what to do,” he snaps, daring Vegas to approach him again with his eyes.
Daring him to try and touch him right now. “Stop trying to make the decision for me. I need some
time to fucking think.”

He’s stalling. Pete knows that he’s stalling but he doesn’t have an answer. Doesn’t want to face the
fact that he doesn’t have an answer.

Because he’s not used to being uncertain. Doesn’t like to be indecisive. Lost. There’s something
too unguarded about all of it.

Unsafe.

Vegas lets out a severely unamused sound, well aware of the fact that Pete is being skittish. Erratic.
“Fine, baby,” he says, with an unexpected kind of conviction that makes Pete falter. “If you won’t
tell me yes and you won’t tell me to go. Let’s do it your way.”

What does that mean? When was this ever Pete’s way?

Hasn't Vegas been calling the shots from the beginning? Isn’t that the whole problem?

Pete is surprised for all of one second. “My way- what?”

“We’re done,” he says and Pete’s breath seizes sharply in his chest at the crude undoing of it. The
answering rush of dismay that engulfs everything until he’s almost staggering under its weight. But
Vegas is still talking like he hasn’t stunned Pete. Hasn’t disturbed him into silence. “Done
following my lead. You can have your space. I’ll back off. I won’t call you. I won’t touch you. I
won’t fuck you. We’ll leave it all up to you.”

This is it? This is Vegas’ solution? What the fuck is he actually talking about?

When he doesn’t elaborate after that Pete just continues to stare at him, not comprehending how
their conversation could have brought such a monumental change in him. In all their time together,
Vegas has never backed off. Never wavered.

Not once.

“Up to me?” Pete echoes as if Vegas is speaking another language altogether. He doesn’t
understand how this is happening. How it could suddenly happen this way, so easily, so simply,
when it was all he wanted in those first days of freedom. “What the hell, Vegas?”

But Vegas’ eyes seem to sharpen on him, and the resolve there reflects something a lot less
unshakeable than Pete first believed. Because he’s unable to take Pete’s indecisiveness any longer.
It seems almost impossible to think it, but is Vegas the one actually walking away now?

How is that even possible?

“Until you can tell me what you want,” Vegas clarifies, staring at Pete meaningfully enough that
his chest goes tight and he realises it’s worse than he first anticipated. “Until you can ask for it.
Until you can say yes. Nothing else is going to happen between us.”

That- is one hell of an ultimatum. And why now? Did Pete’s running from him do more than just
confuse and surprise Vegas? Did it hurt him to realise that Pete still can’t trust him like this?

At the impossible words, Pete takes an unthinking step forward. “So what? Just like that it’s done?
That’s all it took for this to be over?”

After everything he’s been through it seems unbearable to think it could just be done like this. That
it could end in a whisper not a bang. But it can’t actually be this easy. After everything it can’t.
Pete refuses to believe it.

He actually can’t believe it.

Because that was always the most frightening part of it all, that Vegas’ desire for him seemed
limitless. Unending.

How could they have just suddenly reached this point without any warning?

But when Vegas looks at him again, his eyes are pure fire. “It’s not over. It’s all up to you now.
You wanted your choice. Well you have it. I’ll play fair from now on. You won’t get any more
pressure from me.”

Pete snorts out an incredulous laugh at that. Strangled by the unlikelihood of it. The very notion of
Vegas ever playing fair.

What the hell does Vegas think he’s doing?

Pete seriously can’t believe it. “You’re such a liar.”

The look on his face is all challenge but that’s all it is. He doesn’t follow it up with one of his usual
physical advances. Doesn’t edge close whilst Pete is trying to assemble his thoughts together.
Instead Vegas shrugs, of all things, fingers sliding back on the phone still in his hand, tapping
across the screen.

Pete watches him silently for a second, but when Vegas turns without warning and starts walking
back towards the alley entrance, moving away from him like it’s nothing, Pete is startled into
automatically following after him.

He doesn’t even have to think about it. Pete’s is already trailing him, trying to read the level of
resolve on Vegas’ smooth face.

“Just like that?” he repeats, astonished by Vegas’ stark shift in behaviour.

And the decisiveness that accompanies it. Pete isn’t planning to test Vegas’ resolve but suddenly in
the face of that firmness, he starts to doubt he could even overcome Vegas if he tried.

How could he suddenly master himself like this when Vegas has previously only shown a severe
lack of control?

Because Vegas has been all over him since he escaped the safe house and what? Now suddenly
he’s flipped a switch as if the option existed all along? Pete’s dazed enough by all of this that he
can’t even gather a plan of action, something concrete to tide him over until he can sit down with
this and properly evaluate it.

But he still has enough sense to keep questioning Vegas’ sudden decision to back off. Because-
Vegas. Backing off. Two things that have never coexisted with one another.

Has he actually lost his mind?

“You’re honestly mean this? Because- what? You’ve developed a conscience and won’t have sex
now unless I give explicit verbal consent first?”

Which basically means that he has ended this because Pete knows he can’t do that. Is nowhere
near the realm of considering ever doing that. How many barriers did he have to fight through to
even begin to contemplate the possibility of allowing Vegas to touch him?

And that had seemed so insurmountable. Pete knows he’s not ready for more than that at the
moment. Knows their mutual and brief moments of passion were the smallest step in the direction
of something and now suddenly Vegas wants to run ahead at full speed.

So what else can Pete do?

This is it. After everything it’s actually done now. It’s finally over.

Pete thinks he’s still in shock.

But Vegas isn’t as perturbed by the question as Pete is though because he doesn’t actually glance
back to look at him. “Maybe I don’t want to always be the one chasing, baby. Ever thought of
that?”

He hadn’t actually. Pete draws to a stop again but true to his word, Vegas isn’t waiting this time. Is
almost expecting Pete to follow.

A second later, he’s fiddling with his screen again and bringing it up to his ear. Pete doesn’t know
what to do with Vegas’ back to him. He just follows, shifting into his training, the comfort of
familiarity as his eyes automatically sweep the area.

If there’s no bodyguards here to protect Vegas, he knows that role falls to him. But he still can’t
help but wonder at what Vegas is planning.

“Who are you calling?”

Somehow, in the unstable environment, he’s almost expecting Vegas to ignore him. Unsure of how
to act within these new parameters.

Is that what this is about? Is Vegas doing exactly what he accused Mr Korn of- clearing the board?
He’s trying to trick Pete into- what? Chasing after Vegas instead of running from him?

Does he honestly believe that will work? Pete can’t believe the nerve of him. The current streak of
overconfidence because of what Pete has done for him in the last few days.

He let Vegas into his bed. He put stitches into his fucking head. He stopped him from bleeding out.

And what? Now Vegas is leaving it all in Pete’s hands.

What a bastard.

“Oat,” Vegas says, oblivious to the way that Pete is practically vibrating with energy at his back,
still trying to process everything that Vegas has just said to him. “I’ll get him to drop you back at
the main family house.”

And now he’s the one sending Pete back when that was all he wanted five minutes ago? Does he
not see the hypocrisy in his own actions right now?

When Pete takes a step towards him, tries move closer to make Vegas look at him again, Vegas
actually sidles away from his reach. Actually steps out of his reach.

Pete freezes in reaction, staring at that open space with unmistakeable incredulity.

“You’re serious,” he repeats, somehow still disbelieving as Vegas maintains his distance. “You’re
actually serious?”

The persistent calmness of his expression makes Pete want to throttle him. After everything how
can he be calm?

“You want things to be different from the safe house,” Vegas says serenely, phone still pressed to
his ear and waiting for Oat to pick up. “I want things to be different too. Better.”

It seems straightforward when Vegas puts it like that. Simple.

Except their situation could be anything but. Pete stares at him, speechless and Vegas starts talking
into the phone, rapidly updating Oat on their location and ordering him to drive out and collect
them before hanging up again.

And even after that he’s still not looking at Pete.

He’s not sure what Vegas’ game is here but even more alarming is the prickling sensation that tells
him it is having an effect on Pete.

Has he developed some co-dependency issues because of what happened between them? Why does
the thought of distance fill Pete with such unease?

“You really think this will work on me?” he demands, in contrast to the current inner turmoil
taking up space in his mind, stepping around Vegas' side and stopping in front of him so that Vegas
is forced to face him. “With what? A bit of separation and time I’ll suddenly be desperate to fuck
and declaring my love for you?”

Pete is indignant enough to raise his voice and an older woman walking past glances over her
shoulder at them before furtively hurrying away. Vegas watches her, sees how Pete is too enraged
to be self-conscious of what he just said and then visibly seems to think that over for a second.

“Thought it might encourage you to articulate your needs better. But your outcome sounds pretty
great to me.”

Pete very nearly shoves him into oncoming traffic for that.

“Fuck off, Vegas. I can’t believe you. This is-“

“Then what’s the solution, Pete? You tell me. Because you just admitted that you can’t say yes,
that it feels like too much of a win for me. Too much power on my part that I don’t deserve. I told
you that you can fuck me but then you can’t even acknowledge your desire for that. Even though
we both know you’re very interested in the idea of me under you.”

Pete flushes at that particular image but isn’t rushing to deny it. They’re both too aware of one
another now for that.

“What else should I do? Keep following your non-verbal cues and hope that I don’t cross a line
again? If you can’t even talk to me about sex how are we ever going to figure this out?”

That’s- not the point. He’s completely missing the fucking point.

“But now you want me to pursue you,” Pete insists, annoyed how such monumental changes in
their future interactions could be happening merely on Vegas’ whim. “Why is everything always
about what you want?”

Because Pete is too frustrated with Vegas to pay attention to their environment, Vegas is the one
glancing through the crowd for them, taking note of their surroundings when he starts walking
ahead, Pete now by his side and not willing to drop the conversation. Not willing to let Vegas run
off now because he suddenly wants to reverse their roles so badly.

“Not entirely- you’re conflating like with want. Because I’ll like anything we do. So you’re seeing
it as my win rather than your own. Instead of a mutual thing.”

Pete lets out an aggravated sound, keeping pace with Vegas as they continue down the street,
though Pete is moving more forcefully. His furious energy announcing itself in every minute shift
of his body.

“You want everything too,” he points out, exasperated. “You want too much.”

Like they all don’t know that already.

“I want everything you’re willing to give me,” Vegas says evenly, still at that level of infuriating
calm. “And that goes both ways, baby. Trust that I’ll also let you do whatever you want to me.”

He’s talking about sex again. Pete shouldn’t be surprised. He’s pretty much always talking about
sex. Only Pete likes this offer about as much as he liked the last one.

Which is not at all.

“Stop- blindingly placing yourself into my hands,” he orders, still hating everything about the
situation. “Everyone already insists I have so much power over you-“

“Which you do,” Vegas says, easily confirming it as if he doesn’t want to leave any space for
confusion. No room for doubt to creep in. “Baby, come on. Stop pretending. You know that I-”

“Don’t even think about saying it,” Pete interjects, heart beating a little faster. “I’m serious,
Vegas.”

That is the last thing he needs to hear right now. Another impossibly unfiltered claim of emotion.
Pete feels like he’s seconds away from another kind of breakdown.

Vegas only sighs at the clear evasion. “So scared of being told you’re loved, baby. What’s the
matter with that? Afraid of losing it?”

Pete inhales sharply, a sudden spasm in the rhythm of his stride. He does lean away from Vegas
then, turning his head and blinking rapidly for a second as if his thoughts are curling in on
themselves. Mostly because he doesn’t want to show Vegas the frailty of his expression.

But Vegas seems to sense it anyway, detecting the injury he’s just unwittingly inflicted and then
he’s moving closer towards Pete. Much closer than he was a second ago.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he breathes, as near to Pete as he can get without physically touching him.
“That was below the belt. You can relax, I won’t say it.”

Good. That’s- good. That’s what Pete wanted after all. For him not to say it.

