《Red Red Rabbithole (KinnPorsche Fanfiction)》 Prologue ¡°I can¡¯t explain myself,¡± said Alice, ¡°because I am not myself, you see.¡± Is he standing? Sitting? He feels so lost, he has no body awareness at all. Instead it feels as if he¡¯s just drifting in space. A universe drenched in vermillion. Floating. Floating in soothing white noise. Tap. There is a shadow of a touch, right between his shoulder blades, anchoring him. Light. Cool. Tiny. The size of the tip of a finger perhaps. It barely touches his bare skin. For a moment he wonders if he is just imagining it, a last hallucination while his brain is dying from lack of oxygen. Tap. Goosebumps spread like an avalanche down his back, leaving icy numbness in their wake. Vegas waits¡­ and there it comes again. Tap. He exhales painfully. There is something he is supposed to remember but he draws a blank. Something important. Something he is not supposed to forget and yet here he is, scrambling after his skipping thoughts, chasing through the white noise after the ripples to remember. Tap. The finger comes to rest against his skin and stays in place. Vegas shivers. Breathing once again becomes secondary. The pressure between his shoulder blades increases ever so slightly, bringing a hint of pain with it. Like a sharp fingernail digging steadily into his already overly sensitive skin. Pressing down down down only to withdraw without breaking contact. Resting in place, unmoving, a blunt icicle poised to stab him, impaling him like a butterfly pinned to a board in the natural history museum. ¡°It¡¯s called a Papilio memnon, Vegas. Lovely, isn¡¯t it? Only the males are ink black like this. You can look, but don¡¯t touch, all right? Never touch a butterfly¡¯s wings. They are very fragile.¡± This time the pressure is more pronounced when the fingernail once again digs into his back. Right between his black wings. Black wings that are black no more, they are drenched in blood, so very red¡­. ¡°Cymothoe sangaris, Vegas. They are not native. They do not belong here.¡± Just like me. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. ¡­and the pressure becomes so unpleasant that it snaps him right back into his oxygen-deprived nightmare. He tenses automatically, instinctively leaning forward and away from the contact, only to freeze just a second later as he remembers that he mustn¡¯t move. He cannot remember why, but a growing sense of distress brings with it the realisation that he messed up. He should not have moved. And so he leans back until he once again feels the fingertip making contact with his sweat-drenched skin¡ªand then some more, impaling himself on that fingernail until he can feel it slicing through his skin, sinking into his flesh. Making up for his mistake. ¡°Are you listening?! Are. You. Listening?! Such a fucking disappointment, just like your mother!¡± Vegas¡¯ breath hitches. His heart stutters and then picks up at an even faster pace. It shouldn¡¯t be humanly possible¡ª surely sooner rather than later something has got to give, and everything (his heart) will come to a screeching halt. The pressure withdraws, the fingertip coming to rest gently against his skin. Something trickles down his spine. Sweat? Blood? He is starting to feel seriously dizzy, the sound of his racing heartbeat even invading the safety of the white noise with its persistent frantic throbbing. And then the pressure increases once more, the edge of the fingernail finding the open wound it previously left behind without fail, it''s grinding into his flesh, deeper this time, and the pain it brings cuts through the dizziness and carries him straight into¡­. ¡°Begin by slowly exhaling all of your air out. Then, gently inhale through your nose to a slow count of 4. Hold at the top of the breath for a count of 4. Then gently exhale through your mouth for a count of 4. At the bottom of the breath, pause and hold for a count of 4. You can do that, right? Detective, I know you think this is ridiculous but please, let¡¯s give it a try. Just once, okay?¡± He remembers! The relief is so immense that he almost accidentally sways forward again, but he catches himself at the last second and just freezes in place. Like the pinned, bloody butterfly he is. He remembers. And despite his racing heart, despite being on the very edge of passing out because he is hyperventilating like hell, some of the tension drains from his body. It must have been noticeable because the fingernail stops drilling into his muscles and retreats to its resting position. The white noise fades into the background for a moment, as soft-spoken words slide to the forefront of his consciousness, whispered by a voice that feels like liquid silk. ¡°Give me a colour, Vegas.¡± Mahogany. Cadmium Red. Carmine. Cinnabar. Vegas feels an increase of heat at his bare back and it makes the hairs on his nape stand up. He waits. Soon enough, hot breath is feathering along the damp back of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. The heat intensifies and a whiff of air tickles his left ear. ¡°Vegas¡­?¡± The voice wraps itself around him like a caress. There is an unspoken question in this word. A question he cannot pretend not to understand. A question he cannot ignore. Must not ignore. God. Damn. Fucking. Scarlet. ¡°Green.¡± Chapter 1 ¡°Why, there¡¯s hardly enough of me left to make one respectable person!¡± 6 months ago It¡¯s raining, pouring really, one of these abrupt late afternoon downpours when the sky suddenly opens and all colour fades into grey. Steam rises from the wet asphalt that has been baking in the heat for hours, bringing along the very specific and hard to describe smell of summer rain. This must be how it feels to stand beneath a waterfall, Vegas ponders for one crazy second. Water runs down his face in rivulets, like a flood of uncried tears. His shirt and his uniform pants are soaked through and through, clinging to his skin; he is kneeling in a dirty alley in an ever-growing puddle of rainwater, but he couldn¡¯t care less. See, Detective Vegas Theerapanyakul is currently too busy slamming his fists into face of the person he is kneeling over, and loving every second of it. ¡°Violence isn¡¯t always evil. What¡¯s evil is the infatuation with violence. You get that quote, right?¡± Whatever. There is nothing quite as satisfying as the feeling of cartilage bending and giving way beneath his finger bones. At least this is what Vegas firmly believes and he doesn¡¯t give shit how anyone else might feel about it. That nose will never look the same unless a certain someone invests in extensive plastic surgery. Just for good measure, he slams his fist into it again and again, breathing heavily All around him there is total chaos. He is vaguely aware of it, but he kneels in an invisible bubble of white noise that bleeds away everything else, removes all distractions so that he can fully concentrate on what he is doing. Hands reach out, grabbing for his arms, trying to hold on, to restrain and pull him backwards, and so he growls, shakes them off violently, and then his fist connects once more with flesh, the mouth this time. Like a water ballon that bursts, the lips pop¡ªso damn satisfying¡ªreleasing a spray of red that is promptly washed away by the torrential downpour. Maybe then, I¡¯ll fade away And not have to face the facts It¡¯s not easy facing up When your whole world is black red Red. Vegas is literally seeing RED everywhere, giving colour to the vast ocean of sheer, unbridled rage that courses through him at this very moment. He is done reining it in, he is so done with it! It¡¯s fucking exhausting to hold it all inside, it¡¯s driving him insane, he feels like he has ants crawling through his veins and he is so done with it! ¡°Let it go, let it go. Can¡¯t hold it back anymore.¡± Ugh, no way¡­ where did that come from?! Fuck you, Macau! Vegas¡¯ hands are moving on his own, he doesn¡¯t even need to think, it¡¯s such a glorious moment altogether. Full autopilot. He¡¯s a weapon come to life. He¡¯s a vessel, channeling divine rage at this sorry excuse of a human being beneath him. ¡°Shit! ¡­Vegas!!! ¡­Stop it! You¡¯re killing him!¡± Again someone tries to grab his arms, he can feel fingers desperately digging into his muscles to drag him backwards. Something rips¡ªnot his muscles, but his shirt gives way, one of the sleeves partially coming off. Vegas snarls. Loudly. Showing his teeth. ¡°I told you not to try to take his bone away. Why did you not listen? You never listen to me, child. Hold still. Does it hurt? It looks bad, we better take you to the doctor or your father will have my head.¡± And the moral of the story¡ªbe a badass dog and bite! ¡­RedRedRed¡­ He sinks his teeth into something and immediately his mouth fills with the hot taste of copper. Someone screams. Loudly. Right next to his ear. It startles him for a moment, and that is all that it takes. His head is jerked to the side as whatever is in his mouth is forcefully removed¡ªtear¡­ rip¡­ oh no, the prey is gone¡ªbut at the same time Vegas is free once more, no more hands holding him back. ¡°What the actual fuck, Vegas?!¡± someone yells at him with a panic-stricken voice and then calls for help. Whatever. The thing beneath him is still moving, making pitiful noises, a mixture between crying and screaming. How irritating. Mouth and nose ruined, it¡¯s time to go for the eyes. Vegas does not like how those eyes look at him. As if he is a nightmare incarnate¡­ ¡°The monsters were never under my bed. Because the monsters were inside my head. I fear no monsters, for no monsters I see. Because all this time the monster has been me.¡± ¡­ but surely that cannot be true? ¡­ ¡°What the hell are you looking at?!¡± Vegas yells and lurches forward, his thumbs slipping on the blood-stained flesh as they glide towards the eyes. He needs put a stop to it. Close those accusing eyes for good. Perhaps then the sudden knots in his roiling stomach will disappear once more. More fumbling, then his thumbs slide and slot into place and he squeezes. There is a lot of yelling all around him. Several voices now. He cannot make out what they are saying, and he honestly does not give a shit. He is so focused on what he is doing that they manage to surprise him. So many hands this time. Too many. Grabbing. Pulling. Squeezing his throat so he cannot breathe. Breathing is essential so he withdraws his hands from the bloody mess that used to be a face¡ªunrecognisable now¡ªand instead claws at whatever is constricting his throat. And that is all it takes, he is finally separated from his prey and dragged several meters away. Someone slams him on his back with full force, knocking the breath out of him, making him see stars as the back of his head connects to the asphalt with a sharp crack¡ªouch¡ªand this is all it takes to snap him out of it, back into reality. Everything drifts back into focus as Vegas looks up slowly, blinking repeatedly, rain cascading down on his face, trying to drown him on this warm summer day right in the middle of the busy city. He doesn¡¯t move, just continues to lie there. Stunned, he takes note that he is breathing too fast, gulping after oxygen like a fish on land. His heart is beating so hard it hurts. But the physical discomfort is nothing compared to his growing mental anguish. He simply cannot comprehend what just happened. He can¡¯t. This cannot have happened. Vegas has fucked up big time. What a fucking nightmare. Rain washes the blood off his face and no one will ever notice if perhaps there are tears mixed with the rain. This must be how it feels to stand beneath a waterfall, Vegas once again thinks in a daze. Please let me drown already.
The ride back to the police station is awkward, to say the least. Some unknown police officer is driving and Tem has taken the passenger seat in front, leaving Vegas to sit on his own in the back. No one is talking. And what is worse, Tem is ignoring him. This is bad. This is so bad. Fuck. Tem avoids even looking at him. He stares straight ahead into the traffic, a haunted look on his pale face, cradling his injured hand to his chest. At some point someone has tried to protectively wrap the gruesome bite wound in bandages from a first-aid kit, but the rain has soaked right through¡ªthe rain and the blood. Tem¡­ They have been friends since the days at the Royal Thai Police Cadet Academy, which they attended together. They are partners now, and once again, Vegas has managed to fuck it up royally. Why is he even surprised? He should be more surprised that it worked as long as it did. This is just following the usual pattern, he reminds himself tiredly. People befriend him ¡ªhe is a Theerapanyakul after all, a fucking celebrity¡ªbut eventually, when they get to know the real him, they cannot get away from him fast enough. Vegas usually doesn¡¯t care when someone walks away. Tem though¡­ why does this hurt so much? He knows he has messed up big time and he is aching all over inside. Vegas does not have many people he would consider friends. Coming to think of it, there are only two who stubbornly refuse to walk away from him¡ªthat is, until now. Tem and Porsche. But it looks as if Tem is walking. He has finally seen the light, this incident has been the last drop, this is it. FuckFuckFuck. Vegas swallows hard and instantly feels nauseous because he can still taste the blood in his mouth. Tem¡¯s blood. He has rinsed his mouth repeatedly already but the taste lingers, just to haunt him. He leans his aching head against the cool glass of the car window, staring outside without actually taking anything in. Everything is a kaleidoscope of colours and shapes that the car is moving past swiftly during this late afternoon rush hour, and that is fine because he does not need to concentrate, he can allow his thoughts to drift. Drifting away from what just happened. What he did¡ªto his friend¡­ and¡­ that thing¡­ fuck no¡­ a man, another human being¡ªand it¡¯s suddenly hard to breathe. ¡­ He turns the ring on purpose, of course. Father always does. Every single time. It hurts more this way. It appears as if this is a good day for Vegas. Father is in a good mood and there is a business meeting planned in an hour, which means this will be over sooner rather than later. Vegas just holds still, endures, keeps quiet and soon knows that he will not be able to walk out of this room and back to his bedroom on his own. He will once again have to accept the help of the guards to steady him because his brain is temporarily turning into mush due to the force of the strikes that rain down on him. He is already so dizzy he can hardly stand without swaying like a reed in the wind, let alone walk in a straight line later on¡­ ¡­ like father, like son ¡°I¨CI¡¯m going to be sick¡­¡± Vegas croaks hoarsely, barely managing to warn them, and the car instantly swerves to make an emergency stop at the sidewalk. Vegas fumbles blindly for the door handle and as soon as the door opens he leans out and violently empties his stomach until there is nothing left and still he dry heaves¡­ and heaves¡­ and heaves¡­ Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.
A framed photograph gathers dust on the otherwise absurdly organised desktop. A family of five, all dressed expensively; he recognises a few rather obvious brands. Isn¡¯t this dress from that famous English designer whose name he has already forgotten again? Vegas isn¡¯t interested in fashion per se but he has a cousin who is a walking-talking style icon. Guess some things must have rubbed off on him after all. The photo¡¯s location is clearly recognisable as a popular beachfront resort well over three hours from here. Posed to perfection in front of the luxury bungalow, mom and dad smile indulgently at their adorable offspring. It¡¯s such a disgustingly homey scene that he wants to puke. Such a wholesome family¡ªwhat a big fat joke. With an inner sigh, Vegas pulls his attention back to reality, as unpleasant as it is, and to his clearly irked superior, who is currently pacing back and forth in front of him, the perfectly ironed dress uniform stretching a bit too tightly over his ever-growing girth. The same man as the one in the photo. Rambling on and on about proper arrest procedures and police violence¡ª blah blah blah¡­ same old, same old¡ªall that Vegas has conveniently blocked out until now, but he does notice the increasing volume, his boss is such a drama queen. ¡°¡­and I am telling you, this will have consequences! This time you¡¯ve really gone too far!¡± Vegas¡¯ agitated, middle-aged boss suddenly stops in front of him and takes a deep, wheezing breath to steady himself. It¡¯s clear that whatever he sees when he looks at his employee only serves to increase his irritation. ¡°Oh, for fuck¡¯s sake, are you even listening, Detective Theerapanyakul?! You think I¡¯m having this conversation just for the sheer fun of it?!¡± ¡°That is a rhetorical question, right?¡± Vegas cannot help himself, the words slip past his lips before he knows it. Oh well, whatever. The boss grinds his teeth and growls with sheer frustration. Hands on his hips, he glowers at Vegas. If it were any other officer but Vegas standing here they would be terrified. This is the boss after all¡ªthis man is as close to God as you can come in this police precinct. He has the final say in everything and he gives and takes, all according to his whims. The whole department is in constant fear of this man and his temper tantrums¡ªeveryone except Vegas. He¡¯s a Theerapanyakul after all, next to untouchable; in this case he¡¯s pretty much above God, come to think of it. With a sigh, Vegas takes a step backward, trying to look contrite as he crosses his arms in front of him and leans back against the desk, doing his best to de-escalate the situation. Then he catches a glimpse of his reflection in one of the glass doors of the display cabinet holding the captain¡¯s medals of honour. Oh dear. A quick glance down at himself confirms it¡ªVegas looks like hell. His uniform pants are wrinkled, still damp and partially torn around the knee area. The shirt of his uniform is probably beyond saving; one sleeve is heroically hanging on, but those frayed stitches could snap at any moment. The fabric itself looks as if it has fallen victim to the very first batik attempts of a sleep-deprived toddler; it¡¯s smudged with blood and dirt. Some of the buttons are gone, ripped off when someone tried to forcefully pull him off his prey¡ªno, victim¡ªearlier on. Through a variety of rips and tears, a bit too much pale skin is on display. Oh dear indeed. And not only that, he most certainly doesn¡¯t look as if he¡¯s regretting anything at all. Quite the contrary, his body language is all wrong. Well, shit. The captain seems to have the very same thoughts. He raises a bushy eyebrow and snorts with weary disbelief, then takes another calming breath. ¡°You look like a walking Rorschach Test sample, Detective Theerapanyakul.¡± Then he shoos Vegas away from his desk before he goes to sit down behind it. Looking official again. ¡°All right, let¡¯s try this again.¡± As Vegas makes a move to take a seat himself in the chair facing the desk, he receives a death glare and quickly reconsiders. Instead, he resumes a proper ¡®at ease¡¯ position, just like they taught him at the academy. He can behave properly when he wants. And this seems like a very good time to show off his good side. The silence stretches itself out. The captain studies him as if he is trying to peek directly into Vegas¡¯ soul, searching for something, but not finding any satisfactory answers. And strangely enough he no longer seems frustrated and angry; instead he looks sad, which makes Vegas feel very uncomfortable indeed. Angry he can deal with. Angry he is used to. Angry he has grown up with. Angry he can ignore. Sadness and ¡­worry? Oh no. This conversation is not going to go in a good direction. ¡°What were you even doing there, eh?¡± And here we go¡­ ¡°I checked with your direct superior¡ªyou were given explicit orders not to get involved in this operation. Not to go anywhere near that area. Not to approach the suspect. What on earth were you thinking?¡± Vegas swallows nervously and decides it might be better not to answer this right now. He would rather not have to admit that there wasn¡¯t much rational thinking involved in this decision, just a lot of anger. ¡°What the devil were you thinking?¡± Another sigh. The captain pinches his eyebrows as if he is in pain. Maybe he is. Vegas tends to give people headaches, the story of his life. ¡°You ignored a direct order. Again. How many times have we had the exact same problem in the last three months? No, don¡¯t bother answering. You also ignored your own active cases, even though they are important to the people involved, who fully depend on you to do your job to help them.¡± Vegas winces. He¡¯s aware of his dereliction of duty. He does not like having it thrown in his face like this, though. ¡°You went to a well-known trouble spot in an off-limits area without informing anyone. And you took your partner along with you, but no other back-up.¡± Another pause, to let that sink in. ¡°Thankfully your partner was smart enough to inform the dispatch about where you were heading.¡± ¡­ the partner who now no longer speaks or looks at Vegas¡­ because he is smart¡­ he learned his lesson the hard way¡­ fuck¡­ ¡°With total disregard for your own safety and the safety of your partner, you went to the suspect¡¯s hideout, kicked in the door and then held a gun to his head. In front of his children! And then you dragged him out into the alleyway.¡± Fuck¡­ There had been children present? Oh shit. Vegas hadn¡¯t noticed, at that point he was incandescent with rage. He can no longer meet the eyes of his boss and looks down instead. The nausea is coming back with a vengeance. ¡°In the alleyway you then directly proceeded to assault the suspect. You did not even ask any questions. Or tried to arrest him. According to your colleague, you just started hitting him. You refused to disengage repeatedly.¡± Another pause, and this time the silence feels uncomfortably heavy. ¡°It took three men to pull you off the suspect.¡± Vegas swallows again, his mouth painfully dry. He stares at his dirt-specked shoes. Anything is better than meeting those disappointed eyes. ¡°You hit your partner when he was trying to stop the assault.¡± Another pause to let that sink in and yeah, Vegas already knows he¡¯s messed up, and he feels like shit. ¡°You bit your partner. He had to get stitches.¡± If only the ground would open to engulf Vegas. ¡°You put a man in the ICU. They cannot even operate on him yet to try and fix what is left of his face because first they have to stabilise him. They had to put him in a medically induced coma. This is the seventh person you physically assaulted in the past half year. ¡± Vegas clenches his hands into tight fists¡ªthis hurts but right now he deserves pain¡ªand closes his eyes. ¡°Detective Theerapanyakul¡­¡± And again the silence stretches and stretches until it becomes nearly unbearable. ¡°Vegas¡­ do you have a death wish?¡± the captain asks him softly. What the hell is that supposed to mean? His eyes open and snap up again and he stares at his superior, clearly stunned speechless. He does not have a death wish. Why on earth would the captain think that? So what if he took a calculated risk and went into the slums without the proper backup? That doesn¡¯t mean he¡¯s suicidal. And at the same time he can¡¯t help but feel a spark of warmth igniting in his heart. Someone cares. The captain cares about his wellbeing even though he is just his boss. It feels¡­ good? ¡°I see you disagree. That is something, I suppose. Your father would have my head if I were to let anything happen to you on my watch.¡± Oh. Oh. And the tiny spark is snuffed out immediately. He should have known better. ¡°Very well¡­ Let¡¯s wrap this up, shall we? Damn, I have headache. As I said before, you went too far this time and there will be consequences. You are suspended.¡± Vegas thought things couldn¡¯t get worse, but this? This is way worse. This is a catastrophe. He loves his job. In fact, this job is the only thing that keeps him functioning, that keeps him going. It¡¯s the only reason why he gets up in the morning. It¡¯s the only thing that truly belongs to him, the one thing that he cares about (well, apart from his brother Macau). He cannot lose this. It¡¯s inconceivable. It won¡¯t do. Vegas gives his Boss such a feral glare that it surely sends shivers of dread down the man¡¯s spine. ¡°The hell I am!¡± If Vegas¡¯ weren¡¯t so worked up¡ªand he is damp and dirty and emotionally drained and his body is aching¡ªhe would find the ensuing stare down between them comical. But his emotions are in turmoil, he feels unhinged and so he clenches his hands into tight fists only to flinch as the wounds on his knuckles protest painfully. He wants to hit someone. He wants to hit someone so badly his teeth ache. The red is bleeding back into his vision and this is concerning. He must not lose control again. He must not. Let¡¯s try this again. Vegas clears his throat, forces himself to relax and does his best to communicate respectfully with his boss, instead of uttering the snarky reply lying on the tip of his tongue. ¡°Let¡¯s be reasonable, shall we? A suspension would be unwise.¡± And they both know why, but as an act of kindness he has so far refrained from pointing it out directly: he is Vegas fucking Theerapanyakul and it does not matter what he does¡ªhis superiors cannot do shit about it. Suspending him? Think again. They cannot even fire him. They did try once. They never tried again. Vegas is a Theerapanyakul, and even if he hates his family with a passion that borders on madness, even if he has cut himself off from them, even if he has built himself a life of his own and as a crowning achievement and a huge big FUCK YOU to all of them turned himself into a police officer¡ªhe is still a Theerapanyakul. There is no walking away from that other than death. And he is not quite ready to go to such an extreme just yet. Khun Gun Theerapanyakul might despise his son in private, but there is no way in hell he would agree to a suspension. Because that would look bad, and appearances count, and must be upheld at all costs But one glance at his boss¡¯ flushed, outraged face, and it becomes clear that his superior is hellbent on pushing the issue. Oh well. Time to push back. ¡°Nice watch,¡± Vegas points out, smiling darkly. Both drop their gaze to the watch that graces the left wrist of his superior. Nice watch indeed. A Patek Philippe, to be exact. Worth around at least ?1.5 million, if Vegas were to take an educated guess. Needless to say, it¡¯s something way beyond the captain¡¯s pay grade. And the captain knows it as well, judging by the dull, red flush suffusing his face. ¡°Lovely house,¡± Vegas points out mildly, still smiling and nodding towards the family photo showing off the even more expensive luxury bungalow. He can play dirty too¡ªno one survives growing up in the Theerapanyakul family without learning basic manipulation skills. ¡°Maybe we should get a second opinion on the suspension? Perhaps we should call the commissioner? I heard he is your neighbour at the resort¡ªhe has a lovely house too.¡± That area is so expensive that not even the commissioner can afford to buy real estate there. Not on his normal salary, that is. That comment appears to settle it. For one moment it seems as if his boss is going to explode with rage, but then he simply deflates, his face losing all colour. He knows when he has lost the game. ¡°It is true that nobody is above the law, but money can make somebody invisible. Never forget that, Vegas.¡± ¡­ Yes, uncle, I haven¡¯t forgotten¡­ Vegas has often wondered what he might be able to get away with, but he is a police officer after all, and believe it or not, he takes pride in his job. He does not like to remind people of the invisible power he wields by virtue of his family name. He hates it. He despises his family. But desperate times call for desperate measures, and he simply cannot get suspended. It would break him, he is sure. He feels like a jerk anyway. While he¡¯s been momentarily lost in thoughts the captain has pulled himself together once again and is now regarding him calmly, but there is a new distance between them. A barrier that wasn¡¯t there before. Shit. ¡°Fine. No suspension. Anger management therapy it is. Compulsory attendance.¡± He glares at Vegas who is about to open his mouth to protest this ridiculous idea. ¡°Don¡¯t even think about it! I don¡¯t want to hear it! Now get out of my fucking sight!¡± Asshole! With a glare of his own, Vegas salutes the boss and spins around, striding out of the office, righteous indignation written all over his stance. Anger management therapy?! My ass! We¡¯ll see about that! Chapter 2 ¡°Little Alice fell d o w n the hole, bumped her head and bruised her soul.¡± It¡¯s past midnight and Vegas is dead drunk. It hasn¡¯t stopped raining. The sky has taken over crying for him, since he himself has run out of tears. His eyes are red and swollen, he has a pounding headache and there is nothing left. He has cried what feels like an ocean, sitting here in the dark, hidden away in the corner of his functional yet impersonal bedroom, shaking with uncontrollable sobs; he has cried so much that now he is empty. Wrung out. Used up. And drunk. Very, very drunk. Intoxication and emotional distress does not make for a very good combination; Vegas feels depressingly alone. The story of his life. He always messes up. Always. Everyone he cares about leaves. Always. He is a useless piece of shit, his father is right, he is a beacon for disaster, he should have died a long, long time ago. Every single harsh word his father ever said to him is flooding his mind, and he cannot turn these memories off, they are trying to drown him in misery. He¡¯s plunging down an endless downward spiral, and he needs help before he shatters at the bottom.Blindly, he fumbles for his phone, and despite his inebriated state manages to press Porsche¡¯s number. Then he waits for the call to connect. Save me¡­ please save me¡­ I cannot do this by myself¡­ save me¡­ It takes a bit longer than usual before the call is picked up. ¡°¡­Hmmm¡­?¡± ¡°¡­ Porsche¡­?¡± he slurs, momentarily confused. ¡°¡­ Huh?¡± The person on the other end seems to be equally confused¡ªor still half asleep. So Vegas gives it another try. ¡° ¡­ Porsche¡­?¡± There is a long groan and the sound of movement, followed by a soft curse in a familiar voice. ¡°Vegas? Is that you? What the hell? You know what time it is?!¡± Saved. ¡°Nope,¡± Vegas answer truthfully, still slurring his words. ¡°It¡¯s dark. Night? Don¡¯t you have a clock?¡± He squints at the display of the mobile phone in his hand but words and numbers spin around like on a merry-go-round. ¡°¡­Oh¡­ pretty¡­¡± he mumbles, momentarily entranced. There¡¯s another frustrated groan from the person he has called. ¡°It is currently 3 am, Vegas. Three. AM. Go to bed and let me sleep!¡± ¡°Can¡¯t sleep,¡± Vegas mumbles. ¡°No rest for the wicked.¡± Porsche groans again. ¡°Go. To. Bed. Or call someone else¡­ call Tem.¡± That name only makes Vegas choke up again. It seems he hasn¡¯t run dry after all, since fresh tears resume their silent passage down his face. ¡°Can¡¯t,¡± he sniffles brokenly. ¡°Messed up and now Tem¡¯s gone.¡± ¡°Huh? What do you mean? Vegas¡­? Wait a moment¡­ ¡± Porsche sounds alarmed now, and wide awake, but even a little distracted. ¡°Just go back to sleep Kinn, I need to take this call,¡± he whispers. More rustling noises. Vegas can hear his cousin in the background, sounding decidedly grumpy. Nothing new; he isn¡¯t exactly on Kinn¡¯s list of favourite people. ¡°I am not having this discussion right now, Kinn. Let¡¯s talk tomorrow.¡± A pause, then he can hear Porsche moving and a door closing. ¡°Vegas? You still there? Talk to me¡­ What was that about Tem?¡± Hearing Porsche¡¯s voice is like balm to his bleeding soul. Vegas leans his head back against the wall, the tears still rolling down his face. He tries to get any audible words past his throat, which suddenly feels very tight. ¡°Save me¡­¡± he whispers in sheer desperation. ¡°Vegas! What the fuck is going on?! You are scaring the hell out of me!¡± Vegas does his best to pull himself together again, clearing his throat. ¡°Sorry¡­ so sorry¡­ don¡¯t worry¡­ just having a bad day,¡± he sniffles quietly. ¡°No shit, Sherlock. Would you please tell me what is going on? Please? What do you need saving from? And what has happened to Tem? And¡­ are you drunk?¡± ¡° ¡­Mmmm¡­¡± Porsche sighs. ¡°I take that as a yes. You know, I am never going to let you live that down, drunk-calling me in the middle of the night. Now fess up, what¡¯s going on?¡± A short intake of breath to steady himself, then Vegas tries to put everything that has happened this disastrous day into coherent words, hiccupping his way through the whole Tem fiasco. And in the end he simply sounds resigned and utterly exhausted as he recounts the showdown with his boss, the threat of therapy and his subsequent drinking spree, which led to him spiralling right into the snake pit of dark memories he successfully suppresses most days. Is he making any sense? Unlikely. Does it matter? Not really. What matters is that Porsche is there on the phone listening to every word. Filling the spaces in the conversation with quiet sounds of encouragement and unspoken understanding. Porsche is a good listener. That¡¯s why he called him. Also, Porsche is now the only friend he has left. Isn¡¯t that pathetic? ¡°I¡¯m so tired of it all, so damn tired¡­¡± he whispers in the end, using the edge of his t-shirt to wipe the wetness off his face. ¡°Everything is going to be fine, Vegas,¡± Porsche tries to encourage him gently. ¡°It¡¯s a mess, yeah, but give Tem some time and I am sure you two will be able to sort it out eventually. He has stuck with you for so long, he is not going to give up now, trust me. As for the rest¡­¡± Porsche hesitates briefly but then speaks his mind as he usually does. His honesty is harsh, but refreshing, and makes Vegas like him more. ¡°I think therapy will do you good. Wait¡­ just listen first, okay? You and me both know that your family is fucked up in a big way. As far as I am concerned every single one of you is in dire need of therapy, it comes with the territory. I know your father doesn¡¯t want to hear about this but damn, Vegas, he is an asshole anyway.¡± Vegas snorts, faintly amused. ¡°Just forget about him, go to this therapist dude and unload the whole crap that has been weighing you down since childhood. You do need someone to talk to apart from me, you know? I can listen, and you know you can call me anytime you need, but I¡¯m not equipped to help you deal with your issues in a more permanent manner. And I really don¡¯t think you have the luxury to ignore this anger issue anymore. I mean, shit, you hurt Tem. Do you want to wait until you hurt Macau?¡± ¡°Asshole.¡± Vegas winces. Sometimes Porsche is simply too blunt. The mere thought of hurting Macau in any way makes him sick. And yet he cannot deny it, he is not safe to be around anymore. The way he completely lost control and had a complete blackout¡ªit scared even himself. ¡°I don¡¯t like to talk about ¡­things,¡± he admits in a small voice. ¡°Give the guy a chance, okay? Promise me?¡± ¡°I suppose¡­¡± ¡°Good enough. Now go get some sleep. Drink some water first though. Is this okay or do you need me to stay on the phone with you a bit longer?¡± Vegas¡¯ throat constricts again, and he swallows, briefly overwhelmed with emotions. ¡°Porsche¡­ you are a good friend, you know? I really don¡¯t deserve you.¡± A pause. ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°Oh, don¡¯t get all mushy with me.¡± The other man chuckles softly. ¡°Please go to bed, Vegas, everything will look better tomorrow. Trust me. I¡¯m hanging up now¡­ And don¡¯t forget to drink some water!¡± Then the call disconnects.
The following week is hell on earth. Vegas takes the next day off from work because he has a nasty hangover and figures no one wants to see him today anyway. As an added bonus, this will give everyone the opportunity to cool down, which sounds like a reasonable idea. Calling it in, he hears that Tem has been granted sick leave and rumour has it that he has applied to be transferred to another team. Damn. Over the course of the next hours, Vegas tries to call him several times without success. Either Tem is ignoring his calls on purpose or¡ªand this might be more realistic and awfully final¡ªhe has blocked Vegas altogether. It¡¯s an unexpectedly painful experience to be cut off abruptly from the one person he has been spending a large amount of his time with for the last two years, and Vegas isn¡¯t handling it well at all.But life goes on and the next day finds him back at work with no time to fret, because no partner means that he has to do the work of two people all of a sudden. He feels unmoored. No one is talking to him. Vegas never thought he would feel lonely at work, but now he does. He has no one to bounce ideas off. No one to complain to. No one to tease. He¡¯s all alone on his coffee and lunch breaks. He¡¯s all alone, and his nerves are starting to fray. Vegas finds himself getting irritated about the most insignificant things. It seems having Tem by his side has grounded him all these years. Now that safety net is gone and it feels as if he is lost. As a cherry on top of this ever-growing pile of crap Vegas gets a memo from his boss that he has been signed up for anger management therapy with the department¡¯s psychotherapist, and will receive a time for his first session within a week. Great. Just fucking great. Sleep is elusive these nights and so he comes to work earlier, because he might as well be productive rather than lying at home in bed in the oppressive darkness, his thoughts and regrets going wild, threatening to overwhelm him. He works and works and sometimes even forgets to eat, and then he works some more until he has to go home. In the evening he manages to order some Takeaway before he falls into an exhausted sleep until the next morning, when he wakes up way too early, with the exhaustion lingering in his bones. Towards the end of the week, when a call about yet another murder comes in, it is relegated to him. As if he doesn¡¯t have enough to do already. Vegas suspects that his colleagues are trying to punish him on Tem¡¯s behalf. That¡¯s fine with him. He sure feels as if he deserves all the punishment in the world. Might as well suck it up. At least he is getting out of the office this way, away from the mountain of paperwork that is threatening to overtake his desk. Coincidence has it that he arrives at the murder scene precisely at the same time as the department¡¯s crime scene investigation team and the medical examiner. Neat. Things will go quicker this way. Vegas parks on the side of the road, double-checking that the ¡®Police at work¡¯ badge is clearly visible. The last thing he needs right now is a parking ticket. The inevitable midday heat slams into him as he steps out of the cool of the air-conditioned car. It¡¯s going to be one of those days when he will wish for a cool shower for the next 3 hours, he can feel it already. No slum today¡ªinstead, a modestly affluent neighbourhood, relatively clean streets, no clutter. He scans the area. Apparently no CCTV either, which sucks. Oh, well. According to the notes he got, the murder has taken place in one of the apartments in the building right in front of him. He cannot remember when they had a violent crime in this area, at least not since he started working in this precinct. Interesting. A small crowd is being kept at bay by two uniformed policemen, from the looks of it fresh out of the academy. They don¡¯t seem to need any assistance, so Vegas strolls towards the crime scene investigation team, who are unpacking their minivan. Team is an overstatement, it¡¯s only two people. Money is tight these days and always seems to get stuck somewhere on the way down the chain¡ªwhen a certain someone might need a new watch perhaps. ¡°Need help with carrying something?¡± he offers. Arm tears his gaze from the tablet he has been typing on, giving Vegas a distracted glance over the rim of his glasses. He is the department¡¯s medical examiner, and one of Vegas¡¯ favourite co-workers. Maybe it¡¯s because they both suffer from a certain social ineptness that makes interacting with more normal people difficult at times. While Vegas is trying to fake it, Arm has embraced his divergence and flaunts it openly by refusing to wear the standard uniform. He favours a variety of t-shirts with geeky quotes that he seems to consider a warning sign for anyone hell-bent on interacting with him. Today¡¯s t-shirt is no exception: ¡°Dear God. What Is It Like In Your Funny Little Brains? It Must Be So Boring.¡± Way to go, Arm, way to go. Vegas approves. Meanwhile, the other half of the crime scene investigation team is busy unloading essential equipment from their minivan. That he manages to work quickly and efficiently while eating his takeaway lunch at the same time comes as no surprise to Vegas. When does he ever see Pol without food? Never. The day that Pol stops snacking will be the day the world ends. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. ¡°You got the briefing notes?¡± Why does he even ask, of course Arm got the briefing notes. Arm, too, deems this question unworthy of a reply and just grunts, still looking down at the tablet in his hands, typing quickly. ¡°All right then, let¡¯s get started.¡± Pol hands Vegas two bags which he shoulders before making his way to the building entrance. Arm and his assistant trail after him, carrying the rest of the equipment. The report says 3rd floor and of course there is no elevator. Up the stairs they go; in this heat and with this much equipment it is not a pleasant task. The other hallways and the staircase are deserted, their tired steps and huffs interrupting the eerie silence over the dull background whine of a central AC unit that hasn¡¯t been serviced for so long that it sounds as if it¡¯s about to take its last breath. Two floors up and they catch the first whiff of decay drifting down towards them, the harbinger of death. They find another police officer by the entrance to the third floor hallway, sitting on the stairs. He is supposed to be guarding the scene, but judging from the smell of the bucket beside him, he has been busy throwing up and yes, he looks positively miserable. At least he didn¡¯t throw up all over the scene. ¡°Bad one?¡± Vegas asks. Dark, haunted eyes look at him as the officer nods. The poor guy seems unable to find the words to describe what he has just seen. ¡°Anyone else up here?¡± A firm shake of the head. ¡°Did you check the other apartments?¡± A nod. This is a waste of time. Deciding to ignore the visibly traumatised officer, Vegas turns to Pol and Arm. ¡°Shall we?¡± The three of them don the disposable overalls that Arm insists on everyone wearing who is involved in one of his crime scenes. There is a fair amount of sloppiness when it comes to crime scene handling in the departments across the city, but Arm runs a tight ship and no one dares to defy him. No matter what weather, full body overalls with head covers it is, as well as shoe covers, vinyl gloves and disposable face masks. The heat up here is oppressive and this is going to suck big time, Vegas knows from experience. Arm hands the officer an evidence bag and reminds him that he will need to leave his shoes down by the van. He has entered the crime scene, and they need to make sure to exclude his shoe prints. Meanwhile Vegas gazes absently into the hallway in front of him. All the doors are closed except one. A ray of sunshine shines through the crack and highlights lazily drifting dust motes, dancing in the afternoon heat. No visible shoe prints on the floor. Maybe there won¡¯t be a lot of blood. Possible, but unlikely, judging by how traumatised the officer who has had the pleasure to be first on the scene looks. Pol appears next to him, with his state-of-the-art camera dangling from a strap around his neck, and a bag of assorted other forensic equipment on his other shoulder. Completely unfazed by the smell of vomit and decay, he is still eating the last bites of his sandwich. Before he can step even further into the hallway, a hand shoots out and yanks him right back again. ¡°No food at my crime scene, how often do I have to remind you?!¡± Arm hisses. Here they go again. ¡°Shoory bosh,¡± replies Pol cheerfully with his mouth full. ¡°Moron. I will get you replaced. No work ethics at all. Unacceptable.¡± ¡°Of course, boss, of course.¡± Pol and Vegas have heard this before. Arm has been threatening to replace his colleague for as long as Vegas has been working as a cop. It¡¯s all talk and no action. No one else can stand working with Arm except for Pol, the big, cheerful and ever so hungry teddy bear. Winnie the Pooh. Once Pol is done eating and has donned his gloves, they set out to work, making their way slowly down the corridor towards the open door. Pol points and clicks his camera, documenting everything as they carefully check the floor and walls for blood and other trace evidence on their way. ¡°The dead cannot cry out for justice. It is a duty of the living to do so for them.¡± His teacher at the police academy always stresses this, staring at Vegas with accusing eyes¡­ everyone is aware who Vegas¡¯ family is¡­ they all know¡­ they think he doesn¡¯t belong here. Vegas disagrees. He can speak for the dead¡­ he can¡­ Finally they arrive at the apartment door. The stench drifting towards them is overwhelming. Pungent. It hits Vegas¡¯ face like a thick noxious cloud of rotting decay and meat, invading his nostrils and even lingering in his mouth. Automatically he stops breathing. Bloody hell¡­ that is way worse than he expected. Since not breathing isn¡¯t an option, he cautiously inhales again. Yuck. How long has this body been in there? It smells ripe. Thankfully he hasn¡¯t had lunch yet because his stomach is heaving. Speaking of lunch¡­ he glances over to Pol, who has just eaten, and it is unfair: not even this stench is enough to make Pol queasy. He calmly continues to take photos of the door, the handle, and the area around the lock. No visible blood there either, strange. Vegas finds the lack of blood puzzling. He would have expected to find at the very least some blood smears while approaching the scene of a violent death, some transfer stains. Perhaps the victim was strangled? He¡¯ll find out soon enough. No signs of forced entry. Moving on. Vegas and Arm are both taking notes, communicating now and then in a hushed voice. Vegas carefully steps to the side to make space for Pol and Arm as they enter the apartment first, all the while trying to avoid possible pathways that could have been used by the suspect, by stepping as close to the walls as possible. Once upon a time when he was a rookie, Vegas considered using menthol salve spread beneath his nose to alleviate the particular smell of a murder scene, but he quickly learned that even the smell of a crime scene might hold valuable clues. So now he sucks it up. He will simply have to take a very long shower as soon as he is back at the police station. From past experience he knows that it will take a while to scrub the scent of death from his skin. Eating a spicy curry will also help clean away the lingering smell from his nasal passage and his mouth. Vegas doesn¡¯t like spicy food. Oh, well. They enter into a combined living room-kitchen. A doorway to the right leads to another room. The door to that area isn¡¯t fully closed, and this is where the stench of death is coming from. They have to restrain their curiosity though, and process the living room first. Nothing in here seems out of the ordinary, but Pol photographs everything meticulously. Arm and Vegas move around carefully, taking more notes. No blood here either. No signs of a fight. Everything looks peaceful, sunshine is filtering through the sole window. Everything is clean. Even the kitchen area. No dirty dishes. They document everything for the next 45 minutes. At last, there is nothing else to do than to open the door to what must be the bedroom. It¡¯s a perfectly inconspicuous door. Nothing special about it at all. Yet all three men eye that door warily, mentally fortifying themselves for what lies ahead. ¡°To boldly go where no one man has gone before,¡± Arm comments drily and proceeds to slowly pull the door open after Pol has taken a few more photos. If this were a horror movie, the door would make an eerily creaky sound. But this is reality, and the door swings open silently. In some way that¡¯s even worse. The heat emerging from this room is solid; a wall of damp, cloying warmth. Since Vegas is encased in a full-cover overall it aggravates the situation. Because he is not part of the CSI team, Vegas has to wait for his turn to enter the actual crime scene. He¡¯s standing behind Arm and Pol, so he does not immediately see anything. The silence stretches. Pol swallows audibly. That is a first, and it instantly makes Vegas nervous. ¡°¡­Interesting¡­¡± is Arm¡¯s first comment upon viewing the scene. Even he is not able to sound 100% steady. Vegas clears his throat. ¡°Is that so?¡± He¡¯s sweating and on guard, and the reaction of his colleagues upon seeing the scene is not helping either. He hates being in the dark. ¡­click¡­ click¡­ click¡­ Pol is calmly taking photos, but Vegas is so well attuned to his normally easygoing body language that he can feel the deep unease rolling off the other man. His own nervousness increases yet another notch. Finally the two men move cautiously further inward and Vegas steps forward as well, past the doorstep to what indeed appears to be a bedroom. One look and he comes to an abrupt stop. Holy. Shit. His mind goes blank. Refusing to make sense of the sight that presents itself to him. Holy. Shit. ¡­ShitShitShit¡­ The bed and what is on top of it¡ªoh God¡ªsheer carnage: a red and black nightmare. Too stunned to say anything, his eyes drift to the left side, away from the immediate horror right before him to something more normal. He registers that the sole window to the bedroom has been closed. On purpose it seems. There¡¯s a portable AC unit standing right next to the window, its hose disconnected and meticulously rolled up on the floor beside it. It¡¯s very hot in the room without the AC running, stiflingly hot. No one who has access to an AC would turn it off and disconnect it in the middle of the summer. Vegas makes a note to have someone check if the AC unit is broken. Somehow he thinks that isn¡¯t the case though. At least there are no flies. Maybe that is why the window was closed.He hesitates for a second, then glances back towards the centre of the room. Holy. Shit. It doesn¡¯t get better on the second look either. Vegas feels a tension headache coming on as his shoulder muscles constrict themselves into a tight knot. Okay, he can do this. As long as he tries to forget that this ¡­ mess ¡­ before him used to be a human being, he will be able to function and do his work. One thing at a time. What is the protocol again? He momentarily forgot. Shit. Notes, he needs to take notes. Observe the scene. Find possible clues. Think, Vegas, think! ¡­click¡­ click¡­ click¡­ Pol continues taking photos, cautiously moving around. Arm is inspecting the room as well, making notes and quietly pointing out what he wants photographed. Vegas goes back to taking notes as well, taking great care to move only where Arm has gone before. The room first. One cupboard to the right, closed. A single bed. A simple nightstand beside it, with a drawer. On the nightstand, a lamp that is, unnervingly enough, flickering ever so slightly. The bulb must be about to die. There¡¯s a book as well, well-read, with a bookmark visible. In another corner of the room stands a bucket with a mop. Someone has tied a bright red ribbon around the handle of the mop. Come to think of it, the floor here in the bedroom is remarkably clean for such a bloody crime scene. Now Vegas knows why. Fuck. A mop, really? Who does that, mopping up after themselves and then leaving the mop behind as an obvious present to the police? Fuck. A quick glance over the bed¡ªno pillow or blanket¡ªand then to the other side¡ªyes, they have been thrown on the floor there. The bed itself is occupied though¡­ Holy shit. Despite the terrible odour, Vegas takes a deep, steadying breath. It¡¯s so damn hot in here that his uniform is already soaked through with sweat and yet he feels cold, so cold as he finally allows himself to look at the scene on the bed. The body is lying on its back. A quick glance downward. Male, definitely male. Okay. The whole face is covered by some sort of cloth, apart from the genitals it is difficult to guess the sex of the victim. Because¡­ holy shit¡­ everything else is a blood mess. He takes it all in and tries to make sense of it. What kind of sick person would do this to another human being? Back to the body again. The legs and arms appear to be unharmed; there are no directly visible wounds, and no signs of constraints either. The torso though¡­ the abdominal cavity has been opened, emptied and now gapes like a red and black maw with pale streaks of bone¡ªribs?¡ªreaching outward like clawed hands. Holy shit. Vegas can do this. It¡¯s just another dead body. He has seen so many. Dead is dead. And he has a job to do. But holy shit. His attention drifts to another interesting feature in this room. Three brightly coloured plastic buckets stand neatly arranged at the foot end of the bed. Red. Yellow. Blue. And they are not empty. Damn, it¡¯s hot in here. ¡°May I¡­?¡± he checks with Arm who is hovering near the buckets, taking notes, and only steps cautiously closer when he gets the okay. The stench gets worse the closer Vegas moves to the buckets. Another step, one glance and he understands why. The red bucket seems to hold that which is missing from the abdominal cavity of the corpse, namely its intestines. A stinking, glossy wet mass of giant worms¡­ ¡°You hold the hook in your hand like this and then you take the worm with the other hand, like this, and press it down, see? And then again¡­ and again¡­ it won¡¯t come off easily that way.¡± ¡­ and the worm wiggles in agony as it is impaled alive segment after segment on the metallic hook and six year old Vegas is sure he can hear the worm screaming¡­ and he knows if he so much as moves or makes the wrong sound, father will surely impale him on that hook as well, so Vegas swallows the tears threatening to spill from his eyes and stays as still as a statue, listening to the instructions like the good boy he is¡­ That memory, the sweltering heat, the stench, and the bucket full of thick glistening strands of nastiness¡ªVegas almost loses it then. He feels burning bile rising in his throat. No no no¡­ not happening¡­ he will not throw up and embarrass himself like a rookie. Not happening! With iron willpower he forces himself to swallows it down again. ¡­movingon¡­ Bucket number two, yellow with some red-black smears along the sides, is filled to the very brim with what appears to be soaked ¡­towels? Vegas takes an educated guess that someone used them to mop up the blood from the gaping abdominal wound¡ªa quick glance towards the scene on the bed¡ªyes, the sheets around the body seem to be soaked with blood and there¡¯s a fair amount of spray on the bed and wall as well, but the amount is far too small for the quantity of blood this wound would have caused. A trail of blackish stains on the mattress¡ªdrops¡ªlead from the body towards the buckets. ¡­movingon¡­ A glance into the blue bucket reveals an assortment of organs, glistening dully. Vegas recognises the lungs and what looks like the heart. He assumes the rest will be in there as well. Arm will make sure to check, of course. ¡°What a mess¡­¡± he mumbles to himself. ¡°Actually, this seems to be carefully staged, every single detail of it,¡± Arm points out, leaning over the head of the corpse. The cloth over the face is still in place; Arm is currently focused on the throat, and Pol is taking several photos from all angles. ¡°Anything interesting?¡± Vegas inches closer to get a peak as well. The throat has a gaping wound as well. Vegas narrows his eyes and looks closer. Huh. ¡°That wasn¡¯t cut¡­?¡± ¡°Hmmm¡­¡± Arm shines a penlight at the wound, a frown on his face. ¡°Looks like a bite to me.¡± ¡°Dracula?¡± Both Vegas and Arm turn simultaneously towards Pol and glare at him. What an idiotic comment. Winnie the Pooh gives them a quick grin and shrugs. ¡°As I was saying before I was interrupted ¡­,¡± another quick glare at Pol, then Arm continues: ¡°I can¡¯t be totally sure until I have done the autopsy, but it looks as if someone has bitten through the Adam¡¯s apple.¡± Vegas gulps. ¡°Anything else?¡± ¡°I¡¯m fairly sure the victim was still alive when this was done. The spray pattern is indicative of it. See¡­¡± Arm points at the overlaying arching patterns of drying blood on the wall. ¡°The blood is propelled out of the breached blood vessel by the pumping of the heart. You can clearly see a new pattern for each time the heart pumps.¡± Vegas feels his headache increasing. There are some truly sick people out there. It¡¯s hot and he is tired, they¡¯ve been processing the scene for ages, and he really wants to go home and take a cool shower. Arm very carefully lifts the cloth from the face, allowing Pol to take more photos of it from all sides before bagging it according to protocol. Everything is evidence. They finally get the first look at the victim¡¯s unexpectedly unharmed face. The young man looks surprisingly peaceful. As if he were sleeping. Sleeping beauty. He is handsome¡ªin a horrifyingly familiar way! ¡­ skin slick with sweat¡­ ¡­ he is licking the back of his lover¡¯s neck, wringing from him a long moan of pleasure¡­ ¡­ salty¡­ ¡­ they are both panting¡­ ¡­ moving frantically together, the bed is slamming against the wall with the force of the thrusts¡­ ¡­ so much pleasure¡­ feels so good¡­ ¡­ almost there, almost there¡­ ¡­ the man beneath him throws back his head as he comes, the handsome face contorted in a mask of bliss ¡­ ¡­ that face¡­ ¡­ is the one he is looking at¡ªright now! Vegas jerks violently backward, away from the body and the bed, as if he has been unexpectedly hit by an invisible baseball bat. Arm and Pol, startled by his sudden movement, freeze mid-motion and look at him, wide-eyed with surprise. But Vegas is already backing further away, stumbling for the door, and then he is in the living room, blindly lurching for the exit as if he is haunted by the devil incarnate. He barely makes it into the hallway, ripping off his face mask to frantically gulp in air before his stomach heaves and he falls to his knees and vomits uncontrollably all over the floor. He retches until there is just bile. ¡­This cannot be happening¡­ ¡­ no¡­ ¡­ nonono¡­ ¡­ nonononono¡­ Chapter 3 ¡°Well! I¡¯ve often seen a cat without a grin,¡± thought Alice; ¡°but a grin without a cat! It¡¯s the most curious thing I ever saw in all my life!¡± It was just a one-night stand. It wasn¡¯t even a full night, for heavens sake. Just two stolen hours of anonymous pleasure with no strings attached. What a fucking nightmare. That evening, after Vegas has parked his car in the garage and turned off the motor, he stays seated, staring straight ahead for the longest time, before slowly leaning forward until his forehead touches the steering wheel, and closing his eyes in utter defeat. What a fucking nightmare. He simply cannot catch a break, it seems. What sort of horrors has he committed in his past life that karma lashes out at him like this? He feels stunned disbelief at the fact that his life is turning into such a shit show and it feels as if there is nothing he can do about it. Why is this happening to him? It was just a freaking one-night stand! What on earth has he done to deserve this? What is the point of living like this? He has a family that he cannot be part of, a little brother he has to stay away from. He has no friends. Porsche doesn¡¯t count because he has a boyfriend who hates Vegas with a passion, so they can¡¯t hang out together often. He has no romantic relationships either, thank you very much & a big fuck you to his father for that. Every time he gets close to someone they conveniently disappear, courtesy of Khun Gun. Vegas¡¯ father is so damn concerned about appearances that he nips every romantic opportunity Vegas has in the bud¡ªruthlessly. There are only so many times you can watch your crush suddenly relocate to another country, end up in the ICU after a mysterious car accident or simply disappear from the face of the earth before you get the message. Vegas got it. Loud and clear. No men allowed. And even if it weren¡¯t for his father, he would still have to consider the fact that he is a police officer, theirs is still a rather conservative society and there is simply no such thing as an openly gay detective in the police force as far as he knows. So the only option left to him are brief anonymous sexual encounters, which deep down he just hates because this is neither safe nor entirely satisfying at all. And now this has been taken away from him as well. What a fucking nightmare. He takes a deep, shuddering breath and wishes he could scream his frustration out into the void. Give me a fucking break! ¡­Think, Vegas, think¡­ First things first: Chances are pretty good this isn¡¯t connected to his father, Vegas figures. Way too messy and bloody. This murder is a glitch, an unfortunate mishap. And of course it happens to Vegas, because shit like this always happens to Vegas. Story of his life. Anyway, no one must ever find out about his connection to the victim. They¡¯re going to suspend him for sure if they find out, and Vegas cannot allow this to happen. If he loses this job he might as well jump from the nearest building and put an end to it. So damage control it is. He met the guy¡ªhe doesn¡¯t even know his name¡ªat a nightclub where Porsche used to be a bartender. He knows that they have CCTV, so Vegas simply needs to go there, wave his badge and get his hands on the tape that shows them together. While he is at it he might as well check the other tapes for any further clues about the murder. Perhaps if he catches the killer, then he will be safe ¡­ if¡­ when¡­ they find out he has a connection to the victim that he has conveniently forgotten to tell them about. Because he is not going to tell anyone voluntarily, oh no. Over his cold dead body. Arm and Pol think he had a case of heat exhaustion at the crime scene. No one must ever find out. Damage control it is. He has a plan. This is good. He can do this.
We¡¯re all confounded by a lack of time. No shit Sherlock! Vegas is stressed. No matter how many long hours he pulls, the work keeps piling up, and Vegas is getting increasingly more frustrated. He has old cases to wrap up and that means a lot of paperwork, so in order to catch up he pulls an all-nighter to get it over with and somehow survives the next day by drinking an unhealthy amount of coffee that makes him feels as if his whole body is buzzing like a swarm of bees. It¡¯s unpleasant, to say the least. Simultaneously he has to collect information about the new murder victim, which is good because now he has a name¡ªBeam Parama Jetatikarn. As a rule, he never asks for a name when it comes to his sexual encounters. Why bother¡ªhe is not going to see them again anyway. Vegas feels deeply uncomfortable learning more details about Beam¡¯s life. He would rather forget about him altogether. And yet he dutifully collects more and more information. 24 years old. Born in a small village in the countryside. Moved to Bangkok 3 years ago. Parents deceased. No siblings. No other immediate relatives. Not in a steady relationship either. Worked in a supermarket. Diligent worker. No close friends. What a lonely life. Depressing, really. What is even more depressing is that Vegas can relate. Beam had his whole life before him, and someone saw it fit to turn him into a bloody, mangled mess. No one deserves this. It¡¯s goddamn awful. Vegas makes a mental note to make sure Beam gets at least a decent burial. There¡¯s a lot of hushed talk about this murder case in the department. Everyone is glad they didn¡¯t have to process the scene. No one wants to deal with this mess; they are more than happy to leave it to Vegas. Every cop here knows that gruesome murders like this are a nightmare to handle, especially if leaked to the media. So far journalists haven¡¯t noticed, and this is good. That the victim is a nobody with no immediate relatives is also good because there are no bereaved ones making a fuss, so maybe the case canquietly fade into obscurity should they not manage to find the murderer. One morning Vegas finds a large, brown envelope on his desk when he arrives at work. Inside there are an abundance of self-assessment forms to fill out, and on the front page someone has stuck a bright pink Post-it note: ¡°Please fill out and return before our first meeting,¡± followed by a date, 2 days from now in the afternoon, an office number and a smiley. A smiley! Who even does that nowadays, are they still in primary school?! Ridiculous! Unenthusiastically Vegas spends a precious hour filling out everything. He would rather throw the forms away than answer all these very intrusive questions about himself, but in the back of his head he can hear the promise he made to Porsche¡ª¡°Promise me?¡±¡­ ¡°I suppose.¡±¡ªand so he refrains from dumping everything in the trash can beside his desk. ¡°Describe the event that triggered your anger.¡±¡ªThe mere existence of this human scumbag. ¡°Rate your anger level.¡±¡ªThen or now? Just reading this is making me angry. ¡°What were the first symptoms of your anger?¡±¡ªDoes beating him up in an alleyway count? ¡°What physical cues did you notice as you got angry?¡±¡ªPhysical clues? What does this even mean? Does seeing red count? What a waste of time! As soon as it¡¯s done he sends the forms back and does more meaningful work. Efficient as usual, Arm delivers his autopsy report within 48 hours. Vegas takes his time to read through it painstakingly. The victim had been dead no more than 12 hours¡ªthat will help Vegas narrow down the time frame when it comes to checking CCTV footage from nearby streets (and of course the security tape from the nightclub). They have not been able to lift any fingerprints from the crime scene other than the victim¡¯s and that cop who was first on the scene. Someone has been very careful indeed. It also shows that Beam has not had any visitors in a long time and isn¡¯t that a sad fact too? So he does not take his lovers home? Why then did he invite his murderer into his apartment? As for shoe prints, the scene is a mess. That bucket with the mop in the bedroom? Yup, someone used it to wipe the floor of the whole apartment with some sort of cleaning detergent. Not bleach though, they would have smelled that. Arm suspects a second mop that the murderer took away with him after cleaning up the floor on his way to the exit. The audacity of it is striking. He must have calmly mopped the floor of the whole 3rd floor hallway up to the stairs. And on the stairs there is such an explosion of footprints that is it impossible to say which ones might belong to the murder suspect. Ingenious. Vegas makes a note to look for the mop in the immediate area around the apartment building. In fact, no trace evidence of value has so far been discovered at the crime scene at all, which in itself is rather impressive. Arm seems impressed, at least. (Arm always sends two copies of the autopsy report; one official one and one with annotations about things he theories about. It makes for an interesting read.) During the autopsy they also found several needle puncture wounds on the left side of the neck. The toxicology report shows traces of a ketamine mixture in the blood; they are lucky they found the body within the 24-hour detection window. Well, now they know why the victim had no defense wounds. Cause of death has been noted down as exsanguination. Massive blood loss from the throat wound and from being disembowelled. What creeps out Vegas the most are the final conclusions Arm has drawn. There¡¯s evidence of recent sexual intercourse (and condom use), and Arm deems it likely that the victim was engaged in having sex when he was drugged repeatedly with a syringe to the neck. Based on the approximate dosage from the toxicology report, the effects of the ketamine mixture would have occurred within seconds, one minute at the most. The medical examiner further speculates that the sexual activities continued after this and then culminated in the murderer biting through the sedated victim¡¯s Adam¡¯s apple, causing a substantial throat injury. Sick. Obviously Arm has taken swaps from the area and they are being processed for saliva and DNA, but it will take a while. As if all this isn¡¯t horrific enough, Arm concludes that the victim¡ª Beam, he was a human being and his name was Beam¡ªwould have still been alive while being disembowelled, at least during the opening stages of the procedure. Thankfully not for long. Death would have occurred quickly once the abdominal cavity was opened and the removal of the bowels and other organs started in earnest. What kind of sick person does something like this to another human being? ¡­Something wicked this way comes¡­ Hopefully they will catch this madman soon.
It¡¯s D-day and exactly 10 minutes before his appointed time, Vegas arrives. The administrative section of the police department, including the psychotherapist¡¯s office, are located on the top floor of the building, the furthest away from the noisy chaos he is usually surrounded with on the ground floor. It¡¯s unnervingly quiet up here; it grates on his nerves. He finds the designated office easily enough and knocks on the door straight away. Why bother to wait? No answer, so he knocks again. Still no answer, so he simply tries the door handle, and guess what, the door is not even locked. Sloppy. Since he resents the idea of waiting outside, he simply opens the door to enter. Might as well wait inside. He expects to find yet another dull office: white, grey, dull, boring, with an equally dull and boring, slightly overweight man in his mid-50s as his therapist¡ªand so he¡¯s more than a little surprised by what awaits him inside. The first thing that strikes Vegas is the colour scheme. He blinks. The room is a rectangular shape, like most offices in this building, with a window directly opposite from the door. That wall is quite something¡­ how to describe this colour¡­ maybe ¡®Aqua¡¯ would be most fitting? It reminds Vegas of the ocean surrounding a pacific lagoon. The other three walls positively glow in a very light pastel yellow¡ªlike a freaking beach! What the heck? The whole room is airy and light and bright. Shockingly so. Sunshine streams through the window, the yellow curtains¡ªcurtains!¡ªmatch the walls. Whatever happened to functional blinders?! Arranged before the window are three armchairs, dark green, made of some kind of soft fabric that looks very comfortable. There¡¯s a plain white, round coffee table in the middle. There¡¯s even a little bookshelf in the corner to the right, full of books. And right next to the door to the left stands a desk with office supplies cluttering its surface. Drawers too. Out of principle, Vegas checks if they are locked, which they are. Good. At least his therapist has some sense, even if he has gone over to the wild side by decorating his office like this. Vegas strolls further into the room, gently closes the door behind him and spends the next minutes wandering around, taking it all in, trying to adjust to this distasteful cheerfulness. Checking out the books (boring). Poking the flowers on the windowsill to see if they are real (they are). Touching the fabric of the armchairs to see if it really is as soft as it looks (it is). The sound of the door opening interrupts his snooping. He turns towards it expectantly¡ªhere we go¡ªand then time just freezes. Working as a cop, and growing up the way he did, Vegas has a very well-developed sense of danger. And this very second, that sense kicks in with full force, completely out of the blue, and it screams at him¡ªdanger danger danger¡ªthe hair at the back of his neck stands up¡ªrunrunrun¡ªit all takes him by total surprise. And then time unfreezes again and he exhales shakily, his stress level instantly sky-high. What the hell, why is he overreacting like this? He must be more stressed about this meeting than he initially thought. This is his therapist, not some crime suspect. Damn Vegas, get a grip! Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! Being the cop he is, he pauses to give the other man who entered a more detailed look-over, noting and memorising the details. ¡­ he looks unexpectedly young¡­ ¡­ they are the same height, give or take an inch¡­ ¡­ his body looks lean yet soft¡­ ¡­ he is wearing a pair of dark slacks and a no-nonsense button down shirt in a soft blue hue¡­ ¡­ the face is smooth and youthful, with round cheeks and smiling lips¡­ ¡­ straight nose¡­ ¡­ no facial hair¡­ ¡­ a pair of expressive dark eyes¡­ ¡­ the bangs are so long they obscure the shape of his eyebrows, shadowing his eyes¡­ ¡­ sleek hair, solid black¡­ ¡­ strangely enough it reminds Vegas of the black cat his cousin Tankhun used to have when they were children. If I touch it, will he purr or claw at me, Vegas ponders, his thoughts running wild again. Bloody hell, what¡¯s wrong with me?! Okay, time to snap out of it¡ªand so he does. ¡°You have got to be fucking kidding me! Are you even out of school yet?!¡± the harsh words just burst out. Oops¡­ yeah and hello to you too. Vegas wants to smack himself. He is so on edge these days that even the appearance of this cheerful cinnamon roll is apparently enough to set off all sorts of false alarms in his body. Damn. He didn¡¯t mean to snap at his therapist like this. They need to get along after all. Great Vegas, just great. As far as first impressions go, the other man doesn¡¯t seem overly impressed with Vegas either. He is clearly surprised that there¡¯s someone in his office already and quickly gives him a once-over, only to be visibly taken aback as soon as Vegas swears and comments on his age. Very slowly, he arches his eyebrow and gives Vegas a long intense look that is difficult to categorise. Silence ensues. And up here on this floor, silence really means silence. It¡¯s so quiet they can hear each other breathing. ¡°Well¡­ this is awkward,¡± Vegas eventually acknowledges and gives an apologetic shrug. ¡°More for you than for me,¡± the other man quips amiably. ¡°Detective Theerapanyakul, I assume? A pleasure to meet you. I am Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham, your therapist. Just call me Pete.¡± He holds out his hand in greeting and winks playfully. ¡°Oh, and according to the files I have received on you, we are about the same age. Appearances can be deceiving.¡± He winked. Instead of being a middle-aged dork with glasses, his therapist is a cheerful young fluff ball and he winked at Vegas. It¡¯s simply mind-boggling. ¡°This is so not going to work¡­¡± Vegas mumbles under his breath, but still reaches out to shake hands. The moment their skin touches, there is an ever so slight shock of static electricity and Vegas all but yanks back his hand. More awkwardness. ¡°Well¡­ Why don¡¯t you take a seat, detective? Let me get my papers¡­¡± Pete gestures towards the armchairs and then steps further into the room, closing the door after hanging a ¡®Please do not disturb¡¯ sign on it. Then he busies himself at the desk, unlocking drawers and taking out a leather-bound notebook and a nondescript folder. After taking yet another deep steadying breath, Vegas picks the armchair that offers the best view of the door, the window and the rest of the room. The armchair is just as comfortable as it looks; he feels engulfed in cozy softness. It invites slouching, but Vegas is way too tense to relax. His whole posture screams that he is uncomfortable and very much does not want to be here. He cannot seem to relax, his shoulder muscles are all knotted up and he can tell that in an hour or so he will have to suffer through yet another tension headache. This is going to be hell. His therapist¡ªcall me Pete¡ªplaces the folder on the coffee table and sits opposite from Vegas, leafing through his notebook while fiddling with a multicoloured pen in his right hand. There¡¯s so much colour when it comes to this guy, it really feels overwhelming. Vegas wants to be back at his grey desk in his grey office. In his grey reality. Colours suck. Especially red. When he lifts his eyes from staring at the distracting pen he becomes aware that Pete is watching him closely. Their eyes meet, and Vegas once more feels the hair at the back of his neck stand up. Fuck. The guy is not his enemy, he needs to relax already. If only he weren¡¯t so tense. As if he could read Vegas¡¯ thoughts, Pete¡¯s lips curve into a winsome smile, and smiling does things to his face that makes Vegas¡¯ mind go completely blank for a second, then his thoughts go haywire. Like a sudden beam of sunlight illuminating the darkest corners of Vegas¡¯ soul. Inconceivable! This is not what he has signed up for, this is not going to work, he really shouldn¡¯t be here! Vegas digs his fingers deep into the fabric of the armrests and pointedly turns his face towards the lovely pink flowers on the windowsill. ¡°Thank you for filling out the forms and returning them so promptly. That saves us a lot of time.¡± Pete acts as if it¡¯s perfectly normal for his patient to react the way he does, and maybe it is. Who knows. Still staring blindly at the flowers without even registering any details about them, Vegas can hear the sound of pages turning. He takes yet another steadying breath¡ªbreathe, just breathe¡ªand then feels grounded enough to once again face his therapist. ¡°I suppose you read the basic information about anger management therapy I sent you?¡± Vegas nods. ¡°Of course you did. According to your file, you are meticulous. I didn¡¯t expect anything less from you. You and I will be working on controlling and regulating your anger so that it does not result in any further problems.¡± Pete pauses to check his notes. ¡°How is your latest victim doing? Still in the ICU?¡± he asks ever so mildly. This shrink is really not pulling any punches. Victim, my ass. ¡°I don¡¯t have the slightest clue how the suspect is doing.¡± Pete tsks and makes a note in his little leather book. ¡°Do check up on him before our next session. Consider this your homework.¡± What the fuck? Vegas fumes inwardly, clenching his jaw. And nods curtly. He does not trust himself to actually reply¡ªit seems his internal filter has disappeared and all that is left is curses. ¡°In order to deal with your anger we will delve into the psychological causes linked to your anger problems. Knowledge is power¡­¡± ¡°Listen to me, son. Knowledge is not power, it¡¯s only potential. Applying that knowledge is power. Understanding why and when to apply that knowledge is wisdom.¡± ¡°¡­and then I will teach you different methods that will help you take control and cope with your anger. This will also decrease your overall stress levels and have a positive impact on your personal relationships and well as on your workplace relationships.¡± It¡¯s probably too late to repair his relationship with Tem, but Vegas feels a little spark of hope when he hears this. There might be something good coming out of therapy after all. He doesn¡¯t hold much hope when it comes to fixing his anger issues, but if this helps him patch up things with Tem¡­ that would be nice. Pete keeps talking about the therapy in general, and Vegas finds himself listening instead of zoning out. The psychotherapist has a rich and well-modulated voice and you can hear that he is passionate about his work. People who talk about something they are passionate about are fascinating, and Pete is positively bubbling with enthusiasm. ¡°Just how long have you been doing this?¡± Vegas cannot help but interrupt his flow ¡°Huh?¡± Obviously this wasn¡¯t a question Pete expected. ¡°This. Your work.¡± Vegas gestures to the office and himself. ¡°How long?¡± There¡¯s a slight hesitation before Pete answers truthfully: ¡°About six months. This is my first employment.¡± He is obviously embarrassed and proud at the same time. It¡¯s a nauseatingly cute look on him. Great. Just great. He got himself a baby shrink. Vegas sees his chances of fixing things with Tem slipping away right before his eyes. This is never going to work. Meanwhile, Pete is talking again, something about successful anger management leading to an overall longer life span due to the decrease in reckless behaviour and violent altercations. Boy, do I have news for you. You picked the wrong cop, Vegas muses, almost feeling pity. He considers himself ¡®Reckless Behaviour Incarnate?¡¯. He has been like this all his life and it¡¯s unlikely to change, no matter what this fluff ball tries to teach him. This is never going to work. While Vegas was lost in thoughts, Pete has wandered off into a mine-field that he isn¡¯t even aware of. ¡°I also have some assessment forms for family members, you think you could forward them to your immediate family? They are mainly for siblings and parents.¡± Uh-oh. Best to put a quick end to it before this goes somewhere that wouldn¡¯t be good for either of them. ¡°If my father ever were to find out I am in therapy, for whatever reason, you are a dead man. And I don¡¯t intend that to be a threat, I am merely stating the facts. You would be well advised to keep your focus entirely on me and forget altogether about my family. Let¡¯s pretend they do not exist, that I am an orphan. That will save me and you so much trouble.¡± His voice is smooth as silk but carries a sharp edge. Vegas isn¡¯t joking, he is dead serious. Then he feels compelled to add: ¡°No guarantees though. I am not aware who he has currently paid off in this department, so there¡¯s a good chance my father will find out about you anyway. I guess that falls under occupational hazard?¡± Vegas¡¯ lips curve into a smirk as he observes how his therapist swallows hard, and he shrugs. This isn¡¯t his problem. He has warned Pete. He considers he has done his duty. In fact, why not cut straight to the chase? He has wasted enough time here already. ¡°Listen. I don¡¯t want to be here and I think you know it. Fact is, I have better and more important things to do with my time. Perhaps you and me can come to an agreement? We could go through the motions and pretend we are doing this whole therapy thing, when in fact we are not. You do your paperwork during our designated sessions, I do mine, and at the end of the hour we go our separate ways and no one will ever be the wiser. And after a while you write me a nice little official document with a stamp and signature that certifies that I have indeed gone through therapy and you deem me to be reasonably fixed now. End of story. And we will never need to see each other again.¡± This sounds like an excellent idea to Vegas and he hopes his therapist will agree. Please agree. ¡°Interesting.¡± Pete listens calmly, then nods to himself. ¡°It seems your family knows you very well.¡± ¡°Excuse me?¡± Vegas¡¯ eyes narrow into slits, his mood switches in the blink of an eye and if ever a face showed the threat of imminent death, Pete sees it at this moment. What is this shrink implying? Has he been in contact with Vegas¡¯ family? Seriously? No way. Vegas feels his hackles rising; he didn¡¯t consent to have anyone snooping around in his background. His family is off limits! His therapist continues to watch him, but there¡¯s an ever so slight flicker of something in his eyes¡ªthere and then gone again. Or maybe Vegas just imagined it, because Pete really does seem utterly calm and collected as he consults his notebook before facing at Vegas again. ¡°I received a phone call from your ¡­ cousin, I believe? Khun Kinn Theerapanyakul? You are cousins, correct?¡± What the fuck?! Vegas is momentarily unable to communicate and stares incredulously at his therapist. ¡°It was a very pleasant conversation, slightly unconventional to contact me directly, I suppose, but I am starting to see why your cousin felt the need to talk to me before my first session with you.¡± ¡­ Kinn¡­ ¡­ fucking Kinn¡­ ¡°Your cousin was worried that you might try to convince me not to go ahead with these sessions. Fascinating really, he seems to know you very well, he even predicted with astonishing accuracy what you would tell me. Did you grow up together? Are you very close? I usually only observe this behaviour in siblings.¡± ¡­Vegas is going to kill Kinn¡­ The world bleeds into red. If you¡¯re wearing red today, Red today, red today, If you¡¯re wearing red today, Stand up and shout, ¡°Hooray!¡± There is a loud thud and then the little coffee table goes flying across the room, hitting the wall with a crash, papers from the folder flying everywhere, scattering on the floor. The outburst seems to surprise both of them with its violent suddenness. Pete freezes in his chair like a mouse that has come face to face with a cobra. His hands clench the notebook tightly, hanging on for dear life. The ever present smile has slipped right off his face, leaving behind¡­ fear? Vegas is panting heavily, standing before his overturned armchair. His hands are curled into fists; he seems coiled and ready to attack ¡ªsomething¡­ someone¡ªand they both seem to be wondering if that someone might be his new therapist. The tension in the room is so thick you could cut it with a knife. Then there¡¯s a knock on the door. ¡°Everything okay in here?¡± someone asks in a concerned voice. Pete exhales, relaxes, and in an instant the bright smile is plastered back on his face; the change is so quick that Vegas finds it vaguely troubling. ¡°Everything is fine,¡± his therapist calls out cheerfully. ¡°I stumbled and pushed over a chair. Sorry.¡± ¡°All right.¡± And then the silence resumes and there is just Vegas and Pete, staring at each other. Sizing each other up. Where to go from here is the question. ¡°I suppose we found a trigger point so¡­¡± Pete moves his hands slowly, wary about setting off Vegas again, and makes a cautious thumbs-up sign. ¡°Yay to progress?¡± He is obviously trying to diffuse the situation with a nervous joke. ¡°Fuck progress.¡± Vegas is in no mood to soften his words. He is still seething inside. Fucking Kinn and his fucking interference. And goddamn Porsche who spilled the beans. But he unclenches his fists and then abruptly turns around to start picking up all the scattered papers. He has to keep himself busy with something to turn all the buzzing energy inside of him into something constructive rather than destructive. Besides, he has caused this mess, he might as well clean up after himself. In silence, he sorts the papers back into the folder and then lifts the coffee table into place again. Lastly, he rightens his armchair and hesitates for a moment before taking a seat once more. He still hasn¡¯t looked at Pete. Instead he looks at his hands. Hands that can hurt people. Hands that can kill. ¡°This is not going to work,¡± he states once more, very distinctly this time. ¡°You want money? I can give you money. Just tell me how much, I will arrange it. Then we will simply pretend that you did your job and fixed me. And you will be able to continue working in this police department without having to deal with anyone from the Theerapanyakul family, which will ensure that you will lead a long and healthy life. A win-win situation for both of us.¡± He does not lift his eyes, even though the silence stretches. Vegas hates bribing people. He does not want to see the look in Pete¡¯s eyes right now. He does not want to look at anyone. If it were up to him, he would go home and curl up in a corner of his bed. Sleep until tomorrow and forget any of this ever happened. When Pete finally speaks his voice is very gentle, with a distinctly serious undertone. ¡°Please keep your money. I will pretend that you never made an offer like this. As for this anger management therapy, let me remind you again that your participation is required. No matter how uncomfortable you might feel about this therapy, you will not be able to pay or talk your way out of it. I believe your superior was quite clear about this already.¡± He pauses briefly, perhaps to consider how to best phrase his next words. ¡°You either come here and actively work with me on improving your situation, or you can sit at home, suspended without pay until the review board has convened and discussed your employment status. Judging from your work history I believe the chances for a termination of your contract is fairly high¡ªand you wouldn¡¯t want that to happen, Detective Theerapanyakul, am I correct?¡± Vegas thoughts skip back to the moment he first saw Pete. Will he purr or claw at me, he asked himself then. Well, well, well¡­ apparently this kitten has claws. ¡°This is unwise,¡± Vegas insists, speaking through his teeth, and finally looks up to face this stubborn nuisance of a man. ¡°I warned you already about the inherent risk involved when dealing with the Theerapanyakul family. My father will not react kindly when he finds out about this therapy.¡± And once again, there¡¯s a clear unspoken threat in this statement. Let the fluff ball choke on that. He does not get the reaction he hoped for. Far from it. Pete contemplates Vegas for the longest time. His reply, when it comes, is deceptively gentle. ¡°I suppose you are right. From what I have gathered about your father, he will have a most unpleasant reaction if he were to find out that you are having therapy of any sort. I wonder¡­¡± And then he goes for the kill, his words drawing blood as his dark, fathomless eyes lock onto Vegas. ¡°Do you think this time he will stop beating you when you are on the floor or will he be so enraged that he will just continue?¡± ¡°You useless piece of shit! You are not worthy of being my son! Not worthy of being a Theerapanyakul! You are a fucking disappointment!¡± ¡­ the blows rain down on him relentlessly¡­ he can hear Macau crying¡­ he whimpers and curls up in a ball, trying to protect his belly and head best he can¡­ it hurts¡­ he is crying too¡­ but father doesn¡¯t stop¡­ the blows keep coming and coming until he passes out¡­ Vegas is speechless. He cannot read the expression in Pete¡¯s eyes, so he blinks and swallows nervously. Just who is the cobra and who is the mouse now? It¡¯s disconcerting how effortlessly his therapist has turned the tables on him. That was a threat, right? He has just been threatened with his own father! Vegas is dumbstruck. A quick glance at his watch, then Pete closes his notebook with a snap. ¡°It seems we are out of time. Saved by the bell, detective. I will see you in a few days. Oh, and don¡¯t worry, I think we are going to get along just fine.¡± Then the corners of Pete¡¯s mouth turn up in yet another dazzling smile that makes the whole of him look like sunshine incarnate. A dimple, Vegas notes, bewildered. He¡¯s even got a dimple, for fuck¡¯s sake! And as an immediate reaction to it, Vegas channels his inner puffer fish, his (invisible) spines popping out of his skin right there and then. Ugh, stay the fuck away from me! That smile¡­ Cheshire Cat, Vegas thinks as he flees the office hastily and shudders. Fuck. What has he done to deserve this? Chapter 4 ¡°I don¡¯t think¡ª¡± ¡°Then you shouldn¡¯t talk,¡± said the Hatter. ¡°What have I done to deserve this?¡± seems to have turned into the motto of his life. The next day Vegas is busy canvassing all the surrounding streets of Beam¡¯s apartment building for CCTV cameras and car dashboard cameras; he walks until his feet hurt, and then he walks some more. And naturally he has to do it all on his own because his superiors cannot be bothered giving him one, just one, other officer to help. Yes, he is definitely being hazed because of Tem. Screw them all, he sucks it up, story of his life. If his colleagues think he will give up and quit, they thought wrong. This simply makes him more stubborn, but damn, it¡¯s tedious and boring work. However, Vegas needs the footage since there¡¯s always a very slim chance the suspect has been caught on tape. ¡°In your dreams.¡± Okay, so Arm disagrees. They are having lunch together today. Unplanned. It just happens to be that all other tables are taken and so they end up as lunch partners by default. Arm¡¯s t-shirt of the day reads: ¡°Crime is common. Logic is rare.¡± His sense of humour isn¡¯t for everyone, perhaps that is why no one wants to sit next to him other than Vegas. ¡°No one who takes care to wipe down a whole public hallway upon his exit is dumb enough to be caught on a CCTV camera,¡± Arm elaborates. The food he is eating looks so spicy that Vegas, who doesn¡¯t like spicy food, imagines seeing tiny flames surrounding every bite the man takes. ¡°The whole scene was so painstakingly arranged, I would be really disappointed if he made such a colossal mistake.¡± ¡°Are you rooting for the monster?¡± Vegas cannot help but ask between bites. ¡°We are the good guys, remember? You need to be rooting for our team.¡± ¡°I merely acknowledge the fact that your monster is smart as hell.¡± Arm shrugs. ¡°Admit it, it¡¯s so refreshing to deal with a smart killer and not the usual obtuse perpetrators.¡± ¡°Arm¡­¡± At a loss for words, Vegas ends up shaking his head. ¡°You might want to keep that opinion to yourself. Otherwise you will just end up pissing off everyone here¡ªagain.¡± Naturally Arm is completely unconcerned. ¡°So what? Let them talk, they have nothing intelligent to add to the discussion anyway. And what else are they going to do, fire me?¡± He smiles drily. Arm is like Vegas in this way¡ªthere is no way anyone will be able to dislodge him from this job. A good ME is rare to find these days; the other precincts are always try to steal Arm away, but he has decided that this department suits him just fine and his superiors are so grateful for this that they ignore his antisocial tendencies. They eat in silence for the rest of their meal, each of them lost in thought. ¡°Mark my words, Vegas¡­¡± Before he leaves, Arm gives him a stern look over the rim of his glasses. ¡°This isn¡¯t the last you¡¯ve heard of your murderer. I can guarantee you have only scraped the surface when it comes to this guy. You will be in for more unpleasant surprises for sure.¡± And with that he leaves. Suddenly Vegas isn¡¯t hungry anymore at all. No, he doesn¡¯t think an intelligent killer is thrilling. And he very much does not want any more surprises, because that would mean more dead people and more exceptionally messy crime scenes. Fuck.
As if collecting the tapes wasn¡¯t bad enough, going through all the footage is even worse. It takes him a whole day. Hours upon hours of people and cars and plain every day life. Boring. Really boring. It would be so easy to zone out while looking through everything but Vegas has a duty to the victim. He cannot afford to be sloppy and miss something important. At the end of day he feels ready to climb the walls. And of course Arm was right, he hasn¡¯t found anything glaringly obvious in any of the footage. This sucks. There is a buzz in his brain from processing so much visual information in black and white all day, so Vegas goes to sit in a nearby park on his way home. He buys some street food and then looks at the trees, the grass, the flowers and the people walking past him while he eats. And he feels disconnected. As if he doesn¡¯t belong here in this oasis of normality. He is tainting it with the darkness that his job brings, and with his own darkness. He is a blemish that scars all that is perfect. He does not belong here in the last rays of sunshine before dusk. Stick to the darkness, Vegas, that¡¯s where you blend in. Arriving at home, he finds that someone has stuck a note to his door. ¡°Call me!¡± Vegas snorts derisively, crumples up the note and throws it into the trashcan. Not going to happen. He is still pissed off at Porsche for spilling the beans to Kinn (of course the note is from Porsche). In fact, he was so irked after the last therapy session that Vegas immediately called Porsche and left him a single voice message: ¡°Fuck you.¡± He hasn¡¯t been taking his calls since then and is ignoring his messages as well. For the time being it¡¯s better that they do not communicate, or else he might say something he would regret later. On days like this, when he feels out of sync with reality, a long hot shower usually helps relax him. Vegas closes his eyes and stands still under the spray, steam rising around him, engulfing him in a white blanket of heat. He feels a bone-deep exhaustion, but at the same time he still cannot seem to relax. From experience, he knows he will lie in bed for hours before he is able to fall asleep. Damn. On autopilot, he washes his hair and rinses it, lost in thoughts. Maybe he should try to take the edge off it? Unconsciously his hand drifts lower, ghosting over his neck, collarbone ¡­ scraping a fingernail over his nipple ¡­ nice¡­ and slowly further down along the soap-slick skin of his stomach. He gasps, stifling a moan¡­ very nice¡­ he¡¯s getting hard already¡­ this usually works. Usually¡ªbut not tonight. ¡­a red and black maw with pale streaks of bone ¡­ reaching outward like clawed hands¡­ Any spark of desire in his body withers away in an instant as that memory sneaks up on him. ¡°Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!¡± Vegas smashes the palms of his hands against the shower wall in utter frustration. Again, and again. Until it starts to hurt. And then some more¡­ It will be a long night.
Day three and it¡¯s time for another therapy session. ¡°Let¡¯s talk about your family¡­¡± ¡°No.¡± They are off to a good start, it seems. Vegas has taken the same chair as last time. There are fresh flowers in the vase on the windowsill. His nemesis is as cheerful as always; this seems to be his default mode. Being in his presence still feels like an unexpected electric shock to Vegas¡¯ system. He cannot adjust to someone who is this inherently happy. It isn¡¯t natural, and it puts him on edge. The little ray of sunshine is wearing another atrocious shirt, this time with pale sunflowers in various shades of yellow and soft brown. Where does he even find these? Vegas feels the urge to rip it off him and put him into a plain white shirt instead¡ªand then to burn this monstrosity. He glares at his therapist. I hate my life. Completely unfazed, Pete leans back in his armchair, crosses his legs, twirls his multicoloured pen and watches him with a lenient smile. There is that dimple again. ¡°At some point we are going to have to talk about your family, you know? You can¡¯t avoid this topic forever. Might as well get it over with right now.¡± Newsflash: Vegas has avoided taking a closer look at his family for a large part of his life and fully intends to continue doing so, no matter what this fluff ball suggests. ¡°I¡¯ll pass.¡± He answers Pete¡¯s smile with one of his own, but decidedly cooler. He will not go anywhere near that minefield which is the Theerapanyakul family and he can be very stubborn. It still rankles that Pete threatened to sic his own father on him. He has not forgotten about that threat. And a damn good threat it is. The mere thought of how this would play out has Vegas shuddering with fear. ¡°Therapy? Let me teach you a lesson, boy¡­¡± They stare at each other for what seems an unreasonable amount of time. In the end Pete holds out both of his hands, palms up. He glances pointedly at the left hand. ¡°Actively working with me¡­¡± And then at his right hand. ¡°Suspension¡­¡± And then moves them up and down like a scale. ¡°Decisions, decisions. What will it be, detective?¡± That little piece of shit. Vegas contemplates how satisfying it would be to wrap his hands around Pete¡¯s neck and squeeze that playful smile right off his face, only to push away that line of thought immediately, because it causes a flutter in the depth of his stomach that he does not want to further analyse. He clears his throat and looks away. Time to change the topic. ¡°You want to talk about stress? Fine. Let¡¯s talk about my work then. My work is stressing me out the most.¡± Pete observes him in silence¡ªlike a cat watching a mouse¡ªand Vegas almost squirms beneath that look, but holds out. Eventually, his shrink nods slowly. ¡°Work it is. For now.¡± Great, skipped the bullet this time. For the first time in this conversation, Vegas allows himself to relax a bit and slides deeper into his armchair. ¡°Tell me about the people you work with.¡± For the next 30 minutes Vegas talks about the police academy (not mentioning Tem), how he ended up in this precinct and his complicated relationship with his superiors, while artfully avoiding the elephant in the room (the Theerapanyakul family) that makes interacting with his higher-ups so delicate. Since showing its claws during the very first session, the little black kitten¡ªjust call me Pete¡ªhas reverted back to its deceptively cute state. Trying to lull him into complacency. But Vegas doesn¡¯t trust the peace. He remembers Tankhun¡¯s cat used to pounce and attack his toes when he least expected it. Who knows when this human cat will decide to pounce again? He talks about Arm and how they vibe. Two outsiders in a sea of sheep (not mentioning Tem). When Pete asks him if he ever considered inviting Arm for a drink after work to get to know him better, Vegas stares at him as if he¡¯s suddenly sprouted a pair of tentacles from his head. Meeting Arm in private? Unthinkable. It almost makes him laugh. ¡°Hell no, we¡¯re not that compatible.¡± Besides, he has a sneaking suspicion that he isn¡¯t weird enough to get Arm¡¯s stamp of approval for closer personal contact. His therapist frowns, Vegas can see doubt plainly written on his face. But Pete refrains from commenting and instead makes another note in his little leather notebook. Vegas would like to take a peek into that notebook, to see what has been written about him, though he has a hunch he wouldn¡¯t like that information. Actually this session is going remarkably well, with both of them dancing delicately around the mines that are his many triggers, and thus avoiding any sudden explosions. After another lull in the conversation, Pete gives him a long, thoughtful look and then asks very gently: ¡°Is Tem still not talking to you?¡± His toes just got attacked by the cat. Fuck. The mere mention of Tem¡¯s name makes Vegas tense up all over, his fingers digging into the soft fabric of the armrests. His throat constricts, he swallows convulsively, at a loss of words. Once again, his gaze darts to the flowers. This is becoming his safe zone. There is a soft sigh from his therapist. ¡°I see.¡± Yeah, Pete probably does. ¡°If it helps putting your mind to rest, I have been in contact with your partner. All things considered, I think he is dealing with everything reasonably well. The bite wound is healing properly and the stitches will be removed soon.¡± Pete pauses and Vegas can physically feel the weigh of his gaze. Pathetic. I am so pathetic. I wish I wouldn¡¯t care this much. But he does. And getting even this little piece of information about Tem is a balm on his wounded soul. ¡°Detective¡­?¡± The kitten¡¯s voice has a soft, pleading edge, and Vegas automatically turns back towards him. The look of compassion he is met with triggers a wealth of emotions within him that he does not quite understand. He does not like feeling like this. He does not like it at all. ¡°It¡¯s going to be fine, detective. Trust me. Your partner needs a bit of time to himself to process everything. If you give him some space now, he will be back working with you in no time. It¡¯s my impression that Tem is not the kind of person who will hold a permanent grudge against you, not even after this mess.¡± Pete¡¯s voice wraps around Vegas like a comforting blanket. No, he really does not like feeling like this. Vegas¡¯ eyes dart towards the door. Everything in him screams to get up and leave, to get away from this unexpected and unwanted compassion. Don¡¯t you see my spikes? Leave me the fuck alone. Vegas wants to yell at the fluff ball, but his throat is too tight to get any words out. Fleeing isn¡¯t an option either. In the end he simply nods curtly to show that he has listened. ¡°I understand that you are working on your own in the meantime. I suppose this isn¡¯t easy for you? How is your workload these days?¡± Thank God, they are moving on to yet another topic. This session has opened a barely scabbed-over wound in Vegas; it¡¯s as if he is bleeding internally. This is why he didn¡¯t want to do therapy. He really hates feeling like this. He does not like feeling, period. ¡°It¡¯s manageable,¡± he lies quietly. He is good at faking it. ¡°I even manage to eat lunch, so I suppose it¡¯s okay.¡± ¡°Excuse me for pointing this out but you look so exhausted that I have been wondering if I should offer you some coffee to ensure that you stay awake for this talk.¡± Pete isn¡¯t buying it. His voice is ripe with scepticism. ¡°Did you ask for help?¡± And he doesn¡¯t even give Vegas time to answer. ¡°Never mind, of course you didn¡¯t.¡± ¡°Actually, I did,¡± Vegas corrects him tiredly. Coffee sure sounds nice. ¡°You asked for help? Well, if that isn¡¯t progress.¡± And again Pete makes a note in his notebook. ¡°So your request was denied. Does that have anything to do with your current case?¡± This comment snaps Vegas temporarily out of his bout of tiredness. ¡°You know about my current case?¡± And the smile is back on Pete¡¯s face. The dimple too. Damn that dimple. ¡°Heard it through the grapevine,¡± he announces cheerfully. ¡°Sounds quite nasty.¡± And the way his dark eyes suddenly sparkle with unbridled enthusiasm sets off Vegas¡¯ inner alarms bells. This is exactly the way Arm was looking when he talked about how refreshing it is to have a smart suspect, for a change. What is wrong with the people around him? Have they all gone collectively insane? This is not a game or a movie, this is bloody reality, and they¡¯re hunting some unhinged killer who most likely has killed before, or will kill again! This is not something to be excited about! Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. And now the kitten has unexpectedly morphed into a wannabe Clarice Starling, on the hunt for his very own Hannibal to fawn over. Pete¡¯s sense of self preservation must be non-existent. Vegas narrows his eyes. ¡°Anything pertaining to my current case is confidential information that cannot be shared with civilians.¡± Take that, fluff ball. There will be no spilling of gruesome details on Vegas¡¯ watch. ¡°I am employed by the police department, so technically I am not a civilian,¡± the fluff ball points out stubbornly. Brownie points to him for being persistent. ¡°You are a shrink. You are not a detective,¡± Vegas corrects him immediately. ¡°True.¡± And Pete leans leisurely back into the depth of his armchair, spreading his legs and extending them carelessly, and that damn shirt is now riding up way higher than is decent. Vegas swallows hard, and has to blink in astonishment. Is the guy even real? Who sits like this? This is not proper at all. And distracting as hell. The Cheshire Cat is smiling again, slow at first but then the smile widens ¡ªnot looking at that dimple, no, not happening¡ªand there is a wicked gleam in the depth of his eyes. ¡°I am a shrink with a degree in criminology.¡± Vegas feels beads of sweat at the back of his neck. ¡°Good for you, but I don¡¯t care.¡± Back to looking at the flowers it is. Damn, it¡¯s hot in this room, isn¡¯t it? Maybe the AC has stopped working. There¡¯s obvious amusement in his voice when Pete speaks again. ¡°I even have a degree in forensic psychology.¡± That does it. Vegas turns back and gives this nuisance of a man an incredulous look. ¡°You got to be kidding me! Are you for real? Two degrees? You are way too young for having this many degrees!¡± And for good measures he throws up his hands in frustration. ¡°Impossible.¡± ¡°Nothing is impossible when you are smart, detective.¡± His therapist chuckles softly. ¡°And I am fairly smart, if I may say so.¡± ¡°Whatever!¡± Vegas is fed up. He is not going to play this game, whatever it is. Show me yours, I¡¯ll show you mine? Not happening! How did they end up talking about this in the first place? Time to put a stop to it, so he smiles condescendingly. ¡°Who even studies forensic psychology these days? There¡¯s nothing you can do with it unless you live in the USA and join the FBI. Such a waste of your time.¡± Speaking of time¡­ isn¡¯t their time almost up? They have been talking for what feels like an eternity. He shoots a longing glance at the door. ¡°Oh, but I think my degrees come in very handy right now, wouldn¡¯t you say?¡± The way kitten phrases it sends a shiver of dread down Vegas¡¯ spine. He does not like where this is going. ¡°Maybe we should talk about my family next time,¡± he suggests out of sheer desperation. The kitten is not to be distracted though. It has pounced on this idea and now it is unwilling to let go. ¡°In fact, I would say this is perfect timing. I need better insight into your day-to-day work routine in order to devise a plan of action regarding what sort of therapeutic approach would suit you best. And you need someone to temporarily help you out with your current case.¡± Then he adds quickly: ¡°Only menial work of course.¡± And Pete actually rubs his hands in glee. ¡°In addition, I am sure I could give you some valuable insight into the mindset of your suspect while I am at it.¡± At this point Vegas feels as if he has been run over by an out-of-control freight train. It is surreal. One moment they were talking about how exhausted he is and now his shrink seems to think he is about to join the cast of Criminal Minds. Unreal. ¡°¡­ Uhm¡­¡± He doesn¡¯t even know where to start to stop this madness. Perhaps being blunt is the best solution. ¡°No,¡± Vegas states emphatically. ¡°Oh no. Don¡¯t even think about it.¡± Pete looks like an advert for ¡®Innocence Incarnate¡¯. The mere thought of this little fluff ball of joy going anywhere near the horror that is his current case makes Vegas¡¯ stomach twist into knots. Sadly, it does not seem that the kitten has heard a word of what Vegas just said¡ªhe sits there lost in thoughts, smiling happily, so pleased with himself that he is positively beaming. ¡°Hello? Earth to Pete? Are you even listening?!¡± In desperation, Vegas snaps his fingers before Pete¡¯s face, and he is instantly rewarded with his full attention once more. And that attention scorches him. Damn, it¡¯s hot in this room, isn¡¯t it? Pulling himself together, Vegas does his best to channel his uncle¡ªeveryone is terrified of Uncle Korn¡ªpinning his therapist with cold eyes and repeating in the most serious tone of voice he has to offer: ¡°Read my lips: This is not going to happen! Nope.¡± The kitten smiles¡ªCheshire Cat¡ªand that gleam of utter determination in Pete¡¯s dark eyes does not bode well for Vegas.
A few hours later and it turns out that it is, in fact, happening. So much for that. It has only been four days and two sessions since he started his therapy, and Vegas has to grudgingly admit that he has lost complete control of his life. It¡¯s bewildering. How did this even happen? His therapist is turning out to be frighteningly efficient when he puts his mind to it, way more efficient than Vegas expected him to be. The cogs in this police department move ever so slowly, but somehow the kitten has managed to circumvent all the usual red tape in record time. Vegas stands in front of the desk of his captain and wants to scream. Loudly. ¡°You got to be kidding me! He¡¯s a civilian. He cannot tag along during an ongoing investigation! What if there¡¯s a situation? He is going to put everyone, including me and himself, in danger. This is insane! He doesn¡¯t even have a gun, or know how to use one! He probably doesn¡¯t even know how to use his fists!¡± Okay, so he is throwing a little tantrum, but this is warranted. Has everyone around him gone completely insane? Unperturbed by this outburst, his superior leans further back in his chair. He has know Vegas for a few years, he knows how conversations like this go. ¡°He is a psychologist with a degree in criminology, and an employee at the police department, so technically he¡¯s not a civilian,¡± the captain calmly states the facts¡ªagain. It must be the 4th time he is saying this. Vegas simply refuses to accept it. ¡°His degree is worth nothing out there in the real world! He has no training as a police officer whatsoever,¡± Vegas fumes. Can no one see the towering storm cloud above his head?! ¡°I don¡¯t have time to babysit the department¡¯s pet shrink! I asked for help, real help, and this is what I get?! This is no help, this is torture, plain and simple! How am I expected to work efficiently if I have to divide my attention constantly to watch this kid and keep him safe?!¡± ¡°Language, Vegas, language,¡± his superior reproaches him mildly. ¡°This ¡®kid¡¯ is your age and no matter how much you protest, nothing is going to change; this decision is final.¡± ¡°Captain!¡± Vegas positively growls now. ¡°Oh, do shut up.¡± The captain starts rubbing his eyebrows again, a sure sign that he has a headache. ¡°Listen, even if in principle I agree with your objections, the sad fact is that this is not my decision to make. I have been overruled, all right? Care to argue with the commissioner? Because I don¡¯t.¡± He shrugs, knowing his limitations. Vegas becomes slack-jawed with disbelief. ¡°How did the commissioner get involved in this?!¡± ¡°It¡¯s all about connections, Vegas. You should know.¡± And the captain gives him a pointed look. ¡°Who would have thought our little psychologist has such connections, right? Intriguing. Anyway¡­¡± He glances at his expensive wrist watch and decides to wrap things up. ¡°Just chill and play along, Vegas. Your current case means you are working in a good neighbourhood, not the slums, so that is a relief. Allow let him tag along for some of the door-to-door interviews, and if you are lucky perhaps he will get bored quickly. Now, stop arguing with me, you are giving me a headache. Just take him along. After all, what could possibly go wrong?¡± His captain shrugs nonchalantly and waves him off. Famous last words, Vegas thinks gloomily as he leaves the office and shakes his head. Famous last words.
To lose patience is to lose the battle. Vegas is losing the battle. It¡¯s Friday and he is unsure how much more he can take. Spending one single therapy session in the presence of his enthusiastic therapist is already so exhausting that Vegas feels in acute need of a vacation afterwards. And that is just after one hour. Now he has been stuck with the little ray of sunshine for most of the day, with no end in sight, and there is really only so much he can endure. He is approaching his limits fast. The one good thing about this is that Pete at least had the good grace not to gloat about his victory. Maybe he has a sense of self-preservation after all. They have been doing door-to-door interviews in Beam¡¯s apartment building for hours and by now Vegas feels his world has turned into a bizarre parallel dimension. Pete is glued to his side, literally bouncing with excitement, his energy levels seemingly unlimited. ¡®Maybe he will get bored quickly?¡¯ Fat chance! The fluff ball is wearing another one of his atrocities, a lavender-coloured dress shirt with actual lavender prints all over it, an assault on Vegas¡¯ prim and proper fashion sense. Vegas is wearing his uniform, of course. As always. Someone has to look like the adult after all. The most bewildering thing is how people react to the fluff ball. Usually Vegas can barely get a foot in the door, and people are very tight-mouthed about sharing any details with him. Not this time though, oh no. It¡¯s an eye opening experience to say the least. Everyone only takes a look at little Mr Sunshine and practically drags him into their apartments¡ªtotally ignoring Vegas, who tags along in a state of constant puzzlement. The tenants are so friendly it¡¯s astonishing. Never before has Vegas been offered so much tea, coffee, juice or other refreshments while doing interviews. ¡°Would you like some cookies?¡± ¡°Here, have a sandwich.¡± ¡°Some fruits, perhaps? Very fresh, directly from the market.¡± ¡°Poor dear, you must be so hungry, let me share some lunch with you.¡± Internally, Vegas screams. Very, very loudly. Thankfully, no one can hear him. And while Pete is offered a seat and is being fussed over (Again and again and again and then some more), Vegas manages to sneak in his questions about the day of the murder and the days leading up to it, and the tenants answer him without even a second thought since they are so distracted by the fluff ball smiling at them, illuminating their bleak lives. Amazing. Simply amazing. And infuriating. He resents his shrink for being so easily likeable. He resents him for always finding the right questions to ask when there¡¯s a lull in the conversation. He resents how the tenants fall all over themselves in order to please him. He resents those dark eyes constantly observing him when he thinks Vegas is distracted (but Vegas notices). He resents not being able to relax. He resents looking all sweaty and exhausted in this heat while Pete looks as if he getting ready for a fashion magazine photoshoot with not a single bead of sweat in sight. My life really sucks, he thinks, wishing he were elsewhere. Then he remembers Beam and the duty he has to find his killer and plasters another pleasant smile on his tired face to continue with the interviews. Towards the end of the afternoon they are finally done. Hurrah! As expected, Vegas now has a notebook with a ton of information, but no real useful clues. If only he could call it a day. But alas, there¡¯s still one more thing he needs to do, and he is wondering how to get rid of his passenger, who is currently sitting beside him humming cheerfully along to some song from the car radio. ¡°Where should I drop you off? The station?¡± ¡°Oh, are we done? I got the feeling there is still more¡­¡± And again those dark eyes settle on Vegas, making him feel as if Pete can read his very thoughts. Creepy. Vegas¡¯ nerves are raw, and he is tired. So his mind draws a blank when it comes to finding a reasonable excuse. He would prefer to go to the bar without Mr. Sunshine tagging along, but the world isn¡¯t going to end if he accompanies him either. ¡°Fine. Suit yourself. This should not take all that long anyway,¡± he simply mutters, his eyes on the traffic. ¡°No worries, I¡¯ve got all the time in the world,¡± his nemesis responds cheerfully. I bet you do. Vegas wants to hiss at him like an agitated cat. ¡°So where are we going now?¡± ¡°We need to make a quick stop over at a bar to collect their CCTV tapes. It¡¯s best to go there now, before they open for business later today.¡± Automatically, he treats the kitten like one of the academy cadets that he now and then has to supervise as they ¡®job train¡¯ with real police offers. ¡°Is this connected to your current murder case?¡± the fluff ball asks innocently. Danger, Will Robinson, danger! The kitten must not watch these tapes. ¡°No, it¡¯s for another case I¡¯m working on. I do have other cases, you know?¡± Vegas brushes him off, lying through his teeth. Since Pete doesn¡¯t ask for more information, Vegas stays silent as well, focusing on driving through the late-afternoon traffic chaos. This is actually a great distraction; he can almost forget about the other man sitting awfully close to him in the car. Just a little bit longer, then the day is over and he can be alone again. Vegas has this weekend off and he longs for solitude with every fibre of his being. Soon. Eventually, they arrive at the Hum Bar. Vegas pulls into the staff parking lot; he has been here so many times, he could find his way in the dark. ¡°You want to wait in the car?¡± he offers. Fat chance of that happening, but it¡¯s worth a try. Instead of answering, Pete is already exiting the car. Yup, that¡¯s what I thought. Vegas rolls his eyes and follows. He leads Pete through the side entrance, since the front door remains closed until opening time in a few hours. This place is quite unique. There is a bar of considerable length at one side, the wall behind it holding a tastefully displayed assortment of bottles and glasses. Directly across a dance floor is an equally long, red leather bench stretching along that wall, directly underneath an enormous print of some obscure, Western historical painting depicting a scene from another century, with people in uniform and ships. The ceiling decoration consists of a dazzling cloud of hanging glasses of all sizes and shapes, interspersed with crystal chandeliers. Towards the back of the bar, in a separated area, there are a variety of comfortable seats, arranged in small groups. In short, it looks amazing. Pete¡¯s expressive eyes get very large, then a look of sheer delight spreads over his face¡ªand there is that dimple again. Vegas rolls his eyes and walks further into the bar, only to stop after a few meters, when he becomes aware that he is on his own. Where is¡­? Oh, there he is. His therapist is looking at the painting in a way one would expect someone to admire the Mona Lisa in the Louvre. This won¡¯t do. Vegas returns to his side just in time to reach out and smack Pete¡¯s fingers as they reach out towards the painting. ¡°Don¡¯t touch.¡± Then he simply drags him along to the back of the room. Pete is like a child in a candy store; it feels unsafe to let him wander around unsupervised. ¡°Vegas!¡± Yok greets him enthusiastically when she notices him. ¡°And who is this friend of yours?¡± She gives Pete a once-over and clicks her tongue in approval, obviously drawing some very wrong conclusions in her mind, which Vegas hurries to correct. ¡°We are here on business. This is a colleague of mine.¡± Pete still seems to be in a daze, slightly overwhelmed by the sheer opulence of this place. Nevertheless he readily graces Yok with that signature smile of his. ¡°Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham, a pleasure to meet you. Just call me Pete,¡± he introduces himself. Then he turns towards Vegas and gestures towards the painting, bubbling with excitement. ¡°This is a replica of ¡®The Death of Nelson¡¯ by Benjamin West, isn¡¯t it amazing?¡± ¡°Whatever. It¡¯s only san ugly painting, get over it.¡± It¡¯s too late in the day for Vegas to retain any sort of diplomacy or patience towards the kitten. He wants the damn tapes, and to get rid of this cheerful bundle of happiness so he can go home, take a shower and sleep. ¡°Vegas!¡± Yok reproaches him and then pats Pete¡¯s hand. ¡°That is correct, it¡¯s a replica of the famous West painting. You are a fellow art lover? How delightful. Just ignore Vegas, he wouldn¡¯t recognise a Picasso if he ever saw one.¡± Seems Pete and Yok hit it off, the way they are now talking animatedly about art. Blah blah blah. Stylistic periods. Classicism. Postmodernism. Cubism. Lots of -ism¡¯s. Whatever. He doesn¡¯t have time for this. ¡°Yok, I need access to the CCTV tapes.¡± He turns to Pete, instructing him curtly: ¡°You. Don¡¯t touch anything while I am gone.¡± Then back to Yok. ¡°Don¡¯t let him touch anything.¡± Vegas is in full grumpy-babysitter-mode and doesn¡¯t even wait for a reply, just stalks away to the office in the back of the bar, where he knows the CCTV equipment is stored. He can feel both Yok and his therapist staring at his retreating back. Whatever. It takes him a few minutes to find the hard drives for the evening he was here, meeting Beam. He simply pockets them and makes a mental note to reimburse Yok for them at a later date. Then he takes a few more drives that hold footage from the days leading up to the murder. He needs to make sure that those tapes showing him hooking up with Beam disappear before anyone can ever see them. And who knows? Maybe he will get lucky this time, maybe they also hold a clue to the murderer. Who knows. When he exits the office again, he finds his baby shrink at the bar, watching Yok with avid fascination as she prepares a colourful drink. Like a kid in a candy store. Oddly endearing. No wait. Irritating. Very irritating. He is irritated with Pete, yes. Gesturing to the drives in his hand he announces: ¡°I¡¯ll bring them back as soon as I¡¯ve made copies.¡± Then he turns towards Pete and his mind goes blank again for a moment, because the guy looks so damn happy it¡¯s unreal. There is that dimple again. Vegas feels something, and he is very sure he does not want to feel whatever this is. He doesn¡¯t even want to analyse what he is feeling. Let¡¯s not go there, moving on. ¡°Time to go, Sunshine.¡± He pointedly ignores Yok¡¯s protest. He pointedly ignores the disappointed look on Pete¡¯s face when he has to leave before being able to sample the drink Yok has prepared for him. He pointedly ignores it when Pete talks enthusiastically about the bar and reveals that he has never been in a place like this nor tasted any cocktails. He pointedly ignores Pete on the whole way back to the police station, simply pretending he isn¡¯t there. This is sheer self-preservation on his part. He needs to get away or something¡¯s gonna give. Let¡¯s not go there, moving on. Weekend, here I come.
The phone is ringing. What the heck? It¡¯s Saturday night and he is off duty. Vegas has been sleeping so deeply that it takes him longer than usual to pull himself back to the land of the living. This better not be about work. Blindly, he fumbles on his nightstand until he finds his mobile and connects the call. ¡°Mmmm¡­?¡± The first thing he hears is loud music. Did someone call the wrong number? This definitely does not sound like work, which is good. Maybe he can go back to sleep now. ¡°Vegas darling, are you there? Hello?¡± The sound of the music is muffled somehow and now he can hear that someone is talking on the other side. Oh. He knows that voice. Vegas groans, just wanting to bury his face back into his pillow. ¡°What do you want, Yok? I¡¯m off duty, let me sleep.¡± ¡°Oh, there you are.¡± Yok sounds as upbeat as always. She must be at work, judging from the background noises. ¡°Vegas, be a sweetie and come and pick up your friend, will you? He¡¯s had a bit too much to drink, I think it would be best for him to go home now.¡± ¡°Huh?¡± He is still half-asleep, his brain in a fog. ¡°Porsche¡¯s drunk? Call Kinn and let me go back to sleep,¡± Vegas mumbles into the phone and snuggles deeper into his blanket. ¡°Not Porsche. Why would I call you about Porsche? Vegas, are you awake? Hello?¡± All of this is making no sense and Vegas is damn tired and feels he has been on the phone way too long already. ¡°No, I¡¯m asleep. Stop talking to me. Call someone else.¡± He can literally hear Yok roll her eyes on the other end. ¡°There¡¯s no one else to call! He is your friend, so come and take care of him.¡± What did Yok say again? Friend? Friend means¡­ Tem? Huh? Tem needs help? Tem isn¡¯t even talking to him¡ªor is he now? If only all of this would make sense to his sleepy brain. ¡°Tem¡¯s drunk?¡± he murmurs into the phone. There¡¯s a very loud exasperated sigh from the other side. ¡°Vegas! Wake up already and listen!¡± ¡°I am listening! You are not making any sense!¡± Vegas groans with growing frustration. ¡°I am not talking about Tem either. I mean your other friend!¡± ¡°What other friend? I don¡¯t have any other friend. I have Porsche and Tem and that¡¯s it! And Tem¡¯s not even speaking to me!¡± he snarls into the phone. ¡°Fine! Your colleague then. The puppy, remember?¡± This conversation is getting more and more absurd. Why are they talking about pets now? Damn, he is too tired for this! ¡°I am begging you, Yok. Have mercy¡­¡± he groans pitifully. ¡°I am way too tired to make sense of this, please tell me in plain English. Who do you want me to rescue?¡± Yok sounds equally grumpy now. ¡°Your colleague. The one who looks like a lost little puppy. The one who accompanied you to the club that afternoon. That friend. Come and pick him up before someone else does. He seems to be quite popular, if you know what I mean¡­¡± And then she simply hangs up. It takes a precious 15 seconds for that information to filter into Vegas¡¯ brain to be processed, then a few more before realisation finally hits and immediately he jerks up into a sitting position and is suddenly wide awake. You got to be kidding me! Fuck! Chapter 5 ¡°For if one drinks much from a bottle marked ¡®poison,¡¯ it¡¯s almost certain to disagree with one sooner or later.¡± It takes him only 5 minutes, then Vegas is in his car, racing through traffic. He has grabbed a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt, slipped into a pair of sandals and nearly fallen out of the door in his hurry to get going. God dammit! He doesn¡¯t even understand why he is feeling such a sense of urgency. He does not like feeling like this! It¡¯s his weekend off and here he is, dashing across town to rescue his baby shrink. Perhaps Pete doesn¡¯t even need rescuing? What is Vegas even doing? Maybe he should stop and head home again. Enjoy his weekend. He is not a damn babysitter after all. His therapist is an adult, he can do whatever the fuck he wants. And if he wants to go to a bar and get drunk, then that is his decision, and who is Vegas to interfere? They barely know each other. They have had two excruciating therapy lessons, and one day from hell as reluctant co-workers. That¡¯s it. Why does he even care? Why bother? This is none of his business. Nothing is going to happen. Pete is perfectly safe. Beam¡¯s murder was unfortunate, it doesn¡¯t mean that something similar is going to happen to his shrink. I hate this, Vegas thinks gloomily. And I hate myself for not being able to ignore this. His hands hold on to the steering wheel in a death grip. This is insane. He has gone mad. And he continues driving.