He’d still like more information in order to understand the change in Vegas though. The sudden
insistence that this all be by Pete’s preference from now on but he’s not sure he’ll get it in time
before Oat arrives.

And this is not the conversation one has with an audience.

“Because-“

“Not because I don’t mean it or that I don’t intend to say it eventually,” Vegas tells him, perfectly
honest and unflinching about it. “But because you seem intensely afraid of hearing it.”

And now Pete’s annoyed again.

“Great thanks,” he mutters sarcastically, not feeling like any part of this discussion with Vegas was
good. Or that it went in any kind of direction that he might have anticipated.

He watches Vegas for a little while longer, unable to reach a conclusion for how he feels about this
sudden new declaration.

“Can you honestly do it?” Pete wonders, curious. “Can you really just go back to ignoring me like
nothing happened?”

What would that even look like? Is Pete meant to ignore him too? To pretend not to even notice
when he enters the room?
Is he relieved by this? Or still annoyed? Pete is fairly certain that he’s still annoyed.

Fucking Vegas.

If anything Vegas actually snorts at the suggestion. “When did I say I was going to do that? I’m
just going to stop chasing you everywhere you go. Besides I doubt my father wants me leaving the
compound with my strength reduced like this anyway. I’m likely grounded for the next couple of
weeks.”

Unfortunately that is a fair point. But Pete finds himself relaxing a little at the words, carefully
screening the other pedestrians passing them as they walk by. There’s an old woman loitering by a
food stall that's eyeing them attentively but that’s because she’s trying to wave them over. Trying
to get them to buy her business.

Pete can smell the grilled Gai Yang from here.

He smiles but keeps walking. Tries and fails to remember the last time he ate something.

“So you’re just going to hide out at home until your body recovers?” he wonders, turning his
attention back to Vegas again, somewhat unconvinced that he’s going to do the sensible thing for
once. That’s two times Vegas has managed to surprise him in the last few minutes. Pete has no
idea what’s happening. “You’re actually going to follow the doctor’s advice? Let yourself rest and
heal?”

Is it because his father won’t leave him any choice? Or is it because Vegas has decided to take care
of himself for once? Pete can’t quite figure out his reasoning.

And Vegas only shrugs again. “If I feel like it. Besides the faster I heal the more fun we can have
together in future.”

He should have expected that. Even with the sudden promises he’s made to leave him alone,
Vegas’ pride doesn’t seem to be affected in any real way. Still so unflappable.

“So certain that I’ll come back to you for more.”

For a second Vegas’ eyes are sharp and piercing. “Won’t you?”

Pete turns away with a sharp curse, keeping his voice lowered this time around. It won’t do them
any good to draw further attention to themselves. The last thing they want right now is to be
memorable to the people moving past them.

“You’re angrier about this than I expected you’d be,” Vegas muses, noting the visible line of
tension in Pete’s body. “Don’t like the idea of going after what you want for once? Or can’t
stomach the thought of us being separated?”

It’s the worst kind of question. Because there’s the possibility of the truth in both of those guesses.
But there’s no way that Pete would ever admit that to Vegas. Not now after everything they’ve just
fought about.

“Shut up, Vegas,” he mutters, refusing to look at him, as his eyes trail the street, passing over more
food stalls. “Where are we meant to be meeting Oat? Is there a pick up point?”

Pete is lingering on the food stalls for too long, starting to realise that the only thing he’s had all
day is tea. Which seems criminal somehow. Pete has never been the type to skip meals. But there
was simply too much going on to have found the time for it.
“Over there by the parked motorbikes. We’ll need to cross on to the other side of the road.”

Pete nods absently, still flitting between the different street stalls. Then some kind of supple leather
is being pushed into his hand. Almost perfunctorily he looks down, sees the wallet Vegas has
handed him.

“Go on,” he says. “We’ve got time. You haven’t eaten today, have you?”

“Neither have you,” Pete points out, but he doesn’t argue further, just heads straight over to the
man selling Moo Ping and buys several pork skewers.

The man seems just as delighted to have caught Pete’s attention, and Pete is more than happy to
part with the baht sitting in Vegas’ wallet, overpaying simply because he can.

He forgoes the offer of sticky rice but only because the skewers are easier to walk and eat by
themselves and it’s better that they keep moving.

Pete slips Vegas’ wallet into the pocket of his blazer just so he can carry the bag of skewers once
the man finishes his grilling and packing them away, producing the bag with a smile. Pete smiles
back, astonished at the sudden force of his hunger now that he’s finally paying attention to it.

When he turns around again Vegas is a little a ways down the street, watching him. Pete pulls the
first skewer from the bag and hands it over to Vegas once he catches up again. Vegas, who looks
slightly startled for a second. As if he hadn’t expected Pete to get food for the both of them.

He accepts it with only minor awkward fumbling of his one usable hand and then they’re setting
off again, further down the street whilst Pete grabs out another pork skewer and sinks his teeth into
it, trying not to moan at the tender, juicy consistency. It’s almost perfectly marinated and Pete
savours several bites before glancing over at Vegas again.

At the impossibly calm way he’s carrying himself as he tears strips off the skewer like a man
equally starved.

“Aren’t you the least bit concerned right now?” Pete asks, still chewing through his mouthful.
“About the Italians.”

Vegas doesn’t answer immediately. Seemingly more interested in the Moo Ping which Pete can
understand even as he wishes Vegas would be more practical.

“I doubt they’re mobilised to retaliate this quickly. Besides,” he throws a sly look towards Pete. “I
happen to be in the company of one of the Theerapanyakul’s top bodyguards.”

It’s not how Pete would have described himself. But he does feel somewhat qualified at the
moment to protect them both from a potential attack. Is still armed at the very least.

“You’re not on my protection detail,” is what Pete says instead.

Vegas is halfway through the skewer but he doesn’t seem particularly offended. Pete might look at
him more closely to make sure in usual circumstances but he’s almost entirely distracted by eating
what's in front of him as fast as he can.

There’s two more skewers in the bag, which should keep them somewhat busy until Oat arrives. At
the very least, Pete can eat later once he returns to the main family.

Vegas throws another cunning look over his shoulder. “But I’m pretty confident you’ll be able to
make an exception, baby.”

Pete dumps the empty skewer into the bag, already retrieving another one for himself. He’s
thinking about to telling Vegas where exactly he can shove that exception but the expression on his
face must succeed in doing it for him because Vegas laughs and says, “No need to get defensive
after this morning. Your actions are already speaking for you, Pete.”

Pete takes another large bite, tearing into the meat with an aggravated fashion.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” Pete mutters, still chewing but Vegas’ face only breaks into a broad
grin at that.

“Am I?” he wonders, genuinely delighted by the fact when he leans in to toss his finished skewer
into the bag, holding his hand back out for Pete to give him the next one.

Pete does, begrudgingly. But it’s not like he paid for it anyway. Seems unfair not to share even if
he’s frustrated enough with Vegas not to.

“Why is that exciting to you?” he wonders, taking another bite and sensing the amusement slowly
creeping back into Vegas’ demeanour again.

This, Pete is unfortunately very familiar with.

“Oh no reason,” Vegas says knowingly. “I just used to have a harder time getting a reaction out of
you before. Nice to see some real emotion behind that fake smile, baby.”

Of course. He should have realised that was where Vegas was going with that. Can’t seem to resist
the opportunity to poke at Pete in the hopes of getting a deeper reaction.

And it works.

Because Pete is openly scowling at him now. “I’m not smiling Vegas.”

But Vegas is when they continue walking, eating quietly and quickly with the assumption that
anything could happen at a moment’s notice to interrupt them. Once they’re finished, Pete disposes
of the trash and then they’re continuing on, slipping into a silence which is a lot less uneasy than
Pete was anticipating.

He’s still annoyed, still infuriated, but it’s easy to be like that around Vegas. Because he’s not
expecting the mask. The façade of the perfectly obscured bodyguard.

He just wants Pete.

They’re moving north in the direction of the parked section of motorbikes on the opposite side of
the road that Vegas gestured to earlier. The streets are too full of passing traffic for them to just
dart across so they keep on in the same way, moving up towards an approaching crosswalk.

Then they’re getting to the other side of the road, Pete feeling a little conspicuous in his bodyguard
uniform in the afternoon heat. He’s sweating a little in the suit, wishes he’d thought to purchase a
drink as well but this side of the street isn’t choked up with food stalls.

Vegas doesn’t seem to hesitate, just starts doubling back towards the section of motorbikes so Pete
follows after him, moving towards the pick up point.

When they arrive to where Oat is expected to meet them, Pete is tempted to sit down on the curb,
but it puts him in a too vulnerable position. By unspoken agreement they face either side of the
street, almost standing back to back so that they have a full view of anyone approaching whether by
car or on foot.

After that it’s just a simple matter of waiting.

When he’s looking around at the other passers by, Pete immediately flags someone suspicious
through the crowd.

It’s a skinny looking Thai man standing there, in ripped jeans and an army coloured tank top,
leaning against the wall of the building behind them and having a smoke as Vegas and Pete stop
and loiter by the curb.

Pete immediately notices him because the man doesn’t look familiar in any way, maybe slightly
older than the both of them, but his eyes are very intent and focused in their direction. So intent that
he’d be impossible to miss.

Already Pete’s tensing when longer than three seconds pass and any excuse for his prolonged
interest fades away as the man merely blinks and keeps his eyes firmly planted on him. Pete’s
profile is turned to the side, noting the man’s gaze out of the corner of his eye when it slowly rakes
over his body.

It’s the bodyguard uniform Pete’s still sporting, he realises, suddenly aware that he sticks out here.
Even more than Vegas does with a sling on his arm and bandages wrapped around his head. That’s
why the man is looking at him at not Vegas. Even if they do make an odd pair together out like
this on the streets.

The man must have somehow recognised that Pete works for the Theerapanyakul family.

Does he work for a minor branch of the family too? Or one of their rivals? Without turning, Pete
tries to do a sweep of the man, checking for any obvious signs of concealed weapons.

There’s possibly a gun tucked in his waistband, but it seems less likely with the way the man is
slouched against the wall. The style of his jeans are clinging tight enough to his frame to give the
impression that there’s nothing hidden in his pockets either.

But that doesn’t give Pete any proof that he has no reason to feel uneasy. Especially when the man
takes another drag of his cigarette and continues to stare unblinkingly at Pete.

He’s about to suggest to Vegas that they move on. That the man less than two metres away from
them is likely from a rival gang when Vegas suddenly steps in between the man’s line of sight on
Pete, throwing an arm around Pete’s waist and effectively blocking him from view.

Pete’s surprised briefly by this move, especially after all the recent declarations Vegas has made
about not touching him but Vegas isn’t even looking at him. He’s looking over his shoulder at the
man smoking.

“Keep fucking walking,” he says in a voice that’s low and deadly, the position of his hand
suddenly a declaration when he reels Pete into his body, leaving no room for interpretation of what
their relationship might be to each other.

Pete is utterly mortified by this, frozen in abject horror, barely noticing when the guy grins and
merely shrugs behind them, tossing the remains of his cigarette butt on the ground before
disappearing back inside the doorway of the building he was just leaning against. The silence feels
weighted, smothered by the intensity of Pete’s lasting embarrassment. And as Vegas is glancing
around for other onlookers, Pete automatically looks up to read the Thai script hanging over the
building’s entry way.

It’s a restaurant. But Pete doesn’t know any gangs affiliated with the name. It’s not remotely
familiar.

“What gang is he from?” Pete says, already focusing on damage control. “He clocked the suit.
Knows I work for-“

Vegas actually chuckles as he lets go of Pete, relaxing a little now that they’re alone by the curb
again.

“Baby, sweetheart, he wasn’t clocking the suit,” he says, like he’s painfully amused by the
situation. “He was clocking you in the suit.”