It¡¯s Saturday night. Technically, it¡¯s Sunday already. People are out and about, clubbing and partying, and the area around the Hum Bar is very crowded. Finding a parking space will be difficult; Vegas doesn¡¯t even try. He takes a slot in the staff parking lot and slams his ¡®Police at work¡¯ badge into place. Looking at his hands, he can see that he is visibly shaking. What the fuck? Okay, time to calm down a bit. If he goes inside like this, nothing good will come of it. He is having the worst kind of adrenaline rush, and this needs to be dealt with first. Everything will be fine, he tells himself. No need to worry. Nothing is going to happen to the little fluff ball. Yes, but Beam¡ªnothing is going to happen. Who knows, maybe Pete does this all the time, going out to party on the weekends? He did tell you though that he has never been to a bar like this, says the little voice in his head. Fuck. With steely determination Vegas forces himself to slow down his rapid breathing. He checks his hands again. Good. No more shaking. Let¡¯s do this. The club is very busy, as usual on the weekends. There¡¯s a line at the entrance, which Vegas simply ignores. He walks right up to the bouncers and flashes his police badge when they make an attempt to stop him from entering. His body language screams ¡®Get the fuck out of my way or else¡­¡¯ and of course they swiftly move to the side and allow him to pass. Vegas enters the bar and is immediately surrounded by throbbing music and a seemingly endless sea of bodies. It is a very busy night indeed. Of course he is not dressed for the occasion either, with the plain white t-shirt and the washed out jeans. Whatever. He¡¯s not here to hook up with anyone after all, it¡¯s fine if people will overloook him. He¡¯s never considered himself handsome. Put him next to fucking Kinn and he is all but invisible, and that¡¯s what he grew up with after all. The crowd on the dance floor surges with the rhythm of some popular pop song that Vegas has heard on the radio a few times, but he has no clue about the artist singing it. It¡¯s loud in here, and very warm, and people keep brushing up against him, invading his private space. Even when he stands on his toes and looks around for a moment, finding his target in this crush, with the subdued and ever-changing bar lighting, will be a challenge. He would have preferred not having to ask Yok for help, but it seems there is no way around it. She¡¯s going to enjoy this way too much. Vegas knows it already, sighs and makes his way to the bar. Yok is talking animatedly with some customers, but of course she spies Vegas almost instantly. She excuses herself and makes her way towards him and damn¡ªyeah, there it is¡ªthat look of pure glee on her face. Here we go. ¡°Hello Vegas.¡± Yeah, she is enjoying this way too much. Vegas flinches slightly. ¡°My, oh my¡­ I wonder, did you break any speed limits on your way here?¡± She notices his state of dress, the hair still slightly tousled from sleep, and her grin widens. ¡°I wonder what brings you here on this fine Saturday night.¡± ¡°Oh, cut it out already, Yok.¡± He checks to his left and right, just in case he spies the familiar face he is looking for, sitting at the bar. Nothing. Damn. Vegas can¡¯t help the sense of urgency bubbling back up. ¡°Okay, spill the beans, where is he?¡± It seems he will not get a quick answer, though. Yok watches him closely and seems to vastly enjoy his discomfort. ¡°Oh, you are looking for someone? I wonder who this might be¡­?¡± ¡°Yok.¡± ¡°Vegas.¡± They stare at each other. Well, Vegas is more or less glaring. Yok is simply amused. ¡°Did the puppy get under your skin, dear?¡± she can¡¯t help but ask. Ouch, Yok sure knows how to push his buttons. Vegas feels his blood pressure rising, he wants to snarl an angry denial, but stops himself at the last second. Puppy, my ass. His therapist was sent to earth for the sole purpose of making Vegas¡¯ life a living hell. He is interfering with everything! Now even with his time off work! And yeah, he got under Vegas¡¯ skin, but he will take this knowledge to his grave. ¡°The guy is a menace to society, not a puppy,¡± he retorts grumpily. ¡°Where the hell is he? And why did you need to call me? Couldn¡¯t you call him a cab? What am I, his designated driver? It¡¯s my weekend off, Yok.¡± In frustration, he runs his fingers through his hair, messing it up even more. ¡°I finally get to have two days off and you call me to rescue some guy from work.¡± The same guy I desperately want to stay away from, but that remains unsaid. ¡°Oh Vegas¡­¡± And there¡¯s so much subtext to these two words that Vegas promptly shies away from analysing it. Instead he gives her a pleading look. ¡°Have mercy with me.¡± Yok continues to study him for another minute, making Vegas really uneasy. He¡¯s like a fish unknowingly out of water. How can he possibly feel like this, when he has been at this bar so many times and also picked up drunk friends here before. Just what are you not telling me? Before he can ask, Yok nods towards the back of the bar. ¡°He¡¯s at the seating area.¡± See, that wasn¡¯t so difficult. Vegas smiles in thanks and is about to go collect the fluff ball when Yok sneaks in one last cryptic remark. ¡°Good luck. You are going to need it.¡± Vegas waits for Yok to elaborate, but she is already turning away from him, going back to work. What the hell is that supposed to mean? His anxiety ratchets up instantly. If only he could relax¡ªbut the throbbing rhythm of the music counteracts his attempts to steady and slow his heartbeat. Let¡¯s just get this over with, he decides. The plan is to go there, grab the kitten and simply drag him out of here. Worked very well that afternoon; no need to change a winning concept. And so he pushes through the dancing crowd, heading towards the back of the bar. He is a man on a mission. Go. Grab. Leave. Then drop Pete off at his place. And return home himself and get more sleep. No. Go for a night-time run to get rid of all the nervous energy buzzing through his body. Then a shower, then more sleep. Perfect plan. Alas, there is no such thing as a perfect plan. Everything comes to a screeching halt the moment he reaches the back part of the bar with the separated seating areas. There are less people here, which is a relief, but still more than enough to obstruct his vision as he scans the area. Every seat seems to be taken and there are small groups standing around some of the seat clusters. One group is slightly larger than the others, and the folks there are obviously having a great time judging from the laughter that ripples through the group from time to time. The hair on the back of Vegas¡¯ neck rises, he doesn¡¯t understand why he¡¯s unexpectedly feeling so apprehensive. Suddenly a movement in the group creates a gap, finally giving him a free line of sight¡ªand it¡¯s as if someone has punched Vegas in the stomach, knocking the breath right out of him. Good Lord. Time slows to a crawl and everything around Vegas drifts to the perimeter of his consciousness as every fibre of his being now fully focuses on the sight before him. Like a predator who has spotted his prey. The prey¡ªPete¡ªis sprawling comfortably in one of the dark red leather seats, legs stretched out in front of him, slightly apart, his upper body leaning back in utter relaxation. His whole posture awakens something deep inside of Vegas that now purrs with delight. This is bad. To make it worse, Pete is wearing black. No colours tonight. Vegas wants to stuff him right back into one of his hideous colourful shirts. Anything is better than this black shirt he is wearing tonight, which seems to be made of some sort of silky material that clings to his body in a totally indecent manner. And¡ªholy shit¡ªit appears to be semi-sheer because he¡ªand everyone else¡ªcan see a lot more tantalizing glimpses of Pete¡¯s body than they should! In addition to that, he seems to have developed a sudden allergy against buttons¡ªthe top three are undone and the contrast of pale skin versus black sleek fabric is¡­ something. As if all this weren¡¯t bad enough, Pete is wearing leather pants. Tight black leather pants. Vegas¡¯ mind stops functioning, all coherent thoughts and plans blown right out of the window. He is so screwed. He can deal with Pete, the cheerful fluff ball of never-ending joy, in the atrocious lavender print shirt, who is tagging along during routine interviews. That version rubs him the wrong way, but Vegas can handle it. He can deal with Pete, the intrusive and relentless therapist, channeling his inner sunflower through his choice of shirts. That version irritates the hell out of him but Vegas can handle this too. He is unsure if he can handle this Pete though. And now Yok¡¯s final words make perfect sense. Damn, he is so screwed. Someone bumps into him, time resets and he finds himself back in reality. With a strangled gasp Vegas draws in a deep breath. Seems he stopped breathing for a moment. What the hell? But his eyes are still glued to Pete and he finds himself incapable of look elsewhere. This is so very bad. And what the hell has he done with his hair, it looks all ruffled?! Vegas gets his answer right away because one of the many women surrounding Pete reaches out and runs her fingers affectionately through the dark strands, bright red fingernails disappearing beneath the black. And Pete¡­ Pete is leaning into the touch, a lazy smile on his face. Vegas huffs in instant outrage. One moment he is observing from a distance, the next finds him standing right next to Pete¡¯s chair, removing the offending hand with perhaps a little bit more force than necessary. ¡°Hands off, darling. He¡¯s not your toy to play with,¡± he all but growls at the woman who immediately retreats, rubbing the wrist where he¡¯s grabbed her, and looking at him wide-eyed as if he were a madman. Maybe he is. The group around Pete falls silent, watching him in astonishment. Huh? How did he get here? A mini blackout? This is bad. Whatever. He doesn¡¯t give a fuck what they might think about him. They are not who he is here for anyway. Speaking of which¡­ and Vegas turns his full attention back to Pete, who is slouching in the seat beside him, watching the whole exchange lazily with a smile of obvious amusement. And bloody hell¡­ Vegas is once again dumbstruck by the sight. This close and yeah, that shirt really is semi-sheer. For God¡¯s sake, are those¡­? Yes they are. He can see the shadow of Pete¡¯s nipples through the fabric and heaven help¡­ Heat unfurls in the depth of his stomach. Oh no, what is happening to him? This is his therapist! When he trusts himself enough to speak again, his voice sounds strange even to himself, kind of raw. ¡°Time to go.¡± Sunshine, he wants to add, but simply can¡¯t. Because this is no warm ray of sunshine anymore, this is more like a pale blue flame, seemingly harmless but actually so much hotter than any visible flames. ¡°Come on, baby, light my fire. Try to set the night on fire¡­¡± Vegas is surprised he isn¡¯t spontaneously combusting. He sure feels hot enough for it to happen any second now. This is so bad. He is vaguely aware that they are making a spectacle out of themselves, that they are surrounded by a crowd of people, but somehow the bystanders have all faded away into the background of his awareness because Pete commands his full attention at the moment. Pete rolls his head towards Vegas, arches an eyebrow and fixates him with his dark, amused eyes. So very black, like the rest of him tonight. Vegas feels as if he is falling right into them, unable to escape. Caught in the gravity of a black hole. Shit. He catches himself before swaying forward. This is very bad. Thankfully Pete didn¡¯t notice. Or did he? Because the smile spreading over his face is broader than usual. Almost knowing. Or is it? Damn, Vegas cannot seem to form a coherent thought. ¡°Oh, it¡¯s you.¡± In contrast to most people he knows his therapist does not seem to slur his words when he is drunk. In fact, he is enunciating each word with great care. Vegas also notices that Pete¡¯s gaze is slightly unfocused. Drunk indeed. Just great. ¡°Surprise.¡± Vegas attempts to smile, but isn¡¯t entirely sure if he is successful. Even the easiest things have become difficult as he is struggling to hold on to his sanity. ¡°Time to go,¡± he repeats, but Pete either doesn¡¯t understand or does not want to understand him. Grab & Go seems suddenly like a bad idea since it involves touching. And if there is one thing he knows, it¡¯s that he must not touch Pete under any circumstances. He doesn¡¯t trust himself with this Pete. Vegas is pondering his options. Not being able to think clearly while doing so is of course turning into a slight problem. Touch, or no touch, that is the question. Or perhaps ignore? Simply leave? No, he definitely must not touch Pete, because touching might lead to other things. Especially since this unexpectedly lethal Pete is now leisurely stretching in his chair in such a catlike manner that it makes Vegas¡¯ mouth go dry. He looks positively naughty, the way his leg muscles move underneath that black leather, the fabric of the shirt stretching over his chest, sliding over those barely visible nipples¡­ this is bad¡­ what was the problem again? Actually, never mind that, because Pete goes in for the kill by giving him an impish smile, followed by a wink. He very slightly bites his lower lip, followed by a lick to wet it. Vegas is not himself anymore. It¡¯s almost an out-of-body experience, as if he is standing next to himself watching the show, while someone else all of a sudden takes control of his body. He finds himself slowly leaning downwards, towards the slouching Pete, who continues to observe him beneath heavy-lidded eyes, still smiling lazily. Drawing closer and closer to his face, then the slightest movement to the side at the last minute to avoid the imminent (explosive) collision of their lips. They are cheek to cheek now, separated by a minute distance, so close that both of them feel each others body heat and a never-ending electric tingle, though there¡¯s no actual physical contact. It¡¯s titillating. It is sheer madness. What the hell is he doing? Vegas¡¯ mouth is now very close to Pete¡¯s ear and when he speaks his warm breath brushes against it like an invisible caress; Pete shudders and Vegas likes it. A lot. ¡°Want me to rescue you?¡± Vegas inquires, ever so softly. Pete manages to sound equally out of breath and amused when he replies: ¡°Do I need rescuing?¡± ¡°Yes, you do,¡± Vegas states with complete conviction. ¡°Oh.¡± Pete seems to need a moment to process this statement, time that Vegas is graciously giving him. In the meantime he taking this opportunity to simply breathe in Pete¡¯s scent. Damn, he smells as good as he looks. He wants to open his mouth and lick right along the edge of that ear and¡­ holy shit¡­ this is madness, he needs to stop. ¡°Time¡¯s up. What will it be?¡± And again he cannot help himself, he deliberately blows some hot breath into Pete¡¯s ear which makes the other man squirm in his seat because it tickles, a helpless giggle bubbling up and escaping from Pete¡¯s mouth. ¡°If I let you rescue me from them, who is going to rescue me from you?¡± he murmurs back at Vegas. ¡°Do you think you need rescuing from me?¡± Of course he needs rescuing. Vegas knows this in the part of his mind that is still being able to function. But logic is overrated, and Vegas throws that thought right out of the window, he¡¯s getting drunk on Pete¡¯s scent and absently licks his lips. So close, so tantalisingly close. If he leans in just a tiny bit close, he can drag his lips along the neck, getting a taste, perhaps even bite¡­ Things are careening totally out of control. ¡°Uhm¡­ I think I do?¡± Pete must be feeling something because Vegas can see that he is getting goosebumps along his neck. Nice. A dark chuckle escapes Vegas. ¡°Clever kitten. Let us focus on one problem at a time.¡± Both of them are stuck in their own private little universe. Everything outside has ceased to exist. There¡¯s just the two of them, dancing around each other like moths attracted to the flame, knowing they will burn but unable to resist the lure. ¡°Pete?¡± Vegas whispers. ¡°Hmmm¡­?¡± Vegas is making an huge effort to break the spell they are caught in. ¡°I need you to move away from me now.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± Damn, Pete smells good. Vegas blinks repeatedly, tries to focus and decides to answer truthfully. ¡°If you do not move away, I think I might bite ¡­¡± There¡¯s another very noticeable shudder going through Pete, coupled with suppressed laughter when he asks: ¡°Is that a promise?¡± God have mercy on his soul! This is madness. Vegas all but groans at this reply, he really needs to stop this right now because it¡¯s very clear that Pete is in no condition to play this game on equal terms. And they shouldn¡¯t be playing it in the first place! Madness, utter madness! Where were they again? Yes, rescuing. Vegas growls softly into his ear. ¡°Move away, Pete. Now. That is an order.¡± And with a soft sound of disappointment Pete leans away to the side and moves out of the immediate reach of Vegas, taking his tantalising scent with him. It takes an insane amount of self-control for Vegas not to yank him right back and sink his teeth into that ear; he is dying to know what sound Pete would make in reaction to this. Fuck. What was the plan again? Desperately holding himself together, Vegas straightens and stands up. The invisible bubble surrounding them pops, and Vegas finds himself (and Pete) the unexpected centre of attention of a crowd of partygoers. Oops. He totally forgot that they have an audience, how embarrassing. Everyone is staring at them, wide-eyed with astonishment, and Vegas can feel himself blush. ¡°My apologies for interrupting your delightful little gathering, but I am afraid your new friend here has to leave now.¡± He reaches out, hooks his right index finger under that forth button valiantly holding Pete¡¯s shirt together, and gives a light tug upwards. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± Pete seems to find this hilarious and is overcome with giggles. Vegas rolls his eyes, counts to ten and tugs again. A bit more persistent this time. Still giggling, Pete unfolds from the chair and somehow manages to stand without keeling directly over. Bloody hell. There goes the whole ¡®no touching¡¯ rule Vegas has set himself earlier on. He reaches out and takes hold of Pete¡¯s arm right above the elbow, steadying him gently but firmly. ¡°Just how drunk are you?¡± Pete sways slightly and goes from giggling giddiness to mischief in an eye blink. ¡°That is for me to know, and for you to find out.¡± Damn, he is giving Vegas whiplash. ¡°You¡¯re such a wiseass.¡± With another roll of his eyes, Vegas starts leading Pete away. Thankfully, Vegas is holding on to his therapist because as soon as he starts moving it becomes very apparent that Pete is plastered. He might be able to articulate himself reasonably well but walking a straight line is an entirely different thing. Pete is stumbling as Vegas leads him through the crowd, his footsteps irregular, his body lurching unpredictably. He keeps bumping into Vegas and the people around him as he tries to keep his balance. Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. Every time Pete collides with him, it¡¯s as if Vegas is being touched by a live wire. In addition to that, the fabric of Pete¡¯s shirt is impossibly soft beneath his hand, a stark contrast to the surprisingly firm arm muscles the shirt is trying to hide, without success. Semi-sheer indeed. Vegas tries to keep his eyes on his surroundings and on Pete¡¯s face because if he looks at his barely veiled chest he might snap again and do something embarrassing before he can stop himself. Like running his tongue in a downward line from the collarbone to that third button¡­ He is so screwed. Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, Pete lurches to the side and suddenly Vegas¡¯ hand is empty. Huh? Where did he go? Seems Pete has decided that it isn¡¯t time to leave just yet. At least not without saying his goodbyes to Yok first. Cursing under his breath, Vegas pushes through the crowd and catches up with him at the bar. ¡°One more drink before I go,¡± Pete announces merrily, holding on to the bar to steady himself before taking a seat. ¡°Are you sure, honey?¡± Yok gives him a once-over, then glances at Vegas who shakes his head firmly. ¡°One for the road it is,¡± she decides. Vegas wants to strangle her. Yok winks at him and then proceeds to ignore him in favour of Pete. ¡°Anything in particular, honey?¡± ¡°Something colourful,¡± Pete declares and sways ever so slightly. But when Vegas automatically reaches out to steady him, Pete frowns and flails his arm widely to shake his hand off, nearly knocking over some glasses in the process. He doesn¡¯t want to be touched? Fine. Vegas backs off, taking a seat beside him. Keeping an eye on Pete just in case he is about to fall off his bar chair. One more drink and then they will leave. Yok finds the whole situation ridiculously funny. She prepares a cocktail for Pete, who is watching her with fascination. ¡°So I see Vegas found you, honey. Was he very rude to get you to leave the company you were keeping?¡± Pete has gotten his hands on one of those little glittery paper umbrellas and attempts to twirl it between his fingers but he doesn¡¯t have full control over his fine motor skills anymore and the attempt fails. ¡°He said he¡¯d bite me,¡± he answers truthfully. Yok almost drops the bottle she is holding and Vegas feels a blush creeping into his cheeks as she gives him a very pointed look. ¡°Oh my¡­ did he now?¡± He squirms and looks elsewhere. No filter. Damn it. Shut up, Pete. ¡°Yeah, he does not like me much, you see,¡± Pete offers as an explanation, sounding forlorn and gazing unfocused into the distance. ¡°Oh honey, trust me he¡ª¡± Yok is about to say more, but a quick death glare from Vegas, threatening imminent physical harm, stops her, and she decides not to continue that sentence. Wise. ¡°Here, try this. It¡¯s a Mai Tai, I think you will like it.¡± The cocktail is placed before Pete, a miniature sunset in a glass, and he becomes enthralled with it instantly. ¡°Oh, so pretty¡­¡± Vegas sneaks a peek at him and groans inwardly. He can see the vertebrae of Pete¡¯s spine through that damn shirt, and it¡¯s distracting as hell. Not to mention those long legs clad in black leather. His mouth goes dry, and he quickly looks away again. Fingers crossed that Pete will drink the cocktail fast so they can get going. He isn¡¯t sure how much longer his self-control will last. For self-preservation he does his best to ignore the ongoing conversation between Yok and Pete, instead shifting his attention to the throng of people on the dance floor, fluctuating in rhythm with the pounding music. Soon enough he attracts attention. He usually does. Even clad casually like he is tonight. People notice him, and tonight is no different. The young man showing up by his side is the type he normally hooks up with, so in his ever-growing desperation, Vegas briefly entertains the thought of leaving Pete with Yok for a while and heading off to the bathroom with this guy for a quick fling. To take the edge off, because damn, he needs it badly. Pete is driving him insane. And Pete is off limits. Vegas is on full autopilot, he is flirting back without giving it much thought, because the only thing he can think of right now is Pete, and the things he would like to do to him. Damn. Someone else has also noticed that Vegas is flirting though. His little nemesis is suddenly standing right next to him¡ªdid he fall off the chair and Vegas didn¡¯t notice?¡ªand that catches Vegas by surprise. Pete sways against him¡ªzip, another flash of static electricity¡ªand before Vegas can fully comprehend what he is doing, Pete¡¯s arm is sneaking around his waist, the fingers trailing a line of heat over the lower part of his back while doing so. Marking his territory? Vegas freezes mid-motion, simply stunned because that contact is so unexpected. And thrilling. Pete¡¯s hand comes to rest near Vegas¡¯ hipbone and before he has time to process this, those hot fingers skim over the edge of his jeans and then dip below, sliding between the jeans and his skin. Vegas sucks in a shocked breath and goosebumps erupt all over his body. His world narrows down to the small area so very close to his groin where Pete is now drumming his fingers against Vegas¡¯ overly sensitive skin, the contact shockingly electric, and Vegas feels as if something has sucked all the oxygen right out of the room. He can¡¯t breathe. He is a mess. He can¡¯t think. Vaguely, he hears Pete informing the young man cheerfully: ¡°Hands off, darling. He¡¯s not your toy to play with.¡± The audacity! Wasn¡¯t that exactly the same thing he said earlier on himself? Wiseass. He wants to comment but at that moment Pete digs his fingernails in and Vegas¡¯ breath catches, all coherent thoughts scattering in an instant. He¡¯s so painfully aroused it isn¡¯t funny anymore. Fuck (if only). Breathing erratically, completely dazed, he turns his head to fully face Pete who is giving him a lopsided smile, his slightly unfocused eyes sparkling with mischief. ¡°There. Rescued you. You are welcome.¡± He is so damn proud of himself for scaring the Twink away. That look on his face makes Vegas¡¯ heart skip a beat and contract painfully. ¡°You are going to be the death of me, aren¡¯t you?¡± he eventually manages to ask, feeling totally scatterbrained, his voice raspy. This question seems to invoke another bout of hilarity in Pete. ¡°I haven¡¯t decided yet,¡± he laughs, and then proceeds to promptly slump against him with his full weight, as his feet give out. Well, so much for that. Thankfully Vegas reacts quickly and holds him up before he ends up on the floor. Pete¡¯s fingers slip out from under his jeans and Vegas doesn¡¯t know if he should cheer or weep at the loss of that intimate contact. Looking past Pete, who seems to have passed out in his arms, his eyes meet Yok¡¯s. She¡¯s been watching everything unfold with astonished disbelief. ¡°You are so screwed, Vegas,¡± she states, pity in her voice. Yeah, tell me something I don¡¯t know, Vegas thinks. I really am so screwed.
Manoeuvering Pete back to his car is the least of his problems, as it turns out. He more or less drags him along, carrying the larger part of his weight. Pete seems to be completely out of it. His head is slumped against Vegas shoulder, eyes closed and mouth slack. And he smells delicious. Once he has Pete buckled up in the passenger seat, Vegas hesitates, and then decides to button up that damn shirt. The less skin he sees, the better. He does not need further distractions like this while driving. Vegas swallows hard, then reaches out for that first button. His fingers are trembling, and he feels remarkably stupid for reacting this strongly. But as he fumbles to slip that button through the hole in the unbelievably slippery fabric, his fingers accidentally grace the soft skin of Pete¡¯s chest¡ªzing¡ªanother zap of static energy. Vegas yelps and does a little jump, his head connecting with the ceiling of the car. Ouch. ¡°Fuck, fuck, fuck!¡± This is ridiculous. He is being ridiculous. He¡¯s a grown man, not a blushing teenager with a crush. He should be able to button up a fucking shirt without behaving like a total idiot! Vegas grits his teeth and focuses on getting the job done. One button. Two buttons. Three buttons. There, done. See, that wasn¡¯t so difficult, right? Then why is he feeling so hot? Whatever, best not to think about this too closely. Hastily, Vegas closes Pete¡¯s car door, then gets in the car himself. With a sigh, he leans over and makes sure Pete¡¯s head rests against the side window instead of lolling around uncontrollably. Pete looks peaceful. And very young. And very much off limits, he is his therapist, after all! Vegas does not mix work with pleasure! And if his father finds out¡­ The faster they go their separate ways, the better. This is madness and needs to stop right away. And then Vegas becomes aware of the next problem. He has no idea where Pete lives. A glance at his snoozing passenger and yeah, unlikely he will get this information from him. Maybe he has something with his address in his wallet? He has a wallet with him, right? Come to think of it, he probably doesn¡¯t, because Vegas would have noticed that when staring at his leather-clad ass. A quick awkward search confirms it¡ªno wallet, only an ID and a credit card. Great, just great. What to do now? He cannot go back to the station and do an address search because all employee personal information is blocked and can only be accessed by his department superiors. Trying to explain why he has his drunk therapist in the car and needs to know where he lives? Not going to happen. Let¡¯s just not do this. For his sake and for Pete¡¯s. Which leaves¡­ a hotel? He could take him to a hotel, sure. But something inside of him is violently opposed to that idea. Pete¡¯s so out of it; what if he throws up during the night and starts to choke? Vegas hits his head against his steering wheel. Again. And again, and again. Fuck! ¡°I hate my life,¡± he complains loudly, more to himself than to his sleeping passenger. Of course he knows already what he will do. He will do the right thing. He will make sure Pete¡¯s safe for the night. He will take him along home with him. And he will stay as far away as possible from him the whole damn night. It will be sheer torture, and he will most likely not sleep a single minute. I really am so screwed.
He deserves a medal. Sadly there is no one around to witness Vegas¡¯ superhuman level of self-control while he drag-carries Pete from the car all the way up to his apartment. Mr Temptation Incarnate is still more or less out of it. Now and then he shows signs of consciousness, noticeable via wandering hands, coupled with some breathless giggles. Great. Just what he needs¡ªnot. ¡°No touching.¡± He has stopped counting how many times he has said this in the last 5 minutes. Progress is slow, because he has to dodge and remove Pete¡¯s hands all the time as they find their way under various pieces of his clothing. Vegas growls in frustration. He wants to howl, but that would alert the neighbours. ¡°Pete, stop!¡± he hisses sternly, trying to open his door with the key while Pete is slouched against him, running his fingers along Vegas¡¯ neck, playing with his hair, his head resting on Vegas¡¯ shoulder with the eyes closed. I am a saint, give me my medal already. It¡¯s a bit difficult to shake off those wicked, wandering fingers without dislodging Pete in the process. At last Vegas thinks he has managed it, but he has forgotten that this human octopus has another set of tentacles, and so he gives a little startled jump when the other hand suddenly grabs his ass and squeezes. He drops the keys in surprise and almost drops Pete as well. ¡°Pete! Damn it! Will you stop it already?!¡± he all but snarls. ¡°Simply tell me your address and I¡¯ll drive you home. You are being a royal pain in the ass!¡± Pete just laughs, his shoulders shaking with mirth, before he slumps over again. Right now everything is funny to him. Vegas is torn between wanting to strangle him and wanting to push him up against the wall right here and now, to kiss him until he is out of breath. No. Wrong line of thought. Must not go there. Unceremoniously he more or less dumps Pete, who is back to snoozing again, on the ground, then picks up his key and unlocks the door. There. Level One complete, proceed to Level Two. He wants to laugh, but his emotions are all over the place and that laugh comes out more like a sob as he leans against the door frame and allows himself to close his eyes for a second. Pete has gotten under his skin and he does not like feeling this way. This has the potential to turn into an epic disaster, as if he didn¡¯t have enough problems already. They are therapist and patient, damn it! They are work colleagues! And if that isn¡¯t bad enough, his father is going to kill Pete if he ever finds out that Vegas is attracted to him! He wishes Yok had never called him. He wishes he had never seen this version of Pete. He wishes he could switch off every wayward emotion he is feeling right now. And he doesn¡¯t want to be attracted to Pete either. Fuck off. Get out of my life. Leave me alone. I can¡¯t go through this again, I can¡¯t cause another death. Fat chance of that happening. Definitely not tonight. Time to get moving again. Vegas picks up Pete and carries him into the apartment, kicking the door shut behind them. He hesitates briefly, then decides that his guest will be safer in the bedroom. If he puts him on the couch, Pete will most likely roll off it within fifteen minutes. Bedroom it is. Thankfully he has a king-sized bed; Pete will be safe if he puts him right in the middle. He shoulders the door open, flips on the light switch, and all but throws his sleepy guest onto the bed in his urgency to break free from their body contact. Pete lands spread-eagled on his belly, the face sinking into the blanket and as much as Vegas appreciates the sight of his leather clad well-rounded ass¡ªand he does, he really does¡ªhe cannot let Pete suffocate. Lord, give me patience. He kicks off his sandals and then crawls onto the bed and turns Pete over. There, better. Okay, what to do next? He could just leave him there but somehow that does not feel right. Better change his clothes. This is a very bad idea, he is aware of it, but so is letting him sleep in his current clothes. Pete will be all sweaty and uncomfortable for sure. Vegas rolls off the bed again and heads to his cupboard, selecting a plain white t-shirt. He has many. They are about the same size, so this should fit Pete without any problems. First things first, though. He unlaces Pete¡¯s shoes and takes them off one by one, tossing them to the side. Next come the socks. Pete has nice feet, he can¡¯t help but notice, but he tries not to think about this too much. Give me my medal already. Back onto the bed he crawls, the t-shirt in hand. Pete¡¯s still deeply asleep, like Sleeping Beauty. The dark hair is tousled and all over the place, his face peaceful. Even in sleep his expressive mouth is curved into a faint smile. Vegas finds himself staring again. Damn, Pete is handsome as hell. Again, his heart skips a beat. His hand is moving on its own accord, reaching out to ever so gently brush Pete¡¯s hair away from his eyes. Vegas trails his index finger along the line of the eyebrow ¡­ impossibly soft ¡­ as if he is trying to memorise its shape. Then he becomes aware of what he is doing and snatches his hand back. Must not do this. After another steadying breath he starts to unbutton the black shirt systematically. If he keeps his eyes glued to the buttons without straying to other parts, this will work, he tells himself. And it does. With the shirt open, he now only has to pull Pete¡¯s arms out of its sleeves and then wrestle him into the t-shirt. The next moment he remembers why he thought this was a bad idea¡ªhe will have to touch a lot of bare skin. Just great. Sainthood, here I come. As his hands come into contact with Pete¡¯s bare left shoulder¡ªand another electric tingle races though his body¡ªhe sneaks a glance at Pete¡¯s face and freezes. Pete¡¯s awake, but just how aware remains to be seen, and watches him through half-closed eyes. Vegas feels the need to explain himself. ¡°This is not what you think it is.¡± Pete makes a low sound that could be amusement or surprise, or something else, it¡¯s hard to interpret. ¡°¡­sshink you¡¯re getting m¡¯naked¡­¡± he slurs. Yeah, I would really like to do nothing more than to rip off these clothes and see you in all your naked glory, Vegas thinks. But instead he says, ¡°Dream on, kitten. Not going to happen. We are just switching to a t-shirt, that¡¯s more comfortable.¡± Pete sighs softly and continues watching Vegas, his eyes unfocused. He isn¡¯t really cooperating, so Vegas has to prop him up like a life-sized doll to remove first one arm from the black shirt, then the other, and then the sinful garment goes flying off the bed as well. Lots of skin visible now. Lots of skin. Vegas doesn¡¯t know where to look. Or where to touch. Every single time his hands come into contact with Pete¡¯s bare skin it feels as if he is touching a live wire. Every single time. This is excruciating. ¡°Come on, arms up,¡± he instructs him with a strained voice and pulls the lethargic Pete up into a sitting position, leaning him against himself as he does his best to wrestle him into the t-shirt. Head first, then one arm and then the other. There, done. Pete is slumped against him, his head resting on Vegas¡¯ shoulder, fitting perfectly into the curve where the neck meets the shoulder, his soft deep breath feathering along the skin there every time he exhales. They are just leaning against each other and it feels so damn nice. Vegas swallows hard. Closes his eyes. And then allows himself to tilt his head to the side until it touches Pete¡¯s. This is madness, but he really needs this moment right now. He needs this peaceful intimacy that is such a stark contrast to the wild kaleidoscope of maddening emotions mixed with desire that he has been through this whole evening. ¡°¡­mine¡­¡± Pete mumbles barely audibly, and that single word carves itself straight into Vegas¡¯ soul. He is so screwed. Vegas swallows again because he suddenly feels so much and none of it makes any sense to him. He wants to stay like this the whole night. He wants to run as far away as possible. He is so screwed. Reluctantly, he allows himself to let go and lowers the now sleeping Pete gently back onto the mattress. Only one more thing to do, then he can get the hell out of this room and call it a night. One more thing¡ªand he looks at those leather pants and sighs deeply. This is going to suck big time, no pun intended! ¡°Trust me, I so do not want to do this,¡± he mutters under his breath, steeling himself for what is to come. It will be fine, he can do this. He has an iron will. He has perfect self-control. He can do this. Let¡¯s just get this over with quickly. Clenching his jaw, Vegas pushes up Pete¡¯s t-shirt to get better access to the front of those damn leather pants. Not looking any lower. Buttons. Not thinking about what is underneath. His fingers are shaking so much he is having difficulties with those damn buttons. Definitely not taking note of any bulges, oh no. Just a few more, then it¡¯s done. He is so focused on trying not to think about what he is doing that it takes him until the last button to realise that there¡¯s a lot of bare skin beneath those now unfastened leather pants. Bare skin where there should be underwear. Bare skin and curly black hair and¡­ Holy shit. No underwear. Pete¡¯s been wearing no underwear the whole evening. The wave of sheer unbridled lust that slams into him upon this realisation is staggering and catches him completely unprepared. Vegas yelps and yanks his hands back as if he¡¯s burned himself. He rolls backwards and off the bed in one smooth motion, hitting the floor with a thud. And then he is crawling backwards¡ªaway away away¡­ as far away from the bed as he can¡ªuntil his back hits the wall. Panting hard, he stares at the bed with eyes wide with shock. Entirely overwhelmed by how his body is reacting right now. He is so insanely attracted to this version of Pete that he is dizzy with desire. He is literally shaking with lust. Suddenly all he can think about is that he wants to grab Pete by the nape, drag him out of this bed, slam him into the wall and fuck him so hard that he won¡¯t be able to walk straight for a day. Houston, we have a problem. Vegas.exe is malfunctioning. Shit. Vegas is so flabbergasted over the brutal intensity of his feelings that he stumbles to his feet and then makes a hasty beeline for the bedroom door. He needs to get out of this room and away from Pete this very instant. Never before in his life has he considered slaking his thirst, no matter what. Until now. Because he wants to fuck Pete so much he is trembling. Drunk? Sleeping? Willing? He doesn¡¯t really care. Shit. Once outside, he firmly closes the bedroom door, leans against it and takes a shuddering breath. Just what sort of a monster is he turning into? He is scaring himself. Normally he would drink himself into a stupor now, but that isn¡¯t an option. If he lowers his inhibitions at this moment he knows exactly what will happen. Going for a run until he is exhausted isn¡¯t an option either, because he cannot leave Pete alone in the apartment in this state. Eventually he ends up on the shower floor, ice cold water raining down on him. Vegas leans against the cool tiles, pulls his knees up to his chest, wraps his arms around them tightly and buries his face in them. Sitting there for a very, very long time.
He doesn¡¯t get any sleep. Of course he doesn¡¯t. At some point he drags himself out of the bathroom, frozen to the very bone, but even that doesn¡¯t manage to extinguish the tiny spark of searing lust in the depth of his stomach. So the rest of the night he spends sitting on the floor in the corner of his dark living room, staring into space, letting his mind roam. Replaying the events of this night over and over again. His first glimpse of Pete in those damn provocative clothes. The unexpected attraction to his therapist hitting him smack in the face. Pete¡¯s lopsided smiles. The wandering hands. The way every touch felt so right and yet so wrong. And no freaking underwear! Vegas groans softly. He is so screwed. ¡­ the buzzing fluorescent lights¡­ people talking in low voices¡­ the shoes of the nurses squeaking on the tiles¡­ doors sliding open and shut¡­ the air is heavy with a mixture of antiseptic and cleaning fluids¡­ the intercom in the hallway calling out codes at random intervals¡­ cold metal bed rails¡­ the low hum of the IV pump¡­ the beeping of the heart monitor¡­ wires glued to a pale chest¡­ the rhythmic hissing sound of the mechanical ventilator¡­ Tears gather in his eyes and Vegas wipes them away angrily. This is not going to happen. He is not going to let this happen. Never again. He has learned his lesson the hard way. He is not going to be the cause of his lover¡¯s death ever again. Time passes. Minutes turn into hours. The sun rises. He doesn¡¯t sleep. Vegas allows Pete to sleep in. Around 10 am, he rises from the floor and stretches, all his muscles screaming in agony, but he relishes the pain. It makes him feel alive because the rest of him feels numb at this point. Shuffling over into the kitchen, he automatically washes some rice and turns on the rice cooker. Then he dashes into the bathroom for a quick pee. When he inspects himself in the mirror while rinsing his hands, he sighs deeply. He looks like shit. He is still wearing the same wrinkled clothes from last night, but changing them isn¡¯t an option because that would mean he has to enter the bedroom. His hair is a mess, he is pale with dark circles beneath his eyes¡ªin short, he looks as if he¡¯s had a really shitty night. This won¡¯t do. He forces himself to take a quick shower, this time steaming hot. He can¡¯t do anything about his clothing, but at least now he doesn¡¯t look like a zombie anymore. Mechanically, he brushes his teeth and heads back into the kitchen. The rice will be ready soon. Vegas turns on the coffee machine and places a frying pan on the stove. In a bowl, he whisks together some eggs, fish sauce, cornstarch and a bit of lime juice and fries an omelette. He doesn¡¯t have to think, his muscle memory leads the way. Cooking can be very relaxing. When the rice cooker beeps, he spoons some steaming rice onto a plate and puts the omelette on top of it. That plate, together with cutlery and a bottle of chilli sauce, is placed on the kitchen table, the smell of fresh food filling the room. Then Vegas selects a mug and fills it with coffee. He is unsure how Pete drinks his coffee, or if he drinks coffee at all, so he doesn¡¯t add any cream or sugar but places these on the kitchen table as well, so Pete can add them later if he wants. Time to face the music. Vegas feels as if he is about to go to his execution, which is absurd. He hasn¡¯t done anything wrong after all. Thank God. Taking a deep steadying breath, he enters the bedroom with the steaming coffee mug in his hand. ¡°Rise and shine, breakfast is ready.¡± Amazing how stable and calm his voice sounds, while his emotions skitter all over the place once again. At some point during the night Pete has apparently slipped underneath the blanket, because the only part of him that is immediately visible is the top of his head. Which now moves. Very slowly, the rest of Pete¡¯s head emerges. Eyes still tightly closed, he lifts up his face, his nose twitching as he sniffs. He must be smelling the coffee. His hair is tousled and standing up on all sides. Vegas¡¯ heart once again skips a beat, and instantly his mouth is dry again. He thought he was ready for this? He is such an idiot, he should have known better. He wants to drop the mug and crawl beneath that blanket, sink his fingers into Pete¡¯s hair to mess it up even more and kiss him until he is breathless. Yeah right. So not going to happen. Instead he diverts his eyes, moves over to the side of the bed and places the coffee mug on the bedside table. When he turns around, his eyes are met with Pete¡¯s. The silence between them stretches as they stare at each other. It¡¯s impossible to decipher what Pete is thinking, waking up to find himself in someone else bed¡ªhis patient¡¯s bed, to be precise. His face gives away nothing, and neither do his eyes. What does he even remember of last night? Finally Vegas breaks the eye contact and the increasingly oppressive silence to speak. ¡°There is fresh coffee on the nightstand. If you want cream or sugar with it, you can find them in the kitchen. I made something to eat too. Just omelette and rice, don¡¯t let it get cold. You can take a shower if you want to. There are fresh towels in the bathroom,¡± he mechanically rattles on, his voice devoid of all emotions. ¡°When you are done, please get the hell out of here. I¡¯m going for a walk.¡± And without any further explanation, excuses or apologies, he turns around and walks out of the bedroom. Out of his apartment. Out on Pete. Very determined to close this chapter of his life once and for all.
Once Pete has left, Vegas spends the rest of Sunday going for a run. He runs and runs until he cannot run anymore, until his body is trembling with exhausting and he cannot lift his feet without pain. Then he hails a cab that takes him home again, stumbles into his apartment and falls onto his bed, hoping for a dreamless sleep to claim him quickly. But the whole damn bed smells of Pete. Someone give him a break already! In an exhausted daze he collects the sheet, the blanket and the pillows, and throws them into the laundry. He opens the windows wide to air the room out. He gets new sheets. A new blanket. New pillows. He sprays some of his eau de toilette on the mattress. And he can still smell Pete. It is maddening. In the end he moves to the couch in the living room and even takes a sleeping pill, which finally knocks him out. Sometime in the evening he wakes up again, feeling light-headed and woozy. He orders some takeaway, eats, then calls work to ask for sick leave for the next two days. Vegas knows he needs time to think. To process. But first he gets totally shit-faced. He doesn¡¯t want to remember. He doesn¡¯t want to think. He doesn¡¯t want to feel.
Tuesday evening, after the two days of solitude he has used to patch his fragile emotional state back together best he can, his phone starts ringing. It¡¯s Arm, which is strange. He rarely receives a phone call from Arm. ¡°Vegas.¡± Just this single word, but Vegas is instantly on guard. ¡°Get over here.¡± Arm doesn¡¯t sound like himself. He sounds very tense. Vegas¡¯ inner alarm bells start ringing. ¡°I think we got another one.¡± Shit. Oh shit. No way. Shit. Chapter 6 ¡°I am not crazy; my reality is just different from yours.¡± Even this late in the evening it¡¯s still quite warm, and the air has the electric feel of an approaching thunderstorm. Since it¡¯s night time, the traffic flows smoothly, and Vegas weaves his car through the never-ending maze of streets. It¡¯s been 45 minutes since Arm¡¯s unexpected phone call. Time to process the initial shock. His first thought upon hearing about that new victim had been: Pete¡ªwhich is, of course, absurd. He hates himself for the sheer panic that flooded his system at this thought. It seems the last victim being someone he knew has affected him much more than he would have thought possible. So¡­ What does this say about whatever it is he is feeling when it comes to Pete? He doesn¡¯t want to think about that; everything about last weekend still feels too raw. Pete is really rattling his cage, but Vegas is determined to put a stop to it, to cleanse himself of this impossible attraction. As for the murder victim¡ªit was a coincidence. Beam was a glitch. That is all. Shit happens (and usually to him, but let¡¯s not think about that either). Arm hasn¡¯t really given him any information other than the address of the crime scene, leaving Vegas to contemplate why the medical examiner seems to think this new case might be connected to the other one. He shudders to think that he might have to confront more buckets of glistening nastiness or gaping chest cavities. Let¡¯s hope the smell is better this time. Tonight¡¯s crime scene is located in one of the many commercial re development areas on the outskirts of the city. The rundown buildings in this quarter are marked for demolition, but the work hasn¡¯t started yet. The area is eerily quiet and devoid of cars and pedestrians; a stark contrast to the rest of Bangkok, which is busy 24/7. This will of course be a problem when it comes to finding potential eye witnesses. Even working CCTV cameras are unlikely to be found here, damn. As Vegas pulls up to the address, he sees one lone police vehicle and the Crime Scene Investigation team¡¯s van. That¡¯s it. Guess this isn¡¯t really considered a priority, but still¡­ only one car? He parks beside them, gets out, and takes a moment to look around, getting a feel for the neighbourhood. He is in front of what seems to have been an office building once upon a time. Five floors, graffiti-filled concrete walls. Some lights are on inside, shining through dirty, partially broken windows. So they haven¡¯t cut the electricity to the building yet, interesting. The surrounding buildings fall into the same category. There is nothing obvious that makes this one stand out. Why did their suspect choose this one then? Vegas needs to figure this out; he starts scribbling down his initial thoughts in his notebook so he won¡¯t forget. Everything is important, every little detail. Making his way to the building¡¯s entrance he nods to the two patrol officers sitting there, having a smoke. ¡°Clear perimeter?¡± They nod. He doesn¡¯t have any questions for them that he can think of yet, so Vegas walks past them and through the door, which was apparently broken into at some point, because it¡¯s visibly damaged. He steps into a reception area with a staircase leading up to the left. He can see a couple of doors as well, and to the right the former reception counters. Neon lights are on, flickering irregularly, adding to the spookiness of this abandoned place. It¡¯s to the right that he spots Arm and Pol. Both of them are wearing their disposable overalls since they were first on the scene and have most likely processed it already. Pol is currently bent over what used to be a small plastic trash bin, throwing up noisily while Arm stands by his side, helpless and rather distressed. This is ¡­ unexpected. Vegas has never¡ªnever¡ªseen Pol throw up at a crime scene. This is Pol, who is always snacking, totally unconcerned even when everyone else is already heaving. There¡¯s no snack in sight tonight either. It¡¯s disconcerting. And so is the fact that Arm is visibly upset. This has also never happened before. Damn. So it¡¯s going to be one of those nights. Just great. ¡°What took you so long?¡± And we¡¯re off to a good start it seems. Arm is as blunt as always. ¡°And hello to you, too.¡± Vegas walks up to them, giving Arm and Pol a tense nod. Glancing up from hugging his trashcan, Pol smiles weakly and then concentrates on getting his stomach back under control. Arm clenches his hands into fists, then releases the tension again. Before he can say anything, Vegas points out: ¡°I came as fast as I could without breaking any speed limits.¡± ¡°Fine.¡± This explanation seems to mollify the ME; he looks past Vegas¡¯ shoulder as if searching for something ¡­ or someone. And then he furrows his brows. ¡°I thought you¡¯d come together. Oh well, you can get dressed already while we wait. Let¡¯s not waste too much time.¡± ¡°Wait for¡­?¡± Vegas has the feeling he is missing a vital piece of this conversation. ¡°The other half of your duo of course.¡± ¡°Huh?¡± No way, he must have misunderstood Arm. Vegas¡¯ stomach drops. This cannot be about Tem because Arm knows, which leaves¡­ damn. He groans. ¡°Please tell me you didn¡¯t¡­?¡± An impatient glance at his watch, then Arm shrugs at Vegas. ¡°What? Word has it he¡¯s your intern for the time being¡­ well, sort of. Why on earth should I not call him? He¡¯s supposed to help with the work burden, right? So let him help. Seriously Vegas, I don¡¯t know what your problem is. Whatever it is, get over it. There are other things that are more important that we need to focus on right now.¡± He did. He fucking did. Arm called the one person Vegas does not want to see tonight, tomorrow, or ever again. The thought of wrapping his hands around Arm¡¯s neck and squeezing is very tempting. Torn between frustration and despair, he runs his fingers through his hair and then kicks the reception desk for good measure. Hard. ¡°Fuck!¡± ¡°Tsk¡­ Language, detective.¡± Speaking of the devil¡­ It has been two and a half days since they last saw each other. Vegas has just regained his equilibrium. Running into each other again like this wasn¡¯t the plan! He didn¡¯t even have time to mentally prepare himself, damn it! This is so unfair. Steeling himself, Vegas turns around and is immediately relieved. This version of Pete, walking briskly towards them, he can deal with. Sensible dark pants, horrid green dress shirt with tiny palm trees printed all over it. Hair brushed and sleek, not a strand out of place. His cheerful baby shrink is back, and this makes everything so much easier, he hopes. Their eyes meet and it seems that despite the wide smile there is a hint of unease noticeable in Pete¡¯s body language. Join the club, kitten. Vegas feels slightly uneasy too. ¡°What the hell do you think you are doing here?¡± When insecure, revert to being antisocial. This is a winning concept for Vegas. Pete¡¯s eyes widen with astonishment and his steps falter a bit; he certainly doesn¡¯t seem to have expected that kind of greeting. ¡°Uhm¡­ we are partners, aren¡¯t we? This is a crime scene? You are here? So I am here too?¡± Think again, fluff ball. If this crime scene is anything like that last one, he doesn¡¯t want Pete anywhere near it. Arm was an idiot to call him in the first place, but Vegas intends to fix that mistake. ¡°Wrong conclusion,¡± he informs him curtly, then marches up to his side to intercept him and takes a firm grip around Pete¡¯s upper arm¡ªand immediately suffers a sensory flashback to when he did the same in Yok¡¯s bar. Zip¡ªelectric tingles again. ¡°Be right back, this will only take a minute,¡± he shouts over his shoulder at Arm and Pol, and then more or less drags Pete to the other side of the room towards the staircase, so they can have a more private conversation. ¡°Seriously, would you let go of me, detective?!¡± Pete struggles at first, but since Vegas is a man on a mission this is a futile attempt, and in the end he allows himself to be dragged along. When they are on the other side of the room, right beside the staircase that leads upstairs towards yet untold horrors, and safely out of earshot from the CSI team, Vegas releases Pete as quickly as possible because he really shouldn¡¯t be touching him at all judging from how his body is reacting to any sort of physical contact between them. Off limits. Totally off limits, must remember that. The cheerful smile is gone from Pete¡¯s face; the man Vegas is facing now is visibly irked, but at the same time trying not to be too obvious about it. So damn professional. After a steadying breath, Vegas gives his baby shrink a grim look. Time to set some boundaries when it comes to their involuntary partnership. ¡°Listen, when it comes to us working together out here in the field, the one in charge is me. You should have called me before coming here, because then I would have told you right away that you will not be setting a foot on this active crime scene. I am the one trained for this kind of work, you are not, and I¡¯ll be damned if¡ª¡± ¡°Stop it right there!¡± Pete raises a hand, interrupting Vegas¡¯ mini rant. ¡°I have something to say first,¡± and he pins Vegas down with those dark intense eyes, frowning. ¡°Detective¡­ If it was your plan to mess with me to make me stop our therapy sessions and our partnership, then let me tell you that your plan failed. I will most certainly not resign from being your therapist.¡± Whoa, what is he talking about? Vegas is clueless. ¡°I beg your pardon?¡± He isn¡¯t used to getting interrupted like this either. ¡°Uhm¡­ about the other night.¡± Danger, Will Robinson, danger! Pete is certainly braver than he looks, bringing up this clusterfuck, whereas Vegas is trying to avoid even acknowledging that anything out of the ordinary happened that weekend. Ignorance is bliss, let¡¯s not think about it and move on. Or apparently not. Apparently they are about to have a conversation about this. Right now. Can the earth please open and swallow him? No? Fine. A glance towards the other side of the room; Pol and Arm are watching them, but they are so far away they will not hear a word unless Vegas starts screaming. Which he will try very hard not to. You want to talk? Fine. And he takes a step closer, crowding Pete on purpose. ¡°Just what exactly are you insinuating?¡± His therapist looks as if he wants to take a step backwards, but then reconsiders, clenches his jaws and decides to stand his ground. Brave kitten. ¡°It was inappropriate of you to take me back home to your apartment.¡± How can he even sound so matter of fact about this? Vegas is baffled. Just thinking about that night again¡ªno, must not think about the way sleepy Pete¡¯s nose crunched up when smelling the coffee¡­ or those leather pants and a lot of bare skin¡ªremembering all this makes Vegas¡¯ throat so tight that he has to clear it. ¡°¡­ Inappropriate¡­¡± He can¡¯t help but snort with astonishment, and he actually feels a bit offended. ¡°It was either my apartment or someone else bedroom. I think you should thank me instead of throwing around accusations.¡± Crossing his arms over his chest, Pete straightens, keeping his calm, which is remarkable because Vegas is feeling anything but calm. ¡°It was inappropriate nevertheless. You should have called a cab, or dropped me off at home. Above all else, we are in a doctor-patient relationship and there are certain ethical guidelines that must be adhered to. As I am sure you are very well aware of¡­¡± And here he gives Vegas a sharp accusing stare. ¡°So if you were planning this incident to force me to terminate the therapy because of a breach of work ethics, then let me tell you again, it will not work.¡± Wow. Just¡­ wow. Vegas cannot believe what he is hearing. As if he¡¯s an evil mastermind who planned to get Pete drunk in order to get rid of him. The nerve. At the same time, Vegas cannot help wondering just how much his therapist actually remembers about that night. Throwing around accusations like this, when it was he who had his hands all over Vegas¡¯ body¡ªthe nerve indeed! Did Pete have a blackout? And before he can help himself, he decides to put that theory to a test by lying blatantly through his teeth. Take that, fluff ball, and let¡¯s see how you react. ¡°If you are so concerned about your work ethics, maybe you should not have stuck your tongue down my throat.¡± ¡°I most certainly did not!¡± Pete¡¯s eyes widen in shock. He is the perfect picture of righteous indignation and he actually huffs in outrage. And yet¡­ Since Vegas is watching him like a hawk he can make out the minuscule changes in body language and facial expressions that hint at Pete¡¯s underlying uncertainty. Vegas wants to crow in triumph. So he doesn¡¯t remember. And yet¡ªhe isn¡¯t sure if he should feel relieved or frustrated about Pete not remembering any details. ¡°Be glad I did not report you for sexual harassment,¡± Vegas mildly points out with a silky smile. ¡°Yes, I definitely think you should thank me.¡± ¡°Detective Theerapanyakul! You are going too far!¡± Pete is now so outraged that this comes out as a yell and Vegas casts a quick glance over at Arm and Pol. They are obviously confused, not knowing what is going on between him and his shrink. And unsure if they should intervene or not. ¡°You think this is going too far? You really do not know me at all¡ªotherwise you would know I haven¡¯t even started yet,¡± Vegas corrects him cynically, keeping his voice low and condescending. ¡°Now be a good boy, go home and let the grown-ups do their job.¡± There seems to be no end to Pete¡¯s affront upon hearing this. It¡¯s really fascinating to watch the emotions flicker across his expressive face. Vegas knows he should not enjoy it as much as he does but really, this is priceless. He can barely suppress a grin. Finally, Pete seems to find his voice again. ¡°I am not going anywhere! I came here to do my job and that is exactly what I am going to do, whether you like it or not!¡± ¡°We¡¯ll see about that¡­¡± Vegas is done wasting his time arguing, as much fun as it is. He has a job to do, time is ticking and Arm is waiting for him. ¡°Read. My. Lips.¡± He looms closer and gives Pete a look that threatens violence, making him shrink away instantly, until his back hits the wall of the staircase. Vegas follows, caging him in with his body, invading his private space on purpose ¡ªand it¡¯s thrilling. ¡°You are not getting anywhere near my crime scene.¡± And before Pete knows what is happening there¡¯s a snap and a click, followed by another snap and click¡ªand he finds himself handcuffed to the steel handrail of the staircase. Pete looks visibly stunned. His eyes dart from his handcuffed wrist to the handrail and then back to Vegas. ¡°You¡¯ve got to be kidding me¡­!?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I will release you once I am done. Just take a seat and relax.¡± With an insolent smirk, Vegas turns around and saunters back to the CSI team who have witnessed this exchange from a distance, and they look just as stunned as Pete. ¡°Detective! Detective Theerapanyakul!¡± Pete howls in rage behind him, but Vegas doesn¡¯t turn around. Trust me, this is for your own good, kitten. ¡°Sorry about that. Let¡¯s get going,¡± he tells the other two men as he reaches their side. ¡°Are you sure you should be doing this, Vegas?¡± Pol cannot help but ask as he hands Vegas disposable overalls, shoe covers and gloves, darting a look over to where Pete is cursing loudly and battling with the handcuffs. ¡°You want him to puke all over your crime scene? Then be my guest.¡± Vegas shrugs and starts putting on the overalls, turning a deaf ear to his ranting therapist, pretending for now that he doesn¡¯t exist. ¡°You might have a point there¡­¡± And Pol decides to also act as if Pete doesn¡¯t exist. Arm shakes his head at the antics. ¡°Pol will stay here, he can keep him company, while I show you the crime scene.¡± Then he frowns at Vegas. ¡°You are not going to puke again, are you?¡± ¡°You are never going to let me live that down, eh?¡± Vegas can feel himself flush with embarrassment. ¡°Told you it was the heat, so don¡¯t fret. It¡¯s not that hot today.¡± The ME doesn¡¯t exactly look convinced, but decides to drop the topic. As soon as Vegas is all zipped-up in the overalls, the gloves and shoe covers in his hand to be put on later, both of them walk over to the staircase, Arm leading the way. They have to pass his glowering therapist on their way up. Vegas makes sure to stay well out of his reach because¡ªa glance confirms it¡ªPete looks ready to lurch at him. ¡°Let me go!¡± Pete hisses at Vegas, the handcuffs rattling against the metal of the handrail, and then he turns towards Arm to plead with him. ¡°Tell him to uncuff me this instant!¡± Completely unfazed, Arm walks right past him, merely shrugging. ¡°Detective Theerapanyakul is in charge here. His scene, his decision. I can assure you, you will sleep better at night not having seen this scene first-hand.¡± Following Arm, Vegas, too, shrugs at his irate shrink. ¡°Like he said, my scene, my decision. It¡¯s for your own good.¡± When he is safely a few steps up, the devil rides him and he looks back over his shoulder, giving Pete a smug wink, and has the pleasure of hearing him growl with fury as Vegas ascends the stairs. This is fun. But he really shouldn¡¯t enjoy playing these kind of games with his shrink so much. Time to focus on work now. ¡°Let me guess, 5th floor?¡± ¡°Bingo.¡± Typical. So up they go; at least they don¡¯t need to carry a lot of equipment this time. ¡°What makes you think this is the same guy? More buckets?¡± ¡°No buckets. I¡¯d rather not talk about any details yet, Vegas. I think you should go in with an open mind, and when you have had a look around we can compare our thoughts.¡± The tension is back in Arms¡¯ voice. As soon as they hit the 4th floor, the smell sneaks up on Vegas. This scent is¡­ different. He pauses on the stairs, trying to figure out what this is a blend of. Arm stops as well, watching him with a drawn face, allowing him time to figure it out. ¡°¡­Flowers¡­?¡± ¡°Damn right,¡± Arm replies grimly. ¡°And ¡­¡± He doesn¡¯t want to put this into words, but Vegas has recognised the other scent as well. Once again, he gets a very strong feeling that he might not be ready for what is up there. ¡°¡­and burned meat¡­?¡± Arm nods, sighs and continues climbing the stairs. When they arrive at the top floor, it¡¯s time to put on the shoe covers and gloves. The scene has already been processed, so possible contamination isn¡¯t a problem, but the PPE also creates a convenient disposable layer between them and any potential nastiness. Vegas has ruined a couple of uniforms without the PPE, so he appreciates wearing it even though it can be a hassle at times. Especially in the summer heat. ¡°Give me a general rundown, please?¡± he asks Arm as they approach the single door at the end of the stairs. The sweet, honey-like scent of flowers and smoky, roasted meat is getting stronger already. ¡°This building has been abandoned for 3 years; it¡¯s marked for demolition. The crime was called in a few hours ago. A couple of teenagers exploring the building stumbled across the body and had the good sense to report it in. Thankfully they didn¡¯t really enter the actual scene, so it was nearly untouched when Pol and I arrived. There is one victim inside. The whole floor here used to be an open-plan office.¡± ¡°Anything I should be aware of when walking the scene?¡± ¡°It¡¯s already been processed, so you can go and touch whatever you want. As soon as we are done here I will call the coroner to collect the body. So¡­ are you ready to enter Hell, Detective Theerapanyakul?¡± Vegas rolls his eyes while having to suppress a shiver of apprehension. ¡°Stop being so dramatic, let¡¯s just get it over with.¡± With a grim smile, Arm walks up to the door and pulls it open. ¡°Welcome to my parlour said the spider to the fly.¡± And he steps aside to allow Vegas to enter. The first thing he notices is of course the stench that rolls out of the office space as soon as the door opens, and washes over Vegas. The cloying aroma of flowers is very intensive and so is the smell of barbecued meat. And underneath it he can make out the all-familiar scent of blood. He takes a moment to steady himself and to breathe, until his stomach stops roiling and heaving. He promised not to throw up and so he won¡¯t. The next thing Vegas notices is that the temperature around them has dropped considerably since the door opened. ¡°The air conditioning is on?¡± This is an interesting twist. ¡°Indeed. When we arrived the inside was at a steady 12¡ãC.¡± Vegas takes out his notebook and makes a note to check about the access to electricity in the surrounding buildings. ¡°I suppose it slowed down decomposition?¡± Arm nods. ¡°It¡¯s safe to say that the body has been here a couple of days already. We will know more after the autopsy.¡± ¡°So the question is why did the perpetrator do this? Was there a specific reason for cooling down the area or is it just a fluke?¡± Vegas eyes the door warily. If it were up to him, he wouldn¡¯t enter. He is still having the occasional nightmare about that last scene. ¡°Perhaps he didn¡¯t want the flowers to wilt.¡± Arm gives a tired sigh. ¡°Just go inside and have a look, Vegas.¡± Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. Steeling himself, Vegas walks closer to the door and then cautiously steps over the doorstep into the cold. Welcome to hell. We do not have fire. We do not have cookies. We have flowers. Vegas expected to see a body, but a quick glance around reveals that there is none, not in the immediate vicinity of the door. As Arm already informed him, the whole floor was once an open-plan office. When the building was abandoned the desks and any other office equipment was removed, leaving a bare office landscape, only interrupted by the occasional support pillars (some of them seem broken as well) and the obligatory litter on the ground. There are windows on three sides of the room: they seem to be intact as far as Vegas can tell in the twilight, gaping like dark portals into the eternal night of the netherworld. But where is the damn body? Even though there¡¯s electricity available, the overhead neon lights are not on. Another quick glance around¡ªcorrection¡ªfurther towards the back of the open space there¡¯s an area that is bathed in muted light. Is this where the body is located? Difficult to make out from the distance. ¡°The other lights are broken?¡± Vegas takes a wild guess. ¡°All the other neon tubes on this floor have been removed.