Huh?

Pete isn’t following the meaning. “Because I look suspicious in the neighbourhood dressed like
this?” he realises, glancing down at himself. The few people they’ve walked past were dressed
casually. He definitely hadn’t seen anyone else in this kind of attire. “I’m drawing attention-“

Vegas only snorts at that. “Pete, the guy was checking you out.”

Pete rolls his eyes right back because that’s obvious. He wasn’t exactly subtle. Hardly seemed to
have any real experience in surveillance. They both saw him straight away. Why is Vegas pointing
this out again?

“Yes I noticed. So who do you think he works for- ?“

“As in checking out how your body looks in the suit. Staring at your ass. Admiring you. Is it
sinking in yet?”

Astonished, Pete glances behind them again as if in search of the stranger to somehow offer further
proof of this but the man doesn’t reappear to confirm it. Except the expression on Vegas’ face is
too pleased, too knowing for it to be anything but the truth. He’s probably having too much fun
now too, at Pete’s expense.

Suddenly the possessive way he’d grabbed hold of Pete before telling the man to keep walking
makes sense.

“I thought he might have been from a rival gang,” Pete says faintly as a tinge of heat rises in his
cheeks. “I thought- he was a threat. Not a- not a-”

He’s never ever noticed another man looking at him like that before. Not before Vegas. But Vegas
only throws his head back and laughs, deeply enjoying himself.

“You’re fucking incredible,” he says, meaning it. And somehow Pete finds it in himself to be
annoyed by that too.

“What about all your promises back there?” he demands a second later. “About not touching me
until I ask for it? Took less than five minutes for you to break your word.”

Vegas shrugs, not in the least apologetic.

“That was extenuating circumstances, baby. He looked like he was seconds away from walking
over here and trying to chat you up.”

That’s- no that’s not what was about to happen. Vegas must have misunderstood.

“No, he wasn’t,” Pete splutters, mortified at the idea.

But Vegas’ grin only widens, becomes sharper. More dangerous. Like he’s savouring the taste of
Pete’s innocence.

“I’ve been in this game a little longer than you, Pete. Trust me on this- he was.”

That, at least, is an argument Pete can concede to. Vegas has undoubtedly had more male sexual
partners than Pete has. He’s obviously well versed in picking up the types of body language from
men that might communicate interest.

But that doesn’t mean Pete is completely helpless. “I would have handled it myself,” he insists,
with an edge of stubbornness now that they're on the same page.

Pete doesn’t need Vegas’ protection in this. He can defend his own body.

“Undoubtedly. But this was more fun.”

“And this is amusing to you?” Pete clarifies, surprised that Vegas isn’t upset about this.
Considering all of his other behaviours, Pete had always seen Vegas as the possessive type.
“Another man admiring me?”

“Oh not at all,” Vegas agrees, his teeth almost sharklike in their sudden sharpness. “But you
thinking it was for rival gang related reasons was. Again, unbelievable how unaware you are of
your own appeal.”

Pete scoffs and looks away from him again, familiar with this topic of conversation. Vegas has
definitely mentioned this before.

“Is this the part where you tell me I’m sexy again?” he drawls out but his voice wavers a little on
the delivery.

Damn.

Vegas’ grin only widens.

“Do you want me to tell you again?” he wonders innocently. “Thought my attraction to you was
one of the only things you never doubted about me.”

Pete purses his mouth, glances over his shoulder and says gruffly, “There’s the car.”

Vegas turns as Pete gestures at a black SUV two car spaces down and Oat is already pulling out of
the traffic and rolling up towards them. Idling at the curb.

He’s expecting Vegas to get into the passenger seat but instead he reaches over and opens the back
door, gesturing Pete into the car first. He takes one reflexive sweep of the interior, noting Oat at
the wheel and another unnamed but familiar looking bodyguard in the passenger seat before he
steps up into the back seat and clambers inside.

He’s half perched on the middle seat when he twists back to seize onto Vegas’ upper right arm
which he’s bracing on the corner as he goes to gracelessly haul himself up. Pete adds his own
strength to the mix so that Vegas is pulled inside without any trouble and Pete is already leaning
over his lap to draw the door shut behind them.

Then he’s leaning away before Vegas tries to retreat from him again.

“Drive,” Pete commands, knowing better than to waste time ensuring they have their seat belts on.

Oat doesn’t need any further instructions.

Once Pete is completely settled, he looks over at the passenger seat where the other bodyguard is
sitting. It takes him a second but Pete realises with a jolt why it is that he recognises the man.

He’s another one of the men who were on rotation when Pete was imprisoned in the compound.
He's one of Vegas' guys. One of the eight.

“Hey, what’s your name?” Pete wonders immediately, leaning towards the guy and tapping him on
the shoulder.

The man jumps at the light touch. “I’m Namo, Mr Pete.”

At the formal language, the way he’s addressing Pete like he would address Vegas, Pete cringes
back away from him. Then he’s leaning back into the seat and clipping into the seat belt.

“You can just speak casually,” Pete tells him, deeply disliking the thought. “I’m a bodyguard too.”

Namo glances surreptitiously back at Vegas, using the revision mirror as if searching for
permission at that. Pete wants to roll his eyes.

“So you’re the head bodyguard, right Oat?” Pete wonders still trying to understand how this small
amount of men can only work for Vegas. “I’ve seen you around the most.”

May as well ask them some questions since they’re stuck in the car together.

“Yes Mr-“ at Pete’s glare he relents. “Yes, Pete. I’m Mr Vegas’ head bodyguard.”

Yes he thought as much. Oat had appeared way too often at Vegas’ right hand for him to be
anything but.

“Why do you want to know?” Vegas wonders lazily, from his position lounging back against the
seat.

Pete turns away quickly so he’s not looking at him. “Why shouldn’t I know? Isn’t it just common
sense by this point? I should be aware of which ones are yours and which men are- Mr Korn’s.”

“Chaow and Jirayu,” Vegas says suddenly.

Pete doesn’t recognise them.

“Who?”

“The last two names you’re looking for. To add to your list.”

Pete pauses and looks over at him but Vegas’ eyes are closed, he looks like he’s about to go to
sleep. How would he know? Which of his guards have introduced themselves to Pete? Or that Pete
was even compiling a list of their names in the first place.

Is Vegas having his men report every interaction they might have had with Pete since the safe
house? Are they still keeping tabs on him like Pete first assumed they were?

“How did you- ?”

Vegas shrugs. “Like I said. You’re always gathering intel.”

Pete’s mouth pulls into a sharp line and he turns away again, this time looking out the window,
feeling defensive of his actions. Because what’s wrong with that?

Shouldn’t he know this information by now? The way Vegas said it though, as if he’s implying
something else. Implying Pete is the one only in it for the benefits of whatever information he
might gather first.

Does he think that Pete is currently spying for the main family? By now he’d have to have realised
that Pete isn’t working for Kinn. Isn’t really even working for Tankhun. Or at least, if Tankhun has
further plans to use Pete, he hasn’t let Pete in on them.

He can feel it suddenly. The added weight of Vegas’ assumptions.

Is this what it feels like when Pete does the same thing to him? It seems strange that they could
continue like this with such an enduring undercurrent of mistrust between them.

“Are we going back to the compound, Mr Vegas?” Oat wonders from the driver’s seat, still
watching Pete through the revision mirror, seeming uncertain of what action to take with with Pete
sitting in the car with them. “Or-“

“To the main family,” Pete interjects determinedly, resisting the urge to shift his attention back
towards Vegas in order to gauge his reaction. “Drop me off first.”

He’s expecting another little side glance from Oat over to Vegas for permission so he’s surprised
when Oat simply nods without need for further consultation and switches lanes, already adjusting
their course to return back to the hotel.

Pete does turn to stare at Vegas after that, certain like he’d been suspicious of it last time at the
compound that Vegas must have instructed his bodyguards to obey Pete’s orders. Why else would
they be so inexplicably accommodating? Why else would they be speaking to him respectfully as if
he was their employer?

It’s an uneasy kind of feeling to be suddenly placed about the other bodyguards in the car. As if
he’s been awarded a kind of unwritten status that he never asked for.

Pete doesn’t really like it. But can’t deny the possibility of the benefits, mind already working
furiously towards a practical plan of action.

“Hey Oat, you’re allowed to have personal phones in the minor family, right?”

Pete seems to recall that titbit from the hard sell Vegas gave Porsche barely a month ago. The
salesman like quality to his pitch of how little restrictions there were with the minor family
bodyguards, the way they treated them like family not indiscriminate body shields. Vegas in yet
another one of his silky shirts, the colour as red as the wine in his glass and his teeth sharp and
pointed with a knowing smile.

It’s still seems incredibly bizarre to Pete that Vegas had mostly succeeded in those efforts at the
time. Porsche had been practically eating it up. Was it due to charm? Or that his offer of freedom
simply outweighed the suffocating restrictions of the main family home?
Oat doesn’t seem to understand where Pete is going with this but he gives his answer readily
enough. “Yes, we can.”

“Great,” Pete agrees, holding his hand out expectantly. “Can you pass me yours?”

It feels almost like another test somehow but amazingly, Oat doesn’t hesitate again. Reaching into
his back pocket to tug his phone out from his jeans. By the time he’s handing it back over the
console, Vegas is sitting upright and looking at Pete intently. Almost leaning toward him with the
sudden shift of attention.

“Why do you want his number?” Vegas quietly demands, with a rough kind of intensity to it and
Pete’s thrown by how uneasy he sounds.

Is this the same kind of jealousy, of possessiveness that he saw earlier when they were waiting for
Oat to arrive? That same kind of unspoken claim of Pete to the outside world rearing its ugly head
again? Pete’s only just become aware that it’s possible for other men to look at him with interest.
That it’s possible for him to notice.

And even more possible for Vegas to become slightly unstrung as a result.

Does he think that Pete is trying to-?

Pete almost chokes out a laugh at the thought as he glances down at the screen. How could this
have ever crossed Vegas’ mind to begin with when Pete is clearly not the type for that? How can
he say that he understands Pete but then still think things like this?

Oat mustn’t care much for security because the phone is already unlocked when Pete taps at the
screen. There’s a photo of a pretty Thai woman smiling and cuddling a fluffy white cat as his
background photo. Which makes Pete wonder why he doesn’t have a passcode for his phone. It
feels private somehow to look at this woman who is clearly curled up in a bed.

Intimate somehow even with her fully clothed.

Oat’s girlfriend? Wife maybe?

“Because I need to be able to contact someone to make sure you’re not neglecting your injuries,”
Pete says almost absently as if the answer should have been obvious.

Why wouldn’t he try and get Oat’s contact number now that it’s been established he’s willing to
follow Pete’s orders? Who wouldn’t want to keep that option in their back pocket with the kind of
lives they live? Besides, with how difficult Vegas was today because of his injuries, Pete knows
that he’s going to need all the help that he can get to keep monitoring him.

When he goes to bring out the burner phone from his jacket, Pete’s fingers slide over Vegas’
leather wallet again and he quickly tosses it into Vegas’ lap. Embarrassed somehow by the edge of
domesticity to it. He hadn’t meant to keep hold of it- Pete had just forgotten it was still in his
possession.

Vegas doesn’t comment as he stows the wallet into the back pocket of his jeans, having to ease his
hips up off of the seat in order to reach. Pete’s eyes are naturally drawn towards the source of the
moment, lingering just a second too long on Vegas’ crotch and then he’s turning hastily back
towards the screen again, feeling the answering flush on his face.

He wasn’t looking on purpose. It was natural for the eyes to be drawn there with Vegas lifting his
hips up like that. If Vegas notices this he doesn’t feel the need to comment about it with their
current audience so Pete is able to slide the burner phone out of his jacket, unlock it and go into the
settings to find out the phone number that he still hasn’t memorised but probably should by now.