¡± Arm¡¯s voice floats towards him from behind. Vegas makes another note about that and then ventures a few more cautious steps into the room. That is when he sees the first flower on the floor. What the hell¡­? A dark-green stem with thin, equally dark-green, knife-shaped leaves, crowned by a large, red blossom. Actually, it¡¯s only the outer parts of the flower petals that are red; they shift into solid black towards the centre. The central style is solid black as well, the filaments a vivid orange. It looks quite spectacular, Vegas muses. He has never seen a flower like this before, so he kneels down and glances towards Arm, who nods his okay. Only then does he pick up the flower with his gloved fingers to take a closer look and to smell it¡ªand immediately wrinkles his nose. It is intensely fragrant, like a high-end floral perfume. Judging from the potency of the scent in the air this isn¡¯t the only flower here either. Weird. He never had a crime scene where the perpetrator brought flowers along. ¡°No, I don¡¯t know what sort of flower this is,¡± Arm, who apparently can read his mind now, informs him before he can even ask the question. Another thing to look into. Those flowers must be rare. Where did the perpetrator get them? How did he bring them here? Has anyone seen him? There must be some sort of paper trail for this somewhere. Vegas places the flower back on the floor and edges towards the illuminated area in the back of the office space. There are more flowers on the ground. As far as he can see in the gloom, they are all over the floor, and not just placed on a direct path towards the body. Why? Another question to figure out. The closer he gets to the actual crime scene, the more details he can make out. The centre seems to be one of the broken support pillars, but it looks different from the others. Thicker somehow. He has a very bad feeling about this because the closer he gets, the more distinct the smell of roasted meat becomes. This is going to be bad. And it is. Holy shit. Whatever happened to shooting or stabbing people? You know, just regular homicides? Coming to a stop before entering the circular area of light surrounding it,Vegas is at a loss for words. He thought the other murder scene was bad, but this here is on a whole new level. His mind rebells and shies away from making sense of what the eyes report back to his brain. There¡¯s the body he¡¯s been looking for, tied to a concrete pillar. But it¡¯s been¡­ warped¡­ transformed¡­ to a point that it¡¯s nearly unrecognisable as human remains. Holy shit. He notices that his legs have started trembling, actually his whole body is trembling as he is hit by an adrenaline wave that makes his heart pound like crazy. Sucking in a breath of the flowery, icy air, he crouches down and closes his eyes, struggling for composure. ¡°Just give me a minute,¡± he croaks, his voice sounding oddly breathless. Is he hyperventilating? Not good. ¡°Take your time,¡± Arm replies quietly from behind him somewhere. Vegas is glad that the ME is around and that he isn¡¯t alone in this surreal nightmare. And thankfully Pete isn¡¯t here to see this either. ¡°What the fuck¡­¡± He slowly rocks back and forth, concentrating on getting his erratic breathing back under control. ¡°What the fuck¡­¡± It takes a while until he feels ready again to open his eyes and stand up. No wonder Pol was throwing up. He feels like throwing up as well. ¡°Whoever did this¡­ the fucker is insane,¡± he mumbles under his breath. All right, let¡¯s do this. With numb fingers he opens his notebook and then takes a closer look at the horror before him. The floor in this circle of muted light is covered with flowers; they will have to be counted of course. Pol probably already did. An eerie blood-red meadow of flowers, and as the centerpiece¡ªholy shit¡ªthis used to be a human being. Vegas knows this. But the person is all but unrecognisable now. ¡°Painters use red like spice.¡± ¡­ what is that even supposed to mean¡­? The support pillar the man is attached to ends jaggedly at about waist level¡ªVegas just assumes at this point that the victim is a man¡ªlike a black stalagmite rising from the ground. The concrete is black because it has been charred, and so has the lower half of the body tied to it with¡­ chains? Vegas knows the only way to handle this scene objectively is to detach himself. Even the slightest spark of empathy for the victim will make Vegas fall apart, so he ruthlessly pushes those thoughts away and focuses on the details without associating the remains with someone who was living and breathing and going about with his life just a few days ago. ¡°I don¡¯t see any firewood. How did the killer burn him?¡± he checks with Arm while very carefully stepping into the red sea of flowers, approaching the body. ¡°Take a look at the chains.¡± This requires Vegas to step closer. The stench of roasted meat is so overwhelming at this range that he is glad it has been hours since he ate something. This isn¡¯t the first burned body he has seen, but at the other scenes there was always something else that burned as well¡ªfurniture, decorations and such. In here, there¡¯s just concrete and flowers and so there¡¯s no other smell covering up the meaty stench to make it more bearable. He swallows drily, then crouches down to take a closer look at the chains. From what he can see, they have burned into the charred mess that used to be the victims legs. The metal seems to be slightly deformed and discoloured as well. The floor in the immediate area around the pillar is covered with charred flakes of¡ªgross¡­ this must be burned skin¡ªand large black stains that Vegas assumes is dried blood. Automatically he takes more notes. ¡°Blowtorch?¡± Vegas has to clear his throat. This crime scene is really getting to him. ¡°Not hot enough to deform the chains I think but I am no expert in that area so I will need to look it up myself,¡± Arm admits. ¡°For now let¡¯s assume it was a welding torch.¡± ¡°What a sick fucker.¡± Vegas shakes his head in disbelief. Then another thought pops into his head and his throat gets tight again. ¡°The victim wasn¡¯t alive for that, was he?¡± ¡°I need to do the autopsy first to look at the lung tissue, Vegas.¡± There is a long pause again, before Arm hesitantly adds: ¡°Based on the other crime scene I would assume he was alive at least for some of the initial burns, before the perpetrator started with the rest.¡± And he gestures to the upper body. ¡°Without further tests it¡¯s difficult to say with what the killer started, the burns or ¡­this,¡± and he gestures towards the torso. ¡°Of course I can¡¯t give you a definite cause of death yet, but I assume the victim went into fatal shock fairly quickly from the pain alone.¡± ¡°Do you really think this is connected to that other murder, Arm?¡± Vegas remains skeptical. ¡°What are the chances of having two murders with such highly unusual modus operandi in a relative short amount of time, perpetrated by two different people? Yes, I¡¯m pretty sure this is the same perpetrator; we just need to find the clues linking the crime scenes together.¡± Arm sounds very confident about his theory. Vegas sighs deeply. Well, one deranged murderer is better than two, right? Back to work¡­ The upper body¡­ The upper body that Vegas has tried to ignore so far. You would think chaining someone to a pillar and burning them alive with a welding torch is bad? But it isn¡¯t nearly as fucked up as what their murderer has done above the waist area. The scent of the flowers is making Vegas dizzy. Or maybe he is just dizzy in general. Maybe his body wants to get the hell out of here and is sending increasingly strong signals to Vegas to make him comply. Self-preservation. Sadly, it doesn¡¯t work that way when you are a police officer and have to deal with violent crime on a regular basis. Pete wanted to know why he has anger issues? Who the hell would not get stressed out when being confronted with this kind of shit here? Vegas can already feel all his muscles knotting up painfully as he forces himself to go against his fight or flight response, and his body isn¡¯t happy that he stays put instead of fleeing this nightmare. What a mess. One has to take a closer look at the upper body to finally understand the presence of the flowers. Madness. Utter madness. From the head down towards the waist the victim has been flayed. Don¡¯t think about it, just note the details. The strips of skin are about 20 cm wide, Vegas estimates. The skin hasn¡¯t been removed completely, it remains attached to the waist. As if someone has peeled a banana. Vegas stomach lurches and he has to swallow down some bile. Slowly, he walks around the pillar once to see it from all sides. That is probably why the killer picked a pillar of this height, so that it wouldn¡¯t interfere with the skinning. When Vegas stands behind the body he can see that the hands of the victim are handcuffed behind his back and firmly attached to the chain that restrains his lower body. No chance of movement for those arms. Interestingly enough they are not flayed, just charred. Why? The hands are burned almost beyond recognition; some of the fingers are gone completely, Vegas can spot only darkened stubs. The remaining fingers are bizarrely bent, as muscle tissue tends to do when exposed to great heat. Gross. Moving on. Once he has completed the circle, Vegas takes a steadying breath and leans in to take a closer look at the flayed skin. Because it isn¡¯t simply hanging there. No, this crime scene has been perfectly staged, and this alone explains why Arm believes it¡¯s the same murderer. It has to be. The mere thought of having not one, but perhaps two deranged killers like this in his city gives Vegas anxiety. It has to be the same guy. Back to the body. At close range he can see the wires that the killer has rammed into the waist area and then used to thread though the skin flaps lengthwise in order to shape those bloody strips into what are meant to be flower petals, gracefully curving up and then out from the bloody and blackened ruin of the torso. Holy shit. Not thinking too much about this, moving on. The killer has recreated those damn red flowers, and the effect is jarring. The style of the real flowers is black and so the killer has charred everything from the waist upwards, creating his own freakish human style. The exposed muscle tissue is blackened and cracked in places, with traces of liquids oozing through. Even the lower parts of the ¡®petals¡¯, where the skin is still connected to the waist has been blackened carefully. Just like those real flower petals shifting from red to black. ¡°He didn¡¯t use a welder¡¯s torch for this part, did he?¡± For a moment Vegas is amazed he can even speak; his throat is so dry he thought he would not be able to form intelligible words. ¡°Correct, it must have been a smaller blowtorch, perhaps like those torches used in the kitchen to flamb¨¦ desserts,¡± Arm speculates, and Vegas nearly loses control over his stomach at that comparison. ¡°Arm¡­ seriously¡­!¡± He groans weakly, swallowing more bile. ¡°Sorry.¡± At least the ME has the good grace to apologise. ¡°He definitely took his time with this part. As you can see, the skin is just blackened but not burned through in any places. This is very difficult to do, I am pretty sure he must have practised this part beforehand, to ensure he wouldn¡¯t damage his artwork during the live run. The inside of the victim¡¯s skin would have been wet with blood and leftover tissue. Apply too little heat and it won¡¯t burn, apply too much and it¡¯ll burn a hole right through. I attended a seminar about burn victims once, fascinating topic really.¡± Vegas groans again. This is of course vital information, but still, he would rather not know so many details about this. ¡°So what, we got a fucking perfectionist? Just great.¡± Those damn flowers¡­ he can taste their sweet scent in his mouth. The neck and head are completely skinned as well, a gory mess. The ears are gone. The lipless mouth a dark gaping hole, opened wide for a scream that will never be heard. Where the eyes used to be, only blackened cavities remain. Vegas takes a deep, shuddering breath. Do not think about it. Just do not think about it. Moving on. ¡°Where are the eyes? And ¡­ the rest¡­ from the head? Did you recover any of it from the scene?¡± Arm shakes his head. Interesting. A trophy perhaps? The only thing left to complete this macabre floral recreation are the filaments, and naturally, their killer has found a solution for this as well, by using the very same kind of flower, but this time in vivid orange. They are arranged and held in place by wires carefully wrapped around them, and then brutally inserted into the charred torso. Vegas feels dazed by the insane creativity on display here. ¡°He must stark raving mad¡­¡± he whispers more to himself than to Arm. ¡°Perhaps. Perhaps not. That¡¯s what you have your shrink for, Vegas. Let him figure it out¡ªneither of us is qualified for this.¡± Coming to stand beside Vegas, Arm looks at the body solemnly. ¡°Are we in agreement that this is most likely the work of the same person? I know the M.O. is different but I am sure if you fine-comb both crime scenes or the victims¡¯ background you will find some kind of connection. It¡¯s a gut feeling I have.¡± ¡°You and me both.¡± Shaking his head, Vegas sighs deeply. ¡°What a fucking mess. You think they¡¯ll hand the case over to someone else now?¡± He sounds almost hopeful because he does not want to deal with this madness. Let someone else handle this case, please. A serial killer case would be high-profile, right? And no one in their right mind would want Vegas Theerapanyakul, disgraced mafia heir, to handle a high-profile case. Right? ¡°In your dreams. As long as you can¡¯t prove that this is the same perpetrator, that this is actually a serial killer, no one¡¯s going to touch this case with a ten-foot pole. And even if you do¡ªofficially there¡¯s no such thing as a serial killer in Thailand. No one is going to believe you. I think we can safely assume that you¡¯ll be stuck with this case for the foreseeable future, so try and make the best of it. Better you than any of those other idiots.¡± Arm shrugs. ¡°Anything else you want to look at, or do you want to call it a day?¡± ¡°What about the clothes and other personal effects? Is it too much to hope for some sort of ID?¡± Arm just shakes his head. ¡°Well, that sucks. Then let¡¯s get the hell out of here, please. I have seen more than enough. If there¡¯s anything else I¡¯ll just make do with the photos and videos Pol took. He did manage to record everything before his stomach gave out, right?¡± Arm snorts. ¡°Of course he did, he¡¯s a professional after all.¡± Unlike you who threw up on my last crime scene¡ªbut Arm doesn¡¯t say this out loud. Vegas sighs deeply. ¡°I didn¡¯t throw up this time, I think I deserve some credit for that.¡± Both men turn around and slowly walk away from this bloody, floral nightmare that will surely haunt their dreams for a while. Vegas wants to leave all of this behind, he feels he is in dire need of a very long hot shower to get the smell of these flowers off his skin. They better catch a break soon. I don¡¯t know if I can handle another one these crime scenes. There are limits as to what gory madness anyone should be exposed to. I didn¡¯t sign up for this level of crazy shit. His mind still in a daze, with Arm leading the way, Vegas slowly descends the stairs. The ME seems anxious to get back to the ground floor, so he hurries ahead, but Vegas is taking his time; he¡¯s trying to process what he¡¯s just seen. Lost in thoughts, he suddenly feels the small hair on the back of his neck stand up as his danger sense awakens and tingles. Coming to a stop, he looks up, zeroing in on his baby shrink. His very angry baby shrink. Whom he totally forgot about. Oops. Pete is still handcuffed to the handrail. He is sitting on the floor at the bottom of the stairs with his back against the wall, his cuffed left hand uncomfortably raised above his head. His eyes look impossibly dark in his pale, strained face and those eyes are now trained on Vegas, fixating him with an intensity that makes Vegas instantly apprehensive. The tingles from his danger sense intensify. That gaze wants to rip right through any defensive barriers he might have set up, only to sink into his very mind, to hungrily examine every single thought. The anger rolling off Pete in waves is hard to miss. Being the sole focus of this quiet rage makes Vegas take a step back, but he forgets he is on a staircase, and so he nearly stumbles and has to grab the handrail in order to avoid an embarrassing fall. They stare at each other in silence. Seconds tick by. Angry Pete is quite a sight to behold. Like being on a rollercoaster that has passed the peak and is now about to dip downward: exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. Vegas does not think he is in the right state of mind to deal with any of this at the moment, so he decides to simply pretend he doesn¡¯t notice that Pete is upset. He straightens, releases his hold on the handrail and slowly descends the last few steps to the ground floor, pasting an unconcerned smirk on his face. ¡°Missed me?¡± Pete¡¯s eyes shoot daggers at him. He doesn¡¯t reply but clenches his jaw instead. ¡°Sorry for the delay, it took a bit longer than I thought it would.¡± Fishing the key out of his back pocket, Vegas leans in, towering above Pete, and proceeds to unlock the handcuffs. He is taking great care not to look at Pete¡¯s face, or actually touch any skin while he is doing so. With a click, Pete is freed and he lowers his arm, wincing ever so slightly. There¡¯s a red mark on his wrist and Vegas feels a moment of regret. He should have been more careful, shouldn¡¯t have fastened the cuffs so tightly. Automatically he leans further down and reaches out to touch the mark but Pete snatches his wrist out of the way, cradling it with his other hand. ¡°Back off,¡± he snarls, his voice tight with barely suppressed anger. Vegas complies immediately, taking some steps back. What was he even thinking, he knows he shouldn¡¯t touch Pete. He is off limits. Standing up, his therapist stretches, looks Vegas over and then wrinkles his nose. ¡°What¡¯s that smell? BBQ and flowers?¡± Vegas cringes visibly and hastily takes another step backwards, as if he could take the offending smell with him. For a moment, his mind takes him back to the body upstairs, all that horror washes over him once more, and he struggles with locking those vivid memories back up again. And Pete watches all of this with an intensity that nearly takes his breath away. He seems to hungrily catalogue every emotion displayed on Vegas¡¯ face as if searching for something¡­ and that makes Vegas feel entirely off-kilter. Thunder rolls over the building, followed by a flash of lightning. Vegas flinches with surprise, then takes this opportunity to turn around and walk away, heading over to Arm and Pol. Distance. He needs some distance from those mind-probing eyes. Methodically, he takes off the overall and then throws all the PPE into a trash bag. ¡°Are you staying to wait for the coroner?¡± ¡°Yeah, I already called, they should be here within 30 minutes.¡± Pol seems to be feeling better already, but he is still a bit pale around the nose. Arm is taking notes on his tablet and doesn¡¯t even look up. ¡°All right, if there¡¯s nothing else I¡¯ll get going.¡± And since no one makes a move to stop him, he turns around to head for his car¡ªonly to be confronted once again with Pete, who is standing forlorn by the exit, looking outside where it has started to rain heavily. A peek outside confirms that the only cars around are the patrol car, the CSI van and Vegas¡¯ car. Great. Just great. His baby shrink apparently took a cab here. ¡°Come along, I¡¯ll give you a ride to the station.¡± In reality, this is the last thing Vegas wants to do. He does not want to sit in a confined space with Pete. Especially not with an irate Pete. Somehow this feel unsafe. But it doesn¡¯t feel right to leave him here either. Damn, this sucks. And so for the second time in three days, Pete ends up sitting silently in the passenger seat beside him, as Vegas pulls away from the crime scene and drives through the sparsely populated streets of this industrial area. The rain is heavy, the squeaky windshield wipers are working overtime. The silence is uncomfortable. His baby shrink is brimming with hostility, his body posture stiff and tense, even an idiot would notice it, and Vegas isn¡¯t an idiot. He really managed to piss him off this time, it seems. Maybe he will resign from being his therapist and that will be the end of it? If only he were so lucky. The tension inside the car is tangible. Vegas waits for something to give, for Pete to start yelling at him or do something other than just sit there brooding, staring straight ahead out into the rain. But when he finally decides to make his move, it still takes Vegas by total surprise. With his left hand, Pete braces himself on the door while he simultaneously reaches out with the right hand towards the space between their seats. Vegas is driving an old-fashioned, cheap car. There¡¯s no fancy electronic parking brake. There is, however, a regular, hand-powered emergency brake. Which Pete now suddenly pulls, with icy determination. In mid-drive (and they are not going particularly slow). Hard. Fuck! The car¡¯s anti-lock braking system, one of the most crucial safety features in modern vehicles, tries to kick in, and then decides to take this critical moment to fail. With a high-pitched screech the wheels lock up, and the car goes into a wild skid and spin on the wet road. Vegas holds on to the steering wheel for dear life, slamming into his seatbelt, vaguely remembering how he is supposed to counteract the skid and doing his best to get the vehicle under control again before they careen into the nearest building. Pete, too, is holding on to the door and the handle of the brake as if his life depends on it. The uncontrolled swerve comes to an abrupt end a meter before they would have hit a looming graffiti-covered concrete wall. The sudden stop makes both Vegas¡¯ and Pete¡¯s heads jerk forward, before they slam back into their seats as the car comes to a stand-still and the smell of burned rubber fills the air. Fuck. It¡¯s as if they have suddenly been cast into the eye of the hurricane. They have gone from a vertigo-inducing, spinning madness, filled with the shrill screech of tires, to unexpected silence. There¡¯s no more movement. The only thing audible inside the car is their heavy breathing, the mechanical click of the flashing hazard lights, and the never-ending squeak of the wipers still doing their job. Fuck. Vegas is panting, unable to say anything, unable to even release his grip on the steering wheel. He is beyond stunned; he just saw his whole life flashing by before his inner eye, and he needs a moment to comprehend what just happened. His heart is racing so hard it seems ready to jump right out of his chest. What the fuck?! They almost died! Fuck! They could have died! ¡­ and then Pete leans forwards and slams the palms of his hands onto the dashboard¡ªhard ¡­like the crack of a gunshot¡­ and Vegas flinches instinctively at the sudden sound. ¡°What the fuck do you think you are doing, eh?! Are you talking back to me?! Are you?! Want me to teach you another lesson, boy?¡±¡­ and father slams his palms onto the desk so hard, everything on it rattles¡­ Vegas¡¯ breath catches in the back of his throat. He whips around and regards Pete with wide-eyed wariness, suddenly feeling very much like a mouse trapped in close quarters with a rattlesnake. Pete turns his head very slowly to face Vegas. ¡°Never. Ever. Do. Anything. Like. This. Again.¡± Pete¡¯s voice sounds tight with deep-seated rage, and there is something dark and dangerous in the depth of his eyes. ¡°We are partners. We are supposed to work together and if you sabotage this partnership one more time, I¡¯ll make you regret it.¡± Good Lord¡­ Threat aside¡­ Good Lord¡­ Angry Pete is hot. Angry Pete threatening him is even hotter. And angry Pete doing unhinged things like almost killing them is like an unexpected aphrodisiac. It sends a shiver of excitement and lust through Vegas. He just stares at that pale furious face, drinking in the emotions flashing in those dark squinted eyes, the tension of the jaw muscles, the flare of his nostrils and the way Pete¡¯s lips have tightened. All he can think about is how he wants to stick his tongue down that throat to absorb all that anger and convert it into something else. Oh dear, here we go again. He must have looked as hungry as he feels because there is a minute change in Pete¡¯s facial expression. His gaze flickers away from Vegas¡¯ eyes and lower¡­ lingers¡­ and then snaps back up¡ªand his cheeks turn slightly pink. He then blinks with embarrassment and stares out into the rain again, acting as if nothing ever happened. Vegas is left clenching his hands around the steering wheel even tighter to hang on to his self-control and not do anything exceedingly stupid. Dammit. Off limits. Very much off limits! Pete clears his throat. ¡°You are blocking the road.¡± No shit Sherlock! Vegas huffs with exasperation. So this is how you want to play it? We¡¯re not going to talk about ¡­ this¡­ this threat? And we are just going to deal with whatever this is¡­ whatever just happened¡­ this way? Like¡­ not at all? Fine. Be my guest. Without another word he resolutely shifts the car back into gear, backs up, and then continues their drive back to the police station. Pete threatened him. The tires are probably ruined, he needs to book a time for a check-up as soon as possible. Pete threatened him. He will have to borrow a car from someone else in the meantime. Pete threatened him. Vegas forces himself to think about practical problems; anything is better than to acknowledge that this whole incident has aroused him to no end and that he is sitting in the car with a god damn hard-on for his perplexing and deliciously terrifying therapist. Who is off limits! My life sucks. And naturally, he does not get a break. ¡°You know, it was all for nothing anyway,¡± Pete remarks all of a sudden into the silence. Huh? ¡°I already asked Pol for the crime scene photographs and all the material and notes. So in a few hours I will be looking at everything anyway, whether you like it or not.¡± Oh, okay, so we are talking about the case again. Vegas sighs deeply, all at once tired. ¡°It¡¯s not the same,¡± he tries to explain. ¡°Photos are photos. An active crime scene is something completely different. Trust me, you really did not want to be stepping into this one.¡± ¡°I should have been there!¡± Pete insists stubbornly. ¡°Maybe you could stop treating me like a child, trying to shield me. I find this offensive.¡± He is still not looking at him, and Vegas has to keep his eyes on the road, so he cannot check his facial expression, but Pete sounds almost disheartened. ¡°I bet you wouldn¡¯t treat Tem like this,¡± he adds in a tight voice. ¡°Tem is my partner and a fellow police officer. He has extensive training in handling and dealing with crime scenes, even if they are disturbing. You, on the other hand, are a civilian. You have no clue what horrors can await you at a crime scene. You are not prepared for the smell, the gore and the incredible mess that people can inflict on other people.¡± Vegas¡¯ voice is strained as he does his best to make Pete see reason. ¡°What is the worst thing you have ever experienced? The death of your pet bunny?¡± ¡°I think you should shut up, detective, before you make any more stupid remarks. You don¡¯t know me, you haven¡¯t the slightest clue about what I can handle. Right now, you¡¯re just being a jerk.¡± Vegas can hear Pete¡¯s irritation loud and clear, and then his therapist surprises him again by changing the topic. ¡°You will be glad to know that while you were on sick leave these past two days, I have arranged for a dedicated office-space for our team, so we can work on this case without being disturbed.¡± Taking a moment to cast Pete an incredulous glance, Vegas frowns. ¡°I don¡¯t think this is necessary.¡± ¡°Yes it is. I don¡¯t believe the rest of the department should be given access to all the details of this case ¡­ these cases¡­ and I don¡¯t want to risk anyone messing up my murder board with their doodles.¡± Murder board?! What the heck? ¡°Oh, come on, get real. There will be no murder board.¡± Vegas snorts; what an idiotic idea. ¡°I already organised the whiteboard,¡± Pete states matter of factly, and Vegas recognises that tone. That is the exact same tone he used when making them involuntary partners! Must nip this in the bud right away! ¡°Listen up, this isn¡¯t a TV show, Sunshine. There will be no fancy murder boards here. We do not work that way in this police department. This isn¡¯t Criminal Minds or CSI.¡± Maybe if Vegas keeps repeating this it will eventually sink in. Pete just snorts, not sounding impressed at all. Oh-oo-oh, you think you''re special Oh-oo-oh, you think you''re something else Okay, so you''re a detective That don''t impress me much Whatever, nuh-uh That don''t impress me much Chapter 7 ¡°But that¡¯s just the trouble with me. I give myself very good advice, but I very seldom follow it.¡± They have a lovely murder board. The king of all analogue murder boards; this isn¡¯t a TV show, so there¡¯s no such thing as a fancy, futuristic digital board. A simple whiteboard will have to make do, but theirs is the length of the whole office. Very impressive. And so is the fact that they actually have a whole office just for them. Once again Vegas feels completely steamrolled. Does it even matter what objections he has? No one is listening to him. Sometimes it feels as if he doesn¡¯t exist, because everyone seems to ignore him as soon as he voices a complaint. It¡¯s bewildering and very frustrating. Arm was right, as usual. As soon as the word about the new case spreads in the department, everyone is suddenly very busy and cannot possibly take on yet another case, so Vegas is stuck with it. Without help. Well, he¡¯s got his therapist but that is not what he considers help. Some clown has printed out a copy of the X Files logo and attached it to their office door, which perfectly sums up the whole situation as far as Vegas is concerned. Everything weird is shoved his way to deal with, and he has to juggle the workload while trying to rein in Pete, who is his very own version of a cheerful Mulder who seems to be having the time of his life, going completely bananas, living out what must have been his lifelong dream of joining the cast of his very own production of ¡®Criminal Minds ¨C Thailand¡¯. Gah! Wasn¡¯t the whole point of this to decrease his workload? Wasn¡¯t he supposed to have anger management therapy to decrease his stress levels? This here isn¡¯t helping! In fact, he is feeling more stressed now than before, and the sole reason for this is Pete, who is slowly driving him completely bat-shit crazy. Just take the office, for example. A nice, medium-sized office. With a monster whiteboard, but okay, Vegas can deal with that. The first thing he has to do when he steps into that new office is to rearrange the furniture, because he will not be sitting with his desk directly across Pete¡¯s, forcing him to constantly face that shrink as soon as he raises his eyes. No way. Not going to happen. He moves his desk around so that it¡¯s not blocking the whiteboard, provides a good view of the door and, most importantly, so that Pete cannot place his desk in front of it again. Pete arches an eyebrow when he sees what Vegas has done, but refrains from commenting. This is only the start. When he comes to work the next day, the lovely white magnets on the whiteboard are gone, having been replaced with colourful magnets in various shapes. Flowers, shells, fish and ¡­ good Lord¡­ are those dinosaurs? Vegas nearly chokes on his coffee, and after a prolonged coughing fit he grimly collects all those offensive magnets, heads to the administration offices, and exchanges them back to white ones. They are not in kindergarten. This won¡¯t do. Pete must have noticed, but he doesn¡¯t say a thing. Instead, one day the office suddenly sprouts a set of colourful funky retro curtains framing the window. He has seen this fabric pattern at IKEA; he was horrified then, and he is horrified now. The window has blinders, for heaven¡¯s sake! What do they need curtains for? He takes them away. They reappear. Gah! Every time a plant in a vividly coloured pot appears on one of the desks, or in a corner of the room, or on the windowsill, Vegas grits his teeth and carries it up to the top floor, placing it in front of Pete¡¯s office door. One day a vase with some red flowers appears, and that triggers such a visual flashback to the last crime scene that Vegas slaps it off the desk with the back of his hand without a second thought. The vase hits the wall with a crash; water, shards and flowers fly everywhere. Vegas blinks. Shit. What a mess. He really is on edge these days; normally he has himself more under control. It takes a while to clean everything up, and when Pete arrives later that day Vegas dumps the trash bin with the leftovers on his desk and gives him a sharp look. After that there are no more flowers. This partnership is going to drive him insane. As for the case¡­ or rather, the cases¡­ Efficient as always, Pol delivers the footage and the crime scene photos to their new office after a few days. Vegas has time to look through the lot before Pete eventually shows up later that day. His therapist still has other patients to deal with, so he cannot hang out in their sparkling new, shared office the whole time; a small blessing, at least if you ask Vegas. He feels a certain unease when it comes to Pete looking at those crime scene photos. If it were up to him, his innocent baby shrink would never lay his eyes on this horror, but he knows he cannot stop this from happening. It is like watching a car wreck happening in slow motion. Vegas sits at his desk, observes as the smile disappears from Pete¡¯s face, as he loses all colour, turning more and more grey the longer he looks at the photos. When he hastily gets up and exits the office, Vegas sighs deeply, and fetches a bottle of cold water, heading to the restroom to give it to Pete when he finally exits, after puking his guts out. ¡°Told you so.¡± And this time Pete doesn¡¯t contradict him, for once. But his shrink is persistent at least. He does not give up. The next day finds him back at their office, sorting through the photos once more, alas with a strained expression on his face. And then the murder board takes shape. Pete is nothing but methodical when he slowly fills the board with the different categories of information they have about each murder. Timeline. Victims. Modus operandi. Places. Relationships. Each victim has his own section. Crime scene photos in high resolution that are a jarring contrast to the low resolution driver¡¯s license photo of at least one of their victims. And disturbingly enough, Pete left space for more than one additional victim. Vegas hopes fervently that this is it, they will miraculously recover some information that will lead them to their murderer and he will never have to endure another nightmarish scene again. Hope dies last. And okay, maybe the murder board was a good idea, because visualising all the information this way really helps. Their biggest problem right now is victim #2, John Doe. They have found neither clothes nor personal belongings at the crime scene; nothing at all that offers a clue to his identity. Arm¡¯s autopsy report only reveals that he was in his late 20¡¯s and in very good physical shape. The toxicology report is still pending¡ªthe lab has a backlog and they have to wait. And of course Arm was right, he finds traces of soot in the victim¡¯s lungs. He was alive when he was burned and flayed, at least for parts of it. The cause of death is listed as a combination of multi-organ failure due to pain-induced shock, leading to cardiac arrest and respiratory failure. Fuck. Best not to think too much about it. The only lead they have for now is a barely visible tattoo that Arm discovered on parts of the flayed, charred skin. The ME is currently in the process of very carefully treating that fragile skin flap to make the markings more visible, before trying to capture it via some advanced forensic photography method he unsuccessfully tried to explain to Vegas over lunch one day. All that is left to do for him and Pete is to canvass the area of the second crime scene, looking for working CCTV cameras. Which is mind-numbingly boring work, but someone has got to do it. Vegas endures one day of them working as a team for this, then he simply cannot stomach more, and so the next day they split up, dividing the area into two zones: Vegas takes one and Pete the other, and this day feels almost like a vacation to Vegas. Peace and quiet, no one who is constantly chatting his ear off. Boring is great. He longs for the good old days when Tem was his partner. And as expected, their search does not yield many results. A few measly tapes, that¡¯s all. This sucks.
Pete has outed himself as a computer nerd. Of course he is. If there¡¯s anything his therapist isn¡¯t good at, Vegas has yet to discover it. Pete tries to explain the whole concept behind Google image search to an impatient Vegas, when the discussion comes to those damn flowers. ¡°Why are you even telling me all this?¡± Vegas eventually interrupts because his head is going to explode if he hears anything else about search algorithms and such. ¡°All I want is the name of that damn flower. If you know how to find it, just do it. Results make me happy. I don¡¯t care how you got the results.¡± ¡°Did you forget to eat lunch, detective? You sound like you have low blood sugar. So grumpy,¡± Pete mutters under his breath, and then starts typing away at his computer. Vegas decides to ignore that comment and goes back to the whiteboard to fill in some additional information from the CCTV locations for both crime scenes. They work in blissful silence for a while, but of course this doesn¡¯t last long. ¡°Want to play a little game, detective?¡± Pete suddenly asks out of the blue. Vegas turns his head to glance at him, arching an eyebrow. Pete¡¯s lips curve into a charming smile¡ªdimple alert¡ªhis therapist is giving off the vibes of someone who has had a fabulous idea and now wants to put it into action. Uh-oh. ¡°Aren¡¯t we a bit too old for games? Besides, this is a murder investigation, I don¡¯t think whatever game you envision would be appropriate in this context.¡± ¡°Not a game then. Let¡¯s call it an experiment. I have been wanting to try this for the longest time, ever since I read about it. And I think now would be the perfect situation for it.¡± ¡°I disagree. I don¡¯t feel like games or experiments. I got work to do.¡± Vegas is not going to lie to himself, he is curious, yet at the same time wary. His gut feeling tells him that playing any sort of games with his shrink has the potential for disaster. And yet¡­ Pete has that gleam in his eyes again, that irresistible enthusiasm Vegas feels drawn to like a moth to the flame. This is a bad idea. He forces himself to look away, to concentrate back on the whiteboard. What did he want to write again? He¡¯s lost his train of thought. It¡¯s maddening how this keeps happening around Pete. How is he supposed to work efficiently like this? Behind him, he can hear the scraping of the chair against the floor as Pete stands up, and he feels himself tensing ever so slightly. His grip on the pen tightens. On Beam¡¯s side of the murder board, he jots down another note about the CCTV footage they recovered. Concentrate, Vegas, concentrate. Easier said than done, when he can hear steps approaching. The electric tingle coupled with a trail of goosebumps running over his back informs him that Pete is standing right behind him now. Whiteboard. Notes. Concentrate. ¡°Oh come on, detective. I promise this will actually be helpful when it comes to the investigation. Trust me, you are going to like it.¡± Oh, the temptation in these soft spoken words. Vegas stares blankly at the board, refusing to turn around, but however hard he tries, he cannot remember what he wanted to write down. Damn it. That¡¯s what he is afraid of, liking it. He does not want to like anything that Pete has to offer. Perhaps his inner struggle is mirrored in his body language for Pete is chuckling softly now. ¡°Detective Theerapanyakul, don¡¯t tell me you are afraid of a little psychological exercise?¡± Damn Pete for knowing how to push his buttons (although it probably comes with the job description). Vegas feels instant indignation. ¡°Bullshit. I just don¡¯t feel like being a guinea pig for some fresh-out-of-university shrink who wants to prove himself. This isn¡¯t one of our therapy sessions, this is work, and I don¡¯t have time for games or stupid exercises.¡± He still refuses to turn around, stubbornly facing the whiteboard. ¡°Liar, liar, pants on fire,¡± Pete teases him with laughter in his voice. Vegas huffs in exasperation but remains stubborn. His plan is to ignore the teasing, and then his shrink will give up and leave him alone. Great plan. Until¡­ ¡­ until Pete quietly hums a single line under his breath. ¡°Hey, babe, take a walk on the wild side¡­¡± Oh hell yeah, bring it on! An involuntary shiver runs through Vegas, the predator inside of him awakening and taking note of the challenge. ¡­ POOF On his left shoulder a little angel appears, giving him an encouraging nod. ¡°Don¡¯t listen to him, just don¡¯t listen. Stay strong.¡± ¡­ POOF On his right shoulder a little devil slouches, rubbing his hands in glee. ¡°Oh yes, let¡¯s walk on the wild side; the wilder, the better.¡± Ack! He is going insane! I¡¯m going slightly mad I¡¯m going slightly mad It finally happened, happened It finally happened, oh-oh It finally happened, I¡¯m slightly mad Oh, dear Vegas straightens his back and turns his head, fixating Pete with a hard look, his voice purposefully condescending. ¡°I doubt you could handle a walk on the wild side with me.¡± And this maddening man¡ªhis nemesis¡­ the bane of his existence¡ªhe gives Vegas such a devilish smile that the little angel, the voice of reason, yelps and falls straight off Vegas¡¯ shoulder while the little devil laughs gleefully as his shrink counters with yet another challenge: ¡°I think I might be able to surprise you with just how much I can handle.¡± Against his will, Vegas gets caught in those wicked dark eyes once again, and they stare at each other in silence. It¡¯s unclear who will win this invisible tug of war between Vegas and his shrink, until Vegas¡¯ little devil simply cuts the rope, and Vegas hears himself saying, ¡°Just bring it on, then.¡± Shit. Did he really just say that? He did. Damn it. The worst part is that his baby shrink looks positively radiant, and knowing he is the reason for that look makes Vegas¡¯ heart contract painfully. There it is again, he¡¯s feeling something, something that he doesn¡¯t want to feel. Steamrolled again. Vegas tears his eyes away from Pete and tries to make sense of what is written on the whiteboard without much success, because he is so damn distracted that it¡¯s difficult to concentrate. He¡¯s such an idiot, this is a terribly bad idea, he is going to regret this. ¡°Trust me, this is going to be helpful and you are going to like it,¡± Pete tries to reassure him. ¡°Whatever. Let¡¯s get it over with.¡± Tightening the grip on the pen as if this is the anchor that will keep him safe from whatever his therapist is planning, Vegas¡¯ apprehension bleeds into his voice. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, it¡¯s going to be fine.¡± Once again, Pete is trying to reassure him and Vegas really wants to believe him, he does, but he can¡¯t. His gut feeling insists on this being a very bad idea. Period. ¡°Maybe you should sit down for this¡­¡± Pete suggests. ¡°No thanks, I¡¯ll stay right here.¡± ¡°The exercise requires you to close your eyes,¡± his shrink points out. ¡°I can stand here with my eyes closed,¡± Vegas replies stubbornly, determined to have at least some sort of control over whatever Pete is planning. He takes the hand not holding the pen and steadies himself on the whiteboard. ¡°There, fixed. In case you were worried I¡¯d lose my footing.¡± Perhaps everything will be okay as long as he doesn¡¯t have to look at his therapist for this. ¡°All right. I can work with that too.¡± Pete pauses for a moment, perhaps to gather his thoughts. ¡°In order to learn more about our perpetrator, we need to study his victims. Right now the only victim we have reliable information on is Beam since victim #2 is still John Doe until we find a way to identify him. Now we simply need to put all that information to good use.¡± Vegas does not like where this is going. It sounds reasonable, but he is still trying very hard to forget that he ever knew Beam before the man became the victim of a violent crime. ¡°You have collected the information¡ªyou should know him best, detective. So for this exercise I want you to become the victim. Slip into his skin, if you know what I mean.¡± Hell, no. Vegas becomes very still upon hearing that. No way. He is not going to do that. And so he very emphatically replies: ¡°No. Not happening.¡± ¡°Yes, it will.¡± His baby shrink just breezes past his objection. Such a brat. ¡°You have all the background information. You will pretend to be the victim, and I will ask you some questions. Which you will answer based on your understanding of how the victim would have reacted. It¡¯s as simple as that. It¡¯s a common exercise in one of the core psychology course books at school. From what I have gathered, chances are high we will come away from this with some valuable new insight.¡± ¡°Trust me, this isn¡¯t going to work. I have a bad feeling about this.¡± Vegas is still turned towards the white board, bracing himself. The pen in his right hand makes a noise as if it¡¯s about to break, and Vegas notices with surprise that he is so tense he nearly cracked it in half. Oops. ¡°Whatever happened to walking the wild side, detective? Chickening out?¡± The hand touching the whiteboard curls into a fist. That little piece of shit. Vegas fumes internally. ¡°I have lousy imagination, that¡¯s all. I don¡¯t think I can get as ¡®in character¡¯ as you expect me to.¡± ¡°Nonsense. I have faith in you.¡± It seems Pete cannot be deterred. He sounds nauseatingly cheerful and convinced that this is a great idea. ¡°You¡¯ll do just fine. Now stop procrastinating and close your eyes.¡± ¡°Fine.¡± Vegas opens his fist again and slams the palm against the whiteboard with perhaps a little bit too much force. I¡¯ll give him 5 minutes, he thinks. 5 minutes. He can do 5 minutes. And so he closes his eyes and waits, despite his feeling of impending doom. Deprived of his vision, his other senses sharpen. He can sense Pete standing behind him nearby. Sounds get more pronounced; inside of this office he can hear their breath and nothing else; from outside, the familiar, muted sounds of a busy police station reach his ears. ¡°I want you to imagine that you are Beam.¡± Somehow, Pete¡¯s voice sounds different, more compelling. I don¡¯t want to, Vegas wants to yell at the top of his lungs. I don¡¯t want to be Beam, Beam¡¯s dead. Instead he grits his teeth. He¡¯s met Beam when he was alive, he has no problems seeing him before his inner eye. He would prefer not having to do this. ¡°You have been working the whole week. Tell me about your job.¡± Vegas sighs deeply. Fuck. Fine. Let¡¯s do this. Beam did talk about work when they made small talk, so he only has to repeat the details he remembers. ¡°I work in a supermarket. The work is boring; I have to work long hours and the pay sucks. My boss refuses to hire more staff so I have to work harder but I am not getting paid for all the extra work. I despise my work, I would like to do something else but I cannot find a suitable job.¡± ¡°What do you do when you get home from work?¡± ¡°I¡­¡± Vegas has to pause and ponder this over. ¡°I don¡¯t do much. I don¡¯t have any hobbies because I don¡¯t have much spare time. I come home pretty late every day.¡± Another pause as he envisions Beam¡¯s apartment again. ¡°Usually I cook dinner, then I watch TV or read. I am tired after a long day, I know I have to get up early again the next morning so I do not stay up very long, I go to bed early.¡± ¡°Do you do that every day?¡± ¡°Pretty much, yes.¡± ¡°What about the weekends then?¡± Pete asks softly. ¡°What weekends? I work 6 days a week.¡± Under Vegas¡¯ hand, the whiteboard feels cool. Grounding. ¡°On my day off I do the household chores that I do not have time for during the week.¡± ¡°What about friends then?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t have any friends. Ever since I moved to the city I am having a hard time connecting to other people. Everything is easier when living in the countryside. The people in this city keep newcomers at arm¡¯s length.¡± When Beam had told him about that he almost felt sorry for him. Almost. But in the end he wasn¡¯t interested in forming a friendship with Beam either. He just wanted to hook up. There is movement behind his back, and when Pete asks his next question, he sounds somewhat closer. ¡°You must be very lonely then.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± Beam was lonely. So is Vegas. He can relate, and that makes him feel things he would rather not feel. His throat is getting tight again. ¡°What do you do when the feeling of loneliness is getting too overwhelming?¡± When did his therapist¡¯s voice get so caring? He doesn¡¯t need pity. No, wrong. Beam. Beam doesn¡¯t need anyones pity. ¡°I go out. There are nightclubs. Bars. I can meet people there, talk and such.¡± Yeah, and such¡­ ¡°Do you go out often?¡± ¡°I would say fairly regularly. Mainly on my day off. Sometimes during the week, if I am not too tired after work.¡± Beam went clubbing often, unlike Vegas, who doesn¡¯t feel the need to socialise; Vegas just goes out when he wants to hook up with someone. ¡°Do you always visit the same places?¡± And again, Vegas hesitates. ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t know? I think I have a couple of regular places I hang out at; after all I am trying to find friends so it¡¯s best to become a regular at a club to increase the chances of this happening.¡± Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. Pete hums in approval behind his back. ¡°That makes sense. So you had a long week, it¡¯s finally your day off, and you¡¯re ready for a night of clubbing. Did you dress up for your night out?¡± ¡°No. I don¡¯t have any special party clothes,¡± Vegas replies directly. That goes for both Beam and himself. ¡°So you are not trying to stand out to attract attention?¡± ¡°No. I¡¯d say I dress casual, yet smart. I don¡¯t have the money for fancy designer clothes.¡± Vegas feels an electric tingle skip along his back, coupled with a minute increase in heat that hints at Pete leaning closer. ¡°Then how did you attract my attention?¡± Pete asks in a low voice. My attention. Vegas heart skips a beat. Pete¡¯s attention? Oh¡­ The killer. He must mean the killer. Of course. Still, this managed to throw him off course for a moment and he has to clear his throat to win some time before he answers. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Maybe it¡¯s my charming personality?¡± ¡°Are you that charming then?¡± ¡°Trust me, I can be very charming when I put my mind to it.¡± This is Vegas speaking for himself, and not Beam. He¡¯s slipping, he needs to be careful. ¡°Oh, I am sure you are.¡± There is a hint of amusement in Pete¡¯s low voice, and Vegas has to suppress a smile because he just knows the facial expression that goes along with that tone of voice. In his mind¡¯s eye, he can see Pete roll his eyes. ¡°So you attract my attention because you are charming, but then what? Do I approach you, or do you make the first move?¡± ¡°I approach you.¡± Beam did make the first move back then. ¡°You probably smiled at me at some point, so when I head to the bar to order a drink I¡¯ll go to stand near you. I comment on something, smile, testing the waters to see if you are in the mood to talk.¡± ¡°Which I am. After all, there¡¯s something about you that caught my attention. Are we making small talk over a drink?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± Despite feeling increasingly distracted by his growing awareness of Pete¡¯s proximity, Vegas really does his best to stay ¡®in character¡¯. ¡°I am so starved for attention that I gladly talk to you about anything that comes to mind. I will tell you about my work. My troubles living in this city. I¡¯m oversharing, but I¡¯m not even aware of it. I¡¯m simply glad I have company.¡± ¡°Which of course makes it easy for me,¡± remarks Pete. ¡°You tell me everything I need to know. You live alone. You have no contact to any close relatives. You will not be missed.¡± He pauses. Vegas is positive he can feel the heat radiating from Pete¡¯s body standing close behind him. He swallows drily. Then Pete adds, ¡°So who starts flirting, you or I? After all, my goal is not just to kill you.¡± Once again, Vegas tenses. He almost forgot that all of this ended in a gruesome murder. ¡°You start. I am waiting for clear signals, before I take this any further. I must have had some bad experiences, so I am a bit cautious.¡± Beam had been like this. ¡°So you came to the bar not only to potentially find new friends, but your primary goal was to find someone to have sex with?¡± Shifting this talk to sex does not feel like the safest thing to do, with Vegas¡¯ body always reacting to Pete the way it does. He presses his palm harder against the whiteboard and takes a deep breath. He is a professional, he can do this. He does not like this exercise at all. ¡°Yes. But I am waiting for you to initiate things.¡± ¡°Hmmm¡­ I would of course be discreet about it. You think this would be a clear enough signal to you?¡± And before Vegas¡¯ brain has the opportunity to process those words, he feels the lightest brush against the hand that is still clinging to the whiteboard pen. Skin touching skin for a fleeting second. He is so startled he nearly drops the pen and draws a surprised breath, goosebumps instantly spreading out from the area of contact. Shit. Off limits. Off limits. Off limits. ¡°Uhm¡­ yeah¡­ That would certainly get my attention.¡± His voice sounds a bit hoarse, Vegas notes, probably because his throat is suddenly as dry as the desert. Thing is, the casual flirty touch is something he often utilises, as he did with on Beam. Seems it¡¯s very effective on himself as well. Off limits, he repeats. Let¡¯s not go there. But damn¡­ ¡°So where do we go from here? I could of course do it again, to stress that it was intentional.¡± There¡¯s definitely a playfulness in Pete¡¯s voice now. Vegas tenses in instant anticipation of another electric touch¡ªonly to be disappointed when nothing is happening. Instead, Pete chuckles softly. Good grief. Is his shrink even aware of what he is doing? He has to be, right? ¡°Somehow I think my point came across loud and clear the first time already. So let¡¯s go somewhere more private¡­¡± At this point, Vegas would like nothing more than to do just that. And then do a whole lot of other things. Huffing and puffing, the little angel pulls itself up onto his left shoulder again and hollers: ¡°Off limits!¡±. Yeah, right. Listen to the voice of reason. He clears his throat again. ¡°A hotel then.¡± ¡°A hotel, that¡¯s so impersonal. Why not go to your place?¡± You¡¯ve been there, you put your fucking mark all over it already, Vegas wants to shout. Damn, wait. Beam, he is supposed to be Beam. ¡°Ah¡­ I¡¯d rather not. I prefer a hotel. That is more discreet.¡± Surely Beam would be afraid of what the neighbours might think, right? Vegas himself worries about that constantly when he wants to hook up with someone. That, and about his father finding out. ¡°I am sure you do.¡± And damn, did Pete move even closer? Because that voice came from right behind his ear. Vegas barely suppresses a shudder. His eyes are still tightly closed, which makes him hyper-aware about everything else. Pete continues. ¡°But I would prefer going to your apartment. A hotel feels so impersonal. It would make me feel cheap. Also, does this mean I don¡¯t get to stay the whole night? I would very much like to spend the whole night and wake up next to you in the morning.¡± Vegas blinks, momentarily struck speechless. What was he supposed to do again? Oh yes. He is supposed to be ¡®in character¡¯. How would Beam react? He doesn¡¯t have the faintest clue. Would he have taken a fling back home with him? He certainly was more than willing to head to a hotel with Vegas. Then again, Beam would have liked the whole idea of someone staying overnight, since this is hinting at the potential for something more permanent. ¡°A hotel really is a better choice,¡± he eventually points out. ¡°My place has thin walls, we¡¯d need to be quiet.¡± There is once again movement behind Vegas and the small hairs at the back of his neck stand all up. Pete is ridiculously close now, and it makes his skin tingle all over. In fact, Pete is so close that his breath feathers against the side of Vegas¡¯ face when he whispers next. ¡°That¡¯s fine with me. But if you are worried about noise, I could always gag you¡­ wouldn¡¯t you like that?¡± Vegas¡¯ mind goes completely blank. A violent shudder runs through him, and the fingers clenching the whiteboard marker open, the pen falling to the floor with a clatter that Vegas doesn¡¯t even fully register. He blindly reaches out and also rests that hand with the palm against the whiteboard to steady himself further because¡ªdamn. An image flashes through his mind: Darkness¡­ and in the darkness Pete¡¯s face, a feverish sensual look on his face¡­ that damn sheer black shirt stuffed into his mouth to stifle any of the sounds he is making¡­ Holy shit. Heat unfurls in the depth of his stomach and Vegas feels his knees tremble. Holy shit. That image has burned itself in his sub-conscience and will most likely haunt him forever. What were they supposed to do here again? He cannot think straight, and this is a very bad sign. ¡°I see that this argument has convinced you. So you are taking me home with you?¡± Why, oh why does Pete have to sound so smug? Isn¡¯t this affecting him at all? And all Vegas can do is nod mutely. Sure, he¡¯ll take him home. No, wait¡­ Beam will take him home. This is all about Beam, not Vegas, and he keeps forgetting about this vital fact. This is just an exercise. Just an exercise, nothing else. ¡°You are not worried about taking a stranger home with you then?¡± ¡°No,¡± Vegas manages to mumble hoarsely. ¡°You seem pretty harmless and I think at this point¡­¡± He clears his throat again, going for honesty. ¡°After that tease I will be thinking more about the sex than any possible danger.¡± ¡°And that is precisely why I teased you,¡± Pete''s disembodied voice whispers into his ear. ¡°I am smart, I want you to lower your guard. So you take me home and I will tease you some more along the way. Then what?¡± Every time Pete speaks, a puff of breath tickles Vegas¡¯ ear and the sensitive area behind it. How the hell is he supposed to concentrate like this? The little devil on his shoulder takes this as his cue to offer some insight into the situation. ¡°Yield to temptation. It may not pass your way again.¡± If only he could¡­ Can they stop this exercise already? Do they really need to talk about what happens next? Isn¡¯t it pretty obvious? Do they need to put it into words? ¡°We have sex. You kill me. Game over.¡± ¡°Oh, but we haven¡¯t even started yet. Chickening out again?¡± Vegas clenches the hands that rest against the whiteboard into fists and makes a frustrated sound deep down in his throat. ¡°I don¡¯t see how this is leading to anything constructive,¡± he argues desperately. ¡°That is for me to decide. And for your to play along.¡± So much for that. From past experience he knows that his shrink will not be deterred. I hate my life. And I am loving this. Vegas leans forward until his forehead comes to rest against the cool surface of the whiteboard. Anything to get an extra bit of distance from Pete because he is feeling very crowded and there is still that burning flame of desire in his belly that refuses to die down. ¡°Fine. Whatever. Go on.¡± ¡°Did we take my car?¡± Oh. That is a good point. ¡°I don¡¯t have a car, so we must have been taking yours.¡± ¡°Indeed.¡± Pete hums thoughtfully again. ¡°After all I need something to transport the buckets and the mop. I will have to pick them up and carry them upstairs later on. But right now I am busy, you have my full attention.¡± Unfortunately that is the case not just ¡®in character¡¯ but ¡®out of character¡¯ as well. And that full attention is turning out to be increasingly difficult to handle for Vegas. When did it get so quiet in this office? And why is he breathing so fast? ¡°Are you going to offer me something to drink or a late night snack?¡± A flashback to the night with Beam at the hotel. They barely made it through the door before starting to take their clothes off. ¡°I¡¯m the snack,¡± Vegas says automatically, and then wants to smack himself, hard. ¡°What I meant is that I will probably rip off your clothes as soon as the door closes.¡± Pete makes a sound that could be interpreted as a purr¡ªor maybe he is just clearing his throat. Or perhaps Vegas is simply imagining everything at this point. ¡°No ripping allowed. That could lead to leaving behind trace evidence at the scene and I am too careful for that,¡± Pete points out, and damn, he is once again taking a step closer. Now Vegas feels cornered between him and the whiteboard, because he cannot move any further away from this man. Oh, dear. ¡°I think I¡¯ll slow things down and peel you out of your clothes one by one on the way to the bedroom. That way I have more control over the situation,¡± Pete whispers into his ear. Why bother with undressing him when Vegas will combust any moment now, his clothes going up in flames and turning conveniently to ashes? Ack, dammit, he did it again! Beam. This is all about Beam. Or is it? ¡°I think I¡¯ll certainly approve of that strategy,¡± he mumbles hoarsely, doing his best not to visualise this scene in his brain. Needless to say, he fails miserably. Fuck. Pete undressing him slowly would be hot as hell. ¡°Why am I the only one being naked?¡± he cannot help asking. ¡°Because I need my clothes in the bedroom. The syringe with the ketamine, remember?¡± A valid point but no, Vegas did not remember. He doesn¡¯t even remember he¡¯s supposed to be Beam. Screw Beam, he¡¯s dead anyway. But Vegas is very much alive and very much aroused by this game of theirs, and a little bit of egoism is just fine in this situation. ¡°Do I get to take off your clothes before or after you throw me on the bed?¡± he asks breathlessly. ¡°Dream on. No touching. I¡¯ll make you watch while I take them off myself.¡± Pete¡¯s voice is turning all husky now, so Vegas is not the only one being affected by their headlong hurl into this out of bounds madness. Good to know. ¡°You are such a fucking tease.¡± A breathy chuckle escapes Vegas; by now he is glad he steadying himself against that whiteboard with both hands, since his legs certainly feel rather weak at this point. ¡°¡­ and you are loving it,¡± Pete retorts quietly. Loving it is an understatement. The sheer thrill of this is mind-blowing. Vegas is vibrating out of his skin with arousal, his uniform pants feeling uncomfortably tight. And he wants more. Normally he¡¯s the dominant one in his sexual encounters, so flipping the dynamics like this is electrifying. ¡°Hell yeah¡­ just fuck me already.¡± There¡¯s a sharp intake of breath from behind him. ¡°Oh my, how impatient you are. No foreplay then?¡± Vegas huffs. ¡°I think all of this qualifies as foreplay, would¡¯t you agree?¡± Now it¡¯s Pete¡¯s turn to chuckle. ¡°No prepping either?¡± ¡°I can deal with a little bit of pain.¡± Pete makes the most satisfying guttural sound upon hearing this gruff statement from Vegas. And then everything careens fully out of control as Pete¡¯s body more or less slams against his. Vegas felt caged in before but now he being subjected to the real deal. Pete is practically glued to him, a shocking full-body contact, his front against Vegas¡¯ back, and his body heat is so intense that Vegas has the fleeting thought that they are literally melting into each other¡¯s flesh. Then Vegas feels him move his arms up to rest his hands beside Vegas¡¯ on the whiteboard¡ªfuck¡ªyes, now he is truly caged in. Their arms are touching; he can feel the barest of hint of Pete¡¯s thumbs against the outer side of his pinkies and it¡¯s magnificent and very much forbidden¡ªand he is loving every second of it! ¡°Off limits!¡± hollers the little imaginary angel on his left shoulder, adjusting its halo. ¡°Stay strong, you got this!¡± You got this? Part of Vegas wants to burst into hysterical laughter. My foot. Never before has the voice of reason been this dead-wrong. The only thing he got is a hard-on that is getting more pronounced by the second. And Pete murmuring, ¡°Would you like me to gag you now, you did mention thin walls,¡± is not helping! Every time Pete speaks, his lips brush against the sensitive spot right behind Vegas¡¯ ear and it¡¯s driving him insane. He loves it¡­ He should not love this so much. But he does and he wants more. ¡°Honestly, do whatever the fuck you want with me,¡± Vegas¡¯ pants breathlessly. Pete¡¯s heavy breathing stirs the tiny hairs on Vegas¡¯ neck, sending a shiver into every cell of his body. ¡°Even the ketamine?¡± ¡°Trust me, I am already thoroughly distracted, I won¡¯t even notice some needle sting.¡± Lust thrums through his veins, he can feel Pete¡¯s fast heartbeat through their clothes, the way every single one of his muscles moves and shit¡ªhe can even feel a very distinctive bulge pressing against his butt. Yeah well, distracted is an understatement. ¡°Even the ¡­ bite?¡± He forgot about the bite. But now that those floodgates have opened it¡¯s all he can think about. Pete¡¯s hot wet lips on his neck, slowly trailing from the back to the front¡ªscraping his teeth against the skin¡ªand he can vividly imagine the look of divine pleasure on Pete¡¯s face as he dives in to sink those teeth into Vegas¡¯ flesh while he orgasms¡ªlike a freaking vampire going for the kill. ¡­ white noise ¡­ Vegas imagines a hand grabbing that angel on his shoulder, contracting into a fist, squeezing until there¡¯s a very satisfying¡ªPOOF¡ªand then there¡¯s no irritating voice of reason anymore, just dust sifting through his fingers, drifting away to the sounds of an unhinged giggle from the little devil on his right shoulder. Unhinged. Yes, unhinged is a good word for what he is feeling right now. Very thoroughly unhinged. Thinking about biting has truly turned Vegas into a stark raving lunatic. Fuck Beam. Fuck this investigation. Fuck work ethics. So what if he¡¯s at work in the middle of a busy police station and someone could walk into this office any moment. Screw them all, he couldn¡¯t care less. He¡¯s had enough. He¡¯s been teased mercilessly¡ªno, tortured¡ªfor what feels like an eternity, and he¡¯s simply reached the end of his endurance. This little exercise from hell has turned him on to no end; he hasn¡¯t even properly laid his hands on Pete nor has he been touched, really touched, himself, and still his cock so hard it hurts. He never thought a little bit of roleplaying could be so arousing, and yet here he is, ready to come. And bloody hell, he needs to come badly. He¡¯s so close, it will only take a little bit more to tip him over the edge and then he¡¯ll explode and damn, he can feel it, the orgasm will be mind-blowing. Just a little bit more¡­ that is really all he can think about right now. ¡°Damn it! Bite me already!¡± he hisses through clenched teeth, tilting his head to the side to offer better access to his throat. But that damn, teasing mouth isn¡¯t moving, it has frozen in place, and Vegas huffs with frustration, sounding so needy it¡¯s embarrassing, but at this point he doesn¡¯t care. ¡°Pete, seriously, do it, okay? I really want that damn bite. Do it! You¡¯re driving me insane, just sink your teeth into my neck, I am so close¡­ I need this!¡± Vegas pleads breathlessly. Instead of the relief he craves, he finds himself alone all of a sudden, as Pete disentangles himself, stepping back. A whimper escapes Vegas¡¯ mouth at that loss of contact. His mind is a mess; he is in a lust-filled daze, and now the object of his desire is gone all of a sudden, and he doesn¡¯t understand why this is happening. His eyes flicker open and he feels even more disorientated, blinded by the sudden light, but still he pushes himself off from the whiteboard, turning around. And fuck, it hurts because moving brushes the fabric of his trousers against his raging erection, making him gasp. Goddamn! Vegas blinks several times, and when his vision has finally fully adjusted to the light he sees Pete, standing a short distance away from him. His face is flushed and his pupils are dilated, making his eyes even darker than usual. He looks as unhinged as Vegas feels right now, and thoroughly flustered. Both of them are panting, their heavy breathing echoing harshly in the otherwise quiet office. ¡°Pete¡­¡± Vegas is struggling to form any coherent words, his voice sounding surprisingly brittle. ¡°What the fuck? Come back here right now and finish what you started¡­¡± But Pete isn¡¯t moving. Emotions flicker across his face, too many and too fast for Vegas to make any sense of them. And then, as if someone has flipped a switch, he becomes very still and closes his eyes for a few seconds. When he opens them again, Vegas wants to weep. No no no¡­ ! His calm and collected therapist is back, and the sudden change is unsettling. Even the pleasant, yet distant smile he now gives Vegas simply makes him want to grab Pete and shake him hard until he breaks through this mask his shrink is wearing again. No no no! What the fuck is happening??? ¡°I believe you are getting a little bit carried away, detective. Let¡¯s consider this exercise over,¡± Pete, the therapist, says coolly, and those words slice into Vegas like a knife. ¡°Pete!¡± He takes a step forward and reaches out to grab Pete, who skilfully steps aside, avoiding the contact. Vegas feels completely lost. This cannot be happening. Please don¡¯t let this be happening. But it is happening, and Pete¡¯s next words ram the knife in and twist it cruelly. ¡°That is quite enough, detective. I suggest you make an effort to control your emotions. You are just embarrassing yourself.¡± Fuck. ¡°¡­ you are such a fucking embarrassment, you are making me sick! You are a humiliation for the whole family!¡± Vegas¡¯ breath catches in his throat and he flinches. That hit too close to home and it hurt, so like a cornered, hurt animal, he lashes out instinctively. A sudden lurch forward and then he backhands Pete hard across the face, the sharp slap echoing uncomfortably through the room. The strength of the blow forces the other man to stumble sideways, blood blooming on his mouth where the lip splits under the impact. Pete looks stunned. ¡°Bastard!¡± Fuming with rage, Vegas hisses at Pete before he whips around and strides to the door, rips it open and then slams it shut hard behind him as he exits.
He might be incandescent with anger, but Vegas is still absurdly aroused, and that problem needs to be taken care of first. On autopilot he walks past all his colleagues, not giving a damn if they nod in greeting or not. Vegas heads straight for the restroom, locking himself into the privacy of the handicap toilet that no one here uses anyway. His mind is still a buzzing, hurting mess, but thankfully he doesn¡¯t need to think for any of this, his movements are more or less automatic. Vegas unhooks the button of his uniform pants, then draws down the zipper, wincing a bit as even this infinitesimal contact with the underlying tent in his boxer shorts causes his cock to twitch painfully. At least it won¡¯t take long this way. Pushing both his pants and the boxers down, his erection finally springs free and Vegas feels his body contract with need. He won¡¯t even need lube, there¡¯s so much pre-cum already. Vegas applies a firmly-pressured stroke with one hand and instantly gives a high-pitched hiss under his breath, his legs starting to tremble, his toes curling as he tenses all over. Fuck. Yes, this won¡¯t take long at all. He strokes up and down a few times, working up to the imminent orgasm, a light scratch with his nails on the last stroke at the back of the head and holy shit¡­ he comes so hard that for a moment he fears he¡¯s going to pass out, black spots appearing in his vision. Despite gritting his teeth, a stifled long moan escapes him, he¡¯s a panting mess, his legs actually buckling beneath him. He collapses onto the toilet seat, riding that high until it slowly ebbs away. Holy shit. Holy. Shit. Gasping for air, Vegas closes his eyes and suddenly feels the uncontrollable urge to laugh sneaking up on him. No matter how much he tries to hold it in, it just bubbles right out, his shoulders shaking with barely suppressed mirth. He bites his lips to keep as silent as possible and laughs and laughs ¡­ until he becomes aware of the tears running down his face and his brittle laughter turns into a soul-wrenching sob.
Vegas is spiralling, and not in a good way. Going down down down, baby. It¡¯s been a long time since that last happened, but hey, what occurred today turns out to be a fantastic trigger. In the immediate aftermath of it, he simply walks to the underground garage and his car without ever returning to the office. He drives home on autopilot, his mind white noise. At some point he notices that his phone is ringing and he turns it off without even checking who is calling. Once he is at home he changes out of his uniform and takes a quick shower to clean himself. Somehow he feels dirty. And it makes him upset. Where did it all go wrong? It was glorious. It was beyond thrilling. And then it suddenly wasn¡¯t. He feels more hurt about that than he cares to admit to himself. Hurt and humiliated to his very bones. One pill makes you larger And one pill makes you small As soon as he is dressed casually, Vegas heads out again. He leaves the car behind and takes the bus instead. Going downtown. His old hunting grounds. He hasn¡¯t been there in years, but nothing ever really changes here, only the people frequenting the places. Soon enough he runs into the right person and for the right amount of money, he receives his very own key to temporary oblivion in form of a harmless-looking little pill. And the ones that mother gives you Don¡¯t do anything at all He doesn¡¯t swallow the pill directly. Instead, he spends some time walking aimlessly through the streets. Stops for a quick snack at one of the many street food stalls. Drifting. He is just drifting along with the flow of people, not really caring where this is leading him. Go ask Alice When she¡¯s ten feet tall It must be getting late, because the sun is setting, the street lamps flicker on. Time doesn¡¯t really have any meaning for him at the moment. Vegas knows the smart thing to do right now would be to call Porsche. Maybe Macau. But he doesn¡¯t. And he doesn¡¯t answer any of the many incoming calls either; instead he switches his phone to silent mode. And if you go chasing rabbits And you know you¡¯re going to fall Eventually he drifts into one of the many run-down bars in this area. He wants booze, no fancy cocktails. This will do nicely. After four glasses of cheap whiskey, the buzzing in his brain is getting considerably more quiet. ¡°Bad day?¡± asks the barkeeper, and Vegas snorts and nods, swirling the golden liquid in the glass he is holding. Alcohol and drugs is a bad combo, but Vegas doesn¡¯t give a damn at this point. He wants to erase this day from his life permanently. And so he swallows the little white pill with a mouthful of liquor. Cheers. Tell ¡®em a hookah-smoking caterpillar Has given you the call Time expands and contracts. Exhale. Inhale. The alcohol burns like liquid fire down his throat. The sounds around him blend into each other, washing over him like a wave. Loud voices ebbing into silence, then rising to a crescendo before dwindling to whispers. Repeat. Do it all over again. The glasses stacked behind the counter glitter in the light, like raindrops on a leaf suddenly hit by a ray of sunshine. Dazzling. Mesmerising. Time expands and contracts. Call Alice When she was just small Vegas is going with the flow, flying high, and when that flow is disturbed by someone accidentally bumping into him, he serenely takes the liquor bottle standing before him by the neck and whacks that person over the head with it. When the men on the chessboard Get up and tell you where to go All hell breaks loose, and amidst the chaos Vegas is trapped in his very own bubble of drug-induced tranquility, while doling out quite a shocking amount of violence in the ensuing bar fight. It¡¯s probably a good thing he isn¡¯t sober and has a delayed reaction time because otherwise there would be dead bodies littering the floor. And you¡¯ve just had some kind of mushroom And your mind is moving low And yeah, he is taking his fair share of blows as well. This is inevitable, especially when they finally decide to gang up on him. The hits rain down on him from all sides, he whirls, kicks, lashes out, bites¡ªjust venting¡­ venting raging venting. Something hits him hard against the back of the head, and he is flung against the side of a table, loosing his footing, going down. Hands grab his hair, and then he is dragged outside through the back entrance, out into the alley. Go ask Alice I think she¡¯ll know They toss him into the alley like a bag of garbage. Discarded like trash. He rolls through the dirt, and before he can even consider sitting up or doing anything at all, Vegas receives a few vicious kicks against his rib cage that knock the air out of him. Vaguely, he hears cursing and someone groaning in pain, but that cannot possibly be himself because he is still floating and flying high and the ground is spinning like a carousel which makes him laugh amidst the coughing fit he is apparently having. When logic and proportion Have fallen sloppy dead He snickers uncontrollably, which only makes him cough more, and then he spits out the blood filling his mouth. Gross. Lying on his side he allows himself to go limp. Someone stop the carousel, he wants to get off. And as usual, nobody listens and the wild swirl continues. Neon lights, street lights, everything blends into a kaleidoscope. The dirty asphalt is rough and cool against his cheek, and he can feel more blood trickling from his mouth. Look at all the pretty colours¡­ And the White Knight is talking backwards And the Red Queen¡¯s off with her head But soon enough everything shifts out of focus. He can¡¯t see anything, so why bother keeping his eyes open? And his eyelids flutter shut. Vegas is floating¡ªwhat is up¡­ what is down¡­ no clue¡­ no fucking clue¡ªuntil there¡¯s unexpected warmth, as something ¡­ a hand?¡­ touches his face very gently and then slowly turns his head over, cradling his cheek. Temporarily grounded, Vegas finds the energy from somewhere deep within him to open his eyes again. Out of focus¡­ focusing¡­ out of focus¡­ At last, the shape in front of him is coalescing into a human being. Vegas is sure he remembers those dark eyes from somewhere. Why does he look concerned? The thought materialises in his head and then drifts away once again. Vegas opens his mouth to say something¡­ what did he want to say again? It was something important, wasn¡¯t it? Or perhaps not? Everything starts shifting out of focus again and he shuts his eyes once more. Remember what the dormouse said Feed your head Feed your head Oh. Now he remembers. ¡°I don¡¯t like this game¡­¡± he mumbles under his breath. ¡°I can¡¯t do this anymore¡­¡± ¡°Yes, you can.¡± A soft voice brushes over him like a caress, while a thumb gently strokes his battered cheekbone. ¡°You can do this. You are doing exceptionally well¡­ I am so proud of you.¡± Vegas makes an effort to reopen his eyes, but the eyelids are like lead, and then oblivion reaches out, grabs him and pulls him under into the darkness where there are no more thoughts. Chapter 8 ¡°It would be so nice if something made sense for a change.¡± Vegas regains consciousness like slowly resurfacing from the depth of a deep dark pool. He takes a deep breath as he slowly becomes aware of his surroundings again. It¡¯s very quiet. He is no longer prone on the hard ground, instead there¡¯s now a comfortable softness that he sinks into. Not only that, but he is snuggled against a source of heat that warms his battered body in the most soothing way. He feels like floating on a cloud in the summer sky. It¡¯s a very nice feeling, so he allows himself to float a bit longer. There is a repetitive sound breaking through the silence. After a while, his fuzzy brain identifies it as the sound of pages being turned. He doesn¡¯t feel the need to act on that knowledge just yet. The more he awakens, the more he becomes aware of his own body. He is lying on his left side. His left arm seems to be beneath the pillow his head is resting on, with his face nuzzled comfortably against the mysterious heat source. Both his right arm and leg are also entangled with that heat source and it¡¯s so cozy that he doesn¡¯t want to move. He must have made a contented sound, because the silence is disrupted by a low, gentle voice. ¡°Welcome back to the world of the living.¡± ¡°¡­ Mmmm¡­¡± No, let¡¯s skip waking up. This feels so nice. ¡°Are you actually going to wake up this time or will you just pass out again like the last three times?¡± wonders the voice. Try as he might, Vegas cannot focus on it; his thoughts are fluttering around in his brain like butterflies, hard to catch and to hold on to. Very pretty butterflies. And so many of them. So instead of thinking, he opens his eyes, which is taking more energy than it should. His eyelids are heavy as lead, but he manages to at least crack them open. It¡¯s pretty dark. Did he really open his eyes? Maybe he is blind? Wouldn¡¯t that be a bummer? No wait¡­ there is a light source, but he cannot see more because his face is still nuzzled against something that obstructs his view. Moving his head backwards hurts and Vegas makes a distressed sound in the back of his throat. ¡°Careful,¡± says that voice. ¡°Try not to move too much. You have a nasty laceration on the back of your head. I¡¯ve patched it up, but chances are high you have a concussion as well, if not worse.¡± Vegas blinks and squints his eyes, looking upwards towards the dimmed light source. His eyes feel like a camera with a faulty autofocus system. He gets quick snapshots of information before everything goes out of focus again. SNAP. A book. SNAP. Hands holding a book. SNAP. A reading light attached to the book. SNAP. A person holding the book. SNAP. The back resting against a headboard. SNAP. Legs stretched out straight. SNAP. An arm flung over those legs. SNAP. Another leg too. SNAP. Black. SNAP. Black clothes. SNAP. Black hair. SNAP. Black eyes. Vegas tries to puzzle together those snapshots and his brain is not cooperating. Eventually, something clicks. ¡°Oh. It¡¯s you,¡± he mumbles and promptly closes his eyes again. ¡°Who else should it be?¡± asks that voice, in a rather irritated tone that Vegas should probably pay attention to, but he cannot be bothered. ¡°Porsche,¡± he mumbles in reply, and nuzzles his face back against the heat source, that heat source being the man sitting beside him on the bed, reading a book in the dark. The man talking to him. ¡°Who is Porsche?¡± ¡°Well, you¡¯re not him,¡± Vegas mumbles. This man smells really nice. He rests his head against the man¡¯s hip and breathes in deeply, only to wince, as his entire ribcage protests with a wave of pain. Smells very nice though. He inhales again, more carefully this time. ¡°Obviously.¡± That voice sounds irked. ¡°Or are you?¡± Dazed as he is, Vegas opens his eyes again to take another look, just to be sure. ¡°No, you are definitely not.¡± He wants to close his tired eyes again but then suddenly something else occurs to him. ¡°Why am I in your bed?¡± ¡°This isn¡¯t my bed, it¡¯s yours.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± That makes sense. Or does it? ¡°How did you even find me?¡± He snuggles closer. Heavens, this feels nice. He just wants to float off again into oblivion. ¡°I¡¯ll always find you,¡± the man informs him quietly. ¡°¡­ Mmmm¡­ That¡¯s kinda creepy. And sort of cute. Very cute.¡± Vegas voice is barely above a whisper. He feels himself drifting off again but then another thought-butterfly flutters by that needs to be voiced. ¡°Oh no¡­ Now I need to wash the blanket, the pillows and the sheets again.¡± ¡°Why on earth would you do that?¡± The voice sounds bewildered. ¡°Cause I can¡¯t fall asleep when the whole bed smells of you. And I don¡¯t like sleeping on the couch.¡± Vegas is vaguely aware that he is in a state where he is missing a vital filter and he should probably shut up. Knowing this and behaving accordingly are two entirely different things though. ¡°You smell really nice,¡± he declares sleepily. ¡°So you keep telling me every time you wake up.¡± There¡¯s a deep sigh from above. ¡°I do?¡± ¡°Yes, several times already. Just what did you take, besides getting drunk as a skunk? You smell definitely not nice, you reek of booze and that alley I found you in. Did you roll in garbage too?¡± Vegas hums, unconcerned. ¡°I remember rolling¡­ round and round and round¡­¡± Then he tilts his head back again¡ªouch¡ªand smiles sleepily at Pete. Because of course, it¡¯s Pete. Who else could it be? ¡°Did you just insult me? I¡¯ll go take a shower then.¡± ¡°No!¡± Pete lowers the book and gives him an alarmed look. ¡°You can do that tomorrow when you are sober. Definitely not now. You can¡¯t even stand upright.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t? Oh.¡± That sounds reasonable to Vegas. He can¡¯t even get a clear look at Pete after all, his vision is shifting out of focus the whole time. He squints his eyes again, hoping to get a clearer image of the other man, to make really sure this is Pete. It is. Oh¡­ also¡­ ¡° You are wearing glasses? That¡¯s adorable.¡± Pete looks at him over the rim of his glasses and rolls his eyes. Vegas has the feeling that there¡¯s something important that he has forgotten about, but he cannot concentrate long enough to remember what it might be. Whatever. ¡°An adorable book worm,¡± he declares instead. ¡°Just shut up and go back to sleep,¡± the bookworm replies drily. And Vegas does something he hasn¡¯t done since he was a child¡ªhe sticks out his tongue at Pete before nestling his cheek back against the man¡¯s hip. ¡°I¡¯m not tired,¡± he murmurs. ¡°That is also something you said earlier on already. Right before passing out again,¡± Pete points out. ¡°I don¡¯t remember. I don¡¯t remember anything. It¡¯s wonderful.¡± Vegas closes his eyes again and sighs happily, his mind going wild. ¡°Why is the bed moving? Is there an earthquake? Do we need to evacuate? Are there even earthquakes in Thailand? Wait, did we go on vacation?¡± There¡¯s another exasperated sigh from the other person on the bed. ¡°Bloody hell, just what did you take? And how much? Do you have any idea how incredibly stupid it is to mix alcohol with drugs? I can¡¯t even give you any pain killers right now, your breathing is all irregular. The only reason I didn¡¯t drop you off at the ER is that you will get into a hell of a lot of trouble at work if you flunk a drug test. I am so damn angry with you, this better not be happening ever again.¡± ¡°Yes, Sir.¡± Vegas can hardly make sense of that mini rant, the words skipping merrily in through one ear and out through the other one, bypassing his brain, but whatever it is, it sounds serious enough. Best to agree with everything. His thoughts skitter on, fluttering right and left and back and forth. So many butterflies. In between, he notices that he has his right leg intertwined with Pete¡¯s legs and wonders when that happened. Whatever. It feels good. Nice and warm and comfy. He sighs. ¡°You smell really nice.¡± Another deep sigh from Pete is the only answer. For a while, Vegas is floating again, he would probably drift right off the bed and out of the window if he weren¡¯t so wrapped around Pete¡¯s body that it keeps him grounded. Then he remembers another thing and looks up again, only to be surprised by the sight before him. Oh. ¡°You got glasses? That¡¯s so cute.¡± He squints again and notices the dark shadow of a developing bruise on the corner of Pete¡¯s mouth. ¡°Did you get into a fight as well?¡± ¡°Unbelievable,¡± Pete mutters, shaking his head in disbelief, and that isn¡¯t really the answer Vegas was looking for but then again, he has already forgotten the question. ¡°Does it hurt?¡± He wants to lift his right arm but discovers to his surprise that it seems stuck somehow. Oh¡­ He got his fingers hooked into the belt loops of Pete¡¯s jeans. How did that happen? He¡¯s stuck. Are those fingers even his? He doesn¡¯t seem to have very good control over them; no matter how much he tugs he cannot get them free until Pete takes mercy on him and quietly helps him to disentangle himself. Free at last. What did he want to do again? Ah, yes¡­ Vegas reaches up, aiming to touch that bruise but his coordination is so far off that the hand instead lands on Pete¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Does it hurt?¡± he asks again. Only to add with sudden savagery: ¡°I hope it does.¡± Vegas doesn¡¯t even know where the sudden anger comes from that is bubbling up inside him. ¡°I hope it hurts a lot. Serves you right. Why should I be the only one hurting¡­ ¡± Pete decides to stay silent, he just sighs again. He does that a lot. ¡°Does it hurt?¡± Vegas asks for a third time. Another thought flutters by and he manages to hold on to it. Look at that pretty butterfly he caught. ¡°Come here and let me kiss it better.¡± And wow, this time his hand is actually moving where he wants it to go, sliding all along the shoulder only to come to rest against the back of Pete¡¯s neck and then Vegas tugs downward. The movement makes his ribs protest in pain, and he groans. He might be tugging but he is met with instant resistance. Pete is not moving an inch. Instead he lowers his book again and knits his eyebrows into a frown. ¡°There will be no kissing.¡± ¡°But I want to¡­¡± Vegas counters, because, well, he does. Come to think of it, kissing sounds like an excellent idea. ¡°I am sure you do, but you are high as a kite. You get no say in this matter,¡± Pete reminds him calmly. ¡°I like kites¡­ Where is the kite?¡± Vegas smiles lopsidedly. Pete gives Vegas a long, thoughtful look that warms him from the inside out. ¡°You¡¯re so damn cute,¡± Vegas mumbles because that is what comes to mind when Pete looks at him like this and so he blurts it out: ¡°I¡¯m in pain. Kiss me to make it better?¡± Alas Pete shakes his head, entirely matter of fact about the whole thing. ¡°No. If a little bit of teasing makes you go to these extremes, then you would most likely jump out of the window as soon as you are sober again if we kiss now.¡± ¡°So deep down you want to kiss me too?¡± Vegas checks, hopeful. Pete gives him a very stern look that would probably have more effect if Vegas could see him clearly, which he can¡¯t because his eyes keep unfocusing. ¡°No, I really, absolutely do not want to kiss you, now or ever. And the sooner you accept this, the better. Am I making myself clear?¡± Vegas tries to stretch but that makes his whole body ache and protest. He tries another tug on the neck, but since Pete remains unmovable, he sighs and allows his hand slide all the way down over Pete¡¯s chest until it comes to rest on Pete¡¯s left hipbone. ¡°Party pooper. I want to kiss you even when I am sober. You just don¡¯t notice,¡± he mumbles while trying to find a more comfortable position that doesn¡¯t ache so much. ¡°I really like those glasses on you, have I told you?¡± ¡°Could you please stop talking and go back to sleep?¡± ¡°I can¡¯t sleep. Everything hurts and it¡¯s all your fault.¡± Vegas cannot remember why but he is sure this is correct. Then another thought materialises. ¡°Can we stop playing the game now? Cause I don¡¯t like this game. All you want is Beam, but Beam is dead. And I am right here but you want me to be a dead person.¡± There¡¯s another deep sigh from Pete. ¡°Trust me, I am very much aware of you. Now please¡­ just sleep, all right?¡± Somehow Vegas does not find this answer satisfying at all. ¡°You just want to have sex with Beam,¡± he accuses him sleepily. ¡°Beam¡¯s not even that good in bed, I forgot about it as soon as it was over.¡± ¡°Jeeez¡­ Shut up already. You really do not want to tell me all these things, you will feel horrible about this tomorrow.¡± Yes, Pete sounds increasingly irritated. But so is Vegas, now that he¡¯s gotten started. ¡°As if you care¡­ You don¡¯t give a fuck about me. You just play your stupid game and then make me feel like the worst person on earth because I want you. Let me tell you something, you little bookworm¡­ I don¡¯t even want to be attracted to you. So take your cute glasses and your damn sex appeal and take it elsewhere.¡± He waves his hand erratically and almost knocks the book out of Pete¡¯s hands. ¡°Shoo¡­ off you go.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not going anywhere. Someone has to keep an eye on you as long as you¡¯re drugged up to the gills. Or you will end up dead.¡± Pete gives him a grim look, holding his book out of reach. ¡°Now stop making a fuss and go back to sleep. I actually had other plans for tonight besides babysitting you.¡± ¡°Plans¡­? What plans? ¡­ Oh¡­ You have a date?¡± Somehow this makes Vegas feel strange. He doesn¡¯t like this feeling either. Pete always makes him feel things he doesn¡¯t like. Vegas¡¯ head hurts. Vegas¡¯ heart too. No, he does not like this feeling at all. ¡°None of your business. Just go back to sleep and let me read in peace while I babysit you.¡± ¡°I need no watching, I am perfectly fine,¡± Vegas declares, feeling suddenly miserable and wanting to get some distance from Pete. ¡°Just go on your date. If you won¡¯t leave, then I will. But I think it¡¯s unfair that I need to sleep on my couch when this is my apartment. You are the worst guest ever¡­¡± And with a groan, Vegas disentangles himself from the other man and the blanket covering him, and rolls to the edge of the bed. It¡¯s not nearly as graceful or easy as he envisioned. Somehow his body is not moving as it should, and besides, moving in any way turns out to hurt like hell. Is there even a part of him not hurting? He could swear even his fingernails hurt. Vegas hisses in pain. ¡°Seriously? Now you are being entirely unreasonable. Stop it already, you are hurting yourself. Just lie down and rest,¡± Pete chastises him as he is finally forced to put the book to the side. ¡°Go fuck yourself.¡± Unimpressed and too stubborn for his own good, Vegas gives him the finger, swings his legs over the edge of the bed and tries to stand. It isn¡¯t going according to his plan. As soon as he stands there¡¯s a piercing pain in the back of his head, followed by a violent wave of dizziness that makes him keel over to the left side, stumbling uncontrollably. Behind him on the bed he can hear Pete swearing profusely but Vegas is a bit distracted right now. There are shoes on the floor which he falls over, then he hits the edge of the cupboard, and his ribs scream in protest. The pain is surprisingly intense. Vegas gasps sharply and then his legs give out and he collapses to the floor. Everything hurts so much that he cannot help but whimper with pain, and the dizziness is disorientating as hell. What is he doing here? Where is here? And why is he hurting so much? What is happening? ¡°You damn idiot!¡± Someone is cursing loudly next to him and Vegas feels hands trying to help him up into a sitting position. He groans loudly because he cannot decide what is worse: his ribcage, which is trying to kill him, or his head that is about to explode. ¡°Hurts¡­¡± he whimpers pitifully, exploring the back of his head with a hand. Ouch. Yes, he has found the source of the pain, everything is wet and sticky. What the hell is going on? He cannot see clearly, everything is in a haze. Where is he and who is that person helping him, steadying him? He squints his eyes, trying to force them to focus on the face in front of him. When everything becomes clear for a moment, recognition hits instantly and Vegas jerks backwards with a hiss. ¡°Get the hell away from me!¡± Oh, no. No no no! How did Pete get here? Where is here? Pete cannot be here right now, he cannot deal with Pete, not after what happened today! ¡°Get away from me!¡± Vegas repeats with an edge of hysteria in his voice, as he crawls backward, doing his best to move away from those hands. He has a visual flashback of Pete¡¯s face going from flushed arousal to coolly detached professionalism, those sharp words cutting into him all over again. No, he does not want to be anywhere near Pete right now. ¡°You bastard! Leave me alone! And don¡¯t touch me!¡± But those hands have a firm hold on him and won¡¯t let go. ¡°Stop it! You are hurting yourself even more! Just calm down, okay? Calm down. Breathe. Everything will be fine.¡± Over and over Pete repeats these words, and no matter how much Vegas struggles, he isn¡¯t letting go. Not even when the fight drains out of Vegas, and he more or less collapses bonelessly against Pete¡¯s chest. Surprisingly strong arms are wrapped around him, holding him gently, and he can feel fingers rubbing the back of his neck soothingly. ¡°Everything will be fine, I promise. Just relax. You are safe. You are drunk and you are on drugs. You have been in a fight, that¡¯s why your whole body hurts. But everything will be fine. Don¡¯t worry¡­¡± At first, Vegas doesn¡¯t understand a single word that Pete whispers soothingly. He¡¯s simply too disoriented, too intoxicated, too upset and in way too much pain. But with his movement restricted and nowhere to go, this ends up being a good enough method to anchor and ground him until this bout of drug-induced hysteria fizzles out. All that is left is exhaustion and pain. Vegas¡¯ head is resting against Pete¡¯s shoulder, his eyes are closed, he is completely and utterly worn out. ¡°I hate this¡­¡± he whispers brokenly under his breath. ¡°I hate you. I don¡¯t want to be attracted to you. I don¡¯t like feeling like this. I don¡¯t want to do this anymore¡­ Just let me go already¡­¡± And then the darkness takes mercy and washes over him again, dragging him under. Before passing out, he thinks he hears Pete whisper: ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I can¡¯t do that. You are simply too fascinating¡­¡± But maybe Vegas is just imagining it.
It¡¯s late afternoon when Vegas finally wakes up for real. All that is left from last night is a hangover from hell, a lot worse than he¡¯s ever had before. Ouch. Maybe it wasn¡¯t such a good idea to take that pill after all. With a certain trepidation, he forces his eyes open to check where exactly he is. Imagine his surprise, he¡¯s in bed. And not just any bed but his own bed, covered with a blanket. How did that happen? Try as he might, he draws a complete blank. The last thing he remembers is that bar where he had a few drinks before being an utter moron and swallowing that pill. Shit. Talk about stupid decisions¡­ Vegas¡¯ attempt to shrug off the blanket is rewarded with pain. What the hell? Everything hurts. Everything. What the hell happened? His head feels ready to explode. Breathing hurts too. Groaning, and moving an inch at a time, he somehow manages to reach the edge of the bed. Fuck. Is he¡­? A glance, yes, he is at least wearing his boxers and a t-shirt. Okay. So nothing like that happened. Which leaves¡­ he looks at his hands and groans again. Blood-crusted knuckles. Oh fuck. A fight then. And it must have been one hell of a fight. It takes a while for him to make his way to the bathroom, and staring at himself in the mirror above the sink Vegas is slightly shocked. He looks dreadful. No wonder everything hurts. His hair is a ruffled and blood-matted mess, especially the back of it. There are specks of dried blood on his nose and around his split lip, small abrasions all over his face and a rather large bruise along his right cheekbone. And that¡¯s just the head. His ribcage is badly bruised. He looks like he¡¯s been in a car wreck and should be in hospital. How did he even get home looking like this without anyone calling an ambulance? Shit. He can¡¯t even raise his arms to take off the t-shirt¡ªhe has to cut it off. This is not good at all. Vegas shuffles into the shower and amidst a lot swearing and hissing with pain manages to wash away all the dirt and blood. Some of his wounds start oozing fresh blood but he¡¯ll have to live with that. The back of his head is a concern though. It pounds and every time he moves his head, dizziness washes over him. And his bruised ribs really hurt, so he has to remind himself to breathe shallow all the time. Fuck. He was an idiot last night, look what he did to himself. Vegas does the sensible thing for once: puts on some clothes, calls a cab and heads to the nearest hospital for a checkup. Three hours later, he is home again. The wound on his head stitched up, concussion confirmed, a CT and some X-rays done, one broken rib, various abrasions and lacerations cleaned, taped and covered up. He feels as if he¡¯s been run over by a truck. Bed rest, said the doctor. At least for two days, preferably five. No physical exertion for at least a week. He gets a note for work that he is on mandatory sick leave for five days. Calls it in. Crawls into bed and falls asleep again.
Five days stuck at home is a very long time for a workaholic. In the beginning he feels too sick to move, too sick to even think, because his brain demands rest and punishes him with a vicious headache and brutal dizziness whenever he attempts to do anything other than doze or sleep. Even going to the bathroom is sheer agony. Heading out of the bedroom is impossible, the kitchen might as well be situated on another planet. Maybe he will starve to death, Vegas ponders briefly. But when he wakes up the next time he finds his little brother sitting on the bed beside him, reading something on his phone. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. Vegas is so ridiculously happy to see him, he gets all teary-eyed. Macau is the most precious person in the whole world to him. They rarely ever see each other since Vegas decided to become a police officer, for obvious reasons. But they¡¯re brothers, and growing up together in the household from hell has created a bond that cannot be broken. Macau looks up from his phone, their eyes meet and both of them simply smile. There is no need for big words between the two of them. ¡°I brought you some food,¡± Macau says which really means ¡®I love you, big bro.¡¯ Vegas¡¯ heart expands with love. He¡¯s not alone after all. Just this once, he can allow himself to be pampered. It¡¯s a great feeling. His brother doesn¡¯t ask many questions. He makes sure Vegas eats, takes his medicine and keeps hydrated. They don¡¯t talk much because Vegas needs his rest. But they don¡¯t need to talk. Just keeping each other company is enough for both of them. ¡°How did you know I needed help?¡± Vegas asks at one point. Because this is something that has been on his mind the whole time. How did he get back to his apartment? He still cannot remember a thing. ¡°I got an envelope by courier with your apartment key in it, and a note that you¡¯d been in a fight.¡± Macau gives him a curious look. ¡°The note wasn¡¯t signed. Any idea who sent it?¡± ¡°The only one I can think of is Porsche, but he would have taken care of me himself, or at least he would have called you. Weird.¡± ¡°Want me to look into it?¡± asks Macau, but Vegas very carefully shakes his head. Best not get his little brother involved in his life. ¡°It¡¯s okay, I¡¯ll figure it out eventually. And then I will let you know. Could I please have something to drink now? And then I think I need more sleep. I am so damn tired¡­¡± For three days Vegas doesn¡¯t do a thing. It feels as if he has to catch up on 10 years of missed sleep, and so he does. The last evening he and his brother take some time for more brotherly bonding because Macau will head home again the next morning. They talk through the night, and Vegas soaks up all the information he gets about his brother¡¯s daily life. His school schedule. What classes he likes best. Why some of the teachers are so annoying. What his favourite coffee shop is and why. That mornings still suck and he likes sleeping in. What clothes he is into. His favourite musicians. The last movie he watched and which movies he is looking forward to. His dreams for university and the future. Where he wants to travel to eventually. Everything Vegas would already know if they had closer contact. Damn, he wasn¡¯t aware how much he has missed his little brother. The next morning, just before he leaves, Macau has one more thing to say. ¡°Do me a favour and try not to get yourself killed, all right? If it were only the job, I would understand. But to get into a fight like this¡­ Vegas, you scared the hell out of me. I don¡¯t know why you did it, just don¡¯t do it again, okay? I don¡¯t know what I would do if something happened to you.¡± Vegas nods, his throat tight, and gives Macau a long hug, both of them careful not to hurt his ribs while doing so. ¡°I am sorry. I¡¯ll be more careful, I promise. And I am getting some help too, so don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ll be fine.¡± And that will have to do. They smile at each other one last time, and then Macau leaves.
Vegas has two more days of sick leave, and he puts them to good use. He has a laptop and can work from home. This is not what the doctor recommended, but when did he ever listen to doctors? As expected, he finds an email from Pete about those damn flowers in his inbox. Pete is nothing but efficient. It appears to be an asiatic lily, ¡®London Heart¡¯ or ¡®Lina Tango¡¯. Vegas doesn¡¯t care about the fancy names. Sitting in bed, he consults Google and then starts calling flower shops. And there are a lot of flower shops in this city alone. It takes a whole damn day being on the phone without any results, then he is redirected to flower wholesalers for the whole country and flower markets. He learns a lot about flowers¡ªat least that¡¯s something. On his last day at home, he finally hits the jackpot. A wholesaler who not only knows what flower he is asking for, but has actually sold a large quantity of them recently, during the time frame for the last murder. Perfect. An hour later Vegas receives digital copies of the order documents, with a name, address and payment details. Those will of course be fake. But on the off chance that their killer made a mistake, Vegas e-mails all the information to the part of the police department that handles financial crimes, so that they can look into it and see where the money trail leads. This is a good start. At least they know a little bit more now. And of course there is still the matter with Pete to think¡ªobsess¡ªabout. If it were up to Vegas, he would like to forget about that day altogether. He¡¯s had way too much time to analyse what happened, and he is pretty damn sure that he was not the only one turned on by that stupid exercise. And yet Pete pulled the plug and made sure to be as hurtful as possible while doing so. His shrink is smart, and judging from the time they¡¯ve spent together, he is sure Pete always chooses both his words and his actions with utmost care. So what was the purpose of all of this? Was it really a harmless exercise gone awry? The fact remains that it made Vegas feel like shit. At least his father uses his fists. Physical injuries are easier to deal with and heal. But Pete¡¯s verbal attack¡­ it really hit him hard. Made him feel like a freak again. He has to be so damn careful all the time. He cannot flirt casually like most straight people around him. He does not want to jeopardise his job and most importantly, he has to be extremely careful that his father stays out of the loop. And fuck¡­ he was doing so well avoiding any possible romantic entanglements until Pete showed up in his life, turning everything upside down, driving him insane, constantly teasing him with his very presence. It was only logical that at some point, Vegas would snap. But somehow he didn¡¯t expect Pete to be quite so cold-hearted when ramming the ¡®Up to here and no further¡¯ warning sign into the ground. Bastard. Let¡¯s just pretend it never happened, decides Vegas. Denial is bliss. And he is exceptionally good at wiping traumatic memories from his brain. He has done so a lot of times and considers himself an expert.
Once his sick leave is over, it¡¯s back to work for Vegas. The bruises have started to turn green-yellowish. He still has a headache, but the dizziness is gone as well. His ribs still hurt, but he has them bandaged. There is no reason to stay at home any longer. Other than to avoid running into his therapist, that is. Which he isn¡¯t. As far as he is concerned, nothing ever happened; there¡¯s nothing to be ashamed of. And if Pete brings it up he will most likely hit him¡ªagain. Because pretend as he might, Vegas is carrying a grudge. But Pete doesn¡¯t say a thing when he enters their shared office that afternoon. He gives Vegas a once-over, arching an eyebrow at those visible bruises and only comments on one thing: ¡°I assume that whoever you had a fight with looks worse than you? Are they still alive?¡± Since Vegas is in no mood to talk about that evening, he just gives Pete the finger, refusing to answer. Pete sighs. ¡°Fine. I think we should schedule another therapy session.¡± And with that he goes to sit at his desk, leaving Vegas alone. When it becomes clear to Vegas that this is it, that there will be no further comments or questions or anything else about what happened between them a few days ago, the tension drains out of him and he can finally relax and concentrate on work. Skipped the bullet this time. Apparently Pete has also decided to forget about everything. But the faint bruise at the corner of his mouth is a constant reminder, so the less Vegas looks at Pete, the better. He buries himself in work.
A few days pass. Life goes on. Pete has no more crazy ideas. There are also no new grizzly murders; that is at least something to be glad about. Vegas spends the time meticulously going over all the CCTV footage they¡¯ve collected from the area of the last crime scene. He tracks down the flower delivery van and its driver. Nothing new there, the man didn¡¯t see a thing. He runs the very basic information they have on their second victim through the missing person database. Or rather, he outsources that to Pete, so that he has something to do. Vegas hates that kind of work. Arm sends an update, informing them that they should have an image of the tattoo within the next few days. Unfortunately, Thailand isn¡¯t the USA, which has the FBI¡¯s Tattoo Recognition Database. And there are a lot of tattoo studios in this city alone. More work heading their way. So imagine Vegas¡¯ surprise when good luck actually walks into their office one day in the form of one of his colleagues. Thirty minutes later, and Vegas can barely contain his excitement. They have their first real lead, and what a lead it is! They have a potential eye witness! Seems there¡¯s a vagrant, an ex-con, squatting in the building next to their crime scene. Since they only found out about this by accident, maybe their killer missed it. This is exciting news. Pete comes over to his side as Vegas enters the name of the potential witness into the search form for the police records. The page loads, and now he has a photo to link to that name. And a very long RAP sheet, including theft, trespass, robbery, and bodily harm. Gotcha.
Despite his objections, Pete accompanies him to interview their potential witness. In the end, all it takes is Pete narrowing his eyes and reminding him of what he said on their drive back from the last crime scene¡ª¡°¡­if you sabotage this partnership one more time, I¡¯ll make you regret it¡­¡±¡ªand Vegas reconsiders. He wouldn¡¯t put it past Pete to get him suspended; he seems unpredictable enough for that. He nearly killed them that night after all. But that doesn¡¯t mean Vegas is comfortable taking a civilian along to an interview with a person who has a long criminal record. ¡°I¡¯m in charge,¡± he reminds Pete while driving across town. ¡°You will do exactly as I tell you. Without arguing with me about it. You will not wander off on your own. You will stay three steps behind me when we approach the witness. Do not under any circumstances get between me and the witness at any times, in case something goes wrong. And should anything go wrong, you will take cover and stay put until I tell you it¡¯s safe to come out again. Am I making myself clear?¡± ¡°Stop fretting, detective. I¡¯m not a child, I can take care of myself, and of course I will follow your lead and be careful.¡± Pete seems totally unconcerned. He is leaning back in his seat, looking outside. ¡°But I think you are making a fuss about nothing. We¡¯re just going to talk to the man, why should anything go wrong?¡± Vegas has learned early on that this is a question a police officer should not ask oneself. One should simply assume everything that can go wrong, will go wrong. Much safer this way. ¡°It¡¯s better to be prepared for anything.¡± ¡°Well, I have you along, I am sure you will protect me just fine.¡± Pete chuckles a bit but Vegas doesn¡¯t think this is funny at all. He clenches his hands around the steering wheel. When did he start caring so much for Pete¡¯s safety? He does not like feeling this way. The rest of the drive is spent in silence. According to the information they got, their potential witness lives on the fifth floor of the abandoned building directly opposite their crime scene. They park in front and exit the car, neither of them really happy to return here. Vegas looks back and forth between the two buildings and cannot believe his good fortune. Both the fifth floors are exactly at the same height¡ªif they are lucky this guy might have seen the murderer, or even the murder. Please let them be lucky. At the same time he cannot help but feel a bit of pity. Damn, if this man really was a witness to this nightmare he will be traumatised for sure. Thankfully, he has Pete along to deal with that, should it be needed. Today, Vegas has opted out of wearing his uniform in favour of civilian clothing. No need to scare the witness off. He checks his weapon. The Royal Thai Police does not standard-issue pistols; police officers have to buy their own guns depending on what they can afford. Vegas has both a Glock 19MS and a SIG P320SP, which are the typical service pistols of the Arintaraj 26 tactical unit, and what is good enough for them is good enough for him. He mainly carries the Glock, though. He has grown up surrounded by guns, and carrying one is like second nature to him. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± With Vegas taking the lead, they walk to the entrance of the building. Another door with a broken lock; he can easily push it open. No electricity in this building¡ªVegas tries the light switches but nothing happens. But it¡¯s early in the afternoon, and there is enough natural light coming in through the windows. They head through the debris, trash and dirt towards the stairs and make their way up. ¡°Stay behind me,¡± Vegas reminds Pete when they approach the fifth floor. There¡¯s a door. Vegas hesitates for a moment, pondering how to do this the best way, then decides to knock while at the same time opening the door. Thankfully it isn¡¯t locked or blocked in any way, luck is on his side. ¡°Hello? Anyone home?¡± He cautiously looks around before taking a step into what appears to have been another open-office space. But this one has a variety of furniture in it. Former office equipment and an assortment of second-hand cupboards, chairs, and sofas. There¡¯s even a bed in a further off corner. Someone has taken care to clean some of the windows¡ªthis is great, it means there¡¯s an unrestricted line of sight to their crime scene¡ªand there is more than enough light coming in through them. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, we are not here to steal anything or to evict you.¡± He has not seen anyone yet, but talking seems like a good idea to show that they come with good intentions. ¡°We would just like to have a word with you, if that is all right? Hello?¡± There is some movement behind a cupboard to his right. Vegas makes sure that Pete is behind him, and that he is shielding him with his body before he cautiously walks in that direction. ¡°Hello? I really only want to ask you a few questions, that¡¯s all.¡± And then he adds: ¡°I¡¯ll pay for some answers?¡± That seems to have the desired effect. A man of indeterminable age emerges. He looks unkempt; the clothes he is wearing are well-worn, seems they haven¡¯t been washed in a while. Vegas recognises him from the mug shot, this is indeed him. The guy looks at Vegas, wary suspicion written all over his face. ¡°You¡¯ll pay? How much? Show me the cash first.¡± Slowly, because he doesn¡¯t want to startle, Vegas takes out his wallet and selects a few banknotes. Enough to be a real temptation to talk to them. And it works. With a greedy look on his dirty face, their potential witness comes closer, keeping his eyes on the money, as if he is afraid Vegas will change his mind. ¡°What do you want to know?¡± he asks as he approaches. ¡°A while ago there was a murder right across from here,¡± Vegas nods towards the windows and the building on the other side. ¡°I reckon that an observant guy like you would have noticed anything strange happening so close to your territory. If that¡¯s the case, the money will be yours.¡± Vegas waves the cash around a bit. ¡°The more details, the better, and the more money will go your way. Deal?¡± ¡°Fuck yeah¡­ deal.¡± The vagrant greedily makes a grab for the banknotes and Vegas allows him to take them. Almost trembling with excitement, or perhaps drug withdrawal, the man counts the bills and grins happily. ¡°I saw it all, the whole mess, and even the guy who killed him. What exactly do you want to know?¡± ¡°Really now? That is wonderful news.¡± Pete steps around from behind Vegas, in full psychologist mode¡ªVegas recognises that tone of voice. ¡°Please tell us everything, best to start from the beginning.¡± And here is where it all goes terribly wrong. So apparently their eyewitness didn¡¯t realise that Vegas didn¡¯t come alone, because the abrupt appearance of Pete seems to startle him badly. He looks up from the money in alarm, and his eyes widen when he notices that there are now two people in his living space. Two against one, the odds are against him. With a yelp, he retreats and then shit really hits the fan because all of a sudden there is a gun in his hands, pointed at Pete. Fuck. Vegas drops the wallet and holds up his hands while stepping in front of Pete. ¡°Easy¡­ easy now. There is no need for this. We mean no harm, we are with the police.¡± Shit. Shit shit shit. If only Pete weren¡¯t here with him. Vegas is stressed big time. ¡°Pete, stay right behind me, don¡¯t you fucking move.¡± He hopes Pete will listen, because he does not dare take his eyes off the gun that is pointed at him. And he cannot draw his own gun, unless he manages to distract that idiot for a moment. Fuck. Their witness turned gun-wielding psycho laughs shrilly and edges around Vegas, who turns simultaneously with an arm behind his back to push Pete along, ensuring that he stays at all times between Pete and the firearm pointed at them while they move. ¡°Police? Don¡¯t fucking lie to me! You are not the police! Get the hell away from me!¡± ¡°Would you like me to show you my badge?¡± Falling back on years of training, Vegas remains utterly calm. But the guy seems to have blown a fuse, he is not listening at all. ¡°Don¡¯t move, keep your hands where I can see them! I won¡¯t let you trick me! You are not going to get me! I won¡¯t let you kill me!¡± And now that he has a free line to the door, he walks backwards towards it, keeping the gun trained at Vegas at all times. And damn, the hand holding that gun is far from steady. What a fucking disaster. The guy is heading for the door and normally Vegas would pursue, but he is too worried about Pete right now and doesn¡¯t dare make any move to follow the madman. Vegas heart is pounding like crazy. What a clusterfuck. This is exactly what he has been afraid of all along. This is why he didn¡¯t want to have a civilian along. And especially not Pete. The thought of Pete getting shot is something that sends shivers of dread through him. No, Pete must not be harmed. That¡¯s the only reason why he allows their witness to reach the exit without following him. But the second the guy slips through the door and out of sight, Vegas is already moving in pursuit. ¡°Stay here!¡± he yells at Pete without turning around, drawing his gun while heading for the now closed door. He loses valuable time trying to open it because the handle comes off in his hands, and he has to reattach it. Fuck! But then it finally opens, and Vegas takes a cautious glance outside¡ªno one in sight¡ªso he sprints for the staircase, heading downwards. Hopefully he will catch up with the guy before he leaves the building, otherwise this is it, the madman will disappear into the maze of streets, alleyways and buildings, and Vegas will never see him again. They finally have an eyewitness! How on earth could things go so wrong? What a clusterfuck! As he is about to reach the ground floor, the sharp crack of a gunshot echoes in the distance. Vegas¡¯ heart skips a beat, then he is hit with a brutal adrenaline rush. Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck! He has messed up! Their run-away witness didn¡¯t head downstairs¡ªthe sound came from somewhere upstairs. Upstairs¡­ which means¡­ ¡­ ¡­ ¡­ ¡­ Pete¡­ ¡­ ¡­ ¡­ Good Lord! Vegas¡¯ legs nearly buckle beneath him. No no no! Not Pete! Please don¡¯t let it be Pete! The sheer panic that seizes him at that thought is nearly paralysing. But he is already moving, running really, heading back for the stairs and then upstairs, taking two steps at a time. Another sharp crack from above. Way above. Top floor? The stairs seem never-ending. The building is only seven stories high but it feels like a skyscraper to Vegas as he hurries upstairs. Another crack of a gunshot. Yes, top floor or rather, the roof. Out of breath, Vegas finally reaches his destination. There¡¯s only one final metal door to go through, but that won¡¯t stop him. Weapon drawn, Vegas more or less throws himself through the door, shouldering it open with so much force it hits the wall behind it with a bang and bounces back, but by then Vegas is already standing on the roof, facing a scene that will surely haunt him in his dreams. Once again, time seems to slow down and everything is reduced to momentary snapshots. SNAP Flat roof. Bare grey desert. AC fans. Ventilation shafts. SNAP. On the far side of the roof two people. Their eye-witness, gone crazy. And Pete. SNAP. Pete has his hands up, palms out. A gun points at Pete. SNAP. Their witness is slowly backing away. Pete is following. They are heading towards the low wall encircling the edge of the roof. SNAP. That gun pointed at his shrink is swaying in a worrisome fashion. Pete¡¯s blocking the way, Vegas cannot get a clear shot from where he is standing. SNAP. Their witness looks terror-stricken. Panicked. SNAP. His mouth is moving, he seems to be talking. Vegas cannot hear them, they are too far away. SNAP. Another sharp crack. The bullet once again misses Pete, who flinches. It ricochets off a nearby ventilation outlet with a ping. Time unfreezes. Holy shit. Vegas nearly jumps out of his skin with worry. The urge to run over there and throw himself in front of Pete to shield him is nearly all consuming. But that would further startle the man waving the gun around, and there are only so many times a bullet can miss its target before the odds are stacked against Pete. So he needs to stay calm and handle this nightmare with utmost care. Vegas moves to the side until he has a clear line of sight, his weapon trained on the man with the gun, and then advances slowly but steadily. At the same time, the other two men have now reached the edge of the roof, with their witness backed up against the knee-high wall. Nowhere else to go. This is a recipe for disaster. What the fuck is Pete doing?! ¡°Drop the gun!¡± Vegas yells, announcing his presence to both of them. ¡°Pete, back off.¡± The story of his life, no one is listening. The only thing happening is that that gun now jerks in his direction. Just great. ¡°Everyone take a deep breath and stay calm.¡± Vegas advances very slowly, step by step. ¡°Let¡¯s dial this a notch down, shall we? I am sure deep down you really do not want to threaten a police offer, right? We simply got off on the wrong foot¡ªhow about we start all over again, okay? We are just here to talk to you.¡± Vegas doesn¡¯t dare to move his eyes from the immediate threat, so he can only see Pete out-of-focus, in the corner of his vision. ¡°Pete, how about you take a few steps back to give this good man a chance to breathe?¡± All that happens is that their witness-gone-nuts gives Vegas a look of utter disbelief and then laughs in a thoroughly crazed way. His weapon swings back and forth between Vegas and Pete, the hand holding it trembling violently. And so is his finger on the trigger. Fuck. ¡°Back off! Get away from me!¡± This seems to be mostly addressed to Pete, who is still uncomfortably close to this unstable source of imminent violence as far as Vegas is concerned, with his hands still raised up and the palms out in the universal sign of surrender. Somehow Vegas doubts that their suspect cares about Pete not carrying a weapon. He seems to be in a complete panic, utterly terrified of Vegas¡ªand Pete. ¡°I simply want to talk to you,¡± Pete insists in that completely calm psychologist voice that Vegas knows so well. ¡°Talk?!¡± The hand holding the gun trembles even more. Then the man looks away from Pete and stares at Vegas, a crazed expression in his eyes. ¡°What the fuck are you up to?! Are you insane?! Why do you want me dead? Why? What have I ever done to you?!¡± he yells at the top of his voice. This isn¡¯t good at all. Vegas needs to get the weapon away from this guy before he totally freaks out. ¡°Nobody wants you dead.¡± Pete and Vegas speak up at the same time. The only difference is that Vegas doesn¡¯t move, his gun steadily trained on the now armed witness, whereas Pete takes another step forward. Shit. Here we go. ¡°No! Stay away from me!¡± Completely terror-stricken, their witness automatically takes a step back, or rather, tries to step backwards. He has apparently forgotten about the wall behind him. There is really nothing Vegas can do, he is too far away¡ªand yet he of course tries anyway. The moment the man bumps into the wall and loses his balance, wildly waving his arms in an attempt to steady himself even as he falls backwards, Vegas lurches forward to try and get a hold on him. He skids past Pete who is frozen in place, throws himself forward and tries to grab onto something¡ªa hand¡­ clothing¡­ an arm¡ªso close, but not close enough. Before Vegas¡¯ eyes, the man tumbles off the roof, screaming all the way down, where he hits the ground in a sickening thud, his head bursting like a watermelon. Holy shit. Shellshocked is perhaps a good way to describe how Vegas is feeling right now. He just saw a man fall to his death before his eyes. There will be a hell of a lot of forms to fill out about this, he thinks, stunned. No one is ever going to believe him that he didn¡¯t push the guy off the roof, is the second thought that comes to mind. He¡¯s so screwed. Then he notices that he still has a dead grip on his gun and he automatically engages the safety, putting it away. Holy shit. He¡¯s so screwed. ¡°Is he ¡­ dead?¡± comes the tentative question from behind him, Pete¡¯s voice sounding decidedly shaky. Pete. Vegas snaps out of it and whirls around, then takes a few hasty steps towards his shrink, looking him over frantically. Maybe Pete was hit after all. Maybe he is in shock and hasn¡¯t noticed the injury yet. Maybe he will turn white as a sheet and collapse in front of him any second now, to bleed out before his very eyes. Vegas doesn¡¯t even notice that he has started to tremble uncontrollably. ¡°Are you hurt? Did he hit you? Are you bleeding anywhere?¡± He is rambling in panic and hyperventilating, and so damn worried. Pete seems to be slightly in shock as well. His face has lost all colour; he has been staring blankly at that part of the wall that their witness just toppled over, but now he blinks and then shifts his attention to Vegas, taking note of his state of mind and the questions being asked. He inhales with a shudder and shakes his head. ¡°I¡¯m fine. Really¡­ I am fine. I am not hurt.¡± But then he notices that his words do not register. He takes a long, hard look at Vegas, and whatever he sees changes his face. It¡¯s as if he is really seeing Vegas for the very first time; he sighs, as the tension ebs out of him and his eyes go soft. ¡°Vegas,¡± Pete says quietly. And then he has to repeat it again because Vegas is so beside himself with distress it didn¡¯t quite register the first time. ¡°Vegas.¡± This time he hears it though. Vegas stops his frantic visual inspection of Pete and looks up. Their eyes meet and lock. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. ¡°¡­ Vegas¡­¡± Pete says very softly a third time and there is a wealth of emotion in that single word. They still stare at each other, and suddenly they are moving forward simultaneously. Three steps, then Vegas reaches out and grabs hold of Pete¡¯s shirt, yanking him closer. Pete in turn grabs the back of Vegas¡¯ head and sinks his fingers into his hair, holding on so tight it hurts, and their mouths collide so forcefully that their teeth clang together, but neither of them notices or cares. This is how it must feel like, being hit by lightning. Vegas kisses Pete with an intensity born out of desperation; he is pouring all his anxiety and stress and all those damn unwanted feelings this man makes him experience into the kiss. And Pete laps it all up, literally. His tongue slips past Vegas¡¯ lips and then that kiss turns into an open-mouthed electric madness that neither of them is quite prepared for, judging from the breathless moans escaping them now and then. Vegas has fantasised about kissing Pete, but now that it¡¯s actually happening it¡¯s so much better than he could ever have imagined. Vegas can taste their shared breath; he releases his hold on the shirt only to cradle Pete¡¯s face between his hands. He needs to touch him, feel his warmth, feel that he is indeed alive and well, and once again it¡¯s like touching a live wire. Titillating. The floodgates have opened. He simply can¡¯t get enough of Pete, he is just as hungry as the other man to deepen their kiss even more. And Pete¡ªPete, who has persistently called him Detective Theerapanyakul this whole time¡ªis now breathing his name like a prayer, he is just as frantic as Vegas, if not even more so. All restraint gone, he walks Vegas backwards without breaking the kiss until they hit one of the many ventilation shaft outlets, presses him against it and then melts into him with his whole body as he nips at Vegas¡¯ lower lip, drawing blood. It hurts, but in an altogether thrilling way. Vegas shudders and moans, which Pete apparently likes a lot, because it makes him growl with excitement before he licks the blood away. Vegas has never ever wanted anyone as much as this before, and that feeling is staggering in its intensity because it surprisingly goes way beyond the physical. He has been feeling incomplete his whole life. There was always something missing. And now that missing puzzle piece not only materialises but snaps into place, completing the puzzle. It¡¯s terrifying. Unfamiliar. New. Magical. Mine, he thinks. Mine. Ay¡­ ay¡­ ay¡­ ay¡­ Feels like fire I¡¯m so in love with you They completely forget about their surroundings. There¡¯s just the two of them; they are so wrapped up in each other, now that they have decided to act first and think later, that everything else becomes secondary. They cannot stop kissing, lips sliding against each other, their hearts running wild, they are drowning in each other and it¡¯s glorious. The shrill whine of approaching police sirens interrupts them rather rudely. Pete seems to be willing to ignore the noise, but since he is a police officer Vegas comes back to his senses. Shit, what are they doing? Despite Pete¡¯s protest, he pulls back, completely out of breath. One look at Pete, all dishevelled and flushed, giving him a definitive ¡®come hither¡¯ look, and he almost goes for another round. Almost. Damn, they need to stop. He must have lost his mind, what is he doing?! There is a dead man on the street below. There will be other police officers up here soon, and Vegas should be down at street level. They really need to stop now. He reaches out and brushes his thumb over Pete¡¯s swollen lips one more time, mesmerised by the way Pete is looking at him¡ªas if Vegas is the centre of his universe. It¡¯s delightful, and at the same time scares the hell out of him. He could very easily get used to this, and that is dangerous. Best not to think about it right now, they will have time for that later. Pete tries to bite his thumb, the devil in his eyes, and Vegas¡¯ snatches back his hand. No, they need to stop. This is madness. He clears his throat. ¡°Stay here and come down in about 10 minutes,¡± Vegas instructs him. ¡°I have work to do.¡± And then he more or less flees because it¡¯s easier to deal with a dead body than with his own runaway feelings. Chapter 9 ¡°We are all victims in-waiting.¡± As expected, the death of their almost-witness is a bureaucratic nightmare. Vegas is rudely pulled back into reality as he stands next to the body and gives his statement to his colleagues. While answering endless questions, his eyes keep skipping over to the area around the dead man. There are red, grey and white fragments and globs all over the street, glistening sickeningly in the rays of the setting sun. Burst like a watermelon indeed. They collect his handgun. Thankfully he hasn¡¯t fired it, otherwise this nightmare would be even worse. At some point Pete shows up, they exchange a quick, guarded look, then Pete is pulled aside to give his statement as well, before he has the chance to talk to Vegas. Which suits Vegas just fine. He does not want to talk to Pete right now. He¡¯s had time to come back to his senses and is horrified with himself for losing control up on that roof. When he is asked to walk his colleagues through the scene inside the building he gladly takes this opportunity to escape. The further away he gets from Pete, the better. Out of sight, out of mind. If only that worked. He still has the taste of Pete in his mouth, and it¡¯s very distracting. All the procedures take a while. He asks someone to drive Pete back to the police station and then drags out the time to make absolutely sure Pete is gone before he finally heads to his car. He even manages to avoid running into Pete at the police station where there are more interviews, more papers to fill out, more reports to write. All of this is a great distraction and Vegas welcomes it. He does not want to think about what happened on that roof. Not yet. Maybe another day. Or week. Or year. Or maybe they can just pretend it never happened? He goes home late, eats something and has a glass of wine. Remembering the absolute terror he felt on that roof when he thought Pete would get shot. Remembering their kiss. Madness. He is an idiot for giving in to his feelings. An absolute idiot. He absolutely does not have flings with people from work. What is worse is his reaction to the kiss. Vegas doesn¡¯t think he will ever get enough of Pete, and that scares the hell out of him. If his father finds out¡­ No, he needs to put a stop to this. He cannot be selfish and get Pete killed. His phone rings. ¡°Vegas?¡± It¡¯s Pete. How did he even get this number? Doesn¡¯t matter. ¡°Sorry, I don¡¯t have time to talk, I am kind of busy,¡± Vegas replies stiffly and then hangs up. He takes another sip of wine, and sighs. Not today. And he doesn¡¯t pick up the phone when it starts ringing again.
The next morning his luck runs out. When he arrives at their office, Pete is already sitting at his desk and has obviously been waiting for him. Vegas closes the office door behind him and leans against it to buy himself some time. Pete is wearing one of his strange shirts again; this one is cream coloured with a variety of mushrooms printed on it. Why on earth would anyone wear something so hideous? This is so Pete. Vegas can¡¯t help but smile. ¡°I really hate your shirts.¡± ¡°Says the man with ten plain white t-shirts in his wardrobe.¡± Pete returns the smile, his dimple showing for a moment, but then he turns serious. ¡°We need to talk.¡± And here we go¡­ ¡°Do we?¡± Vegas pushes away from the door and walks over to his desk, taking a seat. He doesn¡¯t want to have this conversation, but it seems unavoidable, and so he turns his chair with a sigh towards Pete who is watching him closely. ¡°We could just as easily decide not to talk about it.¡± ¡°Seriously?¡± Pete folds his arms before his chest. ¡°That just convinces me even more that we do need to talk about what happened. Our professional relationship makes this really awkward. You know I could lose my licence over the kiss if anyone finds out?¡± Vegas sighs deeply. He has spent half the night turning yesterday¡¯s events over in his head, and as far as he is considered, he has found the perfect explanation and solution for this situation. ¡°What is there to talk about? It was a one time thing. We were in a life and death situation. That kiss was a normal reaction after being in mortal peril, it happens a lot in highly stressful situations. The adrenaline makes you do things you normally wouldn¡¯t do. That is all.¡± Pete arches an eyebrow at him and narrows his eyes. ¡°So what you are saying is that the kiss was a mistake? It was just a kiss and nothing more?¡± No. ¡°Yes.¡± Vegas nods, trying to convince not only Pete but himself. ¡°It was a mistake. A temporary lapse of judgement. That is all.¡± And he hates himself for saying this because that kiss was everything. It seems Pete isn¡¯t happy with what he is saying. He has grown awfully still in his chair, and Vegas can see how he is clenching his jaw. ¡°I disagree.¡± ¡°You really shouldn¡¯t read too much into it,¡± Vegas hears himself saying. ¡°Honestly, it didn¡¯t mean anything. You must have been aware that I feel a certain amount of attraction towards you.¡± Understatement of the century. Vegas burns for Pete. ¡°Now that we¡¯ve kissed we got it out of our system and can go back to how everything was before.¡± Pete is taking a deep breath, still outwardly calm, but Vegas notices that his hands are clenched into fists. ¡°So you got it out of your system? You are done with it? That¡¯s it?¡± You are my missing puzzle piece, Vegas wants to scream. I won¡¯t ever be done with you! Instead he shrugs casually as if this isn¡¯t a big deal at all. ¡°Yes, that¡¯s it. We should just forget about it and move on. That way you also do not need to worry about doing something that is in conflict with your work ethics. Don¡¯t worry, I won¡¯t tell anyone and it will never happen again.¡± ¡°You might be done with it, but I¡¯m not.¡± Pete¡¯s voice sounds increasingly strained. ¡°I¡¯m not in the habit of going around kissing people and then just forgetting about it.¡± ¡°That¡¯s too bad for you. Just deal with it. As far as I am concerned, this is over and done with. We scratched an itch. And now it¡¯s time to move on.¡± Wow, Vegas is surprised with himself how calm and cold he sounds, when he is feeling the direct opposite. ¡°You want me to move on¡­¡± Shaking his head in disbelief, Pete gives Vegas a furious look. ¡°You come on to me this whole time, you get unreasonably angry with me when I try to keep my professional distance, then you take the opportunity to scratch your itch. You kiss me while I am in shock because someone almost killed me and then fell off a roof before my eyes and then you tell me to forget everything and move on? That¡¯s it? Seriously? Who do you think you are, to make such a decision for the both of us?¡± When Pete puts it like that, Vegas has to admit it sounds as if he is a bastard. I am doing this for your own safety. You cannot get involved with me. ¡°It¡¯s really pointless to argue about this. As far as I am concerned, this chapter is closed. It was a mistake that will not be repeated. Get over it. I have already forgotten about it, and so should you.¡± ¡°Vegas!¡± Yes, Pete is angry. Not as angry as in the car when he almost killed them, but definitely the same level of anger as when Vegas handcuffed him to the handrail. ¡°You have no right to make a one-sided decision about this for the both of us. This is not how it works. What I feel is important too.¡± What do you feel? Vegas would really like to know. Was it as earth shattering for you as it was for me? Are you replaying that moment over and over again in your mind, as I do? But instead he shrugs nonchalantly. ¡°Just move on, Pete. Don¡¯t do the boring thing and be clingy over a little kiss.¡± And he dies a little bit inside when he says that. ¡°Are you really sure this is how you want to play it, Vegas?¡± Pete double-checks quietly after a moment. ¡°Are you saying you don¡¯t want to find out where this between us can go? Is this really the decision you want to make, completely setting aside what I have to say in the matter? Are you 100% sure you want me to move on?¡± No. Vegas would very much like to have his very own ¡®happily ever after¡¯ when it comes to Pete. Pushing him away is the very last thing he wants to do but it¡¯s either that or certain death for Pete. And so he just swallows down the lump in his throat and nods. ¡°Yeah, I am sure. Can we go back to work now?¡± The way Pete looks at him upon hearing this sends waves of distress through Vegas¡¯ body. Deeply uncomfortable, he breaks eye-contact first, and turns back to his computer, determined to put everything behind him. Moving on. There are no more comments from Pete on the subject either. For a short while, he seems to be busy with something on his computer, but soon enough he quietly packs his bag, leaves and doesn¡¯t return for the rest of the day. And not the next day either. Or the day after that.
Vegas isn¡¯t sure what to feel about Pete¡¯s absence. On one hand, he is happy because this is what he wanted. His strategy worked, great. On the other hand this is agonising. It feels as if a part of him is missing; when did he get so used to having Pete around? This sucks. Vegas resorts to working overtime again. At home he is stress-cleaning and going for long runs. This really sucks. Since their witness is gone, they are back at the starting point. It¡¯s damn frustrating. At least Vegas gets his weapon back when it becomes clear that it wasn¡¯t his fault the man fell off the roof. He goes back to the crime scene and fine-combs all surrounding houses just in case there¡¯s another witness they might have missed but comes up empty handed. Another dead end. The more time goes by, the higher the chances that their killer will strike again. One more dead body would be a disaster. One of the bodyguards who used to work for his father had a saying: Just when you think you¡¯ve hit rock bottom, you realise you¡¯re standing on another trapdoor. The next day that trapdoor opens underneath Vegas when he least expects it. All it takes is an email from Arm, with an attachment. The long awaited image of the tattoo from their John Doe, victim #2. Vegas clicks on it, watches the image load and then draws in a shocked breath. Fuck. The trapdoor opens and he falls. Fuck. Arm has outdone himself, as expected. He sends along a lengthy report about the chemical composition of the ink used for the tattoo and the methods he used to preserve the skin, clean it and then prepare it for photography and all that, but all those technicalities blur before Vegas¡¯ eyes. The only thing he sees is the tattoo itself, and cold dread floods him. To the uninformed, it looks harmless enough. Just some pointy shield encircling an abstract flowery design. Vegas knows better though. He has grown up with his father and uncle telling him that this is supposed to be a Fleur-de-lis. A symbol of purity since antiquity. What a fucking joke that it has been chosen for the Theerapanyakul family crest. Purity, my ass. The purity of the Main family while the Minor family does all the dirty work. Vegas feels a headache developing. What the fuck is John Doe doing with a tattoo of the damn Theerapanyakul bodyguard pin?! He can already see the complications arising from this, not good, not good at all! How on earth is he supposed to handle this? Should he tell anyone? What a mess! He will need access to the bodyguard database, and he can forget going through official channels for that. Chan, Uncle Korn¡¯s head of security, could help, because he¡¯s been around for ages. But he can¡¯t approach Chan without his father getting wind of it. Which leaves¡ªoh fuck¡ªhe really doesn¡¯t want to talk to his cousin. Maybe it will be best if he asks Porsche for help with this. Porsche can mediate, because mediation will be needed. Both Kinn and Vegas have a nasty temper. Put them in a room together and they will be at each others throats within 5 minutes. Damn, this is giving him a headache. Vegas sends Porsche a message, informing him that they need to talk.