Then he’s going into Oat’s phone and creating a new contact.

He inputs the number listed against the burner phone and saves it under Pete as the contact name
and then sends himself a text message. A second later an unidentified number is appearing on his
phone announcing Oat’s contact number. Pete quickly creates a contact for Oat in the burner phone
and saves that too before leaning forward in the seat and handing the phone back.

Oat accepts it with surprising smoothness, one hand still on the wheel as it returns back to its
owner.

Somehow Vegas still doesn’t seem particularly enthused by this development. Pete can feel a
certain kind of absurdity in it. Does he not know about the woman that’s Oat’s phone background?

“You’ve got Macau’s number already,” Vegas mutters, in a markedly displeased kind of way, but
he’s flattening out his tone again like he thinks Pete won’t notice.

As if there’s any chance of that.

Pete only scoffs. “But he’ll do anything you ask. Oat at least recognises it’s in his best interest to
keep you alive. Even if that might mean disobeying your orders to do so.”

Besides Macau is too sheltered, too young to make the kind of judgement calls that Pete might
expect from someone with Vegas in their care. And he sincerely doubts that Vegas will let his little
brother be responsible for him whilst he’s injured right now. It’s more than likely he’s going to
continue on pushing his body beyond the current limits, reopening the wounds like he did today.

Of course Pete is going to need some way to check in on him if his father has no plans to let him
out of the compound and Pete has no intention of crossing paths with Mr Kan again if he can help
it.

“You can’t just call me to find out how I’m doing?” Vegas wonders, still attempting to unravel
Pete’s logic.

But he should know by now that it’s rooted in avoidance. Why else would he be so determined to
stop Pete from running away again?

At the slightest hint of their earlier fight, Pete’s expression darkens. Because Vegas has already
said he won’t call him, won’t chase after him anymore. So how can he honestly expect Pete to do
the same?

Besides-

“You’d lie,” Pete bluntly announces before tucking his phone away again. “Oat, he needs to
change the bandages regularly and keep washing out the wound on his arm. You’ve got your own
medical staff on hand for that?”

Oat glances over at Vegas again, who is already leaning back and looking out the window,
disinterested again. Or at least disinterested in the topic of conversation. It’s unsettling to see how
easily he detaches from his own body when it suits him.

Pete hadn’t anticipated that they could have that in common. Is it an effect of taking lessons in pain
as children? Or the cause?
“Mr Vegas doesn’t like to deal with any of the medical staff available at the compound.”

After what he’s witnessed today, Pete isn’t the least bit surprised by that. Honestly it’s shocking to
see how stubbornly against natural common sense he can be.

“Why the hell not?” This question, he decides to directs at Vegas. Go straight to the source in the
hopes of getting a clearer picture.

He’s more confident of Vegas’ answer that way. If Pete is asking him.

Then he remembers how Vegas was like at the main family house and leans in closer, lowering his
voice so that the others can’t overhear his theory. “You don’t like them touching you? You don’t
trust them?”

Vegas turns his chin then, meeting Pete’s eyes with sullen inflexibility.

“I don’t like doctors as a general rule. Especially the ones who work for my father.”

At that Pete realises the significance of his meaning without any need for further details. Because if
the beatings were ever too extreme it wasn’t as if Mr Kan would be sending Vegas off to the
hospital to seek treatment. He’d have his own staff take care of it.

In house.

Pete would imagine in Vegas’ eyes that they’re just as culpable. Just as volatile in their silent
patching up of him as his father was in his perpetration of it. There’s some kind of animal instinct
too, a sick kind of lingering rage towards the person witnessing that pain, who saw the rawness of
the suffering inflicted upon you. Saw you at your most inhuman.

Yes, Pete might understand that.

But now is not the time to take risks. To be utterly impractical with Vegas’ ongoing health.

“I don’t think you have much choice here, Vegas,” he mutters, trying to resist the urge to lecture
him. To drill into him the importance of keeping himself alive. “You can’t let these wounds get
infected. You could die. Do you understand? You need to have some kind of medical professional
monitoring them.”

Because it’s not like Pete will be able to sneak over and do it himself. Firstly because he’s nowhere
near qualified for that and second, Vegas' father would probably jump at the chance to kill Pete and
then make up a way to justify it afterward.

Besides there’s a challenge there now when there wasn’t before. And there’s no way in hell Pete
will break first by running off after him.

“Such concern for me,” Vegas teases but Pete can see there’s a grudging sense of acceptance in his
eyes. After today, after the additional visit to the clinic, he’s relenting to the necessity of it.

Finally. There would be no point to their challenge if Vegas died first before Pete could outlast
him.

“I wouldn’t have to if you just took care of yourself like a normal person,” Pete points out as if
amazed that it even needs to be said at this point.

But it makes no impact on Vegas whatsoever.

“Normal is overrated, baby.”

Pete scoffs but doesn’t disagree. By other people’s standards, Pete doubts that he’d be considered
normal either. “Please, you’d say that for just about anything.”

Vegas sighs a little, shifting in the seat and lifting his folded arm up like he’s trying to relieve
pressure from the sling. Pete eyes track the movement, carefully inspecting the bandages around
his forearm. But they’re still clean.

The bleeding has stopped for now at least.

There’s not much time to inspect him further because suddenly when he glances around them
again, Oat is already turning into the long driveway of the hotel. Automatically Pete sits up
straighter, taking in the two guards posted by the door, the way they straighten up too at the
approaching vehicle.

When Oat pulls up to the side still leaving room for other vehicles to get past as he slides the car
into park, Pete goes to unclip his seatbelt next, turning almost instinctively back towards Vegas.

Who is already tilted towards him. Expectant.

Then they’re silent for another suggestive second, regarding each other.

When Vegas raises an eyebrow at him and Pete realises what he was waiting for, he flushes and
immediately pulls away, breaking the moment and fumbling behind his back for the door handle.

“Are you waiting for something?” Vegas asks innocently, placing his hand flat on the seat and
leaning forward as if he’s unaware of what narrowing the space between them does to Pete. “Or
are you asking for something?”

Pete so utterly incensed by the self-satisfied condescension of it that he’s physically trembling.

“Neither,” he says stiffly, already opening the door and searching for the nearest exist. “Good bye,
Vegas.”

He can’t put distance between them fast enough.

“Bye, baby,” Vegas says, grinning and visibly enjoying himself now. Looking completely
entertained by Pete’s fumbling. By the way he’s appearing harassed, almost flustered with
vexation. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you soon enough.”

The confidence in his tone has Pete’s practically enflamed. To think he’d dare to say this when he’s
physically incapacitated and Pete is agitated beyond belief by his earlier actions and still,
incredibly, armed with a weapon to shoot him with if he so desired it.

But Vegas just talks like the consequences never crossed his mind. They never do.

“No, you fucking won’t.”

At the sound of Vegas’ answering chuckle, Pete is all motion, stumbling out through the open
door. Next thing he’s aware of he’s standing in the main family driveway, car door clutched tightly
in hand, and Vegas’ delighted laugh still echoing in his ears.

Then Pete’s slamming it shut as hard as he can, without even bothering to say goodbye to Oat and
Namo.
Somehow it’s even more embarrassing to think he has them as witnesses to that last interaction. Did
they realise what that lingering pause was for? Pete sincerely hopes not.

He doesn’t know what he was thinking. What he was expecting. Because Vegas won’t kiss him
now. Won’t do anything now. He’s made that perfectly clear.

Nothing will be happening between them in future.

Not unless Pete asks for it.

Swearing under his breath, Pete stomps over towards the main glass doors, nodding at Guitar and
Daeng who are standing nearby ready to greet any guests. Considering the situation upstairs, Pete
doesn’t stop for small talk. Doesn’t think he could manage it at the moment with his temper so
close to the surface.

Pete feels like he’s nothing but a short fuse right now.

When the doors automatically open, he strides directly into the lobby without looking back at the
SUV again although he’s painfully aware that it’s still parked because he can see it out of the
corner of his eye.

Why are they still waiting? Does Vegas want to make sure he’s completely inside the building first
before driving away?

Distinctly uncomfortable now, Pete manages a weak smile at Waan still posted in the lobby and
goes straight towards the elevators, pushing the button to call it down to the lobby. Whilst he
stands there waiting, Pete wonders how he’s going to track down Porsche in the hotel- assuming
that he won’t be in their room right now.

Is it likely he’s with Kinn? Or will they have pushed him out of the waiting room, citing family
only as they wait for news?

Or do they already have the news and Pete is still one of the only ones left out of the loop?

Surprisingly he doesn’t have to wait long. Suddenly the doors are opening to his left, presumably
because there was already someone coming down to the lobby when Pete arrived to press the
button in the first place.

He waits a second, allowing enough room for whoever to pass but when nobody steps out ,Pete
moves into the open space, finally sighting Porsche tucked up in the corner of the lift, leaning back
against the wall.

He springs up into an upright position but Pete is already rushing forward, yanking a surprised
looking Porsche into a fierce hug.

“Are you alright?” he wonders when Porsche grips at him harder than usual.

Already Pete is letting him go in order to peer into his face and read his expression better.
Porsche’s skin looks almost glossy under the fluorescent lights and he’s not smiling. Pete can’t
find a trace of joy, of the usual playful mischief in his eyes.

He seems smaller. Muted somehow.

“It was bad, was it?” Pete guesses, concerned as he goes to reach out and press their floor.
He pauses once noting the penthouse level is already lit up. Porsche must have pressed the button
when the elevator arrived in the lobby.

Porsche just looks at him for a moment without answering. Then he says in an odd tone, that seems
guarded to Pete, “You’re missing a button on your shirt.”

Impulsively he peers down at himself despite already being aware of this fact. But then Pete
shrugs, as if in acceptance of this mild imperfection in his uniform and looks back at Porsche
again, wondering why he was coming down to the lobby like this.

He raises an eyebrow next. “Were you- going somewhere?”

Porsche shakes his head, still looking grim. It makes Pete feel more uneasy than he already felt
finding out the news about Mr Korn. But Porsche must be subdued like this because of what
happened to him. What he must have found out about this family.

“Arm spotted you on the security camera in the driveway. He called me.”

Of course. Pete’s comings and goings are probably being as closely monitored as Porsche’s are
now. Is that the consequence to being of particular interest to the eldest Theerapanyakul sons?

Even so Pete can admit to being a little perplexed by this. By Porsche’s readiness to seek him out.
After the recent tension between them. “You were keeping tabs on when I returned?”

Porsche shrugs and can’t quite meet his eyes.

“I wanted to talk to someone. Someone other than Kinn, who doesn’t really have the capacity to
listen right now, and I- don’t really trust anyone else.”

But he trusts Pete still? After everything he did? Everything that he withheld from Porsche?

“Okay,” Pete agrees, realising that this is probably a bad sign of how the conversation between
Porsche and Mr Korn must have gone. “But the penthouse-?”

“Let’s go outside,” Porsche insists, as if he’s unaware that it’s off limits to bodyguards not on duty.
“On the balconies. Less chance of being overheard there.”

Who is he afraid of overhearing them? Pete feels even more misgivings than he did before.

“Bodyguards aren’t really meant to be out there unless they’ve been stationed-“

“No one will be out there,” Porsche tells him with a confidence that speaks of inside knowledge.
“The place is practically on lock down at the moment. The non-essentials are on leisure time until
further notice.”

“Leisure time?” Pete repeats, shocked by this announcement. “That many-?”

“They’re scrambling,” Porsche admits, glancing about the small space as if it's suddenly closing in
on him more than it was a second ago. “I think Kinn doesn’t want the word to get out about Mr
Korn before they have a conclusive update of his condition. That’s why he’s grounded everyone.”

But- how does that make sense? The move is not to grind things to a sudden halt. That makes the
lack of power in the seat at the top only the more obvious to those at the bottom.

“And the guards already out on mission?” Pete demands, trying to get a full understanding of the
situation. “The ones in the clubs? In the casinos?”
“I don’t know,” Porsche tells him. “I wasn’t there for all of the decisions. And I didn’t think to ask
about them.”

Well of course not. Why would he? Porsche has hardly even been a bodyguard for very long. Why
would he be aware of all the different elements of it? Pete will have to find Chan later to somehow
get a clearer, more accurate picture of the situation.

“What’s the latest update on Mr Korn’s condition?” he wonders instead, curious at Kinn’s efforts
to regain control of a captainless ship. “Were you around to hear that?”

Porsche takes a deep breath, like he’s preparing to dive off into the deep end.

“The last update was half an hour ago and I don’t think it was good news.”

It’s not entirely unexpected but it is less than ideal. Pete can only nod, grimly accepting that for
what it is.

When the doors open at the penthouse level, Pete glances around the halls automatically but
Porsche was right. There’s no one currently on duty out here. In the hallways or outside on the
balcony floor where the pools and the gardens are.

Pete’s still looking around but Porsche strides straight past him, moving determinedly towards the
glass doors that would lead them both outside.

When Pete hurries forward to catch up, trying to ignore his misgivings about the situation, Porsche
leans over towards him with a hand outstretched and another just resting against the glass handle,
not quite pushing it open yet.

“Here,” Porsche says, placing a key into Pete’s open palm.

Pete glances down at the small shape now in his hand. He sees the words Ducati etched into the
side of it and realises what these are for.

“Vegas’ bike?”

Porsche nods. “It’s parked in the garages downstairs.”

“Why are you giving it to me?”

It’s not like Pete is planning to return to the compound soon to drop it off himself. Especially not
after today.

“Because I sure as hell wasn’t going to give it back to him.” Porsche says just as he’s pushing the
doors open, leading them outside into the humid air.

The temperature has dropped a little, the sun close to setting along the horizon now, streaks of
fading sunlight piercing through gaps in the buildings before them. Pete moves ahead
automatically until he’s right at the edge of the balcony, looking at the pink and orange hues
smudging the background of the cityscape and high rises.

He can feel strands of his hair lifting beneath the breeze, the wind seeming to have picked up since
he was last outside. Or maybe it’s to do with the height now, the level at which he and Porsche are
standing, towering over the rest of the world.

Pete stows Vegas’ keys in his pocket and peers quietly over the edge, leaning his forearms on the
glass barrier, watching the traffic, the city, all still moving below.

This is as great a place for this conversation as anywhere else.

“What happened?” he asks when Porsche sidles up to join him. “How did you end up on the back
of Vegas’ bike today?”

Porsche’s hair is rippling in the breeze too and he looks different from how Pete last saw him. As
if changed somehow by the things he’s learned.

“He approached me when you were in your meeting with Mr Korn. I don’t know how but he knew
about my uncle. Knew where he was hiding out. Offered to front the money I needed.”

Suddenly Pete realises why he and Chan had found Vegas in the corridor. Yes, he had been looking
for Pete, but it’s likely he was returning from his talk with Porsche at the time- not coming out of
Pete’s room like he’d initially assumed.

How did Vegas manage to get to Porsche without Kinn noticing? Without the cameras picking it
up in the building?

Whoever this spy is who’s helping him, they must be very skilled.

Or Vegas somehow has the talent of walking through walls and just never thought to mention it.

“That’s why you were asking me in the driveway, if I trust him,” Pete realises, finding it easier to
look at the view than at Porsche. There’s more room for a conversation that way. Less chance of
accusation.

And more opportunity for the sharing of secrets. It's hard to be deceitful up here when everything
around them suddenly seems so much smaller. “He’d already spoken to you then? You were trying
to decide whether to go through with it.”

Pete should have realised, that his answer was enough to convince Porsche. He was certain enough
about Vegas’ feelings for Pete that he risked his own life on it.

“Yeah, figured it was a safe bet, going with him. After the last time he wasn’t going to risk
upsetting you. So I knew for sure he’d play nice.”

Pete doesn’t comment on that but can acknowledge there was some sound logic behind it. Vegas
was very aware of Pete’s frustration after he’d been shitty to Porsche last time. Porsche clearly
recognised the advantage and pressed upon it to suit his own needs.

Pete finds himself less bothered about that somehow too. It seems right that Vegas should have
fronted the money, that he should have helped Porsche find his answers, given Porsche his bike to
escape. After the way Vegas treated him before.

After he drugged him. After he tried to-

Yes, Vegas owes Porsche for what he’s done.

“And- your uncle,” Pete says slowly, expression tightening. “That was him right? The one who got
shot.”

Porsche’s expression darkens. “Yeah that was Thee.”

Was. Past tense. Will Porsche tell Porchay about his death? Or will he lie to spare him the pain of
the truth? Is it worse to know a familiar member was murdered or that they betrayed you first? Pete
isn’t sure.

“Vegas told me some of what he said,” he continues. “Something about lying about your parent’s
car crash?”

As if that’s a perfectly reasonable thing to do. How is Porsche meant to move past something like
that? Pete isn’t sure how he’d have reacted if he were in the same position.

“Yeah,” Porsche sighs, interlocking his fingers atop the glass barrier and easing back until it looks
like he’s stretching like a cat, arching his back as he tilts his head down towards his shoes.

Pete doesn’t think he actually needs to stretch though. Porsche looks like he just needs to move his
body, to try and shake out some of the physical agitation when he tits his neck down into the
stretch, focusing on his feet for a moment.

“I remembered, after the gunshots,” Porsche quietly admits. “I was back home, hiding in one of the
small cupboards when two men shot my father.”

How badly traumatised must Porsche have been to have rewritten his memory like that? Pete
almost can’t believe it. But it makes sense. Porsche was still so young, and he trusted his uncle.
Why wouldn’t he believe the new story he was fed?

“Two men?” he repeats. “And you witnessed all of it? Was it a burglary or something?”

But that doesn’t explain Mr Korn’s involvement. Unless it was an attack on his orders? But what
beef could the family have had with Porsche’s parents? Until their death, Porsche had given the
impression of growing up in a stable household. Not that his parents were secret criminals with ties
to the mafia.

“I was hiding but not for real. I was messing around when my father let the men in. They were all
seated at the table and I remember thinking I didn’t want to interrupt them. Didn’t want to get
scolded. My mother was there but she went away into the kitchen. They were saying something
about her going back with them which made my father very angry. There were raised voices and
then-“

Pete thinks about the way Mr Korn has been behaving about Porsche. The allowances he’s given
him that he’s never really given to any other bodyguards.

“It was them wasn’t it?” Pete realises, heart sinking. “The Theerapanyakuls.”

Of course it was them. Why else would Mr Korn have been so determined to keep Porsche onboard
when he hadn’t made much of an impression with his skills as a bodyguard. Guilt can be a
powerful motivator.

“I took Vegas’ bike and went back home, and it was like a flip had been switched. Suddenly I
could remember it all. I remembered their faces. I recognised the both of them. Then I went back-“

“To confront Mr Korn.”

Porsche nods. “I heard him on the phone talking about my Uncle Thee, hearing the report from the
man who’d shot him. He’d ordered his death, then told him to bring me back safely.”

It doesn’t surprise Pete in the slightest. Porsche’s uncle had proven himself a liability time and time
again. Of course Mr Korn would have reached a breaking point eventually. And Porsche’s uncle
would have finally run out of chances.

“I put a gun to his head.”

Pete winces, recalling Vegas’ earlier glee at the possibility. The hope that Porsche might very well
shoot Mr Korn out of misplaced rage. Obviously he’d been right in that assessment. Porsche had
been upset enough to put the gun to his head. Pete can’t fault him for that.

If Mr Korn had been upfront from the beginning maybe things wouldn’t have been like this.

“I told him I remembered that they didn’t die in the car crash. That they’d been shot and killed. By
him.”

Pete inhales sharply. “You remembered it was Mr Korn? You’re certain?”

Porsche doesn’t look at him. “I wasn’t certain. I’m not sure that I did see who had the gun. Who it
was that shot my father. But he was the one who knew. Who was the one who lied to me.”

Pete nods, understanding how badly Mr Korn had handled the situation. How he’d ruined
Porsche’s life before Pete had ever even met him.

“But Mr Korn said that I was wrong. Said he’d never do that since Namphueng was, since my
mother was- his sister.”

Pete goes perfectly still. “- what?” he demands, voice rising. “He’s- your-,”

Then with dawning horror. “You and Kinn. You’re really-?”

The side profile of Porsche’s face ripples with disgust.

“Wait- he really said that? Said you were actually related?” Pete stresses louder now before
glancing around and substantially lowering his voice. “You’ve been fucking your cousin?”

Porsche’s expression is a grimace but not to the same degree of traumatised that Pete might have
expected of him. Why isn’t this freaking him out? Is it because he’s had enough time to process the
inescapable horror of this information?

“Yeah, he was nice enough to let me think that for another five minutes before he thought to
clarify my mother was his adopted sister. The dick.”

Oh thank fuck.

The noise Pete lets out at that is half strangled with relief. But why the hell would Mr Korn have
even said that to begin with? Why allow such a misunderstanding to cross Porsche’s mind?

It must have been part of his game. Part of the strategy for keeping Porsche in line. Keeping him
distracted when he had a gun trained on him.

But as for his methods-

Pete is completely amazed. “I can’t believe he did that to you.”

“Me and Kinn. This was just after Kinn showed up.”

Then it seems like a very particular kind cruelty, aimed at them both.
“If you’re not related what was the point of that? Why make you think your relationship was
incest? I thought he was accepting of you both as a couple?”

Why else would he have done that? Except to show his disapproval in some way.

“I think he was trying to blame us for not letting the past go. Trying to punish me for not dropping
it. Like it’s my fault that he and his brother are responsible for my parent’s deaths. What a piece of
work.”

Pete glances around them nervously this time. “Maybe you should lower your voice.”

“I don’t care,” Porsche declares loudly. “He’s a bastard. They’re all bastards.”

Pete can’t deny the truth in that. It’s no wonder Porsche wasn’t smiling when Pete met him in the
elevator.

He’s had a hell of an afternoon.

“Then he basically said my mother grew up with them and left the family when she met my father.
Mr Korn said he was sent there to our house that day to finally bring her back and it was Mr Kan
who shot him. Who killed them both. Then he told me Uncle Thee was also one of his people he’d
sent to look after me and my brother and that was about when he collapsed.”

Pete is silent for a moment, trying to process all of this information.

“Fuck,” Pete says, in summation, realising the precarious situation they’re all in right now. “What
do you believe? That it was Mr Korn or Mr Kan? What do you remember?”

But who can really say. And at the end of the day does it actually matter which brother it was?
They both lied to cover it up. To protect one another at the expense of Porsche and his entire
family.

“I remember seeing my father collapse face first onto our floor, blood pooling against his white
shirt.”

What a memory for a small child to take on. To make a part of their reality. Pete feels a flash of
sympathy well up inside him even as he’s grimacing at the vivid image.

It feels worse somehow to know something like that happened to Porsche, when his childhood had
been previously unmarred by violence, by feeling unsafe and unloved, and knowing you were at
fault for all of it.

At least in Pete’s case it would have been a familiar backdrop to an already well fleshed out
picture. He wishes somehow that the small child Porsche had been untouched by all of this. That it
somehow hadn’t happened to him and his brother.

What Pete would have given at the same age to see his own father face down on the floor, blood
spilling slowly out of him?

They have lived such vastly different lives only to end up in the same place.

Fate must have a strange sense of humour.

“So you didn’t have a direct view of the shooter where you were hiding?” Pete wonders with a mild
kind of persistence. Any detail, no matter how small could be important to understanding exactly
what happened. Porsche may not have seen and understood things as a child that he might now as
an adult who’s viewed more of the world. “What about your mother?”