The next day is a day of surprises. Guess who¡¯s back at the office? Vegas thinks he is truly pathetic for feeling such joy when the door opens and Pete walks in, carrying a paper bag. Behaving as if nothing ever happened, Pete pulls out a takeaway coffee cup and places it before Vegas, then fishes out a container with fresh pastries as well. These are apparently also for Vegas, which makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. He mumbles a thank you and then dives in, because he hasn¡¯t had breakfast yet. Out of the corner of his eyes he can see Pete trying to hide a smile as he takes a sip of his own coffee and then turns on his computer to work on the profile of their killer. Time goes by, they work in silence, neither of them wanting to risk the fragile peace between them. Shortly before lunchtime, they are interrupted when the door opens and wow, another surprise. It¡¯s Porsche, peeking inside. When he spies Vegas his handsome face brightens with a wide goofy smile. ¡°Finally found you.¡± And without further ado he enters, walks over to Vegas and gives him a hug. Vegas chuckles, he is used to Porsche being touchy-feely, and so he hugs him back. They have not seen each other in a while, and talking on the phone simply isn¡¯t the same. Someone clears his throat, Vegas looks up and is met with Pete¡¯s slightly narrowed eyes. Oh. Porsche disentangles himself, casually slings an arm around Vegas¡¯ shoulders and turns towards the other man in the office. ¡°Oh, didn¡¯t see you there. You¡¯re Vegas¡¯ new colleague?¡± He graces Pete with a charming smile. Pete¡¯s eyes flicker from Vegas to Porsche and he gives the newcomer one of his oh-so-professional, yet distant smiles in return. ¡°Indeed I am. And you are¡­?¡± His dark eyes come to rest on that arm flung around Vegas¡¯ shoulders, and his jaw clenches. ¡°I am Porsche Pachara Kittisawasd, a good friend of Vegas. A pleasure to meet you?¡± Either Porsche is oblivious to Pete¡¯s body language which screams barely suppressed irritation, or he ignores it on purpose. ¡°Oh.¡± Pete tilts his head slightly to the side and looks Porsche over more closely. ¡°So you¡¯re Porsche¡­¡± A harmless comment, yet there is a lot of subtext riding along with it. Pete is very good at hiding what he is thinking, but right now Vegas is pretty damn sure that Pete is drawing all the wrong conclusions. Maybe that¡¯s a good thing. Let Pete believe whatever he wants. Maybe this way he will keep his distance from Vegas and be safe. ¡°I¡¯m Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham. Just call me Pete,¡± he nods at Porsche. ¡°Don¡¯t let me disturb you.¡± Another quick tense glance at Vegas, then Pete goes back to work. Porsche turns back to Vegas, who can¡¯t help noticing how happy Porsche looks. Kinn must be treating him well. ¡°You called, and here I am. What¡¯s up?¡± Porsche then sighs. ¡°Damn Vegas¡­ just look at you. You need to start taking better care of yourself. You are not eating regularly, right?¡± Porsche pokes him playfully in a few places and Vegas rolls his eyes and ruffles Porsche¡¯s hair affectionately. He¡¯s such a good friend, one of the few people who actually cares about his well-being. Sneaking a sideways glance at Pete, Vegas notes that even though he looks busy, he is watching them closely. And Vegas can see that he is brimming with hostility. Judging from the dark expression on Pete¡¯s face, now would be a good time to leave. Besides, he cannot talk about the bodyguard business in front of Pete anyway. ¡°I¡¯m fine. But if you are offering to take me out for lunch, I will of course not say no,¡± he suggests. Porsche grins happily. ¡°Great. I know this new place, the food is amazing. But it¡¯s a little bit further away from here¡­ how long is your lunch break?¡± Should he or should he not? He really does not want to go this far, but then he remembers that keeping Pete safe should be his priority. I am doing this for your own good, sorry. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about that. I¡¯ll just take the rest of the day off. Let¡¯s have lunch first and then you can follow me home and we can¡­ talk.¡± Out of the corner of his eyes he can see Pete flinch and look away. Fuck. Doing the right thing sucks. Porsche has noticed the little suggestive pause before that last word and arches a questioning eyebrow at Vegas, who just gives him a pointed look that means ¡®later¡¯ and very lightly shakes his head. Porsche is intrigued. ¡°Lovely. Let¡¯s go then. It was nice meeting you, Pete.¡± Vegas quickly packs his bag and follows Porsche to the door. As he is about to step outside, he takes another quick look at Pete. Their eyes meet and Vegas¡¯ mouth goes dry. Pete looks perfectly calm. Too calm. Maybe this wasn¡¯t such a great idea after all. Vegas gulps and leaves hastily. If eyes could kill¡­
Of course he has to explain things to Porsche over lunch. He doesn¡¯t explain everything, hell no. Definitely not about the kiss. Vegas tries to keep it all as general as possible, but he is stumbling over his words and when he notices how Porsche can barely keep himself from dissolving into laughter, he finally gives up. ¡°Can we just not talk about this?¡± ¡°We definitely need to talk about this. You got the hots for your colleague, and you used me to tell him to back off. If you think I am going to forget about this, you must be dreaming. Spill the beans. I want to know everything.¡± Porsche is having the time of his life, it seems. ¡°There¡¯s nothing to talk about,¡± Vegas insists. ¡°You know I don¡¯t do anything other than flings and people I work with are off limits. It doesn¡¯t really matter if I am attracted to him, which I am only in a very minor way. I have enough self discipline not to act on that.¡± Except for that moment on the roof. And that moment in their office. ¡°Really, I have it all under control.¡± ¡°Sure.¡± Porsche rolls his eyes, not believing a word, and eats his dessert. He is enjoying this way too much. ¡°So what does your colleague¡­ Pete¡­ think about the whole situation? Is he interested too?¡± ¡°He¡¯s got no say in the matter,¡± Vegas cuts Porsche off tensely. Porsche sighs deeply. ¡°Oh Vegas¡­ You and your stupid rules. This is not how it works, you¡¯ll see. If you like him, and I think you do, you really should not shut him out. Trust me, this will backfire. Just have a talk, maybe give whatever is between you a try. Also¡­ Are you really planning to live your whole life in fear of your father? It¡¯s been so many years. You¡¯re estranged. You really thinks he still cares?¡± ¡°I would prefer not having to find out that he still cares while standing over the body of yet another dead boyfriend,¡± Vegas replies without humour. ¡°Or would you like me to give him a call: ¡°Hey Dad, I¡¯d like to hook up with this guy from work, you are not still against me dating men, right?¡± ¡­ Yeah, I am sure that conversation would go really well.¡± ¡°Okay, you have a point there¡­¡± Porsche concedes, and then wisely changes the topic. ¡°What did you want to talk about, you didn¡¯t say in your message?¡± ¡°Oh yeah, I almost forgot¡­¡± And Vegas sighs. ¡°I am sorry but I need you to talk to Kinn. I need access to the bodyguard records and I cannot do this via official channels. And neither my uncle nor my father must find out about this.¡± All the lightheartedness drains out of Porsche, and he gives Vegas a hard and calculating stare. Once upon a time Porsche would never have looked at him like this, but that was way before he fell in love with Kinn and got assimilated into the Mafia lifestyle. Nowadays Porsche can be just as ruthless as Kinn if he needs to be, which is a pity. Vegas misses the old, untainted and carefree Porsche. ¡°You will need to give me more background information if you want access to those records, Vegas.¡± ¡°This is about a case I am working on. I have an unidentified murder victim who just happens to have a tattoo of the damn pin on his body. I need you to go through the database and help me identify him. All tattoos should be registered; if he is or was employed by the family and who he is. Maybe he is not involved, then I will have to figure out why he had that tattoo. But for now let¡¯s assume he was working for the family.¡± ¡°You think you case is connected to the family business?¡± Porsche frowns because just like Vegas he can vividly imagine the huge shitstorm this could potentially cause. ¡°My hypothesis right now is that this is merely a coincidence. Maybe he¡¯s an ex-bodyguard who had to retire for medical reasons? Or do you know of any missing active bodyguards?¡± John Doe was too young for regular retirement. And once you¡¯re in, you only leave the service of the Theerapanyakul family due to old age, medical reasons or in a body bag. Both Porsche and he are both aware of that as well. ¡°I¡¯ll have to check with Kinn,¡± Porsche admits. ¡°How fast do you need the information?¡± ¡°The sooner, the better. This is a race against the clock; I would rather not add to my pile of victims.¡± ¡°You know that if your victim was an active bodyguard, Kinn will want to handle it. Are you okay with that?¡± Porsche double checks to be sure. If Kinn takes over, things will turn bloody. ¡°Trust me, there is nothing I would like more than to hand over this nightmare to your boyfriend,¡± Vegas replies grimly. ¡°Hey, be nice, that¡¯s your cousin you are talking about.¡± Porsche threatens Vegas facetiously with his spoon. ¡°He¡¯s a pompous ass only you can tolerate.¡± With a smirk, Vegas skilfully avoids getting kicked under the table by Porsche, who laughs. ¡°Jerk.¡± This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. ¡°Asshole.¡± Both of them start grinning and then finish eating their desserts. This was a very productive lunch. So far, this day is going surprisingly well. Vegas is pleased.
Later that evening his phone starts ringing. Vegas frowns, lowering the book he is reading. He¡¯s had a very relaxing afternoon, working on his laptop from home because he didn¡¯t want to return to the office after the lunch break. This better not be work. He is officially off duty right now, not that this has ever stopped anyone from calling him anyway. With a certain amount of irritation he picks up the call. There¡¯s music playing on the other end. D¨¦j¨¤ vu. Vegas has a flashback¡ªYok¡¯s voice¡­ ¡°Come and pick up your friend, will you? He¡¯s had a bit too much to drink.¡±¡ªand his breath hitches. ¡°Yok?¡± He is instantly on guard. All he hears is music. No one is speaking, perhaps someone called the wrong number. He¡¯s about to hang up again when the person on the other side finally decides to speak up after all. ¡°¡­ Vegas¡­¡± Pete sounds breathless. Surprised, Vegas frowns. What the hell? ¡°Pete? It¡¯s 11 pm, why are you calling me at this time?¡± And where are you right now? But he doesn¡¯t ask that. The music is very loud, and he can hear Pete¡¯s muffled voice in the background, he seems to be talking to someone else but Vegas cannot make out what he is saying. He is starting to get bad vibes about this. And the bad feeling only increases when Pete is suddenly laughing breathlessly into his phone again. ¡°Vegas¡­ You know what happens when you make one-sided decisions?¡± No, he doesn¡¯t, but he has the feeling he is about to find out, and it¡¯s giving him acute anxiety. ¡°Pete?¡± ¡°You get to live with the consequences of your decisions.¡± ¡­ Consequences¡­ and the next thing Vegas hears through the phone, loud and clear even despite the music, is the very distinctive sound of a messy wet kiss. It knocks the breath out of him. This is so unexpected that he has trouble comprehending what is happening. Or rather, he is in denial. No wait¡­ this cannot be happening, right? He must be imagining things. Then Pete moans into the phone¡ªjust like he did on the rooftop when Vegas had his tongue in his mouth¡ªand the realisation of what exactly is happening on the other end is simply killing him. ¡°Sweet dreams, Vegas,¡± Pete whispers into the phone. Click. The call ends. Vegas can¡¯t breathe. He can¡¯t breathe. Like a fish on land, he opens his mouth to inhale but nothing is happening. The phone slips from his hand and falls to the floor. He can¡¯t breathe. He wraps his arms around himself and doubles over. That sound still echoing in his ears. He can¡¯t breathe. Black spots are starting to appear in his vision; he closes his eyes and holds himself so tight it hurts, because if he doesn¡¯t, he¡¯s going to splinter and fall apart into a thousand pieces. Like a piece of china shattering on a marble floor. To his own surprise he makes a sound like a wounded animal¡ªand finally inhales a shuddering breath. Breathing hurts. Vegas hurts. He is still bent over, rocking back and forth, trying desperately to hold himself together. Why does this hurt so much? Why does he care so much? This is not how this was supposed to go! He thought he had it all under control. A kiss to get it out of his system. And afterwards they put it all behind themselves and move on. This is not how it was supposed to go! Where do all these feelings come from? He is not supposed to feel like this! He is not supposed to feel as if he¡¯s been mortally wounded. But he does. Damn, it hurts¡­ Blindly, Vegas staggers into the bedroom. Why did he go here? He doesn¡¯t know. He goes back to the living room. The kitchen. The living room again. Aimlessly moving around in his apartment. He needs to move. Move move move! The way he is breathing sounds more and more like sobs. Damn. No way he is falling apart. This cannot be happening! ¡°Are you crying? You better not be crying, boy! Take it like a man! I¡¯ll beat the tears right out of you!¡± Vegas screams and lashes out, wiping the surface of the living room table clean, sending everything flying across the room. Then he kicks the table itself viciously, toppling it over. And he kicks it again. And again. Until the wooden surface splinters and breaks. Like his heart. He hates feeling like this! Damn him! And so he continues to lash out¡­ Furniture topples. Things are breaking. He is venting in the old familiar way. Anger runs red through his brain, wiping away all other thoughts. All of a sudden, he stops. Phone. Where is his phone? He must have dropped it somewhere earlier on, but where? A new urgency takes hold of him and he frantically starts searching through the mess he made in the living room. Where is the phone? He needs his phone! He needs to call Yok and check if Pete is at the bar. And if he is, he will go there and he will¡ª Where is the damn phone?! Eventually, he finds it amongst the debris and types in the phone number with trembling fingers. Waiting for the call to connect. Finally someone answers his call. ¡°Yok¡­ it¡¯s Vegas.¡± Damn, why does his voice sound so brittle? ¡°Is Pete at the bar? You remember? My colleague?¡± There¡¯s loud music playing in the background. Vegas has a flashback to that last call and what he heard, and nearly loses it again. ¡°Vegas? Oh, hello. No, I haven¡¯t seen him tonight. We¡¯re hosting a private party, he would not have gotten in. Why? Has something happened?¡± Yok sounds first confused, then concerned. And Vegas¡­ for a moment there was a ray of hope that he might perhaps be able to do something, to stop things from happening, but that hope has now been brutally crushed and he deflates. ¡°Okay. Don¡¯t worry, it¡¯s just something work related, that¡¯s why I need to find him. Sorry for calling.¡± Vegas hangs up again, staring blindly at the wall. There used to be a framed art print of John Martin¡¯s ¡®Pandemonium¡¯ hanging there, but now the picture is on the floor, the frame broken, glass shards everywhere. Vegas feels as if something inside him has broken as well. And he isn¡¯t sure if he can be repaired. There is nothing he can do now. Nothing. You get to live with the consequences. The words echo in his head. Over and over again. Vegas sinks to the floor, pulls his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them. Starts rocking back and forth slowly. He does not like feeling this way. He wants it to stop. He wants all feelings to stop. He does not want to feel anything ever again. Vegas loses all concept of time. He wants to get drunk. He wants to get high. He wants to destroy something. He wants to hurt someone. He wants to hurt himself. At some point the doorbell rings. He ignores it. It keeps ringing. The sound is grating on his nerves. He wants to be left alone! The doorbell keeps ringing. Fine. He¡¯ll go to see who it is and to shut whoever it is up. Permanently, if needed. Impatiently, Vegas opens the door and freezes. Leaning all casually against the wall next to his door is the last person he expected to show up here. Once again, Pete is dressed all in black. He is even wearing those damn leather pants again. This shirt is not sheer but the top buttons are undone, just like the last time. His hair is a ruffled mess, the cheeks slightly flushed, and there¡¯s a devilish gleam in his eyes as Pete slowly looks up and his mouth curves into a wicked smile. ¡°Still awake? Couldn¡¯t sleep? Did you perhaps miss me so much?¡± This turns out to be the last drop; Vegas¡¯ fragile temporary hold on his temper snaps and his world bleeds once again into red. Red is a stop sign, Red is a rose, Red is an apple, And a funny clown¡¯s nose. With a low snarl his hand shoots out and his fingers are grabbing Pete¡¯s throat so hard that he cuts off the man¡¯s air supply. It¡¯s extremely satisfying to see Pete¡¯s eyes widen in shock, the smile slipping off his face, but by then Vegas is already yanking him into his apartment by the neck, kicking the door shut behind them and then slamming the other man against the wall of the hallway¡ªhard. Red red red. Vegas is overcome with rage. How dare Pete show up here?! He wants to play mind games? Not going to happen! He is sick and tired of these bloody games. Pinned to the wall, Pete is trying to draw some air into his lungs, and Vegas just squeezes harder, his fingernails digging deep into the skin, leaving marks and damn, it feels good. He wants to hurt Pete. Hurt him as badly as he himself got hurt by that fucking phone call. Pete is truly starting to struggle now, fighting for air and digging his fingers into Vegas¡¯ wrist, trying to dislodge him, but without much success. His face is turning more and more red, and Vegas watches indifferently, hearing his own blood soaring in his ears. It¡¯s only when Pete¡¯s lips are starting to turn a purplish-blue colour that Vegas decides to let go, and relaxes his stranglehold on the other man¡¯s neck. Pete wheezes and nearly collapses, coughing violently, desperately dragging air into his lungs. There are now visible marks on his throat. Maybe there will be bruises tomorrow. And then the coughing turns into a raspy chuckle and soon into a hoarse laugh. Leaning against the wall, he is laughing so hard that he is getting tears in his eyes, the sound of that laughter sending goosebumps down Vegas¡¯ spine. Pete sounds unhinged. A fresh swell of anger rises in Vegas. ¡°Stop it! What the fuck are you doing here, are you drunk again?¡± ¡°¡­Stone-cold sober¡­¡± Pete replies in a raspy voice, between two bouts of hilarity. They¡¯re still standing very close to each other. Maybe he should have moved further away. Too late now. Agitated, Vegas slams his fists against the wall on both sides of Pete¡¯s head, effectively caging him in. And that bloody madman just keeps laughing in his face. ¡°Shut the fuck up, Pete!¡± Vegas growls. This only makes Pete laugh harder. ¡°Why don¡¯t you make me?¡± When Vegas narrows his eyes and glares at him in silence, he keeps egging him on. ¡°Come on¡­ make me shut up, Vegas. I know you want to.¡± Pete leans forward, towards Vegas. ¡°Shut me up already¡­¡± he teases in a sing-song voice. They¡¯re so close their breath mingles. ¡°Shut. Me. Up.¡± And then Pete closes the distance, his tongue flickers out and he licks along Vegas¡¯ lower lip, sending electric tingles through his entire nerve system, threatening an overload. Vegas¡¯ toes curl, it¡¯s maddening, he is flip-flopping back and forth between rage and lust so fast he is getting dizzy from all the conflicting signals buzzing through his body. Angrily, he turns his head away, wiping his mouth against his shoulder in disgust. ¡°No thanks. You are smelling of someone else¡¯s aftershave. I think you should just leave.¡± His voice is quivering with resentment. Pete leans his head back against the wall, and damn, he looks sexy as hell. Vegas wants to touch him very badly but knows this is a recipe for disaster. ¡°Jealous, Vegas? Whatever happened to ¡®It was just a temporary lapse of judgement, it doesn¡¯t mean anything, let¡¯s just forget about this and move on?¡¯ I simply did what you told me to, moving on¡ªor have you suddenly changed your mind?¡± The thought of Pete moving on, the sound of him moving on¡­ it drives Vegas insane. No, he does not want Pete to move on! Well, he does. But really, he doesn¡¯t. Not like this! ¡°What the hell do you think you are doing?!¡± Vegas hisses, grabs Pete¡¯s shirt, pulls and then shoves him hard back against the wall. The collar of the shirt moves during this and bloody hell, is that a hickey on Pete¡¯s neck?! Vegas cannot help it, he huffs in outrage. Mine, everything inside him screams in indignation. Someone¡¯s put a mark on my damn property! The nerve! Vegas grabs Pete¡¯s face roughly and turns it to the side to get a better look at that hickey and the more he looks at it, the angrier he gets. ¡°If you don¡¯t like it, why don¡¯t you put your own mark over it?¡± Pete has morphed into the devil incarnate before his very eyes; a devil who is playing with fire, and he knows it, judging from the barely hidden excitement on his face as he makes that silky suggestion. Damn, he¡¯s good at pressing the right buttons. Vegas mind goes blank. ¡°Hands up,¡± he whispers hoarsely. Pete complies instantly, lifting both his hands above his head and Vegas grabs the wrists hard and pins them to the wall, making sure he cannot move away. ¡°Head to the side,¡± comes the next command, and again Pete obeys without arguing. This gives Vegas unobstructed, easy access to that damn hickey. ¡°I am going to mark you and I am going to make sure this fucking hurts and leaves a scar that will remind you of me every time you look in a mirror,¡± he threatens, feeling more than a little unhinged himself. Pete flexes his arms to check how tightly Vegas¡¯ hold on his wrists is and Vegas automatically presses down harder, so hard that it definitely hurts and there might even be bruises the next day, which only makes Pete purr with delight. ¡°Please do. Want me to tell you a secret, Vegas?¡± And then he lowers his voice so it can barely be heard. ¡°¡­ I like a bit of pain¡­ It turns me on¡­¡± The words haven¡¯t even fully left Pete¡¯s mouth when Vegas strikes, sinking his teeth into Pete¡¯s throat right on top of that damn hickey. Vegas has never actually bit anyone except for Tem, and that was not intentional. And definitely never with the sole intention to hurt someone¡ªuntil this very moment. All reason has left his brain. He wants to erase that hickey and put his mark there, that thought is all consuming. And he wants it to hurt. Pete¡¯s body goes all stiff, he arches his back, struggling against the hands fixating his wrists and hisses sharply in pain, and the sound is music to Vegas¡¯ ears. The metallic taste of blood fills his mouth and with grim satisfaction he sinks his teeth in even more. Deep down, he knows this isn¡¯t in any way healthy behaviour. Pete brings out the worst in him, but he doesn¡¯t want to stop either. Let¡¯s just drown in this madness together. ¡°Shiiiiit¡­¡± Pete wheezes and tries to move away, to break free, but Vegas won¡¯t have any of it. He uses his whole body to pin Pete to the wall and growls against his throat. A noticeable shudder runs through Pete, he is panting through the pain with nowhere to go except to arch against Vegas. And holy shit, he wasn¡¯t lying when he said that pain turns him on because Vegas can feel his hard-on grinding against him. With a hiss of his own, Vegas relaxes his jaw and pulls away. He takes a step back, breathing heavily. The blood in his mouth tastes disgusting, he spits it out but can still feel drops trickling down his chin. Letting go of Pete¡¯s wrists, he uses the back of his hand to wipe it off, his burning eyes never leaving Pete¡¯s face. Pete whines when he loses contact with Vegas¡¯ body and as soon as his hands are free he reaches out to try and grab Vegas¡¯ shirt. ¡°Kiss me..!¡± He sounds fairly desperate. ¡°Go to hell,¡± Vegas snarls and smacks the hands away roughly. He is oddly fascinated with the wound he¡¯s left on Pete¡¯s neck. It¡¯s bleeding sluggishly; this will definitely leave one hell of a scar, and that feels immensely satisfying. As is seeing Pete so obviously aroused. But this time it¡¯s Vegas who pulls the brake. ¡°You think I am going to kiss you after you made me listen to you making out with someone else? You little piece of shit.¡± Reaching out, he sinks his fingers into Pete¡¯s already ruffled hair and violently jerks his head to the side, then leans in and takes a whiff of Pete¡¯s face and the uninjured side of his neck before snorting in disgust. ¡°Bloody hell, his aftershave is all over you.¡± And he decides right there and then that this won¡¯t do. Through all this, Pete¡¯s eyes remain glued to Vegas¡¯ face; he is breathing hard and fast as he allows himself to be manhandled. Oh yes, he likes it, that is abundantly clear. He simply groans, with a mix between pain and pleasure, as Vegas drags him by the hair, pulling him along the hallway and then through the living room all the way into the bathroom. Vegas more or less throws him into the shower stall, Pete stumbles as he hits the tiled wall and by then Vegas is already turning on the faucet. Within seconds, Pete is soaked by icy water. Clothes and shoes and all. ¡°I think you need to cool off¡­¡± Vegas throws a bottle of shower gel at Pete as well which he doesn¡¯t manage to catch in time, so it falls to the floor of the shower. ¡°And wash that smell off you as well.¡± He turns to leave the bathroom. ¡°Vegas!¡± Pete calls after him, sputtering under the water that is relentlessly raining down on him and sounding very out of breath and needy. ¡°Help me get out of these clothes?¡± ¡°Go to hell,¡± Vegas repeats angrily. He is not only angry at Pete but at himself as well because he wants to turn around, get into that damn shower and peel Pete out of his clothes more than anything. He wants it really badly. And that is why he walks out of the bathroom, his hands clenched into fists. Fuck these damn mind games. He firmly closes the door behind him. Safe. ¡°Vegas!¡± Pete shouts after him but he has no plans to returning to that bathroom anytime soon. Then Vegas hears Pete shout something else. ¡°Fine, then I will just have all the fun by myself!¡± And this is followed by a laugh that sends shivers of dread and excitement rushing through Vegas. Fun indeed. Yeah, Pete is having fun, and he is not quiet about it either. Bloody hell! Vegas knows he should leave but he remains glued to the spot, frozen in front of the bathroom door. He doesn¡¯t even know what to feel anymore. His emotions are so all over the place that he feels lost. And Pete is the source of all of this confusion. Pete, the devil, who is on the other side of this door, in Vegas¡¯ shower, jerking off noisily! Goddammit! ¡°I hate you!¡± Vegas yells at the door and slams his fists into it. ¡°I know.¡± He can hear Pete¡¯s muffled laughter in reply, and then Pete moans his name. Repeatedly. In a way that is positively obscene. Vegas really wants to join him in that shower. Badly. Instead he walks away, his pants painfully tight because he is aroused as hell. But he is so done playing these mind games! Cursing under his breath, he moves away from the bathroom door, to the other side of the room, and for the first time really takes note of the chaos in the living room. Fuck. He really made a mess earlier on. The table is broken. So are most of the chairs. He apparently flipped over the two bookshelves, the books are scattered across the room. There are glass shards all over the floor from broken picture frames. A few broken lamps too. It¡¯s going to be expensive to replace everything. And suddenly Vegas feels very tired. He hates himself, really hates himself. Why does he not have better control over his anger? Why does he have to be like his father? Why? He doesn¡¯t even know where to start cleaning up this mess. But anything is better than having to listen to Pete pleasuring himself. He is just so damn tired of it all. Numbly, he goes to find an empty bucket for the glass shards but then decides to start by picking up the furniture that can be salvaged first. When he is in the middle of picking up the books scattered all over the room, he hears the sound of the bathroom door opening and tenses up instantly. His fingers tighten around the book he is holding, he refuses to look up. Vegas isn¡¯t ready for the next round yet. ¡°What a mess,¡± Pete remarks softly. He sounds more mellow now, perhaps he has calmed down a bit. ¡°I really managed to piss you off, didn¡¯t I?¡± Vegas swallows drily. Is he supposed to answer that? He looks down at the book in his hands. ¡®The Sunne in Splendour¡¯, he loves that book. What was the question again? He swallows and then suddenly hears himself begging: ¡°Can we call a temporary truce? Please?¡± Steeling himself, he looks up, his gaze drifting across the room and wow. Steeling himself didn¡¯t help. Pete deserves brownie points for at least putting on a towel. He wouldn¡¯t have put it past him to walk out of that bathroom entirely naked just to up the ante. Not that it matters. This is lethal enough. Pete¡¯s fresh out of the shower. His skin is still slightly flushed, and there¡¯s a lot of that flushed skin on display because all he is wearing is a towel wrapped low around his hips. He was a bit sloppy drying his hair, it¡¯s standing up on all sides and there¡¯s water dripping down from it still, droplets continuously hitting his chest, mingling with the fresh blood seeping from the wound on his neck, trailing all the way down until they are soaked up by the towel. Vegas swallows hard. Pete is like a divine revelation. A beautiful sculpture. Everything about him is simply perfect. Vegas is once again stunned. He knows he is staring, and that Pete can clearly see how this view is affecting him, but Vegas doesn¡¯t have the energy it takes to look away. He feels raw. His protective walls have been battered relentlessly and no matter what he does, chunks are falling off before he has the time to fortify his defences again. He desperately needs a break. ¡°Please?¡± he pleads once more. ¡°A ceasefire?¡± Pete takes his time to mull things over. ¡°All right,¡± he agrees eventually and Vegas exhales shakily¡ªhe hadn¡¯t even noticed he¡¯d been holding his breath. They just look at each other for a while, as the tension drains out of the room. ¡°My clothes are wet,¡± Pete eventually remarks. ¡°I am sure you remember when the cupboard with my clothes is.¡± This is turning into a habit. Pete hasn¡¯t even returned the shirt he borrowed the last time. Then Vegas remembers that the floor is a mess, and Pete is barefoot. ¡°Wait. There¡¯s glass all over the floor.¡± Both of them look down. Yeah, it¡¯s a dangerous mess. ¡°What do you suggest? You want to carry me?¡± Pete jokes. At least Vegas hopes this is meant as a joke. They agreed on a truce, right? ¡°I got guest slippers,¡± he replies with a ghost of a smile, and then gets up from the floor and heads for the hallway, where they are stored by the door. Damn, he is tired. What time is it even? It must be past midnight. He finds the slippers quickly enough and brings them back into the living room, taking great care not to get too close to Pete when he hands them over. And also avoiding to look directly at him. Too much bare skin. He cannot deal with this right now. He wants to lean in, wrap his arms around Pete, hold on tight and just soak up his warmth to ground himself. Bad idea. ¡°Here you go,¡± he says with an unsteady voice. ¡°Thanks.¡± Pete takes the slippers, puts them on and saunters to the bedroom to get dressed. Vegas makes the mistake to watch him as he walks away and then has to close his eyes and take another deep breath to steady himself. Why on earth does Pete have to look so good even from behind? It¡¯s maddening. Once again on autopilot, he goes to the bathroom to take care of Pete¡¯s wet clothes. As expected, they¡¯re all over the floor. Vegas isn¡¯t sure if the leather pants can be salvaged, but he hangs them up to dry anyway. The shirt, socks and underwear go into the laundry. The shoes will take some time to dry. A quick glance into the mirror, yes, he looks as exhausted as he feels. He wants nothing more than to sleep, but there¡¯s no time for this right now. Instead he picks up the box with the first aid equipment. He isn¡¯t blind, he saw that the bite wound has opened again, it needs to be dealt with. Vegas put it there, he needs to fix it. Back in the living room he places the box on the couch, and then continues to clean. After a while Pete emerges from the bedroom; he is now wearing a pair of Vegas¡¯ sweat pants and a plain white t-shirt. Just like Vegas. Seeing Pete in his clothes does something to him that Vegas doesn¡¯t dare to analyse any closer. ¡°Come here,¡± he invites him, pointing to the couch. ¡°Let me patch you up.¡± Pete is all relaxed. It never ceases to amaze Vegas what incredible self-control he seems to have over his emotions. Most of the time he has no clue whatsoever what Pete is thinking, and while that is intriguing, it can also feel unsettling. He simply doesn¡¯t know when Pete will decide that their ceasefire is over. Once Pete is settled comfortably on the couch, Vegas goes to sit beside him with the first aid kit. This close, that bite wound looks really nasty, blood oozing out of the purplish swollen flesh. ¡°Does it hurt a lot?¡± Vegas cannot help asking while he takes out a sterile gauze pad and drenches it in antiseptic hydrogen peroxide solution. Cleaning the wound will require him to lean in, getting awfully close to Pete, but as long as he concentrates on the wound he should be fine. ¡°Nah, I am okay. It just stings a bit.¡± Pete shrugs, but Vegas is sure he is just playing things down. ¡°Well, it¡¯s about to sting a lot more,¡± Vegas warns, and starts cleaning the wound thoroughly. He can see the muscles in Pete¡¯s neck flexing and growing tense and wishes he could take the pain away. The bite mark is deep, perhaps it would be better for Pete to go to a hospital after all. Maybe this needs stitches, Vegas is unsure. For now he gently covers everything with antiseptic cream and then puts some tape over the parts where the wound seems to be gaping too much for his liking. On top of that comes a fresh gauze pad that he fixates with more tape. There, this should do. ¡°You got a tetanus shot, right?¡± ¡°I am fully vaccinated, yes.¡± Pete lifts a hand and cautiously touches the bandaged area of his throat. ¡°Isn¡¯t this a little overkill? It didn¡¯t look that bad when I checked in the mirror earlier on.¡± ¡°It looks horrible,¡± Vegas insists quietly, his eyes still glued to Pete¡¯s neck. Because there¡¯s not just that wound. Vegas swallows hard. There are also the marks left behind from Vegas choking Pete in his fit of rage: the darker indentations from the fingernails that almost broke the skin, and the pressure marks that have already started to bruise. Vegas swallows again, but his throat feels as if he is the one being strangled. He reaches out and ghosts his fingers over those marks, and quiet despair wells up inside of him. ¡°I am so sorry,¡± he whispers brokenly. ¡°I am sorry. Just look what I did to you. I am a monster.¡± ¡°¡­ Vegas¡­¡± Pete sighs. ¡°Just don¡¯t, okay?¡± But Vegas cannot stop. He runs his fingers lightly across the discoloured skin, horrified at what he has done. ¡°I am sorry. I could have killed you. If I hadn¡¯t stopped in time¡­ so sorry¡­ I am so sorry, Pete,¡± he just rambles on and on. The other man reaches out and takes hold of Vegas¡¯ hand, squeezing it gently. ¡°Look at me, Vegas. I am alive. Nothing really bad happened. Just let it go. I¡¯m not holding it against you, all right?¡± And he softly strokes his thumb back and forth, trying to comfort Vegas in his distress. A shudder runs through Vegas¡¯ body. He tears his eyes away from the damaged throat, finally daring to meet Pete¡¯s eyes. They are sitting right next to each other on the couch, their legs nearly touching. Pete holding his hand is comforting and makes another section of his protective walls crumble. Again, Vegas swallows hard. ¡°You have to stay away from me,¡± he finally demands bitterly, his shoulders sagging in defeat. ¡°I am not safe to be around. I am a loose canon. I am just like my damn father¡­ shit¡­ I never thought I would say that, but it turns out I am truly my father¡¯s son. I am so damn sorry, Pete. I don¡¯t know what got into me. Sorry.¡± ¡°Nonsense. Your father sounds like a true douchebag, whereas you only have some slight anger issues.¡± Pete bumps his shoulder playfully against Vegas. ¡°Lucky for you, you have a psychologist right here next to you. Because I am not going anywhere, Vegas.¡± ¡°You must have a death wish.¡± Vegas is so damn tired he has trouble concentrating on this conversation and even keeping his eyes open. The muted light in the living room isn¡¯t helping; it just increases his body¡¯s need to finally get some rest after these extremely exhausting last hours. With a deep sigh, Vegas leans back against the couch and after a minute or so his eyelids flutter shut. He is still awake, he only needs a moment of rest. He is also aware that Pete is still holding his hand. They are tethered together and it feels nice. ¡°Please stay away from me. My father is going to kill you,¡± he whispers, trying one more time to warn Pete. ¡°We¡¯re not living in the Middle Ages. This is modern day Thailand and your father can¡¯t just go around killing the people he disapproves of, Vegas, so don¡¯t worry. Nothing is going to happen to me.¡± Pete sounds terribly confident, but the problem is that Vegas knows his father isn¡¯t playing by the rules. ¡°I¡¯m trying to keep you safe, you know? The further you stay away from me, the better. I don¡¯t want you ending up dead or hurt.¡± His head is feeling very heavy, his whole body sags sideways, until Vegas¡¯ head comes to rest on a firm warm surface. ¡°Pete? I don¡¯t like how you make me feel,¡± Vegas mumbles sleepily. ¡°I don¡¯t like how you make me feel either,¡± Pete admits softly. ¡°Vegas?¡± ¡°¡­ Hmmm¡­?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t push me away again. I don¡¯t like this at all.¡± ¡°¡­ Mmmm¡­¡± Vegas hums and drifts off to sleep while leaning against Pete¡¯s side, his head resting on the other man¡¯s shoulder. Chapter 10 ¡°Let your need guide your behaviour.¡± Vegas wakes up slowly. His body protests; apparently it thinks that he needs a few more hours of rest, and Vegas would love nothing more than to turn around and go back to sleep, but there seems to be a phone ringing somewhere. Hmmm¡­ that¡¯s not his ringtone though. Maybe he¡¯s still dreaming. But even if he is dreaming, the sound is irritating, and it¡¯s keeping him from falling back asleep. Vegas groans in protest and tries to sit up, only to become aware of several things at once. First, this is not his bed. From the feeling of it, this must be the couch. Also, he seems to be wedged between the back of the couch and something else. Something large and solid and warm. His left arm seems to be stuck under that something; it has fallen asleep and is now tingling painfully. In fact, he seems to be totally entangled with that heat source. And he seems to be covered with a blanket as well. What the heck? Disoriented, he opens his eyes only to be temporarily blinded by the light. Where is that damn phone? He blinks several times. So damn bright. His arm is still stuck, so he lifts his head instead to get an idea what is going on. The bright blur adjusts, everything turns clear and ¡­ ¡­ he finds himself looking straight into the very sleepy face of Pete, who seems to be equally disoriented for a moment, then sighs and tries to pull the blanket¡ªtheir blanket¡ªover his face. Vegas is dumbstruck. What the heck is going on? How did he end up on the couch? And with Pete? The last thing he remembers is closing his eyes for a moment because he was exhausted after that emotional rollercoaster he was put through last night. Wasn¡¯t Pete supposed to leave? What are they doing sleeping together on the couch? Another thought strikes him. Shit! Did they¡­? He looks down at himself, and breathes a sigh of relief. Clothed. Both of them are fully clothed. And still¡­ he can feel himself starting to hyperventilate. This was not supposed to happen. ¡°Chill Vegas.¡± Pete¡¯s voice is raspy with sleep. He looks at Vegas with half-open eyes, apparently unwilling to fully wake up. ¡°Just ignore the phone and go back to sleep.¡± And then he closes his eyes and promptly snuggles deeper into the blanket and against Vegas, who inhales sharply. Pete might be sleepy but Vegas is wide awake now. Shit. ¡°Stop overthinking,¡± Pete mumbles. Vegas can feel the heat of his breath against his shoulder. ¡°Can you not relax for a little while longer? Let¡¯s go back to sleep, okay?¡± Thankfully the phone, Pete¡¯s phone, has stopped ringing. But the silence doesn¡¯t make things better for Vegas. He spent the night with Pete on the couch. It is mind-boggling. This has never happened before. Never. The sad truth is that he has never spent the whole night with anyone. This is the first time he¡¯s waking up next to someone, and he¡¯s entirely unsure how to deal with this. And they didn¡¯t even have sex! In a way, this makes it only worse. The aftermath of sex he can handle. But just sleeping together and waking up next to each other is a whole new level of intimacy that he¡¯s in no way prepared for. Pete sighs and reaches out to lightly smack Vegas over the head. ¡°Stop overthinking! I can practically hear the thoughts racing through your mind. Chill, okay? Nothing happened. We were both exhausted, you fell asleep. I was too tired to drive home so I decided to stay. End of story.¡± End of story? My foot. Vegas is hyperaware of Pete, their bodies are pressed against each other so closely that he can feel Pete¡¯s chest move with every breath, he can even feel his heartbeat. Their legs seem to be completely entangled as well. Not to mention that Pete¡¯s head is using Vegas¡¯ arm as a pillow and one of Pete¡¯s arms is slung over his hip, resting there comfortably, his finger absently stroking back and forth. All of this feels simply overwhelming and unexpected and Vegas wants to flee, to run away as fast as he can because if he allows himself to enjoy the moment, he will get used to this; he will want more. ¡°Well, did you have to stay on the couch?¡± Okay, so maybe he should voice this in a more polite way but Vegas is panicking. ¡°There is a perfectly fine bed in the bedroom, why didn¡¯t you go sleep there instead? Or wake me, so I could use the bed and you could take the couch?¡± Pete turns his head to look Vegas in the eyes, and gives him a charming dimpled smile that nearly knocks the breath out of him. ¡°I don¡¯t know myself what got into me. You fell asleep on my shoulder and I didn¡¯t want to disturb you? Do you have any idea how cute you are when you are sleeping? Of course you don¡¯t. You look so at peace, Vegas. All those worry lines disappear. It¡¯s such a stark contrast to that violent part of yours, it¡¯s fascinating to look at.¡± And then Pete raises his hand and lightly feathers his index finger over Vegas¡¯ brows. ¡°I don¡¯t think I have looked my fill yet. Go back to sleep so I can watch you some more.¡± ¡°Pete!¡± Vegas hisses and turns his face away from the touch while trying to disentangle himself. ¡°Did you not hear a single word I was saying last night? You have to stay away from me! This is not staying away from me!¡± ¡°I heard you. I just decided to ignore what you said.¡± Totally unimpressed, Pete hooks his ankles around Vegas¡¯ legs, making it damn difficult for him to get up and away. Vegas curses and struggles; this is vaguely reminding him of the times when he was a kid and wrestling with Macau, but this time it isn¡¯t Macau, it¡¯s Pete, and he really needs to get the hell away from him. ¡°Let go!¡± He huffs, trying to kick his legs free of Pete and that bloody blanket they¡¯re wrapped in. Damn, this is frustrating. ¡°Pete, I am warning you, let go or else¡­!¡± Vegas finally gets his arm free and uses the opportunity to give Pete a hard shove. They need some distance from each other now! Unfortunately he forgets about the blanket. So when he shoves Pete off the couch, that blanket goes along, as does Vegas, who hasn¡¯t managed to disentangle himself from it yet. Both of them hit the floor hard, with Vegas landing on top of Pete who groans in pain and then immediately starts laughing. Vegas is instantly enchanted. This is a side of Pete he hasn¡¯t seen before. Right at this very moment if feels as if he¡¯s getting a glimpse of the real Pete beneath all the masks he has seen so far. This Pete is carefree and playful. Not the carefully controlled, distanced therapist. Not the coldly furious manipulator playing mind games. Not the teasing devil with words as sharp as knives either. ¡°This is such a rom-com trope¡­¡± Pete¡¯s whole body is shaking with laughter. ¡°I didn¡¯t think something like this could happen in real life.¡± His genuine amusement is adorable to look at, and Vegas feels his own lips curving into an involuntary smile as he gazes down at him. He should probably get up, but he doesn¡¯t move a muscle. ¡°If this was a rom-com, the trope would require us to ¡®accidentally¡¯ kiss as we land on the floor,¡± he reminds Pete. Did he just say that? Yes, he did. And he¡¯s not sorry for saying it either. They¡¯re just joking around after all. They have a truce. ¡°With eyes wide open in shocked surprise, frozen in place for an unreasonable amount of time, lips firmly closed and pressed against each other in what is supposed to be a real kiss?¡± Pete wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and then winks. ¡°I can do that¡­¡± And he promptly purses his lips in a parody of kissy lips, opening his eyes wide, while trying not to dissolve into more laughter. Pete is so damn charming that Vegas is starting to feel all warm and fuzzy inside and his heart is melting. He should probably move. Instead he¡¯s lying on top of Pete, feeling his body heat through their clothes as the morning sun shining through the living room windows bathes them in a ray of warm light. His hands are next to Pete¡¯s shoulders; he¡¯s holding himself up to keep some of his body weight from crushing Pete. This position gives him a great opportunity to just look at Pete in his full, silly glory, lying underneath him. ¡°I hate to tell you, but you need to work on your acting skills if you¡¯re planning to get hired as a rom-com lead. This won¡¯t even get you past the first audition.¡± ¡°Ouch. Such harsh criticism. I swear, I am really good at this. Just give it a try?¡± Pete looks up at him with laughing eyes and wiggles his eyebrows again. ¡°I dare you.¡± ¡°I thought we still had a ceasefire?¡± Vegas asks shakily, feeling slightly surprised by the intense way Pete is suddenly gazing at him. ¡°Ooops¡­¡± Pete¡¯s lips quirk into a mischievous smile. ¡°Forgot to tell you: the truce just expired.¡± And with that he reaches upward, loops his arms around Vegas¡¯ neck, slowly drawing him down, and Vegas allows him to. Their mouths hover an inch from each other for a few seconds, both of them feeling hesitant all of a sudden. This is crazy, Vegas thinks. What the hell am I doing? Then their lips meet, just barely brushing against each other, and both of them exhale a shuddering sigh. This kiss is as different from the rooftop madness as day and night. Vegas¡¯ eyes flutter shut, he tilts his head to the side for better access and then their lips meet again. And again. It is just a soft press, the lightest of touches; lips lingering, separating and meeting again in a seemingly endless circle. ¡°Vegas¡­¡± Pete whispers whenever he draws a breath. ¡°Vegas¡­¡± And Vegas is mesmerised. This is perfection. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that kissing someone could feel like this. This unexpected level of intimacy is earth-shattering, it¡¯s like a drug, both terrifying and addictive. He has kissed his fair share of people, but nothing has ever come close to this. A sliver of fear runs through him. Off limits. Vegas pulls away with a shaking exhale, his forehead dropping onto Pete¡¯s shoulder. Pete wraps his arms around his neck even tighter. ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± he mumbles against Vegas¡¯ hair. ¡°Stop overthinking. Don¡¯t ruin this moment. Please don¡¯t ruin it¡­ This is so nice¡­ I like this so much¡­¡± If he were capable of coherent thoughts, Vegas would perhaps reply. Because he agrees. This is really nice. But right now he¡¯s just a confused mess of twirling emotions. He takes a long deep breath, Pete¡¯s scent enveloping him like a soothing caress. ¡°You smell really nice¡­¡± he whispers. It feels safe to say that. ¡°So you keep telling me,¡± Pete points out, with amusement in his voice. ¡°You want to run, right? I can feel you heart racing. Please don¡¯t. Stay with me.¡± Clever Pete, he has interpreted the signs correctly. Yes, Vegas wants to flee. Again. He seems to be doing that a lot lately, running away from Pete, and his own emotions. He makes a frustrated sound against Pete¡¯s shoulder and then feels Pete¡¯s fingers combing through his hair. Damn, this feels nice. But they shouldn¡¯t be doing this. To make things worse, Pete starts pleading softly against his ear. ¡°Give me half a day, Vegas. Just half a day. This is so nice and normal, I never had anything like this before. Just half a day, all right? Half a day of pretending we are someone else, just a perfectly normal couple. Then I leave you alone and you can run as far as you need, okay?¡± ¡°I¡¯m scared.¡± There, he said it. ¡°I don¡¯t think this is a good idea at all.¡± But at the same time he leans more into Pete¡¯s touch. ¡°Trust me,¡± Pete whispers into his ear. ¡°Just trust me, Vegas. Half a day. That is all I ask for. It¡¯s what we deserve. So we don¡¯t have to wonder in a couple of years where this could have led. Let¡¯s just do this, all right? Please?¡± Dammit. Vegas wants this so much. The inner conflict is almost tearing him apart. Once again his emotions are all over the place, his heart is racing, his fight or flight instinct screaming. ¡°Pete,¡± he mumbles, and then takes a deep, steadying breath. He can do this. ¡°Pete¡­ ¡± and finally Vegas lifts his head again and pushes himself up on his hands so he can look Pete in the eyes. At first Pete seems reluctant to let go; for a moment his arms tighten around Vegas¡¯ neck, but then he sighs deeply and lets go, but watches him anxiously. ¡°Fine, half a day.¡± It takes so much damn courage to say this but once the words are out it feels as if a heavy weight has been lifted from his shoulders. His reward is the dazzling smile lighting up Pete¡¯s face in response. I am so going to regret this, Vegas thinks. I wish I didn¡¯t want you so much. They smile at each other. ¡°Just one more thing,¡± Pete adds. ¡°No sex.¡± ¡°Huh?¡± Vegas blinks. He¡¯s feeling so overwhelmed right now, he hasn¡¯t actually thought about how they would spend their time together, but now that Pete mentions it¡­ ¡°No sex,¡± Pete repeats. ¡°If we end up in bed we¡¯ll be spending the whole day there¡­¡± Hell yes, the whole day in bed seems like a great idea. ¡°¡­ and then it would just be like another one-night-stand. And I want this to be different.¡± Well, Pete¡¯s got a point. Vegas nods in agreement. ¡°Fine. No sex. Anything else?¡± ¡°Nothing I can think of.¡± Once again, they end up staring at each other. Vegas could stare at Pete for hours. ¡°Uhm¡­ what now?¡± he eventually asks, because he¡¯s unsure how to proceed. ¡°How about we start with getting up? And then¡­ breakfast?¡± Pete suggests. Vegas is loath to move; he quite likes his current position on top of Pete, but he acknowledges that they can¡¯t spend the whole day on the floor. With a sigh, he rolls off Pete and sits up. And notices the chaos in the living room for the first time this morning. ¡°Well, shit¡­ You didn¡¯t land on any glass, did you?¡± ¡°Nah, I am fine.¡± Pete sits up as well and looks around. ¡°We should probably clean up a bit. I¡¯ll help. After all it was my fault that you got so angry.¡± Vegas casts him a sideways glance and his eyes come to linger on the very visible bandage on Pete¡¯s neck that he has so far ignored. He swallows dryly. ¡°We should probably change the bandage as well,¡± he mumbles, and looks away again. Pete¡¯s neck has started to bruise not only around the bandage, but where Vegas¡¯ hands choked him as well, and he feels once again like a terrible human being. ¡°Let¡¯s start with breakfast. I¡¯m hungry.¡± Pete rises and offers Vegas a hand. When their hands touch as he¡¯s pulled to his feet, Vegas once again gets goosebumps. He wonders if it will always be this way. ¡°What would you like to eat? Porridge or rice with omelette? Or maybe bread?¡± Coming to think of it, he knows so little about Pete. ¡°And what would you like to drink? Coffee? Tea? Soy milk?¡± Damn, this feels awkward. ¡°Black coffee, please.¡± Pete heads for the kitchen, sidestepping the broken furniture. ¡°And rice with omelette will be perfect.¡± Vegas wonders if all this is perhaps a dream. It feels a bit surreal. Is he really awake? Has all of this really happened? Did he just kiss Pete and agreed to spend part of the day with him? What the hell is he doing? ¡°Let me prepare the coffee, the machine is a bit temperamental¡­¡± he mumbles, and trails after Pete into the kitchen. He shows Pete where the rice is stored and while he¡¯s fixing the coffee, Pete starts washing the rice. The rice cooker is a standard model and Pete apparently knows how to use it. Surreal. Vegas finds himself leaning against the kitchen workbench, watching Pete move around in his kitchen as if he belongs here. Surreal. ¡°You know¡­ you can touch, if you want,¡± Pete rummages through the kitchen cupboards, searching for a frying pan for the eggs. ¡°How do you do that?¡± Vegas can¡¯t help asking. ¡°Am I that obvious? Or can you actually read my mind?¡± Because he has been thinking about touching Pete, but he¡¯s unsure about what he¡¯s allowed to do and what not, in this situation. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. Pete looks over his shoulder and casts Vegas a quick smile. ¡°It¡¯s just an educated guess. You probably feel the same as I do, am I right?¡± ¡°Honestly, most of the time, and definitely right now, I don¡¯t have a clue what you¡¯re thinking, let alone feeling, Pete. I¡¯m so damn confused, I have never been in a situation like this before. What do couples do all day? And what do you expect from me?¡± Vegas runs a hand through his hair, feeling slightly stressed as he watches Pete crack the eggs into a bowl, stirring them with the chopsticks in preparation to fry them. ¡°No clue,¡± Pete replies cheerfully. ¡°This is a first for me. I didn¡¯t have any role models for adult relationships; my parents died when I was young. What did your parents do all day?¡± Vegas snorts in wry amusement. ¡°Are you kidding me? You are asking me about role models for healthy relationships? May I remind you that my father is a violent mob boss and that my mother killed herself when I was a kid? My family life was hell on earth.¡± The fact that he can joke about this with Pete is nothing short of a miracle. Normally he avoids talking about his family. ¡°We will just have to play it by ear and hope for the best,¡± Pete decides after a moment of contemplation. ¡°Now where¡¯s my coffee?¡± And then they¡¯re drinking coffee in the kitchen, waiting for the rice to be cooked, standing next to each other, and the whole situation is so staggeringly domestic that Vegas keeps thinking he must be hallucinating for sure. Pete insists on preparing the omelette while Vegas is setting the table; he seems to be enjoying himself immensely. Whenever Vegas looks at him, his emotions run amok in a most confusing way. In the end he can¡¯t help it, he needs to reassure himself that this is real, and so he walks up behind Pete, who is humming some unknown melody while fiddling with the frying pan, and leans in, burying his nose in Pete¡¯s hair. Yeah, seems pretty real. ¡°Took you long enough.¡± Pete leans back into him and Vegas can hear the smile in his voice. ¡°Smartass. Don¡¯t burn the omelette.¡± And then Vegas has to step away, because all this feels too overwhelming. They eat in contented silence and even do the dishes together afterwards. It¡¯s insane. Part of Vegas wants to scream and run out of the apartment. The other part of him wants to curl around Pete and purr. How is he supposed to survive this day? Pete isn¡¯t helping; he is constantly finding excuses to brush against Vegas, like a cat that wants to be petted. In an ever growing daze, Vegas finds a fresh toothbrush for Pete. And even a set of clean clothes. At least Pete¡¯s shoes have mostly dried overnight. They each take a quick shower. Not together! Vegas hides in the kitchen while Pete is showering to avoid getting another glimpse of Pete wearing only a towel. Madness madness madness! Why on earth did he agree to this? While Pete gets ready, Vegas starts stress-cleaning again. It¡¯s either that, or he will break his promise and walk right out the door. Pete eventually emerges from the bedroom, fully dressed; he takes one look at Vegas, who is in the process of taking apart the broken table so that it¡¯s easier to throw away, and then walks over to him, slips an arm around his waist and gives him a quick, tight hug. ¡°Breathe. Everything will be fine. Why is this stressing you out so much?¡± Vegas drops the screwdriver he is holding and shrugs helplessly. ¡°Fuck. I don¡¯t know. I just don¡¯t know. Why are we even doing this? Won¡¯t this make everything even more complicated? My life is already a shit-show; I don¡¯t need even more complications. How are we supposed to go back to normal after this?¡± ¡°We are doing this because you owe me.¡± Pete takes a step back, calmly reaches up to his throat, and tears off the soaked bandage. ¡°Take a good hard look at my neck, Vegas. This day is your compensation to me for nearly killing me.¡± Once again, Pete wields his words like knives. Vegas pales and flinches away. The neck wound looks terrible. Puffy and red and blackish-blue. And there are even more bruises all over the neck from Vegas nearly strangling him. He did that to Pete. He¡¯s a fucking monster who should probably be locked away. Why is Pete not angry at him? He has every right to be furious. But instead of yelling at Vegas all he says is: ¡°Please change the bandage. It got all wet in the shower.¡± Vegas swallows hard and nods, looking away from Pete. He gets the first aid kit and quietly patches the wound up again, his fingers trembling ever so slightly. ¡°I am so sorry,¡± he mumbles but then remembers that Pete does not want his apologies. He just wants this day, and so Vegas will give him what he wants. The light-hearted atmosphere is gone, and Vegas despairs quietly. He messed up again. When Pete suggests they continue with the clean-up, he agrees instantly. It will give him something else to think about. Together, it goes relatively quickly. ¡°You need new furniture,¡± Pete decides, glancing around. Which is kind of a no-brainer, it¡¯s just that Vegas thought he would deal with this problem another day, and not on this special day. ¡°Let¡¯s go shopping.¡± ¡°Uhm¡­ I can do this on my own, you know? Wouldn¡¯t this be wasting our time together?¡± Pete shrugs and smiles. ¡°This seems like a very couple thing to do. To go furniture shopping together. So let¡¯s give it a try.¡± Vegas has a flashback to his first impression of Pete¡¯s office and his eyes widen in sudden terror. Furniture shopping with Pete will be a disaster. He can already see it before his inner eye: Colours. Curtains. Weird non-functional shapes. Decorations! Oh shit. Apparently Pete also envisions all this because he gets a very determined gleam in his dark eyes. ¡°This place could use a make-over,¡± he mutters as he looks around, and Vegas gulps. He can see the interior-design-monster hatch before his very eyes. ¡°Why don¡¯t we just go for a walk instead? I heard this is very popular with couples? Or perhaps a boat ride on the river?¡± Pete replies with a smirk and Vegas knows he is in deep trouble.
Pete has dragged him across town to IKEA. Of all the places to go, why did they have to end up here? He should have known Pete is an IKEA person. He should have seen the signs and resisted this stupid, stupid idea more vigorously. Too late now. Looking at the huge blue and yellow monstrosity of a store, Vegas feels as if he¡¯s being dragged to his execution. ¡°All we need is a table and some chairs. And new picture frames. That¡¯s all,¡± he reminds Pete sternly, as they enter the store. ¡°Why don¡¯t we use the terminals over there, do a quick search and get the shelf locations directly, so we can save time?¡± ¡°Nice try,¡± Pete replies cheerfully. He actually takes Vegas hand and pulls him towards the escalators to the upper floor. They¡¯re holding hands. In public. Vegas is almost halfway up before he gets over the shock and hastily pulls back his hand. What if someone sees them? What if someone recognises them? Pete narrows his eyes, but Vegas pointedly looks the other way. He won¡¯t compromise on this. And then they¡¯re in furniture hell. Pete of course thinks of this as heaven; Vegas can see him brimming with enthusiasm. ¡°We just need a table,¡± he mutters, when Pete coos over the couches on display. He has a perfectly fine couch; he does not need a new one. Even if Pete thinks it¡¯s too hard to sleep on. He¡¯s not planning to sleep on his couch much anyway. And no, he¡¯s perfectly fine with his couch being beige. A red couch would not suit his living room at all. Neither would an orange couch. There is so much clutter in the sample rooms on display¡ªhow could anyone actually live in rooms like this? Vegas feels he¡¯s getting a sensory overload as Pete drags him along. If it weren¡¯t for Pete, Vegas would run screaming out of the store. But instead he does his very best to be patient. Just watching Pete enjoying himself does help to calm him down. Eventually Pete has manoeuvred him into carrying one of those huge IKEA bags, which he loads with ¡®essentials¡¯¡ªat least that¡¯s what Pete calls them. Vegas calls it clutter, and quietly disposes of whatever is put into it whenever Pete isn¡¯t looking. ¡°Table,¡± he reminds Pete, and pulls him past the kitchen area of the store. No, he does not want to renovate his kitchen with new colourful cupboard doors, and no, everything is already very well organised in his kitchen; they do not need to buy boxes and plastic containers and all that crap. When they finally arrive at the kitchen table area, Vegas zeroes in on a simple white table. Perfect. Pete complaints it is boring, and ¡®so Vegas¡¯, and wants him to go for something round and black, with legs arranged in a twisted modern way so that you just need to look at the table and it will surely fall over. Not happening. Vegas writes up the shelf number of the boring table of his choice and ignores Pete¡¯s other suggestions. The next problem is the kitchen chairs. Vegas damaged two out of his initial four chairs. Since he can¡¯t get two more of the exact same kind, he now needs to buy four new ones. ¡°Why?¡± Pete asks, confused. ¡°Just buy two new ones, maybe even in some other colours? That would be a delightful mix and lighten up things a bit.¡± Vegas groans. ¡°The mere thought of having four different chairs is giving me anxiety. I don¡¯t do ¡®mixing¡¯ very well.¡± ¡°You really need to loosen up a bit, Vegas. How about the same style but different colours then?¡± Vegas just shakes his head. ¡°I don¡¯t think four different colours will work.¡± ¡°Two then. Two chairs with one colour each.¡± Pete suggests with determination. ¡°Do we have to? Can we just go for one colour, please?¡± One look at Pete and he knows that he will loose this argument. Okay, time for damage control then. ¡°No red. And a simple design.¡± Ten minutes later he has four new kitchen chairs, two blue and two green ones. And Pete is happy, while Vegas feels steamrolled. And on the wild shopping tour goes. ¡°I don¡¯t have the money for this¡­¡± Vegas pulls Pete past the home office section. ¡°None of the cupboards are damaged, I refuse to buy a new one,¡± he insists in the wardrobe section. ¡°No, I don¡¯t need lamps like this, they¡¯re dust collectors, just look at that shape, and it barely gives any light.¡± He refuses to even think about exchanging his perfectly fine lamps for some edgy design pieces. He would have thought Pete would be frustrated with him being so uncooperative by now, but he gets the strong feeling that Pete immensely enjoys teasing Vegas like this. What a brat! A pretty adorable brat. Even when he is trying to drive Vegas insane, he is so damn cute while doing it. The bedroom section proves to be a real challenge. The second Pete throws himself on one of the beds to try out the mattress, Vegas gets a very vivid flashback to drunk Pete on his bed with the leather pants undone, and he feels himself flushing at the thought. He quickly looks away, but he¡¯s pretty sure Pete noticed. Aren¡¯t they done yet? Surely they must be getting closer to the exit soon, right? It is pretty warm in here, a bit of fresh air would be nice. ¡°Help me up again?¡± Pete holds out his hand and Vegas takes it, to pull him up. Instead he¡¯s yanked down onto the bed and with a surprised huff, he lands on top of Pete. For the second time today! ¡°Have you lost your mind?!¡± Vegas hisses and immediately rolls off him, as Pete starts laughing. ¡°Lovely bed, isn¡¯t it? Very comfy mattress. But not as nice as your bed,¡± Pete teases, while Vegas glares at him and hurries to get off the bed. He¡¯s blushing and he hates it. ¡°Jerk. Get up yourself then.¡± Vegas turns around and stomps away. Where is that damn exit? Of course he forgot that they need to walk through the whole lower part of the store before getting out. The part of the store that really challenges his ability to remove stuff from their cart as fast as Pete puts them into it. ¡°Stop it. I don¡¯t need this. I don¡¯t want this. I don¡¯t have money for all of this.¡± But despite all his objections, Pete just laughs, winks playfully at him and continues with the madness. Vegas knows he will never be able to go to IKEA again. He will forever associate this with Pete and it¡¯s going to be too painful to bear. He should have said no. He should have refused to spend this time with Pete. He should have known better. Well, he knew. He just decided to do this anyway. He¡¯s such an idiot. They get the picture frames. They get some extra pillows for the couch, in warm, vivid colours that Pete loves. They get a couple of plastic plants that Vegas won¡¯t be able to kill off no matter how hard he tries. They get the flat box with table and chairs. When nobody is around to see, Pete gives Vegas a quick peck on the lips that leaves him even more dazed. Then they stand in line for the cashier with numerous other families and couples and it all feels so incredibly surreal. So normal. As if they¡¯ve done this before and will do this again. Vegas is starting to panic again. He mustn¡¯t get used to this! When everything is loaded into the car, Vegas has a near meltdown. He just sits in the car, holding on to the steering wheel for dear life and tries to get his erratic breathing back under control. ¡°Everything is going to be fine,¡± Pete whispers next to him, running his fingers through Vegas¡¯ hair. ¡°You are overthinking again. Just try to relax. How about we grab some take-away and then go sit in the sun and eat somewhere? You can do this, right?¡± Vegas nods. Yes, he can do this. He has to. The alternative is dissolving into tears right here and now, and wouldn¡¯t that be embarrassing as hell? So they drive around, park the car, and stop at one of the many carts selling street food. Vegas picks some Pad Kra Pao, Pete goes for the Pad See Ew with a lot of additional dried chilli flakes, and then they end up on a bench by the waterfront. There is a light breeze, the sun is shining, but the heat is bearable. The food is good. Vegas is following Pete¡¯s advice and tries very hard not to think about what the hell he¡¯s doing. They sit there for a while and inconspicuously hold hands, and it feels so damn nice. Pete is utterly content as well, relaxed and simply happy with his life. Vegas likes this look on him. He likes it a lot. Eventually they end up in Vegas¡¯ apartment again with all the spoils from their shopping trip. Pete insists on helping to put the new furniture together, but soon enough Vegas is ready to scream with frustration. Pete apparently thinks manuals are for wimps and unnecessary, and one can figure out instinctively what screws to use where and in what order. ¡°If you touch another screw I am going to nail your hand to the floor,¡± Vegas eventually threatens, and almost means it. ¡°Go and deal with the pictures and reframe my posters. I¡¯ll fix the table.¡± Pete gives him an intrigued look and for a moment it seems as if he wants to say something, but he stays silent and goes to deal with Vegas¡¯ posters instead. Soon the apartment looks pretty decent again, the evidence of last night¡¯s chaos all but gone. ¡°Looks pretty sturdy.¡± Pete walks up to the table Vegas has just finished putting together and touches it to see if it is wobbly, then he hops up to sit on it and grins at Vegas. ¡°Well done. You have hidden talents, it seems.¡± Vegas, in the process of putting the tools away, stops and rolls his eyes. ¡°It¡¯s not rocket science, you know. All you need to do is read the bloody manual and follow the instructions.¡± Pete is sitting on the edge of the table, wiggling his feet happily, and Vegas¡¯ throat gets tight. He wants Pete, he wants him so damn much. Against his better judgement, he forgets about the tools and instead walks up to the table, like a moth fluttering closer to the flame. The flame being Pete, who is tilting his head to the side with a wicked smile as he watches him approach. Vegas pushes Pete¡¯s legs apart in order to step between them. He knows he shouldn¡¯t be doing this. But it is so damn hard to resist the temptation. It really was inevitable, it¡¯s a miracle he lasted this long. Just a quick touch perhaps. Another peck maybe. ¡°Why don¡¯t we find out how sturdy this table is?¡± Pete suggests in a low teasing voice. He reaches out and hooks a hand around Vegas¡¯ nape, pulling them toward each other without any resistance from Vegas, who is caught up in the moment, and spellbound. ¡°Smartass,¡± Vegas manages to mumble, before their mouths meet and once again it is like a spark igniting a sea of gasoline. With a whoosh there is ignition and then everything is on fire. Their lips open and tongues touch. Vegas¡¯ fingers are in Pete¡¯s hair, Pete¡¯s hands are gripping the back of Vegas¡¯ t-shirt and then pushing aside the fabric to get to the bare skin underneath it, the sudden skin contact sending a delightful shockwave of pleasure through both of them. Vegas burns. He uses all his pent up anxiety as fuel for this madness, they fall backward onto the table (which is indeed sturdy enough to deal with this unexpected assault), never breaking their frantic open-mouthed kiss. Pete hooks his legs around Vegas¡¯, moaning breathlessly into his mouth and it is driving Vegas insane. They¡¯re grinding against each other, and it feels so damn good. But then Pete¡¯s hands slip beneath his jeans, and Vegas suddenly snaps back to reality. No no no! They shouldn¡¯t be doing this! This is getting out of control, going too far. He tears his mouth away from Pete, panting hard. ¡°Stop!¡± Pete is breathing hard as well, and is obviously displeased with Vegas putting a stop to this insanity. ¡°Damn it! You are doing it again! Didn¡¯t I tell you to stop overthinking?! Fuck, you are ruining it. Again.¡± Vegas cringes but pulls himself free, backing away. Yeah, he¡¯s ruining it, but he has reached the limit of what he can endure. This was a stupid idea from the start. ¡°Time¡¯s up. I think you should leave.¡± If only his voice was more calm instead of sounding decidedly shaky. If only Pete would not make him feel so much, this is exhausting. If only he was better at controlling his emotions. ¡°You had your half day, more so even. This needs to be enough. I can¡¯t deal with any more of this. I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°Bloody hell.¡± Pete sits up and then slams his palms against the table in frustration. ¡°Fine. Have it your way.¡± He is obviously upset and has every right to feel this way. They¡¯re both horny and frustrated and completely out of their depth because neither of them seems to be able to put a final stop to this. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Vegas repeats quietly. ¡°I really tried, okay? And the day was great. I did enjoy it. But now we need to stop. This was supposed to be a temporary thing after all. It isn¡¯t real. It can¡¯t be real. And that¡¯s why we can¡¯t let this get out of hand. I¡¯m truly sorry, Pete.¡± ¡°Yeah, so am I,¡± Pete replies bitterly and jumps off the table, straightening his rumpled clothes. His hair is a mess and Vegas reaches out to straighten it, but Pete slaps his hand away. ¡°Don¡¯t touch me.¡± He angrily fixes his hair himself, and Vegas can¡¯t help thinking that he looks like someone who is very likely going to snap sometime soon. He has learned the hard way to be wary of angry Pete, because he can be catastrophically unpredictable. ¡°I am sorry, Pete,¡± he tries again, following Pete to the door. ¡°But deep down you know this is for the best. I am not the right person for you or anyone really. I am way too broken. You are better off without me.¡± ¡°Vegas¡­¡± With the hand on the doorknob, Pete stops and turns around to face him. ¡°Just shut the hell up. You know as well as I do that this between us is far from over.¡± Vegas draws an unsteady breath upon hearing that. ¡°You said you¡¯d leave me alone after today¡­¡± Pete gives him a long hard look. ¡°I lied.¡± And with that he storms off and slams the door shut. He lied¡­ of course he did. Vegas leans his back against the door and tries to catch his breath, because suddenly there seems not to be enough oxygen in the hallway. He slides down along the door until he¡¯s sitting on the floor, and finally allows himself to fall apart. It¡¯s an ugly cry; shuddering big wet sobs and snot and all that, but no-one is around to see anyway, so it¡¯s okay. He¡¯s starting to fall for Pete and it¡¯s breaking his heart, because this absolutely must not happen. He¡¯s going to get Pete killed.
Returning to work the next day feels strange, like waking up from a long dream. At least he¡¯s had a good night¡¯s sleep, so exhausted that he slept like a log. And of course¡ªhow else could it be?¡ªon the way to their shared office, Vegas runs into Pete. Time stretches for a moment as they stare at each other. Awkward doesn¡¯t even begin to describe how Vegas feels. Pete seems unsure as well. Both of them nod stiffly in greeting and then avert their eyes at the same time. They¡¯re back to simply being the detective and his therapist, at least as far as Vegas is concerned. The dream¡¯s over, time to wake up. He¡¯s got work to do and a killer to catch. And so he heads to their office, Pete trailing behind him in silence. With surprise, Vegas notices that their office isn¡¯t locked. Huh? He opens the door and the first thing he sees is that there is a new third desk inside the room. A desk occupied by a very familiar figure. Tem pushes back in his chair, swirls it towards the door and gives Vegas a warm, welcoming smile. ¡°Guess who¡¯s back, partner?¡± Chapter 11 ¡°Never let anyone drive you crazy; it is nearby anyway and the walk is good for you.¡± Tem is back and it makes Vegas so damn happy. This is exactly what he needs, some positivity in his life. For a moment he is hesitant, then he throws all caution to the wind, and gives his partner a fierce hug. ¡°Are we good?¡± Vegas double-checks cautiously, just to be on the safe side. He really hopes Tem isn¡¯t holding a grudge. ¡°Yeah, we¡¯re good. Sorry to have kept you waiting.¡± Tem chuckles and hugs him back. ¡°Neat new office you got here, I approve.¡± They step apart again and just grin happily at each other. Someone clears his throat and they simultaneously turn to look at the door where Pete is watching them cautiously. ¡°Oh, it¡¯s you.¡± Tem gives him a friendly smile as well. ¡°I heard that you¡¯ve joined the team. I look forward to working with you¡ªI¡¯m sure you can be a great help with your expertise.¡± ¡°This is perfect.¡± Vegas¡¯ mood has lifted considerably. He hums happily and then moves Tem¡¯s desk around a bit so they sit close to each other, like they¡¯re used to, because that makes working so much easier. Tem helps him, and they fall right back into their old comfortable partnership pattern, chatting and joking just like they did before Vegas made that fatal mistake. But now they can forget about that and move on, and Vegas is so glad that something in his life is going the right way. Pete is a bit more reserved when it comes to Tem, but that¡¯s only natural; after all they don¡¯t know each other very well. It will probably take a while for them to warm up to each other, Vegas figures. He spends the next couple of days bringing Tem up to date with their two murder cases. They go through everything, and Tem shudders quite a bit when it comes to the crime scene photos and footage. ¡°What a bloody mess. I tell you Vegas, this city is going to hell. The violence nowadays is getting so extreme; no one uses ordinary knives anymore, it¡¯s all axes and katanas and explosives and stuff. While I was assigned to the other unit I even had an assault case where the assailant used a freaking nail-gun to staple a bunch of hooligans to the wall after a bar fight. I mean, what is wrong with the criminals these days? I miss the good old times. Just give me a gunshot or knife wound. Instead everyone is getting inspired by John Wick to try something cool and new to impress the rest of the gang.¡± Vegas nods in agreement. ¡°In all honesty, I am dreading what our murderer will come up with next. That last crime scene was hell, I tell you. I got really queasy and even Pol was throwing up.¡± ¡°Really? Damn¡­ I never saw Pol getting sick. I guess I should be glad I wasn¡¯t there to see this live; these photos here are bad enough already.¡± Now and then while they¡¯re talking, Vegas glances over to where Pete is sitting quietly, typing away on his computer. He¡¯s very quiet these days. Very quiet. It makes Vegas nervous. Occasionally when he looks up he can see that Pete is watching him, but he averts his eyes the moment he notices that Vegas is looking at him. Thankfully, Tem is here to distract him, otherwise Vegas would be getting all stressed out about this silent treatment. It is stupid. This is what he wanted after all, no? Pete is off limits. They¡¯re just working together, everything is exactly like it is supposed to be now. Except¡­ he can¡¯t forget what Pete told him before he left that afternoon. I lied. Rather ominous. Pete isn¡¯t done with him yet, and not knowing when he will make his next move is unnerving. So Pete watches Vegas, and Vegas watches Pete¡ªand Tem takes note of everything and frowns.
One day, Vegas gets a text message from Porsche. Just one word. ¡°Bingo.¡± Well, it was to be expected. That tattoo being a lucky fluke would have been nice, but of course it isn¡¯t because life doesn¡¯t do nice things to Vegas. He texts back and arranges a meeting. Best to get this over with quickly. ¡°Gotta go,¡± he tells Pete and Tem as he shuts down his computer. ¡°I have a meeting.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll tag along.¡± Pete looks up from his notes. ¡°Just give me a moment.¡± ¡°That won¡¯t be necessary.¡± He can¡¯t have Pete along for this meeting, since he still hasn¡¯t told neither Pete nor Tem about the significance of the tattoo. ¡°It¡¯s okay, it will be nice to get out of the office for a while.¡± Pete gives him a smile and Vegas catches himself staring at him. He likes it when Pete smiles like this. But damn, he must not stare. And he really can¡¯t have Pete tagging along to the meeting. ¡°It really isn¡¯t necessary,¡± he repeats, and then adds: ¡°It is a private meeting. It has nothing to do with work.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± The smile vanishes from Pete¡¯s face again and it¡¯s as if the sun has disappeared behind the clouds. The room feels cold all of a sudden. ¡°I see.¡± He averts his eyes, looking down at his notes again. ¡°Are you meeting Porsche?¡± Tem checks because he knows that Porsche is the only person other than himself who Vegas considers a friend and would meet with privately. Vegas nods. At the same moment there is a sudden breaking sound from across the office. Startled, both Vegas and Tem glance over to Pete, who stares at the pencil in his hand that just snapped. ¡°Sorry,¡± he mumbles, embarrassed, and throws the broken pencil away, then opens a drawer to take out a fresh one. ¡°Anyway¡­¡± Tem continues. ¡°Say hello to Porsche from me, please.¡± They¡¯ve known each other as long as he has known Vegas. ¡°Will do.¡± Vegas casts another quick glance at Pete, who seems to be very busy with his notes, and then leaves. Maybe that pencil snapping was just accidental. But with Pete you never know. Vegas got the distinct impression that he wasn¡¯t happy about Vegas having a private meeting. But maybe he will ask Tem about Porsche and then everything will be fine again. Tem knows. Vegas and Porsche are just friends, nothing else.
Vegas meets Porsche in the private room of one of the fancy restaurants that Kinn loves so much. He would have preferred some street food and a bench by the river but hey, he won¡¯t say no to a free lunch here either; after all this is way beyond what he can afford with his pay check. His good mood all but evaporates when he enters the room and there are two people waiting for him, instead of just one. ¡°Seriously?!¡± He groans and casts an accusing look at Porsche who has the good grace to be a bit embarrassed. ¡°Why did you have to bring him along?¡± Him being the bane of his existence, his dear cousin Kinn. Things haven¡¯t changed. Kinn looks just as displeased to see him as Vegas is. His cousin is standing by the window, dressed immaculately in a designer suit that fits him to a T. Vegas hates meeting Kinn because no matter what he has achieved in life, as soon as they¡¯re in a room together, he feels inferior. Kinn just has that natural flair of someone in command. During his whole childhood Vegas has been compared to Kinn, every day, for years. Never measuring up. Always found lacking. And it has left deep scars. ¡°Vegas.¡± Kinn gives him a terse nod. ¡°Well, if it isn¡¯t my beloved cousin¡­¡± Vegas drawls with a sneer. ¡°How¡¯s life, Kinn? Killed anyone today yet?¡± Porsche rolls his eyes and quickly moves to interfere, since he can see Kinn tensing up, narrowing his eyes in anger. ¡°Too early in the day for killing, we don¡¯t do that before afternoon tea,¡± he jokes hastily and walks over to Kinn¡¯s side. One casual touch of their hands and the tension immediately drains out of Kinn again. Porsche has trained him well, it seems. ¡°How about we have something to eat first? We can discuss everything over lunch?¡± ¡°Fine,¡± both Kinn and Vegas reply at the same time, and immediately glare at each other again, before they go and sit down at the large round table. A waiter comes to take their orders. Out of spite Vegas orders the most expensive item on the menu¡ªKinn is paying after all. This is a Thai Fusion restaurant, which is just a fancy name for mixing ingredients that have no business being in the same dish together and then charging people an obscene amount of money for it. It will probably taste horrible, but Vegas will eat it anyway. ¡°I¡¯ll have the steak¡­¡± Kinn points at the menu. ¡°No steak!¡± Porsche interjects hastily. Kinn and Vegas had an unfortunate incident with a steak knife once; apparently Porsche remembers, and does not care to repeat the bloodshed. ¡°You know I can be just as lethal with a spoon,¡± Vegas can¡¯t help teasing Porsche who snorts, trying to suppress a laugh. Kinn shoots Vegas yet another glare, but in the end they manage to place their orders without open warfare. The waiter seems a bit distressed by the tension in the room and wisely leaves as quickly as possible. Which leaves the three of them. Vegas drums his fingers on the table surface. ¡°Why did you have to get him involved? I thought we wanted to handle this without his involvement?¡± ¡°Oh, I tried, but he changed his password to the database,¡± Porsche replies cheerfully, wiggling his eyebrows and winking at Kinn. ¡°I¡¯ll get a reward when I guess the new one though.¡± ¡°Ewww¡­ TMI.¡± Vegas rolls his eyes. Those two are disgustingly sweet together. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have approached Porsche in the first place,¡± Kinn remarks stiffly. ¡°Who else then? You?¡± Vegas snorts. ¡°I thought you had my number blocked? And I¡¯d love to see you explain to my uncle why you are in contact with a police officer, even if he¡¯s family.¡± Kinn glowers at him. He does it very well; it comes with the territory of being in charge of the largest organised crime family in the country. ¡°My father has retired. I¡¯m in charge of the family business now, and you know it.¡± ¡°Tell that to your father, I think he didn¡¯t get the memo,¡± Vegas replies wryly. The day Khun Korn relinquishes total control of his empire hasn¡¯t come yet. But it is cute how Kinn believes he¡¯s running everything now. A bit naive if you ask Vegas, but Kinn has always been blind when it comes to his father. ¡°Guys¡­¡± Porsche sighs deeply. ¡°Peace. Can we have lunch before things escalate so much that one of you storms off?¡± He takes Kinn¡¯s hand and squeezes it lightly. ¡°Please? Just take a deep breath, Kinn, you know somewhere very deep down and hidden inside you, you actually like your cousin a tiny little bit.¡± Now both Kinn and Vegas have to snort because that sounds more like Porsche¡¯s wishful thinking than reality. ¡°Just give me the damn information already, Kinn. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I leave.¡± Vegas starts drumming his fingers on the table again. He does not like being here, it reminds him too much of the life he¡¯s been running away from since he became an adult. Kinn gives him an icy look. The sins of the fathers. Sometimes Vegas wonders if he and Kinn would have been close if only they had been born into different, more normal, families. Porsche pokes Kinn in the side and gives him an encouraging look. Honestly, Vegas can¡¯t understand what on earth Porsche sees in Kinn? How those two fell in love remains a mystery to him. Luckily, Kinn has the support of his father, something that Vegas can only dream about. One more reason for him to hate Kinn. ¡°His name is Bay Thanapon Santisakul,¡± Kinn finally decides to tell him, with great reluctance. ¡°He is¡­ was¡­ an active bodyguard assigned to Kim, but he didn¡¯t report back from his last vacation. Tell me what happened to him.¡± ¡°He¡¯s dead.¡± And since Kinn and Porsche are both giving him an irritated look he adds: ¡°He was murdered in a rather gruesome way, but I don¡¯t believe it is in any way related to the family business.¡± ¡°Are you sure? Give me the details.¡± Kinn is all business now. He was born for this role, has fully embraced it, and it shows. While waiting for Vegas to elaborate, he plays absently with the family ring on his finger. The ring that should rightfully belong to Vegas, or so he has heard a thousand times from his father. Vegas hates those rings and what they represent. He hates the whole family business with a passion. ¡°This is an active murder investigation, Kinn. Family or not, you know I can¡¯t tell you the details.¡± Vegas knows Kinn won¡¯t like hearing this. The Theerapanyakul men always think they¡¯re above the law. ¡°How can you be sure that this wasn¡¯t done by any of the rival families or our international partners?¡± Porsche must be holding Kinn¡¯s hand underneath the table; this is the only explanation why Kinn is staying this calm and not exploding into Vegas¡¯ face. ¡°Have you considered the possible involvement of the Yakuza or the Triads?¡± Vegas sighs. Hopefully the food will arrive soon. ¡°Neither the Yakuza nor the Triads have the same MO as this murder case. So I ruled them out.¡± ¡°You said the murder was gruesome. And you know how ruthless the Yakuza and the Triads can be. Even the Russians have turned rather brutal these days. The days of the honourable Cosa Nostra are long gone. So how can you be sure it wasn¡¯t them?¡± Kinn reminds him calmly. ¡°Because none of them would flay their victim and arrange him as an art object with flowers.¡± Vegas is running out of patience. He doesn¡¯t like being treated like an idiot; he is good at his job. ¡°Oh.¡± Porsche turns a bit pale. ¡°I remember Bay, he was part of my detail a few times¡­¡± This sweet summer child. Porsche has the remarkable ability to cling on to his remaining innocence even while being fully integrated into the Mafia. He simply refuses to believe how cruel people can be to each other, and Vegas hates reminding him of the harsh reality. ¡°Trust me,¡± he tells Kinn. ¡°This is really not related to the family business. There are plenty of seriously disturbed people in this city who unfortunately do things like this without being connected to organised crime.¡± Thankfully the food arrives at this moment, and there is a lull in the conversation until the waiter is gone again. Vegas takes a careful bite from the exotic looking dish he ordered, and it is surprisingly good. Well, for that amount of money it better be delicious. For a while they eat in silence. Then Porsche decides to give the whole thing with small talk another try. ¡°So, how¡¯s therapy going?¡± Vegas nearly chokes on his food, and then glares daggers at his friend. ¡°I don¡¯t want to talk about it.¡± ¡°It seems to be rather successful.¡± Of course Kinn decides to join the conversation; he can see that Vegas is uncomfortable and that makes him curious. ¡°You seem more mellow these days, Vegas.¡± Vegas takes his fork, flips it around and drives it into the wooden surface of the table with force. Porsche blinks in alarm and Vegas gives Kinn a very fake sweet smile. ¡°Mellow enough for you? I don¡¯t want to talk about it. And don¡¯t even try calling my therapist again. You stay out of my life, and I stay out of yours.¡± Kinn looks completely unbothered, he just smirks. ¡°Touchy subject, Vegas? ¡°You want that fork in your hand, cousin?¡± Vegas counters. ¡°I¡¯d like to see you try¡­¡± Kinn smiles darkly, a challenge in his eyes. Vegas hand closes around the handle of the fork. Bring it on. As far as he knows, there is a hospital nearby, and maybe Kinn needs to be taught another lesson. Just like with the steak knife back then. Then Kinn suddenly does a little jump in his chair and draws in a startled breath, his eyes flying to Porsche who is the picture of innocence next to him, but with the devil in his eyes. ¡°Ai Kinn¡­ you want to rethink that?¡± Porsche suggests sweetly to his boyfriend. ¡°I think you might have use for that hand later today¡­¡± And Kinn does another little jump, coupled with a yelp, and blushes furiously. ¡°Oh, for crying out loud¡­ Seriously? Right here at the restaurant? Should I take a peek under the table or will I go blind?¡± Vegas shakes his head in disbelief. ¡°I¡¯m eating. Can you rein it in, please? Or go to another room?¡± Porsche starts laughing, and Vegas rolls his eyes. The moment of tension is gone again. Porsche is rather impressive as a buffer between him and Kinn, coming to think of it. And for the rest of the meal they manage to remain civil to each other, which is even more impressive.
One afternoon Vegas is having coffee high up on the rooftop of the police station. By chance he discovered a broken lock on an access door a few years ago, and now this is his own private sanctuary. He comes here to de-stress. It¡¯s relatively quiet up here and most importantly, there are no other people. The cafeteria is too crowded for his liking and it just feels wrong to occupy a whole table all by himself since people avoid sitting next to him. But up here he can relax. There are the typical ventilation shafts and outlets; it¡¯s an older building that even has a decorative, low stone balustrade surrounding the edge of the roof. From far below you can hear the sound of the cars in the busy streets, but up here it¡¯s mostly the wind and some birds keeping him company. He leans against a ventilation shaft, sips his coffee from a paper cup, and allows his thoughts to drift. Since they have a name for John Doe, their investigation has picked up pace again. Tem was rather surprised, when Vegas recently told him that the tattoo was the final clue in finding out the identity of their victim #2. Which is technically true; Vegas just omitted telling Tem and Pete the exact meaning of that tattoo, and about his subsequent meeting with Kinn. Now, Tem is doing a deep dive into the background of their victim, so he will find out soon enough that the dead guy was connected to the Theerapanyakul family. It remains to be seen what Tem will do with this information. ¡°I should have known I would find you up here.¡± Vegas looks up and sees Tem strolling towards him, also holding a cup of coffee. ¡°Are we crowding you too much? It must be difficult for you to work in a room stuck with the two of us. You always were more of a lone wolf.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not that bad.¡± Vegas smiles at his friend and shrugs. ¡°Both of you are easy to get along with. I have gotten used to you two.¡± ¡°Good to know.¡± Tem is fiddling with his coffee cup¡ªhe does that when he¡¯s nervous. Vegas is so well attuned to Tem¡¯s body language after all these years of being partners and friends, that he can read him pretty well. After a while Tem finally decides to speak up, but this is going in a direction that Vegas didn¡¯t expect at all. ¡°What is going on between you and your therapist?¡± Well, shit. Vegas can feel himself tense. Has he been this obvious? Maybe Tem is just fishing. ¡°Hmmm? What do you mean?¡± ¡°I want to know what is going on between you and Pete.¡± Tem¡¯s hand clenches around the coffee cup and then relaxes again. ¡°He¡¯s my therapist. I am having mandated anger management therapy with him. And he¡¯s been assigned to handle this case with me¡ªus¡ªthat¡¯s all.¡± Vegas stares at his own coffee mug, trying to sound very casual as he answers the question. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. Tem snorts with disbelief. ¡°Seriously Vegas¡­ This is me you are talking to. You really think I won¡¯t call you out on this bullshit? Let me ask you again: What¡¯s going on between the two of you?¡± Vegas stalls by drinking the rest of his coffee. He does not like the direction this talk is going. ¡°Just drop it, Tem. There is nothing going on.¡± ¡°Nothing? You think I am blind?¡± Tem moves away a few steps, then turns around and looks accusingly at Vegas. ¡°Are you having a fling with him?¡± Shit. Tem sounds upset, and that in turn makes Vegas nervous. They just patched up their differences¡ªhe doesn¡¯t want another obstacle between them. ¡°Can you please drop it, Tem? There is nothing to talk about. I am not having a fling with him.¡± But Tem is watching him closely, and he must have seen something on Vegas¡¯ face or in his body language, because he starts shaking his head in shocked disbelief. ¡°Oh my God¡­ you are sleeping with him.¡± ¡°Tem!¡± Vegas gives him a sharp look. ¡°Stop it. I mean it. I don¡¯t want to talk about this any more, I already told you I am not having a fling with him.¡± But Tem is beyond listening to Vegas. He throws his paper coffee mug to the side, the disbelief on his face turning slowly into anger. ¡°I can¡¯t believe it¡­ all these years¡­ If I had a penny for all the times you told me that you don¡¯t mix work with pleasure¡­ you are such a fucking hypocrite, Vegas!¡± ¡°Shut up, Tem!¡± Now Vegas is getting angry as well. Mostly at himself, because Tem is essentially right, he¡¯s a hypocrite. He¡¯s going against his own rules. He knows it¡¯s wrong but he keeps doing it anyway. ¡°The hell I will!¡± Tem starts pacing back and forth on the roof. ¡°All these years¡­ What the hell is it about him that made you break your rule? All these years¡­ I just can¡¯t believe it.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not going to talk to you about this, you are being absurd!¡± Vegas throws away his paper coffee mug too, and turns to leave. Best to get out of here before they say something that can¡¯t be taken back. ¡°Where the hell do you think you are going, we¡¯re not finished yet!¡± Tem darts forward and grabs Vegas¡¯ arm. ¡°I deserve an answer. You owe me!¡± ¡°I owe you shit!¡± Vegas yanks his arm free, clenches his hands into fists and turns to glare at Tem. ¡°Now drop it!¡± But Tem is so upset by now he isn¡¯t listening. ¡°Yes, you owe me! You kept throwing that stupid rule of yours in my face for all these years as a fucking excuse not to take things further, and now you suddenly declare it null and void and you expect me to just stand on the sidelines and watch you walk off into the sunshine with someone else?!¡± Dammit! They¡¯ve been dancing around this issue for as long as they¡¯ve known each other, for as long as they¡¯ve been friends. Both of them have been very careful not to straight out confront the elephant in the room, but now Tem is throwing all caution to the wind, and Vegas is not ready for this conversation at all. ¡°Please stop, Tem,¡± Vegas pleads with him. ¡°I thought we had an unspoken agreement.¡± ¡°Agreement, my ass! I never agreed to any of this, you forced me to put my feelings on hold because of your irrational fear of your father. Dammit Vegas, can you be honest for once? If it weren¡¯t for your stupid rule we would have been living together for years!¡± Vegas cringes visibly because it is true. Or rather, it was true before he met Pete, because Pete changed everything. No matter what he says next, Tem is going to end up getting hurt, and it sucks. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. It was never my intention to hurt you or hold you back or anything. I didn¡¯t ask you to wait for me, I thought you understood. Maybe there was something, a spark, between us at some point, but I thought both of us agreed to keep things professional between us¡­ that being friends is enough?¡± ¡°How can you be so fucking oblivious, Vegas?¡± Tem kicks a ventilation shaft in frustration. ¡°Being friends is a great foundation, but I always wanted more. And if you¡¯re honest to yourself, so did you, until you ran into your therapist. What the hell has changed? Has your father suddenly turned all supportive? No? Then why does the ¡®No work flings¡¯ rule not apply to Pete?¡± ¡°How many times do I have to tell you, I am not having a fling with Pete!¡± Vegas is getting so frustrated that he¡¯s raising his voice. Thankfully they¡¯re alone up here, because Tem is not exactly quiet either. ¡°So you didn¡¯t have sex but something else happened, right?¡± He watches Vegas closely and narrows his eyes. ¡°Yeah, something definitely happened. Damn, Vegas¡­ You¡¯re making out with him when you didn¡¯t even allow for us to kiss? You¡¯re such a jerk.¡± He marches back to where Vegas is standing and pokes an index finger into his chest. ¡°Why? Just tell me why?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know, dammit!¡± Frustrated and feeling miserable for hurting Tem like this, Vegas just shrugs helplessly. ¡°I am sorry. I truly am.¡± He reaches out and takes Tem¡¯s hand, squeezing it gently. ¡°It just happened. I don¡¯t even want to be attracted to him. I don¡¯t have a fucking clue what¡¯s happening to me. I am sorry.¡± Tem closes his eyes briefly, fighting for composure. He¡¯s such a cheerful person normally; it hurts to see him like this. ¡°If you¡¯re already breaking your rule¡­ why can¡¯t you break the rule for me as well? I deserve my chance too. Please?¡± ¡°You¡¯re both driving me insane.¡± Vegas¡¯ frustration just keeps growing. ¡°I don¡¯t want to break the rule for either of you. Nothing has changed. My father is still going to kill anyone I get involved with. You think I just have this rule for fun? You think I like this? You think I want to live my life like this? I¡¯m just trying to keep all of you safe, Tem. And none of you is listening to me. You all just keep pushing me and pushing me¡­ I hate it.¡± ¡°Vegas¡­¡± Tem looks at the hand that Vegas is still holding on to, and it¡¯s clear that he is deeply conflicted. ¡°I hear you. But if I don¡¯t keep pushing, you will spend the rest of your life alone, and I think you deserve better.¡± He pauses briefly, the adds, ¡°And so do I. I want you to give me a chance. Give us a chance.¡± ¡°¡­ Tem¡­¡± The refusal to listen to him is driving Vegas nuts. He might as well be talking to a wall. ¡°Let¡¯s just be friends. I really don¡¯t want to ruin this friendship.¡± ¡°Friends with benefits then¡­¡± And before Vegas has a chance to react, Tem leans in and plants his lips on Vegas¡¯ mouth. Bloody hell. At first Vegas is too stunned to react. He never expected Tem to act this way. Never. They have flirted. There were even times when they were holding hands, all in secret of course. But they never ever took it any further. Until today. Bloody hell. Vegas wants to jerk away but strangely enough he doesn¡¯t move. Instead he can feel himself calmly analysing the situation. Tem is kissing him. His lips are dry and soft and warm. It is a nice kiss, he supposes. He has kissed many people; this is one of the better kisses. Nice, but still lacking something. These past years he has often wondered what it would be like, kissing Tem. Now he knows. Or does he? He¡¯s confused. He would have thought that kissing Tem would feel different, that there would be more to a kiss between them, since they have a deeper connection, and yet¡­ there is something missing here¡­ and even when he now kisses Tem back, just to see if that changes anything, it stays the same. Tem seems to be enjoying the kiss but Vegas feels nothing. There is no spark. No live wire tingle. No goosebumps. No mind-numbing rush of lust. This is just another kiss. One of many. Nothing special. It doesn¡¯t even come close to how it feels when he¡¯s kissing Pete¡­ ¡°Are you having fun, Vegas?¡± Speaking of the devil. Vegas¡¯ eyes shoot open and he hastily pulls away from Tem, who is also startled. Oh shit. Shit shit shit. Leaning against the wall by the door to the staircase is Pete, his arms crossed in front of his chest, looking all pleasant and casual and lethal. Vegas saw a documentary about great cats once. How they stalk their prey. The way they freeze mid-motion, then glide forward again. The utter stillness before they pounce. This is what Pete reminds him of right now. There is the same kind of utter stillness to him. Vegas¡¯ danger sense goes into overdrive, hitting him hard with an adrenaline rush that makes his heart race. Shit. He knows that mask Pete is wearing, the calm and collected psychologist, unbothered by anything. The eyes though¡­ they burn. The look in them is so cold and distant it makes Vegas decidedly uneasy. Fuck. This is a screw-up of epic proportions. ¡°This isn¡¯t what you probably think it is¡­¡± he starts to explain, in the wild hope of placating Pete somehow, but he¡¯s interrupted by Tem, who has shaken off the after-effects of the kiss, and is now turning around, facing Pete angrily. ¡°Yes, he¡¯s having fun. Why don¡¯t you give us some privacy, we weren¡¯t done yet!¡± Tem glares at Pete, brimming with barely suppressed hostility. Vegas¡¯ breath hitches. If there is one thing he¡¯s fairly sure of, it¡¯s that Pete needs to be handled with utmost care right now unless they want him to pounce, with potentially disastrous consequences. ¡°Tem¡­¡± he tries to warn his friend, not daring to move an inch himself. He really does not want to provoke Pete the predator. At the same moment he becomes aware that he is still holding Tem¡¯s hand, and drops it like a hot potato. Shit. His eyes dart over to the door and yeah, Pete has noticed he was holding hands with Tem. He¡¯s so screwed. And at the same time he blames Pete for this whole mess. If Pete hadn¡¯t messed with his emotions this way, then maybe he wouldn¡¯t have decided to try and see how a kiss with Tem feels like. Shit, this is all so damn confusing and messed up! ¡°Is that so? Would you like some privacy, Vegas?¡± Pete¡¯s voice is so gentle¡ªway too gentle¡ªit sends goosebumps of fear down Vegas¡¯ spine. Danger danger danger! He has seen angry Pete before, during their rather memorable drive that almost ended in a car crash, but this Pete ¡­ holy shit, this Pete would have grabbed the steering wheel and sent them straight into the concrete wall at full speed. Before Vegas can decide about how to best answer this question, Tem escalates things by giving Pete an aggressive look and then slinging his arm around Vegas¡¯ waist. ¡°Yes, he does. Just go away,¡± he growls. What the fuck is wrong with Tem?! He¡¯s a police officer, has he completely forgotten how to read the room? Does he not see the dark way Pete is looking at him?! Vegas just can¡¯t believe what is happening and tries to shrug off the arm with an ever growing sense of urgency. Must not provoke the predator! Pete clicks his tongue in displeasure, very pointedly looking at where Tem is touching Vegas, and then gives the other man an icy look. ¡°Take your fucking hands off him, or I will throw you off this roof.¡± Oh shit, here we go. Tem huffs with indignation and is about to take a step towards Pete but Vegas grabs him and yanks him backward while at the same time placing himself between Tem and Pete, as a buffer. It¡¯s only when he meets Pete¡¯s dark and furious eyes that he realises he has made matters worse. Aww hell¡­ he was just trying to protect Tem but he should have known that this would piss off Pete even more. If murderous intent could materialise into human form, it would surely look like Pete right now. ¡°Time-out!¡± Vegas yells and hates that his voice is thin with fear. ¡°Tem, stop touching me. Take a deep breath and calm down! Pete¡­ Chill, all right? Just chill¡­ I am really sorry for all this, please calm down.¡± Once again, he might as well be invisible. Tem steps up right next to Vegas, glaring openly at Pete and making all of Vegas¡¯ attempts to act as a buffer null and void. ¡°You have no right to dictate to me when or when not to touch Vegas. We¡¯ve known each other for years, we have been together for years, you got no right to interfere with our relationship!¡± As soon as the word ¡®relationship¡¯ comes out of Tem¡¯s mouth, Vegas can see how Pete¡¯s eyes narrow ever so slightly. ¡°You are delusional.¡± His voice is so controlled that it only increases Vegas¡¯ anxiety. ¡°There is no relationship. At least not with you.¡± ¡°Oh, bloody hell, I am right here, stop talking about me as if I have no say in the matter!¡± Vegas is really getting tired of both of them. ¡°Will the two of you stop it already?! What is this, a fucking TV drama?! I¡¯m not in a relationship with either of you! I don¡¯t have feelings for either of you! I don¡¯t mix work and pleasure¡ªhow often to I have to repeat myself before both of you finally get it?! Why do you have to make things so damn complicated? I just want to be friends or work colleagues, is that too much to ask for?¡± He throws his hands up in exasperation. ¡°Vegas¡­¡± Tem gives him a pleading look. ¡°Why do you keep lying to yourself? I know you have feelings for me¡­ you have had feelings for me for years.¡± This elicits an eerie chuckle from Pete. And then the big cat moves. Not towards Tem, as Vegas had feared, but instead Pete calmly strolls¡ªglides¡ªacross the roof, towards the balustrade. ¡°As I mentioned before, completely delusional.¡± His tone is all conversational, ordinary really, but Vegas¡¯ danger sense screeches in an ever increasing volume. ¡°You think you know Vegas and his feelings so well, don¡¯t you Tem? How about a little demonstration? Aren¡¯t you curious about how Vegas really feels deep down?¡± He casts a sideways glance at Vegas and smiles darkly. ¡°I think Vegas himself might need a little reminder about that, so that he doesn¡¯t do stupid things like kissing people he has no business kissing.¡± Tem growls with anger but Vegas freezes under that look, the feeling of impending doom increasing by the second. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he croaks, barely able to get the words out because his throat is constricting with fear. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Pete. Please¡­ whatever you are planning to do¡­ please don¡¯t¡­¡± ¡°Oh, Vegas¡­ I fear an ¡®I¡¯m sorry¡¯ simply won¡¯t cut it this time.¡± And with that Pete effortlessly hops up on the balustrade, slowly rising to stand in utter stillness on the narrow stone railing. Like a panther balancing on a tree branch, waiting for its prey, ready to pounce. Vegas¡¯ heart is about to jump right out of his chest upon seeing that. They are twelve stories up from the ground! Twelve stories! This is madness. He has a violent flashback to seeing their witness toppling off the roof, the helplessness he was feeling at that moment, the way the head burst like¡­ Vegas makes a sound that is hard to define. It just sounds raw. Somewhere beside him Tem is gasping in shock: ¡°What the hell are you doing, are you insane?! Get down from there!¡± But Pete isn¡¯t moving at all. He just stands there as if this is not a big deal. As if he balances like this every day. As if it doesn¡¯t matter that he¡¯s several stories up from the ground. As if he doesn¡¯t have a care in the world. He even closes his eyes for a moment, a terrible long moment, and Vegas expects him to lose his balance any second while he does it. It¡¯s terrifying. Vegas is petrified with terror. He has never been as scared as this in his whole life. Never. ¡°Please come down again, please¡­¡± he pleads hoarsely, inching towards Pete. Everything else on the rooftop disappears; he focuses completely on the man on the balustrade, who now slowly opens his dark eyes again, cocks his head to the side and gives Vegas a distant smile that doesn¡¯t reach his fathomless eyes. ¡°You¡¯ve been very naughty, Vegas. I have been so patient with you, but I think you went a little bit too far this time. Even my patience isn¡¯t endless.¡± Pete shifts from one foot to the other, rolling his shoulders like a boxer warming up for a match. Behind him, the abyss. ¡°I think I have grown tired with you running away from your own feelings. It seems you really weren¡¯t paying attention when I warned you the last time about making stupid decisions.¡± ¡°¡­Pete¡­¡± Vegas¡¯ whole body tenses up, his level of anxiety so beyond anything he has ever experienced before that he has trouble breathing and is starting to get dizzy, because his heart is beating so fast. Pete simply smiles at him, the dimple showing. It is a terrible dark smile. ¡°Let me remind you: You get to live with the consequences of your decisions.¡± And then he just ¡­ Steps Backward Off The Damn Balustrade Time slows to a crawl. Vegas screams. He knows he is screaming. He doesn¡¯t hear his own voice though, he hears nothing. He is caught in a bubble of total shocked silence; his brain shutting down everything that isn¡¯t essential, and hearing isn¡¯t essential. Moving is. Vegas feels like he¡¯s running in slow motion; as if he¡¯s stuck in molasses, the very air molecules holding him back, slowing every movement down to an agonising crawl. And Pete is going down. He¡¯s falling off the roof right before Vegas¡¯ eyes. Twelve stories! Inconceivable! Vegas has a moment of crystal clarity. An epiphany. This is probably exactly what Pete was trying to provoke. Well, congratulations, it worked. Vegas loves Pete. He loves him with every fibre of his being. He loves Pete. Pete, who looks eerily calm as he disappears from sight even as Vegas is fighting against time itself to reach him before it is too late. And he knows he is screaming, but there is no sound. One moment he¡¯s halfway across the roof, the next he throws himself against the low balustrade, leaning forward and over the edge, hands stretched out and clawing at the thin air because Pete¡¯s gone, he was too late, he¡¯s gone, and Vegas knows he¡¯s still screaming because his throat is raw and hurting but there is still no sound. This can¡¯t be happening. This is his worst nightmare come true. He cannot be loosing yet another person he loves. This can¡¯t be happening. Except¡­ There is a tiny ledge, a short distance below the edge of the roof. Just for decoration purposes, no deeper than a hand¡¯s length. And hanging from that ledge is Pete, fingers white with the sheer effort it takes to hold on to it. Underneath him is nothing; he¡¯s just dangling there. Twelve stories up in the air. He lifts his head to look up at Vegas. There are beads of sweat on his forehead, the strain he¡¯s under clearly visible in the way he has narrowed his eyes and clenches his jaw. Their eyes meet and Pete gives him a ghost of a smile, only to scramble for a better hold on the ledge as his fingers are starting to slip. Vegas doesn¡¯t even think, he¡¯s driven by pure instinct. He leans forward and down, his whole upper body precariously over the balustrade, reaches out¡ªstretches¡­ stretches¡ªand snaps his fingers around Pete¡¯s wrists like manacles. Holding on for dear life. If Pete goes down, so will he. Letting go is not an option. And they¡¯re both slipping; Pete is having trouble holding on to that ledge, and Vegas feels himself loosing his balance since most of his body is hanging over the balustrade. Neither of them is breaking eye contact though. Vegas is still caught in his bubble of stress-induced silence, but all of a sudden he feels calm. He is with Pete. Nothing else matters. Then something¡ªsomeone¡ªgrabs Vegas around the waist and pulls. It hurts. Vegas¡¯ shoulder joints and arm muscles are screaming under the strain of holding on to Pete and trying to pull him upwards. If this is supposed to work, Pete has to let go of that ledge, they both know it. Through the white noise Vegas hears someone behind him shouting; apparently his hearing is coming back. But that is secondary, because Pete chooses this moment to give him a brilliant smile while releasing his hold on the ledge. The only thing keeping him from falling to certain death now being Vegas¡¯ hands encircling his wrists in a death grip. Vegas suspends his breath. He holds on for dear life because Pete is his life. Someone¡ªTem¡ªis shouting for him to let go but Vegas would rather die than do that. Together they pull and drag and somehow they manage to pull Pete back up. A final heave and then they all topple backwards onto the safety of the roof again. Tem lies on his back a bit to the side, breathing hard, Vegas takes note of that out of the corner of his eye, and then he has already forgotten about his partner again. His whole attention is centred solely on Pete, who has collapsed on the ground next to him; they¡¯re still tethered together because Vegas hasn¡¯t let go of his wrists yet. He can¡¯t. He has no control over his hands. He clenches Pete¡¯s wrists so tightly that there will be bruises; he knows it is irrational, but he just can¡¯t let go. He can still see Pete dangling from that ledge before his inner eye. That image has burned itself into his retina. He can¡¯t let go. He needs to hold on. Both of them are breathing hard. Then Vegas starts trembling. It starts with a shudder, then it turns into a full body tremble. He¡¯s shaking all over. This is probably the shock finally catching up with him. Pete sits up with some effort, and since Vegas is trembling so violently, he can¡¯t maintain his grip and has to let go of Pete. This in turn triggers another wave of anxiety. What if Pete is going to jump again? A mix between a terrified moan and a whimper escapes Vegas; somehow he struggles to his hands and knees and crawls the short distance over to Pete, throwing his arms around him, holding on as tight as he can. ¡°Don¡¯t leave me¡­ don¡¯t leave me¡­ please don¡¯t leave me¡­¡± He buries his face in Pete¡¯s neck and just begs, whispers, pleads. He feels broken. He can¡¯t even cry. Vegas has cracked and shattered, he¡¯s waving the white flag. Pete has won. With a deep sigh, Pete leans into the embrace and slips his arms around Vegas¡¯ waist, holding on to him as well. ¡°Look what you made me do¡­¡± he whispers quietly, while rubbing his face against Vegas¡¯ hair. ¡°Seeing you with him made me snap. What are you doing to me?¡± Pete swallows hard. ¡°You are mine. Mine,¡± he whispers harshly. ¡°I don¡¯t share.¡± Yours, thinks Vegas. Forever. And he hugs him even tighter, whispering brokenly. ¡°Just don¡¯t leave me¡­ don¡¯t leave me¡­ ¡± ¡°Holy shit! You¨C you¡¯re completely insane!¡± Tem seems to have gotten back his ability to speak. He sounds very upset, but Vegas is still totally focused on Pete, clinging to him and running his hands over him to reassure himself that Pete is real and very much alive. He just needs to be sure, really sure. He has no time for Tem right now. And Pete simply ignores Tem. ¡°Just look at what you did to Vegas, you nutcase! Did you have to scare him like this?!¡± Tem continues. ¡°How could you do something like this to another person?! I thought you liked him? Are you even human?! Vegas¡­¡± Now Tem¡¯s voice has started to tremble. ¡°Vegas¡­ are you all right?¡± No, Vegas is not all right. Far from it. But he has Pete. Pete is going to fix it. Vegas holds on to Pete, taking deep shuddering gulps of breath, still trembling all over from shock. And Pete strokes his back, mumbling something under his breath, words Vegas can¡¯t understand but that are soothing anyway. Simply hearing Pete¡¯s voice right now is enough. Breathing in his scent. Feeling the warmth of his body. He loves him so much. He loves him and he just cannot bear to loose him. ¡°¡­ Vegas¡­?¡± Tem waits for an answer but Vegas isn¡¯t able to communicate right now. Eventually Tem seems to give up. Vegas can hear him shuffling around nearby, and then steps walking away. It feels like an eternity until he isn¡¯t trembling anymore. Pete is carding his fingers through Vegas¡¯ hair, giving comfort with his touch. They sit like this for the longest time, then finally Pete sighs. ¡°I need to get going. I have an appointment with a patient this afternoon. Are you going to be all right now?¡± No. He is not. But Vegas nods anyway, then has to clear his throat before he manages to speak. Speaking hurts; his throat feels raw from all the screaming he apparently did. ¡°Sure. I¡¯ll be fine. Just go see your patient.¡± It takes a lot of willpower to release his hold on Pete. As soon as they do not touch anymore, Vegas is hit by another wave of anxiety, but he grits his teeth and shoulders through it. Pete looks exhausted but once again Vegas can¡¯t really read his body language. He knows that he himself must look like hell. He¡¯s completely drained. How Pete can even think of working the rest of the day is a mystery to him. Pete gets up and gives Vegas a faint smile. ¡°I¡¯ll see you around.¡± And then he just ¡­ leaves! Vegas almost loses it again and runs after him as he walks away. Almost. He gets himself under control at the last second. But damn, it is difficult. He¡¯s so messed up now, Pete has broken him completely, with an cruelty that is rather shocking in its effectiveness. And now he¡¯s expecting Vegas to put himself back together enough to function, it seems. But Vegas doesn¡¯t even know where to start looking for all his shattered pieces¡ªhow is he supposed to put himself back together all by himself? And so he sits there on the roof for a long time, hugging himself until he feels reasonably stable to get up, walk down the stairs and drive back home. Because continuing to work is completely out of the question. But it still feels as if he has left a large part of himself on that rooftop. Shattered into a million tiny pieces that will never be found again.
It¡¯s evening, and Vegas is so damn tired, but he can¡¯t fall asleep. The bedroom is dark, it¡¯s quiet, and he lies in his large bed, staring at the ceiling. He¡¯s so tired he can¡¯t even think straight, his thoughts are a rumbled mess, skipping through his brain in an erratic pattern. The clock is ticking, time flows by, and he still can¡¯t sleep. He feels lost. And abandoned. And insecure. And hurt. And anxious. And confused. And in love. And scared. And broken. Nothing fits, he can¡¯t piece himself back together, nothing matches, everything is right but also wrong, and nothing makes sense anymore. When the doorbell rings he welcomes it, almost. Anything¡¯s better than this limbo he¡¯s in. Vegas doesn¡¯t even bother to get dressed, he goes to answer the door barefoot in his boxers and a t-shirt. He should probably be wondering who is coming to visit him at this time of the night, but he simply can¡¯t be bothered to think. It¡¯s as if he¡¯s sleepwalking. When he opens the door he doesn¡¯t even feel a spark of surprise when he sees Pete. Pete looks like hell. He seems to be just as tired as Vegas, and very grumpy. ¡°I¡¯m exhausted,¡± he declares and walks right past Vegas into the apartment. ¡°I am so damn exhausted. And I am tired. And I can¡¯t sleep.¡± Pete kicks off his shoes and then shuffles off towards the living room. Vegas blinks, feeling a bit dazed, then closes the door and simply follows him. Pete bypasses the living room and heads right into the bedroom. He takes off his socks, throwing them carelessly to the side, then unbuttons his pants and shrugs out of them as well. Now he¡¯s only wearing boxers and a t-shirt, just like Vegas. ¡°I hate this,¡± Pete complains. Vegas watches, wondering if he perhaps fell asleep after all and is now dreaming. ¡°I really don¡¯t like feeling like this. And I don¡¯t really want to be here either.¡± And with that Pete crawls into bed, grabs a pillow and claims a part of the large blanket, making himself comfortable. Vegas blinks again. But in the end he¡¯s too tired to wrap his mind around this strange situation. Pete is in his bed. Fine. Whatever. And with a deep sigh he crawls into bed as well. Thankfully that blanket is large enough for two people, he doesn¡¯t have the energy to go and find a second blanket for himself. And then they¡¯re both just lying there on their back, on separate sides of the bed, staring at the ceiling again. Together. Minutes pass. Sleep still doesn¡¯t come. Both sigh deeply at the same time. ¡°I am so very tired,¡± Vegas says quietly. ¡°Me too,¡± Pete replies. They sigh again. Then Vegas gives in and scoots over to Pete¡¯s side. Pete moves too, and they meet in the middle of the bed. Somehow they manage to arrange their arms and legs so that they¡¯re wrapped around each other in a comfortable way. Pete decides that Vegas¡¯ shoulder will do just fine as a pillow. Everything slots into place. There, this is how it is supposed to be. When they sigh again this time, it is with contentment. Vegas nuzzles his face against Pete¡¯s hair. Perfect. And within five minutes both of them are finally asleep. Chapter 12 ¡°But I don¡¯t want to go among mad people,¡± Alice remarked. ¡°Oh, you can¡¯t help that,¡± said the Cat: ¡°We¡¯re all mad here. I¡¯m mad. You¡¯re mad.¡± When Vegas wakes up, Pete is gone. Was he even really here last night? Perhaps it was a dream after all? Wishful thinking? He stares at the ceiling and just wants to pull the blanket over his head and go back to sleep. Hibernation sounds like a really good plan right now, being able to sleep away the next couple of months would be so nice. Damn, he¡¯s doing it again. Fantasising about running away when things get tough. Because they¡¯re tough. It feels as if he¡¯s carrying this enormous weight on his shoulders all the time that¡¯s threatening to crush him any moment. His family situation is stressing him out. Work is stressing him out. Pete is stressing him out. Vegas wants a fucking break from all the emotional turmoil, is that too much to ask for? With the new day comes clarity. Vegas takes a long hot shower, the water cascading over him while he leans against the wall and takes a good look at his current situation. He isn¡¯t an idiot, he knows that this thing between him and Pete is far from healthy. They keep hurting each other and themselves deliberately, although Pete is really taking matters to new extremes. What he did yesterday was not okay, and that is an understatement. Vegas can still taste the fear in his mouth. It leaves a bitter taste. To be honest, it makes him really angry, and that in itself is also a big red flag. Love shouldn¡¯t make you angry, right? He¡¯s never seen Porsche this angry with Kinn, and they¡¯re basically the only relationship role model he can refer to. But he¡¯s so damn angry with Pete for the stunt he pulled because it shows that deep down Pete doesn¡¯t care all that much for Vegas. Tem was probably right, who does something like this to someone they like? And since Vegas just had the fact that he is in love with this disaster of a man shoved rather rudely in his face, it makes him angry at Pete and also with himself. What does this say about him, that he falls for someone who is so very obviously toxic? Vegas wants ¡®normal¡¯ so badly and what does he get? A master of mind games. Maybe he picks the wrong people to fall for because of his fucked up family? Who knows. The worst part is his uncertainty about what Pete feels for him. He knows that Pete is attracted to him, and apparently rather possessive, but is that all? He can¡¯t read Pete; he has no clue what he feels, if he feels something more profound for Vegas. But one thing Vegas knows for sure: giving Pete too much power over him would be very unwise. The fact is, Vegas simply does not trust Pete with his heart. Falling in love should be a wonderful moment in his life but instead it is stressing him out to no end. He sighs deeply and turns up the water temperature even more. What a wicked game you play, to make me feel this way What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you What a wicked thing to say, you never felt this way What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you And I don¡¯t wanna fall in love No, I don¡¯t wanna fall in love With you¡­
Vegas doesn¡¯t look forward to going to work. Not at all. The thought of being in a confined space with both Pete and Tem is terrifying. It feels like being tossed into an active battlefield, with mines strewn all over it to make everything even more challenging. He just wants to be able to work this case; he does not have time for these kind of complications, dammit! This is exactly why he did not want to have any work flings! He gets his first taste of how things are going to be when he enters the office and sees that someone has rearranged the furniture overnight. His desk is no longer next to Tem¡¯s desk but has instead been moved across the room into direct proximity to where Pete is sitting. And there is a bright neon Post-it sticker on his computer monitor: ¡°Don¡¯t even think about moving this desk again.¡± Wow. Just ¡­ wow. What is he, a bone to be fought over? Pete is staking his claim and Vegas can already imagine, vividly, how Tem will react to this. What a fucking mess. Time to put his foot down. And so he goes and moves that damn desk¡ªfuck you, Pete¡ªthis time placing it well away from both Tem and Pete. Vegas refuses to play along in this tug-of-war between the two men in his life. Part of Vegas is actually surprised when Tem finally shows up for work. He almost thought that his partner would ask to be reassigned immediately after yesterday¡¯s traumatic rooftop disaster. And as expected, Tem is not taking the new furniture arrangement very well. He enters, see that Vegas¡¯ desk has been moved and curses. Loudly. Vegas looks up from his screen and sighs. Here we go¡­ ¡°¡­and good morning to you too, Tem. Go get a coffee, no use getting all worked up. I moved the desk, I want to sit like this. Accept it and move on. Let¡¯s not turn this office into a war zone, we have work to do.¡± His partner looks as if he wants to argue, but then sighs and changes the topic instead. ¡°Are you all right, Vegas?¡± Tem inquires, with concern in his voice. ¡°I tried to call, but it went straight to voicemail.¡± Vegas sighs inwardly. Of course Tem is concerned; he¡¯s always so damn considerate. His life would be so much easier if he did have feelings for his partner¡ªat least Tem openly shows that he cares about him. But no, Vegas had to go and fall for someone vastly more complicated. ¡°Sorry, the phone must have run out of battery, I didn¡¯t even notice. I¡¯m okay now, thanks for asking.¡± ¡°Are you sure? You looked like hell yesterday. It scared me,¡± Tem admits quietly. ¡°I would have stayed but you were all wrapped up in him¡­ I am sorry, I let you down.¡± Awww hell. Vegas swallows hard because Tem¡¯s showering him with affection, but it¡¯s all wrong; what Vegas needs, what he craves, only Pete can provide. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, Tem. For everything.¡± For a moment Tem appears as if he wants to come closer, but seems to decide it¡¯s best to keep a safe distance, and walks over to his own desk instead. He takes a seat, but he isn¡¯t done talking about yesterday yet. ¡°Are you really sure about this, Vegas? About him?¡± No. Yes. I don¡¯t know. ¡°Sure about what?¡± Vegas leans back in his chair, facing Tem calmly. ¡°Sure about having feelings for him? I think that became abundantly clear yesterday. No use lying to myself about it anymore.¡± And there is a certain amount of bitterness in his voice; he still hasn¡¯t forgiven Pete for putting him through hell. Tem gives him a helpless look that feels like a dagger to Vegas¡¯ heart. He does not like hurting Tem like this, despite everything they¡¯re friends after all. ¡°He¡¯s not good for you, Vegas. You saw what he did. What normal person does something like this? He¡¯s obviously deeply disturbed, surely you can see this as well?¡± ¡°I know, I am not blind,¡± Vegas admits tiredly. ¡°Unfortunately that does not change anything. I still feel the way I feel.¡± ¡°¡­ Vegas¡­¡± ¡°What do you expect me to do?¡± Vegas is frustrated. ¡°You think I can just turn my feelings on and off with a snap of my fingers? I wish it were that simple but it just doesn¡¯t work that way.¡± ¡°It¡¯s just a momentary infatuation, Vegas. If you try really hard you will manage to keep your distance to him,¡± Tem insists desperately. ¡°You are not safe with him.¡± ¡°Tem¡­¡± Vegas sighs. He wonders if he should choose his words with care but then decides against it. Tem deserves nothing but total honesty. ¡°This isn¡¯t a mere infatuation, I am in love with him. Distance isn¡¯t gonna help in this case. Besides, I do not want to stay away from him. Trust me, I tried. It¡¯s not working.¡± The other man cringes visibly, looking deeply hurt. ¡°Well, try harder. He is clearly trying to brainwash you.¡± ¡°I want you to listen closely now. I know you don¡¯t want to hear, because it hurts, but the sooner it sinks in, the better for you.¡± Vegas really wishes he didn¡¯t have to do this. ¡°I am not going to stay away from him. I love Pete. I am aware this whole situation is a mess. It does not change anything though. I still love Pete and I am going to have a ¡®fling¡¯ with him, with all that it entails, no matter what.¡± ¡°Dammit Vegas!¡± Tem seems increasingly frustrated. He searches for a way to convince Vegas, but can¡¯t find the right words. Vegas just shrugs. What else is there to say? The moment Pete jumped off that roof he knew that he would follow him to hell and back. Fighting against it is just a waste of time and energy so he might as well enjoy the ride into madness and pain because damn¡ªthis is going to hurt badly, he knows it. ¡°Just drop it Tem. I¡¯m sorry for hurting your feelings. I truly am. I¡¯m not doing this on purpose, everything just kind of happened, it¡¯s beyond my control. So can we please go back to being partners and friends? I know this is a shitty request, but please? Let¡¯s just solve this case together?¡± Tem is so conflicted, it hurts to see him like this. He clenches his jaw, clearly wanting to argue about this some more, but then the fight drains out of him. ¡°Fine,¡± he mutters, and gives Vegas a rebellious glance. ¡°But I will keep an eye on him and if I see him hurting you again, I won¡¯t stay silent.¡± Good enough for Vegas. A bit of the tension he has felt since waking up this morning subsides. One problem solved, one more to go. Well two, if you count their murder case. The murder case that he should be paying more attention to, if only those two idiots would let him do his job. He gives Tem a curt nod of acknowledgement and then busies himself with work, and so does Tem.
Pete doesn¡¯t show up to work this day. Nor the next day. Or the day after that. He¡¯s gone, not even showing up at Vegas¡¯ apartment. After a couple of days Vegas inquires about him with the administration and is told that Pete had a family emergency and requested leave for a week. Family emergency, my foot. Pete doesn¡¯t have any family¡ªhe told Vegas about growing up in an orphanage. It is more likely that Pete decided to give Vegas some time to cool down. Wisely so, but it still stings. They need to have a talk and drawing out the whole matter isn¡¯t helping at all. Vegas has to admit that it is a lot more peaceful in the office without Pete. The whole atmosphere is calm and relaxed, the way his days used to be like before he met Pete. He wants to relax but as the days go by, he becomes painfully aware that he misses Pete. It¡¯s like a constant ache deep inside of him, as if something vital is missing from his life. He hates feeling like this, Pete isn¡¯t even here and yet has so much power over him. It sucks. Vegas goes running after work, running away from his problems and his feelings. He runs a lot during this week. A lot. And if this isn¡¯t bad enough, there is Tem finding out about the whole Theerapanyakul bodyguard angle as well. ¡°It¡¯s a pure coincidence,¡± Vegas insists. ¡°I talked to Porsche and Kinn about it already. They¡¯re looking into it from their side and will contact us if they find anything. But I¡¯m sure it isn¡¯t connected to the family business. So under no circumstances must any of us do a formal interview with anyone from the family. We absolutely must not draw attention to us, trust me. You know how my family is¡­ especially my uncle and my father.¡± Yes, Tem is aware of Vegas¡¯ complicated relationship with his father. They¡¯ve been extremely careful all these years not to arouse Khun Gun¡¯s suspicion when it comes to their partnership. And so they both decide to keep the Theerapanyakul family out of the official part of the investigation for now. But when Vegas¡¯ phone rings one afternoon and it¡¯s Arm calling, he knows that they¡¯ve run out of time. Damn. ¡°We got another one. I¡¯ll text you the address.¡± Arm sounds strangely excited and Vegas can feel his stomach dropping. Another one. They¡¯re taking too long catching this killer; innocent people are dying because Vegas isn¡¯t doing his job properly. But Arm hasn¡¯t finished talking yet. ¡°Pol and I have started processing the scene¡ªgive us a call when you arrive and I will send Pol out to take you inside. This one¡¯s relatively fresh, so the smell shouldn¡¯t be a problem but please¡­ don¡¯t throw up on my crime scene.¡± It seems Arm really won¡¯t forgive him for puking that one time. Vegas sighs deeply. He doesn¡¯t feel even remotely ready for this. Thankfully, this time he will have Tem tagging along.