It seems a strangely significant detail that she had left the room when the killing had happened.
Unless she really was just preparing snacks to host their guests? Or was she afraid of them? Was
she hiding?

“She came back at the sound of the gunshot. And- I saw the life drain from her eyes when she
walked back in and saw his body. Then she just collapsed and they were hovering over her.”

What an intimate kind of murder this was.

But the brothers rushing to her aid, Pete still finds a little puzzling. Surely if they had truly cared
about Namphueng, then they wouldn’t have gone and shot her husband then? There’s a certain
degree of duplicity here that doesn’t quite make sense to him.

“So they didn’t kill her? She died- of shock?”

Porsche clutches at his head for a brief moment as if the pressure of these memories are physically
paining him. The expression on his face is confused. Tortured.

“I don’t know. It’s all a mess after that.”

Arguably it was a mess before that too. And where was Porchay in all of this? Surely not hiding in
the same cupboard with Porsche.

“Fucking hell,” Pete says, just as a way to vent some of the ugliness from the moment. The tinge of
violence tainting the air around them. “What a nightmare. And- what are you going to do now? Are
you going to leave? Or- wait for Mr Korn to die and hope he was the one who killed them?”

Does he want vengeance for this? Pete won’t argue that Mr Kan and Mr Korn don’t deserve it.

But at the heaviness of the question, Porsche finally turns to face him, appearing utterly miserable.
Anxiously torn by the impossibility of his current circumstances.

“Leave where? The man I love is here. Porchay stays safe with a roof over his head if I’m here. I
was barely scraping by before I arrived. I can’t keep our house on a bartender’s salary.”

Pete winces again, thinking of how thoroughly trapped Porsche now is in this situation.
Emotionally. Financially. Physically. There are so many levels of control, so many cords now
wrapped around him. Even if Porsche did run, how could he support himself and Porchay and still
manage to keep their house?

Even now it’s not unreasonable to think that the Theerapanyakuls still owe the Kittisawats.
Especially after they tore Porsche’s family entirely apart and never looked back.

Mr Korn says they been keeping an eye on them but how long was Porsche struggling before he
arrived here? Pete recognised that look of desperation in his eyes as soon as he’d met him. The
family would have known it, would have known all of it and simply chose not to act.

Pete couldn’t imagine something more unforgivable.

“At least if I stay here,” Porsche continues, mouth twisting with disquiet. “And Mr Korn does die,
Kinn will be the one to take over. Things will change.”
Kinn is not the person Pete would ever place his hopes on. But he quickly averts his eyes, not
wanting Porsche to see the doubt in that. Why would he shatter that fragile sense of optimism that
Porsche still has? Because Kinn does care about him, might even be good to him if he had the
room for it.

But Pete knows that when things get hard, when the stress becomes too much, the softer sides of
Kinn begin to retreat. Start to vanish inside of himself so he can be hard and resolute and
everything of the family heir that he’s meant to be.

Pete thinks Porsche has seen hints of this but not enough to recognise it as a pattern yet. And with
everything happening to his father right now, Porsche is likely to be hurt at Kinn’s sudden
retreating. The erasure of everything vulnerable inside himself for the sake of the family.

So Pete doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t say that after everything he’s seen of Kinn lately, he’s
doubtful of what kind of an effective leader he could be.

Not to mention the clear, merciless truth that Mr Kan is planning to take the position right out from
under him the first opening he gets.

It’s not safe for Porsche here with the family. But how different would his circumstances be back
out in the world again?

Pete empathises deeply with his situation. Isn’t he in the exact same boat? Pete relies heavily on
his salary as a bodyguard to support his grandmother. That’s the kind of men the Theerapanyakuls
tend to seek out because they know it’s easier to keep desperate men under their thumb. When they
rely heavily on their money.

“And Mr Kan and Vegas?” Pete has to remind him, hating to be the one to burst that trusting
fantasy. “They’re not going to just go away Porsche. The coup is still happening. Maybe Mr
Korn’s death will even speed it along. They’ll have to make a play for Kinn in the power shift.
They’d be fools not to.”

Of course they have to take Kinn out. Vegas despises him too much not to target him immediately.
There’s too much emotion. Too much bad blood there for him not to.

Porsche sighs and throws his hands up as if he’s asking the universe at large for a break. “I know
you’re right,” he mutters, helplessly stuck just as Pete is. “But I still wish it wasn’t a possibility.”

Pete wishes it wasn’t a possibility too.

“You know I was thinking of bringing Porchay here?” he says after they’re quiet for a moment,
digesting the danger of their realities. “I thought- you know it might be safer than leaving him
alone. Before I found out about everything that this family has done to us. Now I don’t want him
anywhere near this place.”

After knowing the truth who would? Who would trust Mr Korn and Mr Kan after they so callously
abandoned Porsche and Porchay to becoming orphans, to a fate they did not deserve but was
created for them. Pete can understand Porsche’s decision. If he had a sibling he wouldn’t want
them here. At least his grandmother lives further away. Is harder for anyone to get to immediately
if they ever thought about trying to hurt her to punish him.

Something in him quivers at the thought, and he tries to remind himself that he needs to call her
again soon. Needs to find some way to ensure that she’s protected if the empire does collapse
around them.
Pete has done many terrible things. Most of them illegal. Without the Theerapanyakuls paying off
the police, they could come for him. Could try to punish him for everything he’s had a hand in.

This empire has always been a stack of cards. No matter how much the Theerapanyakuls pretended
it was built from steel.

“You’re right. Don’t bring him here,” Pete agrees, thinking of what a terrible idea that would have
been. Especially now. “This place is too volatile at the moment anyway.”

Don’t they both know it. And with the minor family’s attack incoming, likely any day now, the
further Porchay is from this place the better.

Although maybe Vegas’ injuries have thrown a wrench in that plan. But Pete can’t rule out the
possibility that Mr Kan would simply carry on with the coup without him.

“And you,” Porsche says, as if remembering, when he turns to face Pete fully. “You’re the reason
Vegas left me with the bike in the first place. I heard you calling his name.”

Pete flushes at that, rubs at his chin. Is this what Porsche wants to discuss now?

“It was instinctive. I wasn’t expecting him to actually-“

“Really?” Porsche echoes at that, surprised that Pete would even try to deny it. “You weren’t?
After the way he acts around you? And the fact that those Italians might still want to murder you?”

Porsche clearly doesn’t seem to think that Vegas would have just left him there either. That’s- fair
but Pete doesn’t really want to examine this in any real detail at the moment. Not when their last
conversation, confrontation, still feels so raw.

So Pete shrugs, focusing on the traffic below them again and watches the small speck of a
motorbike weave expertly between the slow moving cars. It’s a fixed point to focus his energy on
at least.

“I don’t know- it still surprised me,” he admits, and suddenly he’s recalling the both of them back
in the alleyway, Vegas walking away from him. Vegas not kissing him in the SUV. “Most of the
time I think I understand him- and then it’s like he’s trying to prove me wrong.”

Porsche stares at him intently for a moment, appearing like he very much wants to ask something
but isn’t sure how it will be received.

Pete tries not to sigh. “Just say it. Whatever it is.”

“Alright. How long have you been having sex?” he wonders, with a careful kind of distance like
he’s trying not to place any judgement in it. “He’s made that comment this morning, but I’d rather
hear it from you.”

Pete’s startled for a second. Does Porsche actually want to know about the details of that? Or is he
asking for the sole reason that Pete never told him it was happening? Was too much of a coward to
admit it?

“We’ve barely- “ Pete starts, deeply embarrassed to be discussing this.

Does Porsche- want details? Locations? Positions?

Why does he even want to know? Or is it because he’s certain that it can’t be done without Vegas
taking advantage in some way? Does he want the confirmation first that Pete is now compromised
in his judgement of the situation?

“The first time was after picking up Macau at Iconsiam, when we were in the middle of collecting
Tankhun’s Gucci order. Right after I took him back to the compound. And Vegas was following us
the whole way.”

The details of that encounter, the rawness of their fight, flickers through his mind and Pete pivots
away from it. As if removing his fingertips from the blistering heat of a fire. Or prodding
determinedly at a bruise that hasn’t quite faded yet.

“Wait- “ Porsche begins, sounding surprised as he puts the pieces together based off this new
timeline. “So that’s part of why you were freaking so much that day? Because you did- things and
then he was like declaring his love for you?”

Trying to keep himself distant, to not fully revisit the moment, Pete nods grimly.

“That was it? That was the first time it was consensual?”

There’s the strain of it in his voice now. The undercurrent of disbelief. And Pete meets Porsche’s
eyes, surprised that he’s surprised. “Yes. There’s only been three- encounters.”

Porsche snorts at the way Pete carefully says ‘encounters’ like he’s easing himself into boiling
water.

“Oh,” Porsche says, still looking stunned. But why is this even getting that kind of reaction when
he’s known all along about Pete’s reluctant interest in Vegas. “I thought- when we were in the
loading dock, you were so calm with his hands all over you-“

“Because I don’t see him as a physical threat,” Pete says quickly, somehow still feeling the flush of
answering heat in his face at that. “At least not in that way. Sexually maybe.”

Neither of them feel the need to delve deeper into that. But Porsche still seems like he’s trying to
rearrange everything in his mind and make it finally make sense.

Pete isn’t sure why he needs to process this. Wasn’t he at least vaguely aware that this could be a
possibility after all of the things Pete has told him? After he’s admitted to his attraction to Vegas?

“I thought things might have been going on longer than that and- you just weren’t telling me.”

Oh.

So this is the consequence of Pete not keeping Porsche in the loop. Of not telling him the identity
of his attacker once he’d discovered it. Now Porsche is naturally assuming that he’s been
withholding other things. Lying further by omission.

And why shouldn’t he? It’s not like Pete has been one hundred per cent honest. He has hidden lots
of things from a lot of different people. At this point, Porsche misunderstanding the degree of his
association with Vegas is nothing shocking.

“That’s understandable. I didn’t exactly tell you when it did happen,” Pete points out, because he
has been unfair to Porsche when Porsche has been so honest with him. “I just wasn’t sure how to
explain. Because I knew I had to tell you about what I’d learned and I couldn’t justify my ongoing
attraction to him at the same time. Not after you’ve been so good to me. I couldn’t-“
“Just because you’re attracted to him doesn’t mean you’re suddenly making excuses for his shitty
behaviour to you and me. I know you’ve given him shit about it. He wouldn’t have suddenly tried
to help out with me and Kinn if you hadn’t.”

Pete doesn’t feel like he can accept that as the commendation Porsche is trying to make it out to be.
He didn’t do nearly enough. Barely managed to get Vegas to back off in the first place. It’s
Porsche’s connection to Kinn that keeps making him Vegas’ target, no matter how Pete tries to
intervene.

“It wasn’t just that, it’s like I told you earlier- I had to incentivise him with my empty bed.”

Porsche’s expression is cagey. “And how exactly did you do that, Pete?”

Pete shifts back again, pretends to be thoroughly engrossed with one of the flowers poking out of
the greenery beside him.

“I told him if you and Kinn were getting along my room would be empty. I was implying- no it
was an invitation.”

There’s no use pretending that. Pete knew what he was doing when he’d suggested it. At least then
he’d been fully prepared for the consequences of the offer.

“Shit Pete,” Porsche says, frowning at the thought. “Did you do that just for me? Or for yourself?”

What a question.

“It was the neatest solution,” he can’t help but say, still avoiding Porsche’s eyes. “To stop him
taking shots at you just because of your proximity to Kinn.”

And it did work didn’t it? What does it matter what Pete had to do to make it happen? With his link
to Kinn, Pete had no hope of simply asking Vegas to leave Porsche alone. Of course he needed to
sweeten the deal, to make it more appealing to Vegas.

Isn’t that obvious to Porsche?

“And the whole inviting him into your bed part? Please tell me that’s because you wanted it too.”

Pete awkwardly clears his throat at that. But knows Porsche won’t accept anything less than a
confirmation. He’d start taking on the guilt otherwise and Pete is entirely responsible for his own
choices.

“I wasn’t thinking only of you,” he admits, skin hot as he glances down at his shirt again where it’s
slightly open due to the missing button. He’s still not even sure how that happened. Whose hand it
was that tugged it free. “It was the smartest way to achieve both objectives. I wanted- him in my
bed and for once I- acted on the impulse.”

And it was an impulse of the moment. Pete can admit to himself that he didn’t exactly think it
through as much as he should have. What would he have done if Vegas had shown up to their
apartment uninjured? What might he have permitted to happen between them last night?

Unlikely they’d ever find that out now.

“Shit,” Porsche mutters, rubbing awkwardly at his mouth as he glances at Pete again still seeming
unsure. The tension from their fight still hasn’t quite abated yet. “I made some assumptions after he
dumped that bombshell about being the one who attacked me.”
It would be hard not to in a heated moment like that.

“Yeah,” Pete says, sighing heavily at memory. “Trust that he was only doing it to stir up trouble
with you and Kinn. Your feelings didn’t factor into it. You were just a means to an end to him.
He’s a callous bastard.”

Is it worse that Pete hasn’t forgotten that and still wants Vegas anyway? Is it better to leap from a
great height with eyes firmly shut or wide open?

“I don’t mean about him,” Porsche scoffs as if he doesn’t have the patience to spare any stray
thoughts on Vegas right now. “I made assumptions about you. When I saw the way you were
acting. The way you already knew about it and hadn’t told me-“

Pete winces with regret at that.

“I just assumed. Well I assumed-“

“That I was caught in the spell he seems so capable of putting people under?” Pete guesses, finally
recognising Porsche’s misgivings. “That I was completely brainwashed by him?”

Porsche is the one grimacing now and nods in silent admission of the fact.

“It’s not surprising. You should doubt me, should question me,” Pete tells him. “I do feel caught
most days. He can be so fucking charming when he wants to be. And so infuriating.”

But both of these qualities feel dangerous to Pete. Porsche is still nodding as if he understands.

“About the GHB,” Porsche starts hesitantly after they’re quiet again. “Did Vegas tell you what his
plan was? Do you think he was going to-“

At the directness of the question, Pete cringes.

“He said it was for Kinn. That he’d noticed Kinn’s attraction to you and wanted him to discover
you half naked, confused and looking like-“

“He’d put his hands all over me,” Porsche finishes for him, a new degree of stiffness in his voice.
“But- if Kinn hadn’t stopped him. Do you think-? Did he say- ?”

Pete groans and rubs a hand over his face at the awful shift in topic. “He recounted the whole thing
with a sickening kind of indifference. Said it wasn’t the plan to rape you, he just wanted to show
Kinn he could mark up what Kinn thought was his. But he was vague. Said something about you
close to being sick-“

“I was sick,” Porsche says, surprised by this detail. “I’m pretty sure I threw up everywhere.”

It’s too bad he didn’t get Vegas before he’d fled. Being covered in Porsche’s vomit would certainly
have ruined things for him. And Vegas would have deserved it. Would have deserved more had
Pete been there in time to interrupt him.

“Yeah,” he says shortly, trying to gauge if he should continue. “Yeah- that makes sense.”

What he has to say is worse, if possible. Porsche doesn’t really need to hear it. Not unless he
actually wants to know it for himself.

“There’s more. There’s more isn’t there?” Porsche asks, picking up on Pete’s hesitance very
intuitively. “Just say it. I want to know.”
Pete exhales a long breath, ending in a deep, heavily weighted kind of sigh.

“He said that it was dull I think. Almost too easy. Like- like it was boring to him.” Porsche’s
expression is terrible and Pete regrets saying anything at all, feels the need to add. “He’s a piece of
shit.”

“Lucky me,” Porsche says with a hollow laugh. “That Kinn got there first.”

It sounds ominous when Porsche puts it like that and Pete can’t help but frown a little at the edge
in his voice, not quite understanding the meaning.

“How did you feel on the GHB anyway?” he wonders, mostly to offset the tension and redirect the
conversation to a lighter subject. “It mostly just knocked me out for a few hours.”

“Yeah,” Porsche says blinking rapidly all of a sudden. “We didn’t do much sleeping.”

Despite his previous inexperience with men, Pete understands the significance of what he’s saying
immediately and his face goes slack with horror. “You were- ? Kinn- forced himself on you?” he
demands, shocked beyond belief.

It’s a behaviour almost expected of Vegas after the way he likes to conduct himself, how the rules
of society seem to bend for him. But not Kinn. Somehow Pete would never have thought it of
Kinn.

Not when he has regular lovers. Not when he’s paid for some of their services.

Porsche squints with ongoing confusion. “I don’t really remember it all that well. I think I was very
horny. It’s possible- that I initiated it.”

Like that even makes a difference. When Kinn wasn’t the one drugged. When he was the one
sober. Or at least sober enough to recognise it wasn’t the right situation in which to be starting up
something like that.

“While you were drugged out of your mind,” Pete points out, amazed that he needs to point this
out. “And Kinn wasn’t. That’s- actually really shitty Porsche. Why didn’t you ever tell me at the
time?”

For all of his horrific acts, Vegas had never once pretended it was consensual between them.
They’d always known it was rape. He’d been plenty vocal about Pete’s attraction to him, his
enjoyment of what they were doing together. But he’d never tried to deny that it was forced.

And Pete had never had to suffer the kind of situational murkiness afterwards that Porsche did.

Even so, Porsche just shrugs at the words as if it’s not really that significant to him. “We didn’t
know each other all that well. I was kind of embarrassed. I’d never- with a guy before.”

Every time Porsche opens his mouth Pete is disliking the details of it less and less. For all his
protective talk about Pete and consent, how did this never come up between them?

“That’s even worse,” Pete snaps, pushing away from the edge and pacing the balcony like he
doesn’t know what to do with himself. “Did you confront Kinn after? Did you at least talk about
it?”

Porsche looks at Pete like he’s surprised by his reaction. That anyone else might hear the same
story and find something wrong with it. Pete can find plenty of things wrong with it right now.
“Not really.”

What a horrible thing to happen to Porsche. To escape one attacker and fall into something equally
as sinister. As off putting as waking up the next day knowing in your body that you'd had sex but
having no memory of it whatsoever.

What was it? Kinn wanted Porsche so badly that he simply couldn’t help himself?

Do none of the Theerapanyakuls have any kind of restraint?

Pete could only be confident that Tankhun isn’t acting like that. But that’s simply because he never
leaves the hotel. Never takes any sexual partners. Pete’s not even quite sure that he knows where
his sexuality lies. Tankhun seems almost as disconnected from physical desire as Pete is.

And Kim-

Well Pete hardly knows what Kim gets up to in his separate life but he knows for a fact it’s in his
best interest to keep it that way.

“That’s not normal,” he tells Porsche, insisting now because if they can talk about him and Vegas,
they can definitely do the same about Porsche and Kinn. “Was that standard for you? I mean,
you’ve done hook ups before.”

Porsche smiles a little but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Yeah I’ve had hook ups with women before. I’ve had drunken sex before, it’s not that
uncommon.”

Except that’s not the same answer. And Pete isn’t willing to let it go just yet. “But I’m betting you
and the girl were both drunk at the time it happened right? Kinn- had an advantage over you in that
state. Even if you did initiate it, he should have known better than to let it happen. Should have had
better control of himself.”

It’s no wonder Porsche was so upset in the days afterward. Pete had just thought that he was
depressed about the whole fiasco of the assignment. Of being punished for his mistakes. But
obviously there had been more going on beyond behind the scenes.

Why hadn’t he realised this? Pete usually prides himself on his observation skills.

At the indignation on his face, Porsche’s smile becomes gentle. “I appreciate that you’re outraged
on my behalf, I really do but I’ve made my peace with it. He hasn’t done anything like that since.”

Pete looks at him and considers how similar their situations might be. What is with these fucking
cousins and their pitiful notions on consent?

“Did that make it better for you?” Pete wonders, hoping to know that answer. The idea of possibly
putting something like that completely behind him. “Did that make it easier for you to move past?”

It’s not something Pete has given great thought to himself. Mostly because he doesn’t know if it is
ever something he can move past.

“No, not really,” Porsche admits after taking a moment to really consider the question. “But my
feelings for him were too strong. I’ve made choices, Pete. These are the ones I can live with.”

As long as they were his choices and not Kinn’s, how can Pete even think about judging him?
Considering his own situation, it’s a ridiculous thought.

“You can?” he says, slowing and settling down again. “I’m not sure I can. I’m still so fucking
angry with Vegas and now he’s refusing-”

At the noticeable shift in his tone, the fury rising up again to make him sharper somehow, Pete
trails off suddenly, realising he probably is still to enraged to look at this calmly. So he takes a
breath, returns back to the edge again so he won’t have to meet Porsche's eye.

But Porsche doesn't realise that he wants to drop it. “Refusing you what?”

He wonders if it’s worth saying. If he should even bother trying to talk about this strange limbo he
and Vegas are now in by Vegas’ design. But Porsche has already shared these kind of awful things
with Pete.

Why shouldn’t he do the same?

“Sex,” Pete says, flushing hard. “He said because I can’t admit out loud that I want him, that I can’t
give him a verbal yes, he’s not going to touch me anymore.”

The resentment in his voice is plain.

“And wait- you’ve still been having sex where it was unclear if you wanted it?” Porsche repeats,
both alarmed and perplexed by this. “But I thought you were saying it was consensual.”

He grits his teeth, hands tightening on the railing, the edge of it biting deeply into his palms
because he’s gripping it so tight. But it’s a grounding gesture. Helps him focus his thoughts.

“It was,” Pete insists, infuriated. “I may not have been admitting every single thing out loud that I
want to happen but I’ve been telling him yes in other ways. Through- non-verbal agreement. And
body language. I don’t have any problem telling him no. Telling him the things I don’t want.
That’s the easy part.”

Of course it’s easier for Pete to say no to him. It’s practically all he’s been saying from the very
beginning.

“But you haven’t been telling him yes?” Porsche says, looking increasingly disconcerted by the
situation. “And that’s why he’s- refusing to continue?”

Pete drops his hands from the rail and starts pacing again, letting out another frustrated sigh.
Because Porsche is making it sound so reasonable when he puts it like that.

It’s more layered. Nuanced. Impossibly complicated.

“He says he’s not going to chase me anymore. Not going to put on any pressure. Not going to do
anything intimate until I ask for it. Until I can explicitly verbalise out loud in plain terms that I want
him first. The absolute fucker.”

What an impossible situation he’s now put Pete in.

“I can’t believe I’m about to say this but, Pete isn’t Vegas kind of a little bit right about this?”

Pete whirls back to face him in his surprise. The outrage in his body plain. “What?”

“Well after everything that’s happened, the consent should be the most important part before you
guys are even thinking of getting into bed together. Why wouldn’t you want that? I don’t get it.
What exactly is stopping you from doing it?”

Pete’s mouth twists as he tries to find a way to simplify it. To articulate the complexity of what
their dynamic is- an almost constant struggle for power.

“Because when I do reciprocate. When I say it out loud how much I want him, it feels like a victory
for Vegas.”

And it is, Pete knows that it is.

“A victory for him?” Porsche asks, frowning at the thought and still not understanding what Pete is
trying to say. “But you want whatever is happening between you two, right?”

Unfortunately that was never up for debate. Vegas was always so fucking certain of that, of Pete’s
attraction, his desire, and it’s taken Pete more than enough time to slowly come to terms with
admitting it to himself.

But that doesn’t mean that he’s willing to admit the same to Vegas.

“It’s consensual,” Pete says shortly, confident of that at least. “I’m not doing anything I don’t want.
He’s not trying to force things. Not in the same way as he was in the safe house.”

And that is true. Pete knows intimately exactly how true it is. Whatever boundaries he’s been
putting up between them, Vegas has, even whilst giving his own vocal complaints of the fact,
begrudgingly adhered to them.

Today was the first time Pete had genuinely ever had to consider the idea that Vegas had broken
his trust. Because it was never something real before. Was never something that could actually be
broken when it hadn't existed first.

“That’s great, that’s so great,” Porsche emphasises, still looking impossibly confused by what Pete
is trying to explain. “But- but- If you’re not saying what you want- then who’s initiating
everything?”

Pete opens his mouth and the ire in him grinds to an abrupt halt when he realises the monumental
issue of what Porsche is getting at. What Vegas was trying to get at earlier after Pete ran away
from him.

“Him,” he admits, like he’s admitting it to himself for the first time.

He’d been so focused on hiding his own attraction that he’d never considered the opposing
consequence of that. That he has no control over satiating his own needs.

“And? Why is it always up to him?” Porsche asks with a kind of genuine clarity that makes Pete
feel foolish for not ever considering it before.

Why did he let it get like this? Why did he allow this to all be up to Vegas? Inviting Vegas to his
bed had been a step in the right direction but even that, Pete never really followed through.
Because of Vegas’ injuries. Because it was safer without them fully naked.

“I don’t follow,” Pete says, but he does, just much more slowly than he should have.

Porsche reaches out and pats him on the shoulder like he understands what it means to be so lost in
your own body. “Well you have needs too, don’t you? You have desire for him. So when you’re
horny. When you want to have sex, do you ever initiate it?”
Of course not. Because that would have been another victory on Vegas’ part with Pete giving up
more ground than he was willing to.

“No,” Pete admits, understanding how deeply he’s backed himself into this corner.

He’s been so focused with fighting off Vegas’ advances, resisting his own needs that he’s hardly
pursued anything for himself. He’s been so hung up on not giving Vegas any proof of mutual
desire, any indication that this could be reciprocated in some way that he’s handed complete power
of their sexual interactions over to him.

Because Vegas is always the one pursuing, always the one who initiates and it’s Pete that decides
to accept the risk in the moment, who chooses to succumb to his own passions. By trying not to
recreate the dynamic of the safe house Pete has somehow ended up repeating it in a more
complicated way, almost hostile to his initial goal.

“Not really.”

Or not at all.

“So what do you do to help with your sexual frustration? Have you at least been rubbing one out in
the shower lately? Or are you just letting this all build up until you and Vegas are alone again
where you accept his sexual advances and then it ends with you feeling even more out of control
afterwards?“

Pete groans, mentally tying himself up in knots over this. “I think- I’ve been mostly doing the
second thing.”

Of course he has. Pete didn’t think there was any other option. Any other choice but to resist. To
fight back even in spite of his own wants and lustful urges.

And now he’s stuck like this.

Porsche is nodding along as if this was to be expected. “Yeah, it did seem a bit like you were
ignoring your own needs for a hot minute when you got back. Which is fair considering what you’d
been through. But, Pete, you want things to be different from what they first were when he forced
you, don’t you?”

Of course he does. What a wild question, Pete thinks, even as he nods slowly.

“So why don’t you pursue him? Why don’t you go after what you want for once?”

That makes him want to laugh, to scream, to shout.

“Because now that’s what he wants,” Pete groans, feeling the futility of his own situation. Damned
not matter what he does. “I feel like a hundred per cent of the things I’ve been doing lately are to
stop him getting his way. Like he wins if I start playing the role of obedient little pet-“

“But you’re not that,” Porsche says, astonished by the mere thought of it. “You’ve never been that.
Literally the first day I met you, you were eating food you’d had smuggled into the main family
house. You follow the rules, sure, but not blindly. You still think for yourself. Besides I thought
you said he liked it better when you were pushing back, when you fought and challenged him?”

Yes, Vegas does prefer the challenge. The resistance that Pete offers. So why is he so insistent of
getting his agreement now? Pete’s authorisation for Vegas to go ahead and ravish his body like
he’s done so many times already.
How does that make sense?

“That’s true,” he agrees. “It was more interesting to him that way. More fun when I wouldn’t
break.”

Porsche drums his fingers across the glass like he’s reached a great epiphany.

“So is that the thing? Feeling like you always need to resist him because then otherwise he has all
the control?”

He’s not wrong. Pete does feel a little like that in a way. Like they’re so locked in their initial roles
since the safe house that they don’t know how to switch it up. To do things any different.

“Because otherwise he wins,” Pete clarifies. “He gets the confirmation that the fucked up things he
did to me ended up leading somewhere he wanted.”

And they did, didn’t they? With Pete inviting Vegas into his bed. With Pete taking care of his
injuries and worrying about him.

“But,” Porsche says, still struggling like he doesn’t have the mental energy to keep up with
whatever he and Vegas have going on. “But you both want this. And it’s not like you let him suck
your dick once and suddenly everything that happened is a moot point and you belong to him now.
It’s clearly more complicated than that.”

Of course that’s true.

“But if I give this to him. If I go crawling back to him asking for sex, Vegas is in control.”

It can’t be about Vegas. About his victory. But Pete doesn’t know if he’s ready to make it about
himself either.

“He’s still in control if you’re having sex and not initiating it yourself,” Porsche points out, matter
of fact. “You’re still only having sex on his terms.”

Pete can’t believe he never realised, that he never saw it this way. Truly he hasn’t been seeing the
forest for the trees for this. Has been so focused on each individual piece of bark that he couldn’t
step back and change the perspective if he’d tried

But now Pete considers the idea of initiating things for a moment.

What would that look like? He’s so used to Vegas setting the boundaries of their interactions, the
game of chase they seem to play together until Pete stops running and lets Vegas catch him.

What would it be like if Pete chased first?

“Besides Vegas doesn’t have all the control here, Pete,” Porsche says with a firmness that’s backed
up by certainty. “We all know he wants you. Desperately. Ever since you came back to Bangkok
he’s been totally erratic. Doing all sorts of wild things just to get your attention. You have the
power too. More power than you realise.”

And of course, Pete knows that’s true too.

“More than I know what to do with,” he admits. “And honestly I don’t know how to think my way
out of this mental tangle I’ve knotted myself into.”

Porsche shrugs. “Maybe don’t then.”

He makes it all sound so simple. Straight forward.

“What?”

“Don’t think your way out of it,” Porsche suggests, pushing hair off of his forehand when the
breeze suddenly changes direction on them. “That’s what you normally do right? Why don’t you
try something different? Listen to your body instead? Follow where your emotions are leading
you.”

Pete’s not entirely sure Porsche is right in this. Sometimes it seems like Vegas understands Pete
better than he understands himself and there’s a lot of unspoken things that happen between them.

If he wasn’t to keep relying on that, Pete’s not sure that he could communicate what he wanted if
he tried. He’s not sure that his pride would allow it. But even so it’s a thought he needs to take
some time to consider.

To warm up to. Because by not verbalising his wants and needs, by not asserting himself or his
consent, he is affording Vegas more power over him. Power over when and where their sexual
encounters take place. That seems clearer to him now than it ever did before.

Maybe that’s just as bad as refusing to acknowledge it. As refusing to give Vegas the win.

The real horror is that Vegas wins either way. And Pete is always the one agonising over it,
carefully weighing out each interaction to make sure it’s still in the balance. That the scales haven’t
tipped in Vegas’ favour again.

But he already made the choice to stop denying his physical attraction, his desire for Vegas
without despising himself for it. Without feeling like he’s turned his back on his own principles.

Is there some way to move forward with these new considerations and do more of the same? Get
Pete what he wants without compromising himself?

It all seems like too much to comprehend right now.

Pete knows that he needs more time to process this. More time to fight his way out of the corner he
feels boxed into.

Vegas is responsible for most of it, but Pete’s aware now of the ways that he’s trapped himself.
The ways he’s made it all about Vegas. About his attraction. His victory.

Is that what Vegas was trying to say too? That by refusing to admit what he wants, being unable to
articulate it out loud- it’s enough of a shield to hide behind. A way of not focusing on himself in
any real way.

And Pete knows that he’ll take any excuse to shift the attention off of himself. Has probably been
doing that more frequently than he should.

How long has he been hiding in the shadows now?

“Maybe. I’ll think on it.”

Porsche nods, looking at the very least somewhat satisfied with that. He’s not likely to pressure
Pete about this but he knows that Porsche won’t let it go now that he has the details.

He really didn’t seem to like the idea of Pete not instigating things himself.
Pete has been so bogged down with resisting Vegas, avoiding Vegas, running from Vegas, that the
few times they have touched each other has been more of the same. Letting Vegas initiate with
Pete still taking a back seat, lingering in a passive role.

Isn’t Porsche right too? Why shouldn’t he be taking the initiative too? Doesn’t Pete want this to be
equal just the same as Vegas does?

“Next time you want to fuck, go to him yourself. Let it be about what you want. What you need
from him. You might be surprised about how that turns out.”

Of that, Pete has no doubt. And he’s certain Vegas wouldn’t be able to handle it either. He likes to
see Pete assertive with his hunger. Or at the very least has always been taken with the idea of it.

“Right,” Pete says, because admittedly, despite his anger, there is something tantalising about it
too.

He wonders if he did show up like that, if he did verbalise his own desire would it be enough to
shake the slick coolness of Vegas’ mask? That somehow unshakeable mask?

He knows how Vegas reacts when Pete actively seeks him out or at the very least when the illusion
of that had shown itself. Vegas had been even more aroused after that.

Would he lose his mind entirely at Pete actively seeking his own pleasure for once? With Vegas?

He won’t deny the thought is appealing to him.

This is all so confusing.

“You should be able to initiate things, Pete,” Porsche says, like he’s trying to soothe his fears,
trying to ease him into the basic fundamentals. “That’s what’s meant to happen in a partnership.”

In a normal partnership. That started in normal circumstances. He and Vegas could not be farther
from that concept if they’d tried.

“And you do?” Pete wonders, curious despite his own instincts. “You- initiate things with Kinn?”

Porsche is nodding emphatically at that. “Absolutely I do. Trust me when I say I do that frequently.
But speaking of Kinn, we should probably go back and see how they’re all doing. I said I’d come
back after you and I had some time to talk.”

Pete nods, steps away from the edge, moving towards the balcony doors that will lead them back
to the elevators.

“Is Kim here too?”

“Yeah,” Porsche says, leading the way again. “They’re all waiting in Mr Korn’s penthouse.”

They’re quiet when they step into the elevator but Pete knows enough about himself to recognise
that he feels marginally better about things after talking through them with Porsche.

He just hopes when they get to the penthouse that the others will have good news.
The elevator takes them up to the highest floor.

Pete steps out first, automatically sweeping the hallway as Porsche turns into it and sets off without
even a thought to potential hazards.

They move down towards Mr Korn’s rooms but once they round the corner they run into Jirapat,
Pol, Satang and Tinn who are all evidently posted in the hall.

The door to Mr Korn’s room is firmly closed so Pete has no idea what to expect.

“Do we have an update yet?” he immediately asks Satang, solely because he’s standing the closest
to him.

Before he can even open his mouth an inhuman kind of wailing starts to emanate from within,
sounding so wretched, so agonised that it raises the hair on the back of Pete’s neck.

He recognises the distinctive tenor of Tankhun’s voice, understands immediately why he would
ever make such a disquieting sound.

Pete doesn’t say anything else after that, even as his heart is plummeting from his chest and sinking
straight through the floor.

He has his answer.

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