Their new crime scene is an abandoned warehouse in yet another rundown industrial area. Derelict buildings, crumbling concrete, shattered windows, barbed wire fences. It¡¯s been nearly two hours since the phone call; traffic was really bad and the drive itself is spent in grim silence between him and Tem. Neither of them is looking forward to this. The weeds are growing high; the whole area reeks of desolation. This neighbourhood is even worse than the last crime scene. There will be no chance for any CCTV footage unless they find a car with a dashboard camera¡ªand even that seems unlikely. Vegas drives through defunct, rusty metal gates and parks beside the CSI van, some other car and a lone police car. Business as usual; this murder isn¡¯t deemed a priority either. It¡¯s afternoon and the humidity is high today, as is the temperature. It hits them in the face as soon as they exit the car. Both Vegas and Tem groan tiredly because they know the crime scene will be hell, unless the warehouse by any chance has air conditioning. From the looks of it, they¡¯re out of luck. Tem texts Arm that they¡¯ve arrived while Vegas takes out his notebook, looks around and jots down his initial thoughts. All the problems between the two of them are forgotten at this moment; they fall back into their old partnership seamlessly, each of them following the crime scene routine that they¡¯ve established through all their years of working together closely. ¡°Arm writes we should go to the backside. There¡¯s an entrance there, and Pol will lead us in.¡± Tem takes a quick drink of water and offers Vegas some as well. They might go without something to drink for hours, best to hydrate now (but not too much, in case they get queasy). Vegas gladly accepts the bottle and drinks while discussing their surroundings with Tem. They take more notes and finally they can¡¯t put it off anymore but head towards the backside of the warehouse. When the two men round the last corner, Vegas freezes in mid-motion, causing Tem to bump into him. Guess who has apparently picked this day and moment to reappear, after being in hiding for a week? Of course Arm called him, too, Vegas should have known. But he thought there was very little chance of Pete showing up. Guess he was wrong. Pete is standing by a graffiti-covered steel door, from the looks of it in the middle of a conversation with Pol, who is already in full CSI outfit. In stark contrast, Pete is wearing black Chinos, and his shirt is something silky and black with a butterfly print. He has once again outdone himself. One look and Vegas¡¯ emotion are all over the place; he doesn¡¯t know if he should growl in anger or sigh with relief. Tem¡¯s hand grabs his shoulder and squeezes and this is just what Vegas needs to keep himself grounded. They¡¯re at work, they have a job to do and there are people here who have no clue about the complicated relationship Vegas has with his therapist. He throws all his issues with Pete into a dark corner of his mind and mentally locks the door to that place. Later. He will deal with all this later. Vegas takes a deep steadying breath and then marches forward, Tem in tow. ¡°Hello Pol. Pete.¡± He nods curtly at both of them, taking great care to resist the urge to stare at Pete, who is giving him a friendly, yet distant smile. ¡°Since everyone¡¯s here, we might as well get started. Here¡¯s how we¡¯re going to do this¡­¡± Vegas starts, and turns to Pete. ¡°I¡¯am going to help you suit up. Don¡¯t take off your mask or gloves at any point in time. If you¡¯re getting queasy or dizzy, let either me or Tem know immediately. Under no circumstances must you throw up on the crime scene. Hold it in and run outside. Oh, and do not touch your face with your gloves. Everything clear so far?¡± Pete nods. He seems intrigued, but otherwise rather calm. Completely unbothered. Maybe a bit excited even. Let¡¯s see how long he can maintain that fa?ade. ¡°You¡¯ll walk behind me at all times, stepping where I have stepped. You will not wander off. You will not touch anything. If you want to take a closer look at something, ask Arm for permission first. You will not get in the way of Arm and Pol working. If you get bored or tired, you tell us and then you can leave. Understood?¡± ¡°Yes, detective. I will do my very best to follow your instructions.¡± Vegas doesn¡¯t believe a word this deceptively meek Pete is saying. ¡°Are you sure about this?¡± Pol asks sceptically, looking from Vegas to Pete. ¡°No, I am not,¡± Vegas admits. If it were up to him, Pete would wait outside, but he remembers Pete¡¯s threat in the car, and doesn¡¯t want to find out to what extremes he¡¯s willing to go to be part of this investigation. After all he already jumped off a fucking roof to prove his point! ¡°But Pete is part of the team, so he¡¯s allowed to tag along this time.¡± ¡°You¡¯re in charge, your decision.¡± Pol shrugs, and then points to a box by the door. ¡°Suit up. When you¡¯re ready, I¡¯ll lead you in.¡± The three of them put on the disposable overalls, shoe covers, masks and gloves. Vegas helps Pete, double checking that he¡¯s wearing everything correctly. They don¡¯t speak more than necessary. They definitely don¡¯t speak about what happened on that roof. They could¡¯ve almost pretend it had never happened, if it weren¡¯t for the very visible bruises around Pete¡¯s wrist. Bruises Vegas put there when he held on to Pete for dear life. Moving on. Vegas can¡¯t allow himself to be distracted right now by personal matters. The heat is oppressive. ¡°Is it a very complex crime scene?¡± he asks Pol, who just shakes his head. ¡°Size-wise it¡¯s much smaller than the last one. We¡¯ve documented the perimeter and the body. Arm is going over the details now.¡± ¡°How bad is it?¡± Tem asks quietly. ¡°Pretty bad,¡± Pol admits. ¡°Pretty bad¡­¡±
¡°Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.¡± And welcome to hell¡­ This hell is a mixture of heat, concrete, steel and dust. There are endless walls. A metal ceiling high above, riddled with partially broken roof lights, like bullet holes. Whatever this warehouse once contained, it¡¯s all gone now, replaced by spiders and their cobwebs, dust and trash. Pol leads them, their steps echoing eerily through the emptiness. They follow him in a line through the assorted trash, back towards the front of the warehouse and the corner where they can see Arm working with something. Vegas sees dust motes floating lazily in the occasional beam of sunlight shining through the dirty window panes in the roof. He believes he can smell the blood already, even this far away. ¡°The front entrance is welded shut,¡± Pol explains. ¡°Most of the other entrances too. The only way to get in here is the roof, or through the door we just used.¡± It¡¯s warm inside, warmer than Vegas likes. ¡°Arm said the body is fresh?¡± Heat is a problem when it comes to crime scenes and dead bodies. And fresh is always relative. ¡°We have first instar larvae,¡± Pol replies grimly, and Tem and Vegas collectively groan. They hate maggots. Pete is confused. ¡°What are instar larvae?¡± As instructed, he¡¯s following Vegas closely and Vegas is at all times hyper-aware of Pete being just a few steps behind. It¡¯s a bit unnerving. ¡°An instar is a developmental stage of insects, the period between each moult until it reaches maturity,¡± Pol patiently explains. Arm¡¯s knowledge is rubbing off on him. ¡°The number of instars an insect undergoes often depends on the species and the environmental conditions; it can be very helpful in determining time of death.¡± ¡°Oh¡­ interesting,¡± Pete mumbles. ¡°I hope you can deal with maggots,¡± Tem adds, casting Pete a sharp look. ¡°Remember, no throwing up on the crime scene.¡± ¡°I am pretty resilient,¡± Pete replies sweetly, but gives Tem a dark look. Lord, give me patience, Vegas rolls his eyes. The three of them need to have a talk soon, because he refuses to work with them under these conditions. He can practically feel the invisible daggers flying back and forth between them. But he doesn¡¯t have time to dwell on this because they¡¯re approaching Arm and the actual murder scene. He would have known even without looking, because the scent of blood is heavy in the stale air. One closer look, and he¡¯s already regretting it. Oh fuck. This is bad indeed. Again. ¡°¡­Shit¡­¡± Tem mumbles, sounding a bit dumbstruck. Vegas glances worriedly back at Pete, concerned about how he¡¯s taking it, but Pete is more focused on him than the actual crime scene, it seems. Their eyes meet for a moment. Pete¡¯s eyes are burning, and Vegas could loose himself in them if he isn¡¯t careful. Bloody hell. He must not let Pete distract him! Back to the crime scene¡­ Someone very obviously has cleared this corner of the warehouse from debris; the concrete floor is abnormally clean in what Vegas guesses must be a 4-5 meter circle around the installation. Vegas gets why Pol said that it wasn¡¯t all that complex. There are no flowers all over the floor this time; there is no need¡ªthe body speaks for itself. Their murder victim is suspended from ropes¡ªno, cables¡ªthat are attached to his bloody wrists. With arms stretched wide, he¡¯s hovering about 1 meter from the ground, seemingly floating in the air. And there is something large and dark attached to his back; precisely what is difficult to say from this angle. There is also a large blackish puddle underneath the body, and Vegas can hear the lazy buzz of flies. The ceiling is several meters above them¡ªhow on earth did their killer manage to fasten those cables, Vegas wonders. Focusing on the cables and ignoring the body itself for the moment seems like a good way to stay sane. Tem clears his throat repeatedly beside him. ¡°We¡¯ll have to check the roof.¡± His voice sounds a bit hoarse. Vegas nods, also clearing his throat. The scent of blood is so heavy in the air that he can feel it in his mouth; it¡¯s disgusting. ¡°I don¡¯t see any ladders, I don¡¯t even think there are ladders long enough for this.¡± If Vegas can focus on the cables, he doesn¡¯t have to deal with the rest of the crime scene and the body. He really does not want to look at it again. Not yet. ¡°How is he tied to those cables?¡± he asks Arm, who has stopped taking notes on his tablet and is walking over to them now. ¡°Oh, you¡¯re going to love this.¡± Arm actually seems impressed; he adjusts his glasses before answering, then points at the victim¡¯s arm. ¡°He put the cable right through the radius and the ulna¡ªit looks as if he drilled through the tissue and then threaded the cable through that hole before wrapping it around the wrist a few times, fastening it with an ordinary knot.¡± No, Vegas does not love this. Behind him Pete makes what seems to be a distressed sound, but he can¡¯t worry about him right now, he has a job to do. ¡°Please don¡¯t tell me¡­¡± And once again Arm is reading his mind. ¡°Yes, he was alive for the drilling. I will send you the photos; you can clearly see from the edges of the wounds that the victim tried to struggle.¡± ¡°Awww fuck¡­¡± Tem is taking notes, just shaking his head with disbelief. ¡°Vegas¡­¡± Despite the carnage before him, Arm seems to be exited. ¡°You need to take a good look at this scene, no one has seen this kind of thing in at least the last 1300 years. If ever. I did a quick online check. This¡ª¡± and he gestures at the suspended body, ¡°¡ªis the stuff of legends.¡± No thanks, Vegas does not want to look at the body, stuff of legends or not, and what is Arm even rambling on about? But Vegas is here to do his job, to speak for the dead. Kind of hard to speak for the dead when you avoid being confronted with how they died. Fine. Here we go. He takes one last glance at Pete, who is staring at the body with an expression that is difficult to read. Horrified fascination perhaps? Pete is taking it better than he expected. And if Pete can handle this, so can Vegas. Time to look. The body is obviously male¡ªhe¡¯s very naked. The feet and the lower parts of the legs are of a blackish-blue colour due to liver mortis. In fact, the front of the body seems to be remarkably untouched. There are no visible wounds. A few dark specks scattered over the skin here and there, most likely from the blood spray. ¡°Where are the clothes?¡± Tem glances around. ¡°And what about the shoes?¡± ¡°Didn¡¯t find any yet,¡± Pol shrugs. ¡°Can I walk closer?¡± Vegas checks with Arm, just to be sure he won¡¯t mess up anything. ¡°Yes. Try to stay out of the blood pool though.¡± Arm glances past Vegas and arches an eyebrow. ¡°You brought your intern?¡± He turns to Pete and immediately starts to lecture him. ¡°You better not throw up on my crime scene. I suggest you give Vegas and his partner some space to work and watch from a distance.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll take that advice into consideration, thank you.¡± Is there a hint of sass in Pete¡¯s voice? Vegas isn¡¯t sure. He¡¯s too busy looking over the body. The head hangs forward, chin touching chest, longish hair almost completely obscuring the facial features. There seem to be dark trails on what he can see of the chin as well. ¡°He bled from the mouth?¡± Vegas edges closer. There is minute movement around the mouth, and Vegas is taken aback for a second, but then he recognises a few blackish flies crawling over the chin. He swallows drily. ¡°Yes, with that wound, it was inevitable.¡± That wound. The wound that Vegas is slowly working up the courage to take a closer look at because well shit¡ªit¡¯s like a never-ending nightmare with this killer. It¡¯s not getting better; every crime scene gets worse. ¡°There¡¯s a lot of blood,¡± he observes, carefully staying out of the blood puddle on the ground, as he slowly circles the body to reach its back. ¡°He bled out?¡± Arm is following Vegas on his slow track around the body. ¡°After the initial stages of skin and tissue removal, I would assume he bled out very rapidly, yes.¡± Another quick glance backwards; Pete is not following him this time. He¡¯s stopped in front of the body, apparently studying it closely, but glancing over at Vegas now and then. Due to the damn mask Vegas can¡¯t see any of his facial expressions. Is he feeling sick? Disgusted? Horrified? Vegas knows he¡¯s fretting but he can¡¯t help it. He would rather not have Pete see something like this crime scene. Hopefully this won¡¯t be giving him any nightmares. And then Vegas stands behind the body, no longer able to block out the gore in its full glory. ¡°Oh fuck¡­¡± He sighs softly. ¡°Fuck.¡± ¡°Behold¡­¡± And there is reverence in Arm¡¯s voice now. ¡°¡­ the beauty that is the Blood Eagle.¡± Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Vegas would categorise this as madness instead. With Beam it was the abdomen, and with this victim it is the back. Vegas didn¡¯t even know this was possible, but apparently he¡¯s about to learn a lot more about human anatomy than he ever wanted to know. ¡°Just what the fuck is this?¡± His voice is thin with distress. ¡°Blood what¡­?¡± ¡°It¡¯s a legendary process of ritualised torture and execution, dating back to the time of the Vikings. Called the ¡®Blood Eagle¡¯.¡± Arm is nerding out again, but perhaps he needs this in order to deal with the horror. ¡°There is almost no historical evidence that this ritual even existed; I think there is one or two vague accounts of it at all. Some movies and TV series make reference to it, embellishing it of course, but all in all no one in modern times has ever seen this in real life. It¡¯s fascinating¡­¡± Arm¡¯s voice trails off. Torture and execution sums it up nicely. Vegas has never seen anything like this before. The back of their victim is open; he¡¯s been opened up like a can of sardines, unzipped like a zipper. The skin and the muscle tissue of the back are just gone. Vegas has to clear his throat repeatedly before he manages to speak again. ¡°Isn¡¯t there something missing? Where has all the tissue and the skin gone?¡± He swallows hard and looks away, only to meet Pete¡¯s questioning gaze; he¡¯s watching Vegas very closely indeed. Pete must not see this under any circumstances, is all Vegas can think. ¡°Stay where you are, don¡¯t come over here,¡± he instructs him harshly. Thankfully, Pete nods and stays put. ¡°We haven¡¯t found any of it yet,¡± Pol informs him. ¡°I¡¯ll make a note to send some people to search the immediate area,¡± Tem suggests. And Vegas goes back to staring at the nightmare hanging in front of him. ¡°Are ribs supposed to bend that way?¡± he can¡¯t help asking. Like white fingers clawing outwards, someone¡ªtheir killer¡ªhas somehow managed to detach, no, unzip the ribs from the vertebrae of the spine, and succeeded in folding them outward. ¡°Astonishing, isn¡¯t it?¡± Arm is a picture of horrified delight. ¡°This would require tremendous strength and coordination. I think he fractured the ribs again to bend them outward like this.¡± Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Like this¡­ folding them outward to create the illusion of bird wings. Blood eagle indeed. Vegas feels ill. ¡°Please tell me he was dead at this point.¡± ¡°If he wasn¡¯t dead yet, he would have been bleeding out within seconds when the work on his ribs started, if he didn¡¯t die from sheer shock first,¡± Arm tries to reassure him. ¡°And there is no way he would have survived the removal of the lungs from the thoracic cavity¡­ there are just too many veins and arteries attached to the lungs to be able to pull them out like this; they¡¯d have to be severed first.¡± ¡°This is insane,¡± Vegas whispers. He¡¯s just horrified at the sight before him. Because the man¡¯s lungs have been pulled out of place, they are now fully outside of the body, and in combination with the ribs, they definitely give the impression of wings¡ªgory, raw, meaty wings, straight from a nightmare from hell. The lung tissue has been stretched out, even cut open, to allow for maximum surface area. And fuck¡­ he takes a closer look, because he sees something metallic, and yes¡­ there is more wire work involved here as well, to make sure everything stays in place, just like their killer intended it to. Wings. But instead of an eagle, all Vegas can think about is butterflies. Hamearis lucina. Papilio memnon. Cymothoe sangaris. Vegas likes going to the butterfly house with his mother. They¡¯re so pretty, just like his mom. So pretty. This isn¡¯t pretty though. This is horror incarnate. But the thing that really gets to Vegas are the insects. There is a low constant buzzing coming from the body; the whole massive wound is constantly fluctuating and moving. As if those wings are trying to flutter. Flies and tiny maggots are everywhere. Vegas¡¯ stomach lurches violently. He has to close his eyes, bend over and concentrate on his breathing for a while. ¡°Just breathe through it, Vegas.¡± Tem rubs his back; this isn¡¯t the first time that maggots get the better of Vegas. ¡°Are you doing okay there, detective?¡± Pete asks from the other side of the body. The tone of his voice sends a shiver of dread through Vegas, strong enough to even keep the nausea at bay for a moment. He knows that tone. What¡¯s pissed Pete off this time? Then he becomes aware of Tem rubbing his back and gulps, quickly standing up again, shrugging off the touch. He¡¯s not ready for a repeat of the rooftop madness. ¡°I¡¯m fine. And no, I won¡¯t throw up on your crime scene, Arm, don¡¯t worry. I just need a moment, all right?¡± And in a barely audible voice he mutters to Tem: ¡°Back off.¡± Tem looks offended, but steps away, and Vegas forces himself to ignore his nausea, because there is more work to do. ¡°Can I look at the face? Lift the hair a bit? So that Tem can take a photo?¡± Maybe this way they can start trying to identify the victim right away, without having to wait for the official crime scene photos. Arm nods. ¡°Sure. I¡¯m all but finished here, I just have to wait for the coroner. So it¡¯s safe to touch him, the body has already been processed. You need a stick or something to reach the hair?¡± The body is dangling up in the air after all. ¡°You¡¯ve got something?¡± Of course Arm has tools. A short while later Vegas is using pliers mounted on a telescopic pole to lift the hair away from the face of the dead man so that Tem can take a photo with his phone. At first, the facial features are bathed in shadows, but when Tem starts photographing, the flash goes off, illuminating the ghostly pale face, cloudy eyes, the black blood-smears around the prominent nose, and the gaping black hole of the mouth. Vegas¡¯ stomach drops. ¡°You will like this one¡­ trust me¡­ temporary oblivion in the form of a harmless looking little pill¡­ and you want a bit of oblivion, don¡¯t you¡­ everyone who comes to buy from me wants that.¡± Instant recognition: it¡¯s the dealer he used to get his drugs from! Fuck fuck fuck!!! Can the universe give him a break already?! Vegas is shocked. Oh fuck. No way. This can¡¯t possibly be connected to him as well? Another coincidence? Who is he even kidding? How many coincidences can there be? Fuck! It seems he¡¯s in serious trouble.
The universe hates him. And that bloody killer must hate him too. The rest of the afternoon feels like a bad dream. Vegas does all that¡¯s expected of him, but he¡¯s more or less on autopilot. First Beam. Then the bodyguard. Now the dealer he got his drugs from. He¡¯s too good a cop to pretend that all of this is a mere coincidence. What a fucking nightmare. This is way beyond anything he can handle on his own. Who is he going to talk to about this? Definitely not his superiors. And definitely not his family¡ªwhich means he can¡¯t even talk to Porsche, because he will tell Kinn, and his cousin mustn¡¯t find out about this either. If his family gets the slightest hint that he is involved or even targeted by what looks like a serial killer, Vegas is going to disappear from the face of the earth. They¡¯re going to fucking lock him up and throw away the key to protect him, and he will never escape their clutch again, ever. That leaves Tem. And, perhaps, Pete. But if he gets Tem involved in this, that would put him at risk as well. And keeping something big like this a secret could ruin his career forever if anyone at work finds out. As for Pete¡­ how can he even begin to explain all of this to Pete? The casual sex with Beam. The drugs. His complicated family dynamics. He¡¯s a mess, and if Pete ever finds out just how much of a mess he is, he will surely walk away and it¡¯ll break Vegas¡¯ heart. And immediately, he smacks himself mentally. What the fuck is wrong with him? It doesn¡¯t matter, they¡¯re not in a relationship after all, and never will be. Who on earth is he supposed to ask for help? He¡¯s in so much trouble. He knows that both Tem and Pete are watching him like a hawk as the afternoon progresses but he pretends everything is fine. It¡¯s this dreadful crime graphic scene, it gets to him, that¡¯s all, there¡¯s nothing else to be worried about, he reassures everyone who asks. Pete leaves first. They really do need to talk, but now is not a good time. Vegas just wants to go home. He doesn¡¯t want to get into an argument; he feels too exhausted, both mentally and physically. It¡¯s unbearably hot and he¡¯s glad when he¡¯s out of the warehouse and can take off the overalls again. ¡°Let¡¯s call it a day,¡± he suggests tiredly to Tem. ¡°Do you need to go back to the office or should I just drop you off at home?¡± ¡°Home, please. I¡¯ve had enough for the day. Are you going to be all right, Vegas?¡± No. ¡°Sure. I just need food and some sleep and I will be as good as new.¡± Vegas gives him a faint smile and gets into the car. Tem has his doubts, that much is clear, but he refrains from any further questions and so the drive back home is as long and as quiet as the drive out.
Once again, the traffic is horrible, and when Vegas finally arrives home he¡¯s exhausted and wants nothing more than a shower, food and sleep. The moment he unlocks his door and steps into his apartment, he knows there¡¯s been a change of plans. All it takes is a look at the floor, and the pair of shoes that are not his. For a moment, he¡¯s stunned. No way. No fucking way! How did Pete get in here? That door was locked! Vegas doesn¡¯t even take the time to take off his own shoes; he slams the apartment door shut and storms into the living room. Where is he?! They need to have a talk about boundaries! There is no Pete in the living room, but he can hear humming from the bathroom. The nerve! ¡°Pete!!!¡± he stalks towards the bathroom door. ¡°What the hell are you doing here?! Get the fuck out of my apartment!¡± He plans to drag him out by the hair if he has to, but discovers that the bathroom door is locked. Locked. He has been locked out of his own bathroom. ¡°Chill, Vegas¡­¡± comes the cheerful reply from the inside, and after a long day from hell that is really all it takes for Vegas to explode. Wooosh. Ignition. Vegas thought he had it all under control. It¡¯s been a week. He¡¯s had time to cool down. But just one phrase, and he knows he had merely put his anger on temporary hold¡ªuntil now. His world bleeds into red. He¡¯s back on that damn roof again. Scared out of his mind, seeing Pete fall. The absolute terror he experienced at the hands of this asshole. Who then had the nerve to callously leave him on that roof to deal with the aftermath all by himself. Who showed up uninvited at his apartment later, to casually sleep over, as if nothing ever happened. And then disappeared without a word for a whole damn week! And now he¡¯s here, uninvited, again! With a feral snarl, Vegas slams his fists against the bathroom door. ¡°Get the fuck out of there and get out of my life, asshole!¡± He doesn¡¯t wait for Pete to open the door; he knows that¡¯s not going to happen. The part of him that is still thinking rationally also knows it is better to channel his aggression against that door than against Pete. If he¡¯s lucky, that door will allow for him to blow off some steam before it gives way. Because it will give way. Vegas slams his fists against it repeatedly; it hurts, but it also feels good. ¡°I hate you!¡± Then he resorts to kicking the lock. ¡°Get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. There.¡± The lock is surprisingly sturdy. It takes more kicks than he thought before it breaks and the door swings open. ¡°Are you satisfied now, Vegas?¡± Pete is leaning against the sink, casually drying his hands. Completely unmoved by Vegas¡¯ tantrum. He gives Vegas the same kind of look that a parent gives a rebellious toddler, and this makes him even more angry. ¡°You!¡± Vegas points his index finger at Pete. ¡°Get the fuck out of here. You have no right to be here, this is my place, not yours! And I don¡¯t want you here! Piss off!¡± Pete simply shakes his head, completely ignoring everything he said. ¡°You really need to work on your anger issues, Vegas. Repairing this door is going to be expensive. Take a deep breath, count to ten and try to relax.¡± ¡°You asshole!¡± Vegas is fuming. ¡°I don¡¯t want to relax! I want you out of here, I don¡¯t want to have to look at your face, not after that stunt you pulled a week ago! You left me on that fucking roof! And then you disappeared for a whole damn week!¡± ¡°So what? I had an appointment.¡± Pete simply shrugs with nonchalance. ¡°And you managed, otherwise you wouldn¡¯t be here right now. I just hope you learned your lesson this time.¡± ¡°What kind of lesson is this?! You jumped off the roof, you jerk!¡± Vegas gives Pete a hard shove that makes him stumble backwards. But as soon as he¡¯s caught his footing, Pete lurches forward and gives Vegas a hard shove in turn. ¡°Shut the fuck up, Vegas! You started it! You just had to go and kiss Tem, didn¡¯t you?!¡± They glare at each other, breathing hard. Vegas narrows his eyes. ¡°Oh, now it is my fault?! If you hadn¡¯t messed me up with your damn little mind games, I might not have kissed him! How am I supposed to think clearly with all the shit you put me through?! Tem is right, you¡¯re not good for me!¡± With an outraged huff, Pete gives Vegas another hard shove; his self-control seems to be slipping, because he¡¯s starting to raise his voice. ¡°Tem¡¯s not right for you either! All these years, and he never made a move on you. He¡¯s a bloody coward, that¡¯s what he is. If he cared for you as much as he claims to, he would¡¯ve fought for you! Instead he settled into comfortable pining. You would have been bored with him after a month of living together!¡± ¡°Maybe I want to have a boring life! At least Tem cares for me, he would never scare me like this! You are such a damn jerk, Pete! Do you have any idea how I was feeling, seeing you fall off that roof?¡± ¡°You certainly screamed loud enough¡­¡± Pete smirks, and a fresh wave of anger takes hold of Vegas, making him lash out, his palm connecting with Pete¡¯s cheek as he smacks him hard. Pete¡¯s head jerks to the side with the force of the impact. Vegas isn¡¯t holding back. ¡°Asshole!¡± he snarls, enraged. ¡°What do you even want from me?!¡± ¡°Everything!¡± The faintly red imprint of Vegas¡¯ hand on his cheek clearly visible, Pete gives him such a hungry look that Vegas¡¯ anger is instantly turned into ashes, and like a phoenix, desire unfurls its wings in its wake. Shit. Vegas feels a moment of panic. He wants to run out of that bathroom, away to imaginary safety, but his feet won¡¯t move, he¡¯s rooted to the spot. No matter how complex and complicated his relationship with Pete is, he wants him. Badly. Nothing can change that. And at the same time he¡¯s terrified by just how much he wants him. If he gives in now¡ªwhich he will do, he knows he will¡ªhow is he supposed to protect himself from getting hurt by all of this in the end? Pete will incinerate them. Control¡­ he needs to stay in control of the situation somehow. While he was contemplating all this, Pete has moved, and is now right there in front of Vegas, his fingers sinking into the uniform shirt, pulling them together slowly. Vegas draws in a sharp breath. He once again feels like a mouse facing a snake. ¡°¡­What¡­ what do you think¡­ y¨Cyou are ¡­ d¨Cdoing?¡± he stutters, and his heart skips a beat under the heated stare Pete is giving him. ¡°I am going to kiss you until you are a shivering mess,¡± Pete purrs, coupled with a lethal smile. Shit! Vegas gulps. Yes, he would like that very much. Too much. Dammit. Control, he needs to stay in control. ¡°No kissing,¡± he objects, but his voice doesn¡¯t sound very convincing even to himself. ¡°Objection noted. And overruled.¡± Still smiling hungrily, Pete leans in. Vegas can feel his warm breath feathering over his face, and he shudders. Kiss me already. But at the last second Vegas turns his head to the side and all Pete¡¯s hot lips come in contact with is his cheek. Even that feels damn nice. ¡°Really¡­ I mean it¡­¡± Vegas has trouble concentrating because the devil that is Pete is flickering his tongue against his cheek now. ¡°No kissing.¡± Control. He needs to get the upper hand in this madness before Pete ignites him and turns him into ashes. Kissing is way too personal. If they start kissing, Vegas is going to pour all his feelings into it and then Pete surely will know how much he cares¡­ dammit. Time to wrestle back control from Pete. Before Pete can lick his way to his mouth, Vegas grabs his wrists in desperation. Pete hisses in pain, and that¡¯s when Vegas remembers that those wrists are bruised, and he¡¯s currently pressing down on those bruises. Damn. ¡°Sorry!¡± Eyes wide, he takes a step back, letting go of Pete. ¡°Shit, I¡¯m sorry, I forgot.¡± ¡°Did I complain?¡± Pete has been looking at his wrists but when he raises his eyes again to make eye contact with Vegas, the expression in them takes Vegas¡¯ breath away. And then he remembers what Pete has told him about pain¡­ yup, this little episode just seems to have fanned the flames as far as Pete is concerned. He looks as if he¡¯s about to pounce on Vegas. ¡°Don¡¯t move!¡± Vegas snaps harshly. And Pete actually stops in mid-motion, becoming very still, watching Vegas cautiously. So far, so good. Vegas frantically searches his brain for solutions to this control problem, and in the end only one thing comes to mind. The last time he did this, Pete objected greatly. Let¡¯s see how things go this time. ¡°Hands up.¡± Vegas uses the same command tone of voice he used to get Pete to stop moving. He can see something flickering in the depth of Pete¡¯s dark eyes, which are glued to his face. And then Pete slowly raises his hands until they¡¯re at about shoulder height. Since Vegas is still in uniform, he has access to everything that comes along with it. And in this case that means his handcuffs. Slowly, methodically, he reaches out to detach them from his belt, giving Pete a chance to see what he¡¯s about to do, giving him a chance to object if he wants to. Pete doesn¡¯t say a word. If anything, his pupils are dilating slightly and he inhales a slow deep breath. In turn, Vegas¡¯ breath is becoming increasingly uneven. Pete obeying his every word is one hell of a rush. He clears his throat, which feels suddenly very dry. ¡°Into the shower,¡± he commands, and for every step he takes forward, Pete is taking a step backward, until they¡¯re standing in the shower stall. It¡¯s a nice modern shower with chrome fixings and a glass shower screen. Vegas walks Pete backwards until he hits the shower valves on the wall. Calmly, Vegas takes one last step forward and then snaps one of the manacles around Pete¡¯s right wrist. Not too tight. But tight enough. The metal is touching those bruises and Pete¡¯s pupils dilate even more. He¡¯s starting to look a bit dazed. ¡°Higher.¡± Vegas tugs on the handcuff connected to Pete¡¯s wrist. The metal digs lightly into the bruise. Pete¡¯s nostrils flare as he exhales with a shudder. He lifts both hands above his head. Perfect. The sturdy chrome rail holding the shower itself is attached to the wall in four places. This will work perfectly. Vegas leans closer, mesmerised by the way Pete is reacting to everything and the way he¡¯s looking at Vegas. As if Vegas has given him a delightful unexpected gift. ¡°Turn around,¡± Vegas orders him quietly. Again, Pete shudders and then his lips curve into a slow Cheshire Cat smile as he turns around to face the tiled wall. Since he standing right behind Pete, Vegas just needs to lean in and his chest touches Pete¡¯s back. ¡°Higher,¡± he whispers into Pete¡¯s ear, and when Pete complies, Vegas reaches up and draws the short chain of the handcuffs between the top and the second attachment of the chrome rail, before snapping the other manacle around Pete¡¯s left wrist. Pete doesn¡¯t have to stand on his toes but he doesn¡¯t have much leeway to lower his arms either; he¡¯s stretched out and up against the wall and Vegas likes that view very much. The mere feeling of being in control of the situation is a huge relief. He exhales a shuddering breath and then leans his forehead against Pete¡¯s back, right between his shoulder blades, taking a moment to collect himself. Feeling how Pete inhales and exhales quietly. Before he knows it, they¡¯re breathing in sync. Vegas feels grounded again; he no longer has the urge to escape. ¡°Does it hurt?¡± he asks after a while. ¡°A bit. But it¡¯s fine,¡± Pete replies quietly. Just in case, Vegas checks, for clarification, ¡°You will tell me when it gets too much?¡± ¡°¡­ Mmmm¡­¡± Pete hums in agreement and nods. He¡¯s just standing there, waiting patiently for Vegas to make up his mind about what to do next. And Vegas doesn¡¯t know. He really has no clue what to do next. He didn¡¯t plan this. All he wanted after this exhausting crime scene was a shower, food and sleep and now he has a handcuffed man in his shower. Surprise. He feels laughter bubbling up in him, chuckles softly, and then gives in to the first thing that comes to his mind. He slips his arms around Pete¡¯s waist and simply hugs him from behind. ¡°We need to talk about boundaries,¡± he mumbles, rubbing his cheek against Pete¡¯s back and shoulder. ¡°How did you get into the apartment?¡± Pete sighs and leans back into the hug as much as the handcuffs allow. ¡°I stole your spare key the last time I was here,¡± he admits easily enough. Vegas guffaws, because this is such a Pete thing to do. ¡°You jerk.¡± Pete¡¯s shirt might be a stylish atrocity, but the fabric is soft as silk. It feels nice against his cheek and underneath his hands. He can feel Pete¡¯s body heat, the outline of his muscles ¡°Vegas¡­?¡± Pete eventually interrupts his thoughts. ¡°Hmmm¡­?¡± ¡°Not that I want to hurry you or anything, but what exactly are you planning to do now?¡± Pete doesn¡¯t sound annoyed, just curious. ¡°I don¡¯t know yet.¡± Again, Vegas chuckles. ¡°Actually¡­ I think I¡¯ll have a glass of wine.¡± He can feel Pete tensing slightly under his hands. ¡°It would serve you right if I left you standing here in the bathroom for the night,¡± he points out. Pete tenses up even more when he hears that, and Vegas has to smirk. ¡°Fortunately for you, I am no longer feeling quite as vengeful as I felt 15 minutes ago, so I¡¯ll be right back.¡± And with that he ends the hug and steps away from Pete. ¡°Vegas¡­¡± Pete twists his head to the side, looking back at him with an arched eyebrow, the very picture of barely suppressed irritation, and that view is so delightful that Vegas decides to capture it for posterity. Still smirking, he takes out his cellphone. ¡°Don¡¯t move.¡± The smirk turns into a grin as he takes a photo. ¡°Perfect.¡± And he winks at Pete, who gives him a dark look in return. ¡°Keep looking at me like that and I take more photos. You are hot when you glare at me like that.¡± Vegas blows Pete a kiss and then saunters out of the bathroom, suddenly feeling great. First, he takes off his shoes. Then he pours himself a glass of red wine and takes his time savouring its taste. Let Pete stew in resentment for a while. Vegas ponders if he should bother to change clothes, but then decides against it, taking another sip of his wine. He¡¯s actually surprised that Pete hasn¡¯t walked out of the bathroom yet. Somehow he has the feeling that if Pete really wanted to get out of these handcuffs, he could do so. Pete is so unpredictable sometimes. After about ten minutes, Vegas wanders back into the bathroom, the glass of wine still in his hand. Pete is where he left him, but in a slightly more grumpy mood it seems. ¡°Are you going to let me go now?¡± he asks impatiently. Vegas takes another sip of wine and shakes his head. ¡°What¡¯s the rush, I haven¡¯t even started yet.¡± Pete makes a growling sound and Vegas laughs while placing the wineglass on the counter next to the sink. ¡°You look a bit flushed with anger, Pete. Time to cool down.¡± ¡°Vegas,¡± Pete warns him because he knows what¡¯s coming. And Vegas enjoys throwing his own words back at him. ¡°Objection noted and overruled.¡± He steps into the shower stall and reaches around Pete to switch on the shower, quickly jumping back to avoid getting wet himself. The shower has one of those rainfall shower heads; within seconds Pete is drenched. He curses loudly and sputters, and Vegas almost feels bad for him because he knows that that first rush of water is cold as hell, before it finally warms up. Almost but not quite. Serves you right. He smirks and goes to have another quick sip of his wine. Then he commemorates this special moment by taking another photo of drenched Pete. ¡°Fuck! You keep ruining my clothes!¡± Pete complains, holding his head down so he can breathe without getting drowned in the downpour. ¡°That little bit of water doesn¡¯t ruin anything. Just be glad you are not wearing leather pants this time.¡± Vegas is completely unapologetic. He¡¯s also busy appreciating the view. The wet shirt and the pants cling to Pete¡¯s body in a delectable way. ¡°You had to take a shower anyway after that crime scene¡ªyou got all sweaty in that heat, so why are you complaining?¡± ¡°I¡¯m complaining because I am handcuffed to the damn shower rail, I¡¯m fully clothed, and the water is the wrong temperature,¡± Pete sputters and tries to turn around to get a better look at Vegas who is leaning casually against the glass screen. Vegas winks at him. ¡°I can fix two out of those three things. Say Pretty please¡­¡± ¡°Fuck you!¡± Pete snarls at him instead, which makes Vegas smile even more. ¡°¡­ Not just yet¡­¡± He hums and goes around the glass panel to step into the shower with total disregard for his uniform, which gets thoroughly soaked as soon as he reaches around Pete to adjust the water temperature. ¡°First problem, fixed. Say Thank you, Vegas.¡± He takes a step back out of the spray. The way that shirt clings to Pete¡¯s body should be illegal. Oh, what the hell, he might as well enjoy himself a bit. And so he moves back under the water and runs his hands over that shirt and Pete¡¯s back. Feeling the bone structure. The muscles moving minutely under his fingers. The feel of the silky wet fabric against his palms. It is thrilling. Pete has stopped cursing. And then all of a sudden, there comes a quiet, ¡°Thank you, Vegas.¡± Such a simple phrase, but it rekindles the fire within Vegas. He moves his hands down Pete¡¯s spine, then separates them, running them along the ribcage, to the sides, and then to the front. By now he¡¯s just as wet as Pete. ¡°You have an atrocious taste in shirts. Are you very attached to this one?¡± ¡°Actually, I am ¡­¡± It¡¯s very satisfying to hear the unsteady edge to Pete¡¯s voice. Vegas leans in even further to be able to move his hands up until he can feel Pete¡¯s nipples under his thumbs. He¡¯s been wanting to do that since seeing Pete in that damn semi-sheer shirt. A scrape, and Pete reacts with a delicious shudder. Vegas rests his chin on Pete¡¯s shoulder, smiling to himself. ¡°Let me fix the second problem for you then. Weren¡¯t you complaining about being fully clothed?¡± He can undo these buttons and enjoy it greatly but then he remembers that Pete is handcuffed. Damn. Then again¡­ ¡°Pete?¡± ¡°Huh?¡± Pete does sound a bit breathless. ¡°I have bad news for you. The shirt¡¯s gotta go, and I¡¯m not opening the handcuffs just yet. So I¡¯m going to cut it off you.¡± He knows he sounds too cheerful, but he really hates this shirt and will take great pleasure in destroying it. ¡°¡­ cut it off¡­¡± Pete gulps and Vegas can feel him shiver. ¡°Uhm¡­ sure¡­¡± Vegas is enjoying this teasing so much, but Pete without a shirt he will enjoy even more. And so he reluctantly stops hugging him to go and fetch some scissors. Thankfully he has some in the drawer under the sink, because the thought of walking through the apartment in wet clothes isn¡¯t appealing at all. He decides to cut the shirt along the line of the spine. But first he reaches around Pete and adjusts the water flow. He doesn¡¯t want to get drowned while having fun after all. A little bit less water will be best. The scissors are sharp and cut through the fabric without resistance. Pete stays very still through the whole procedure. It feels like unpacking a present. He¡¯s unwrapping the glory that is Pete. Once the shirt is cut in half length-wise, he quickly cuts across and along each arm to the cuffs, and hums with satisfaction when the pieces of the shirt fall to the floor. Finally. Taking a step back, Vegas at last allows himself to look at Pete¡¯s bare upper body without feeling as if he¡¯s looking at a forbidden fruit. He had Pete like this on his bed when he was drunk, but back then all that bare skin just made him panic. Not today. Today he¡¯s looking his fill. ¡°Still alive, Vegas? Cat got your tongue?¡± Pete is holding on to the shower rail now to protect his wrists from the pressure of the cuffs against the bruises; he turns his head over his shoulder to look at Vegas with a mischievous smile. ¡°You like what you see?¡± ¡°Oh yes¡­ I do,¡± Vegas admits quietly. Pete is perfection. In a way Vegas feels like an embarrassed teenager, the mere sight of someones bare upper body shouldn¡¯t really knock the breath out of him like this, it¡¯s silly. But this is Pete, and everything connected with Pete just elicits strange reactions from him. And so he says the first thing that comes to his mind, and then feels immediately mortified about it. ¡°You¡¯re beautiful.¡± ¡°You need glasses.¡± Pete rolls his eyes, clearly thinking this is a cheesy comment. And yes, it sounded cheesy, but Vegas means every word. Pete is beautiful. There are a few faint scars scattered along on his back, and some beauty marks. He¡¯s lightly tanned. Lean with just a hint of muscle definition. Vegas knows Pete is stronger than he looks, otherwise he wouldn¡¯t have been able to cling to that ledge. ¡°My eyes are just fine,¡± he insists, and like a moth to the flame he steps right back underneath the water again because he needs to touch this perfection. ¡°Beautiful,¡± he mumbles, mesmerised, as he runs his hand over Pete¡¯s shoulders. The water cascades down the skin in a steady stream. Without a second thought Vegas leans in and licks along the spine, causing Pete to draw in a startled breath. Nice, this is nice. Like a cat, Vegas rubs his face against all that bare skin, closing his eyes, just concentrating on the sensation the skin contact is giving him. So damn nice. He can feel Pete shiver, feel every trembling breath he takes. With a happy sigh, Vegas nuzzles Pete¡¯s nape and then plants a kiss right there. ¡°You¡¯re perfect,¡± he whispers, and slowly trails kisses down the outline of Pete¡¯s spine, while his hands are busy undoing the damn buttons of his uniform shirt. He needs more direct skin to skin contact, he needs it badly and he needs it now. Pete throws his head back, eyes closed, water pearling off his face. Judging from how fast he is breathing, he¡¯s enjoying what Vegas is doing. By the time Vegas¡¯ lips reach the edge of Pete¡¯s pants, all the buttons are undone and he shrugs out of the uniform shirt, throwing it behind him without a care. He should have done this sooner, Vegas reflects in a daze. He has wasted so much time. When he hugs Pete this time, he gets goosebumps all over his body as soon as their skins touch. Pete breathes a shuddering sigh that echoes through the bathroom, Vegas can see how his fingers clench around the shower rail, holding on tighter. Vegas wants to melt into Pete, he feels as if he¡¯s getting drunk just by touching him; it¡¯s insane. ¡°Show me my mark,¡± he whispers while he runs his hands over Pete¡¯s chest. Pete groans breathlessly and tilts his head to the side and yes, there it is. It has healed nicely but it is still very visible. Just like it should be. Pete belongs to him, and everyone should see it. Mine, Vegas thinks and kisses the scar. Once¡­ twice¡­ and then he licks it slowly and Pete¡¯s breath hitches. The handcuff chain clanks against the shower rail, and somehow this is yet another turn-on for Vegas. He¡¯s in control, and he can do whatever the hell he wants with Pete. It¡¯s very arousing, and he can feel himself getting hard. Vegas gives the scar another lick and then bites down. Not too hard, but hard enough to hurt a bit. He gets an instant reaction from Pete, who arches forward into the tiled wall with a hiss that turns into a low moan. It pleases Vegas greatly. ¡°Shiiit Vegas¡­¡± Pete is panting, and Vegas can feel his heart racing beneath his hands. ¡°¡­ Do it again¡­¡± Vegas didn¡¯t see that coming and his mind goes blank, but what Pete wants, Pete gets, and so he bites him again. Pete moans and shudders, and suddenly all that Vegas can think about is that he has to get him out of these pants too. In fact, his entire focus shifts away from himself and his own pleasure and to Pete. He just wants to make Pete feel good, that¡¯s all that counts now. Sliding his hands around Pete to the front of his trousers, he hurriedly undoes the buttons. ¡°Give me a second, you are going to like this even more,¡± he mumbles while shifting back and forth between kissing and licking Pete¡¯s throat. Once the buttons are undone, Vegas puts his thumbs inside of the wet chinos and starts to peel them off¡ªand Pete¡¯s underwear right along with it. He¡¯s rewarded by one of the most beautiful sights he has ever experienced; Vegas has to take a break from worshipping Pete¡¯s neck to be able to fully appreciate his full nudity. ¡°Holy shit¡­¡± he mumbles in awe. Pete is comfortable enough with his body that he gives Vegas a coy smile and when he turns his body halfway towards him, Vegas can see he¡¯s already hard. And not only that, he spies something else he didn¡¯t expect: a tattoo by the left hipbone. Intriguing. Vegas leans down to take a closer look at the words, and then has to laugh. ¡®No legacy is so rich as honesty¡¯¡ªbut the fun part is that this quote has been carefully crossed out, with some additional text added to it above: ¡®What a load of bullshit¡¯. ¡°You are such a brat, Pete, this suits you so well.¡± Still chuckling, Vegas plants a line of kisses on the tattoo; why waste this great opportunity after all? Pete smirks and then closes his eyes again to be able to concentrate fully on the feeling of Vegas¡¯ lips against his skin. And Vegas enjoys giving him pleasure. Once he¡¯s kissed his way all the way up to Pete¡¯s neck again (because damn, he likes that neck a lot), he skims his hands across Pete¡¯s delectable ass with just a quick squeeze and then rests them on Pete¡¯s hip bones. ¡°Do you want me to jerk you off?¡± Vegas whispers into his ear while slowly edging his fingers closer to the groin. ¡°Oh God, yes,¡± Pete gulps and nods, his breathing getting heavier by the second. Vegas grins. ¡°Say Pretty please¡­¡± ¡°Pretty please, with a cherry on top.¡± Someone is getting a bit impatient, it seems. ¡°Just get on with it, Vegas. Or uncuff me and I will do it myself¡­¡± ¡°The handcuffs stay.¡± And with great satisfaction Vegas watches that irritation disappear the second he wraps his fist around Pete¡¯s cock; Pete¡¯s mouth falls open with an audible gasp; his whole body tenses and then he bites his lips, trying not to moan too loudly. ¡°Does that count as ¡®getting it on¡¯, Pete, or would you like me to stop until you can do it yourself ¡­ when I eventually uncuff you, whenever that will be?¡± A slow groan escapes Pete¡¯s lips, and he opens his dazed eyes. Just looking at the unbridled desire in them fuels Vegas¡¯ lust. ¡°Vegas¡­¡± he gasps again, because Vegas has softly started moving his fist up and down. ¡°Please don¡¯t stop¡­ I swear I¡¯ll die if you stop now.¡± Thankfully, Vegas has no plans to stop anytime soon. Pete¡¯s cock feels amazing, the skin is like velvet, and damn, if he himself wasn¡¯t hard before, he most definitely is now. The feeling of Pete¡¯s cock under his hand is electrifying. They stare intensely at each other without a word. Pete shudders and trembles, Vegas watches him eagerly as he learns which of his moves elicits the strongest reaction. He¡¯s a fast learner, and soon he has Pete panting heavily, grinding himself into Vegas¡¯ fist with growing urgency. Vegas uses his free hand to card his fingers through Pete¡¯s hair, then grabs it roughly and turns his head to the side so he can suck hard on the scar he left. Pete jerks violently when he does that, groaning loudly. Then he bites his lower lip so hard it starts bleeding. Vegas has reduced him to a trembling mess with trembling knees, Pete¡¯s so close to coming, but Vegas does not want that to happen just yet and so he forces himself to let go and takes a few unsteady steps backward. And wow¡­ what a view. It has to be the most erotic thing he has ever seen. Naked Pete in his shower, handcuffed to the shower rail, holding on to it for dear life because his legs are shaking so badly, with water continuously cascading over his skin. He¡¯s gorgeous; it takes Vegas¡¯ breath away. While trying to catch his breath, Pete turns his head towards Vegas and the look on his face is so needy and hungry that Vegas forgets to breathe for a moment. They stare at each other, and all Pete can moan is a thready ¡°¡­please¡­¡±. He¡¯s begging. Vegas throws all caution to the wind. Screw control. He takes three steps, grabs Pete¡¯s face, and finally allows himself to kiss him. And as expected, everything escalates immediately, as always when they kiss. It¡¯s instant ignition. They burn together. Vegas didn¡¯t plan on having sex, all of this is a bit unexpected. One moment they¡¯re just making out a bit, the next moment he¡¯s frantic to get out of his trousers and underwear. Pete is kissing him so desperately it is driving him insane. This whole situation is turning hilariously chaotic; neither of them wants to break the kiss so Vegas ends up hopping on one leg while trying to get out of his pants, nearly loosing his balance on the wet tiled floor. He clings to Pete, cursing into his mouth and Pete laughs and licks and sucks and it¡¯s a miracle that Vegas ends up naked without injuring himself or both of them in the process. Thankfully Vegas hasn¡¯t entirely lost the ability to think, not just yet, even if Pete is doing the best he can, handcuffed as he is, to make him lose all reason; right now he¡¯s nibbling on Vegas¡¯ earlobe, which feels so damn good that he keeps forgetting what he wanted to ask Pete. Vegas moans and grinds his cock against Pete¡¯s ass, and just wants more. ¡°You ever had sex in the shower before?¡± Pete stops licking the outline of his ear to answer, and Vegas takes this opportunity to try and catch his breath. ¡°Nope. Can¡¯t be too difficult, just don¡¯t untie me,¡± Pete mumbles, and drags his teeth over the sensitive skin behind Vegas¡¯ ear, causing him to shudder with delight. ¡°Kinky.¡± Vegas gives Pete a hard kiss but draws back before he loses himself in the kiss again. ¡°Condoms¡­¡± he breathlessly reminds them. There are some in the bathroom cabinet; he nearly falls over the pile of clothing on the floor in his urge to get them. Pete stands there holding on to the shower rail, watches and laughs heartily and Vegas is so damn in love with him that he thinks his heart will burst. This is definitely the strangest, funniest and yet most intense sexual encounter he¡¯s ever had. Nothing can compare, Vegas has so many emotions that just keep pouring out of him, it wouldn¡¯t surprise him if he was actually glowing. Love makes every touch so much more intense¡ªhe had no idea. And he¡¯s definitely never laughed so much while making out before either. The damn shower floor is slippery like hell, at least Pete can hold on to the shower rail but Vegas feels at times as if he¡¯s walking on ice, slipping at inopportune moments, which makes both Pete and him giggle hysterically. Both of them are completely frantic at this point, they¡¯re so horny that all they can think about are each other¡¯s bodies, and the pleasure that awaits them. Vegas keeps dropping the bottle of lube while fingering Pete, everything is so damn slippery now, he laughs and curses while Pete begs and pleads with him to hurry up already. ¡°Let¡¯s just move to the bed.¡± He chuckles helplessly in frustration when he drops the condom for the third time; he¡¯s fumbling with it like an inexperienced teenager. It¡¯s embarrassing. ¡°No! I need you, I need this, right here and right now¡­ we¡¯re not moving!¡± Pete hisses stubbornly, the handcuffs seem to frustrate him just as much as they obviously arouse him, and he most certainly does not want to be uncuffed right now. ¡°Just fuck me already, I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll last long anyway,¡± he whispers hoarsely. I love you, Vegas thinks. I never thought I could love anyone as much as I love you. ¡°Pete?¡± He leans in and kisses the tip of his nose. ¡°Thank you for crashing into my life.¡± Pete looks slightly perplexed, surprised even, but then Vegas once again kisses him deeply and slowly pushes into him and Pete¡¯s eyes flutter shut as he tries to adjust. They both groan, the sound echoing through the bathroom, neither of them quite believing that this is finally happening. Vegas feels completely overwhelmed. For a moment, he senses the all familiar panic bubbling up inside of him, but he squashes it ruthlessly. Not now. He wants to enjoy this moment. While Pete is still trying to relax, Vegas reaches up and laces his fingers through Pete¡¯s, holding on tightly. He buries his face into Pete¡¯s neck and begins to slowly thrust. It feels amazing. And Pete was right, Vegas won¡¯t last long either. Which is totally fine; this won¡¯t be the last time they have sex. The shower is still on, the warm water raining down on them relentlessly. ¡°Go faster,¡± Pete whispers and Vegas speeds up. It feels so incredible that Vegas thinks he¡¯s seeing stars. He can feel Pete shuddering, hears him panting, he¡¯s tight and hot and the sensation is just out of this world. Vegas is really not going to last much longer, but he needs to make sure Pete comes as well. And so he unlaces his fingers from Pete¡¯s, moves his left hand down and starts jerking Pete off. Apparently that¡¯s just what Pete needs to drive him over the edge; he makes an incoherent sound in the back of his throat and throws his head back. Since this puts the scar, now adorned with a fresh hickey, right within his reach, Vegas bites down on it and with a strangled shout, Pete explodes, coming so hard that his legs buckle beneath him and he hangs in the handcuffs, groaning breathlessly. Holy shit! It¡¯s a magnificent sight! And it¡¯s enough to make Vegas climax as well. ¡°Oh¡­ my¡­ fucking¡­ God¡­¡± Vegas gasps, and shudders through a truly mind-blowing orgasm. He has to hold on to Pete¡¯s shoulders, clinging to him, in order not to collapse. His legs are trembling just as badly as Pete¡¯s. ¡°¡­Owww¡­ hurts¡­¡± Pete hisses in pain as the handcuffs dig deeply into his bruises with the additional weight of Vegas pulling on them. ¡°Vegas¡­ my wrists¡­ ease up a little, okay?¡± ¡°Sorry¡­¡± Vegas immediately lets go and then finds himself sitting on the floor of the shower since his legs won¡¯t carry him right now. He blinks, his mind still in an afterglow daze. And then he feels laughter bubbling up in him. He feels so happy and giddy all at once. Pete casts him an exasperated, exhausted look; his wet hair is plastered to his head, his skin decorated with a few more hickeys, courtesy of Vegas, and Vegas thinks he¡¯s the most beautiful man on earth. I love you. Please don¡¯t break my heart. ¡°Let me find that key for you.¡± Trying very hard to hold in the laughter, he first takes off the condom and then crawls over to the heap of clothes on the shower floor and searches through them until he finds the key. On extremely wobbly legs, he somehow manages to hold Pete up while unlocking the handcuffs, and since they¡¯re both still so shaky, they end up in a heap on the floor again. Vegas pulls Pete into his arms, holding him tight, and kisses the top of his head. ¡°That was well worth the wait,¡± he mumbles with a content sigh. Pete rests his head against Vegas¡¯ shoulder, snuggling against him. ¡°If you ever do this with someone else again, I will fucking kill you,¡± he whispers fiercely and sounds as if he means it. Vegas chuckles softly. Such a brat. ¡°Pete? Don¡¯t leave tonight, all right?¡± It takes Vegas a lot of courage to make this request. ¡°Sleep over. And be around when I wake up, please?¡± ¡°So clingy¡­¡± Pete mumbles, sounding sleepy, and rubs his cheek against Vegas¡¯ shoulder. ¡°Fine. I promise.¡± And that¡¯s good enough for Vegas. He¡¯s so damn happy he¡¯s buzzing out of his skin. He wants to shout his happiness out to the world. Vegas is in love and life is wonderful. Chapter 13 ¡°Who in the world am I? Ah, that¡¯s the great puzzle.¡± When the alarm goes off the next morning, Vegas is disoriented for a moment. He¡¯s been so deeply asleep that it¡¯s a bit of a shock to have his sleep interrupted. ¡°Turn off the alarm¡­¡± Pete mumbles sleepily next to him, and then it sinks in¡ªPete is sleeping next to him, he really did stay the whole night. Their legs and arms are entangled and Vegas feels such a rush of happiness it takes his breath away. This is what he wants. Waking up next to Pete seems like such a minor thing, but it means to world to him. ¡°Just a moment,¡± he mumbles, blindly reaching out to switch off the alarm. It¡¯s a normal work day and they really should get up, but if it were up to him they would stay at home and in bed the whole day. ¡°Let¡¯s catch a few more hours of sleep¡­¡± ¡°Can¡¯t, I have a morning appointment.¡± With a sigh, Pete disentangled himself and everything within Vegas screams to pull him back into his arms. But he doesn¡¯t move when Pete rolls out of bed and stretches lazily. ¡°Damn, I hate mornings,¡± Pete mutters, rubbing his eyes. He¡¯s only wearing boxers, and Vegas drinks in the sight of him, feeling slightly embarrassed when he sees all the hickeys he¡¯s left all over him. He can¡¯t get enough of looking at this man, he¡¯s still full of disbelief about what happened last night. It will probably take him a while to adjust. The handcuffs were a nice twist, but judging from the state of Pete¡¯s badly bruised wrists, they probably shouldn¡¯t use them again anytime soon. And while he watches Pete shuffling out of the bedroom, presumably on his way to the bathroom, doubt starts creeping up on him. If only he had a clue about how Pete feels about last night, because right now it seems like business as usual for him. Pete joked about Vegas being clingy last night, and he really does not want to come across as clingy, but he badly wants to hug Pete and just cuddle a bit. A kiss would be nice as well. But apparently Pete does not feel this way, or does he? The doubt settles on Vegas¡¯ shoulders like a weighted blanket. What are they to each other? Pete said he wants ¡®everything¡¯ from Vegas, but what exactly does this entail? Are they just sleeping together? Is it just about the sex with Pete? Friends¡ªor rather colleagues¡ªwith benefits? Perhaps, now that he got what he wanted, Pete will walk away, calling everything off? Vegas knows it¡¯s idiotic to think in these ways but he simply can¡¯t help himself. All this can be solved by talking to each other, but somehow Vegas doubts this will happen. Neither of them seems very comfortable with talking about feelings. And perhaps Vegas is the only one with feelings and wouldn¡¯t that be embarrassing and painful to discover? With a frustrated groan, Vegas buries himself underneath the blanket once again. This sucks. He does not like feeling this way. Being in love sucks.
Nothing gets resolved. Pete takes a shower, then later on Vegas. Pete¡¯s clothes are still wet; they totally forgot about them yesterday, so Pete is once again borrowing Vegas¡¯ clothes and damn, he looks good in jeans and a plain white t-shirt. As the minutes trickle by, Vegas feels the weight on his shoulders growing heavier and heavier. They talk, yes, but it¡¯s mainly small talk. About clothes. About breakfast. Coffee or tea. Even the fucking weather. Vegas longs for body contact. Holding hands would be enough, it doesn¡¯t need to be an embrace and kisses. At this point, anything really would be fine with him, even fingers brushing against each other. He takes what he gets; in the end he¡¯s happy when he convinces Pete to let him rub some liniment on those bruised wrists and put a bandage over them. Even a little touch like this makes him smile like an idiot¡ªhe likes taking care of Pete. When he¡¯s finished and meets Pete¡¯s eyes, there is an impossible-to-read expression on his face as he looks at Vegas. And then it feels like there¡¯s suddenly an invisible wall between them, one that Vegas is aware of, but doesn¡¯t quite know how to get past. What the heck is happening? There is more small talk during breakfast. It¡¯s so damn frustrating. Vegas feels as if he needs a therapist just to talk about his therapist, and isn¡¯t that ridiculous? He¡¯s getting more and more disheartened by the minute. Pete needs to hurry to get to his appointment in time. He gives Vegas a dimpled smile on the way out the door that makes Vegas want to grab him, shake some sense into him and then kiss him. Of course he doesn¡¯t do that. No, he stays behind and instead kicks the wall in frustration as soon as Pete¡¯s gone. Fuck this. What the hell is going on in your head, Pete?
Vegas throws himself into work. As soon as he¡¯s in his office, he starts writing his report about their latest crime scene. The whole episode with Pete has been very successful in distracting him from the horror he witnessed yesterday, but now it¡¯s time to face reality. They have a murderer to catch. A bit later Tem arrives with coffee. He looks as if he¡¯s slept badly. Vegas can understand how the crime scene most likely made it difficult to sleep. They go over their notes together, discussing details. Tem has checked with Arm; Pol is already taking care of the rooftop which is great; Vegas really appreciates that he doesn¡¯t need to get up there to check for trace evidence. Arm is doing the autopsy and is expected to give them the preliminary results before the end of the day. They have also received copies of the crime scene photos and the video footage, which are just as gruesome as Vegas remembers. Together with Tem, he adds them to their murder board. What a bloody mess. ¡°You think we are going to catch him?¡± He contemplates the whiteboard with the graphic photos. Having a separate office was a good idea after all; no one not working this case should be exposed to these horrors. ¡°Sure. We¡¯ll catch him eventually.¡± At least Tem sounds completely convinced that they will be successful. Vegas himself isn¡¯t so sure. ¡°I don¡¯t know how many more people he will murder before we catch him,¡± Tem adds gloomily. And there it is¡ªtheir biggest problem. They¡¯re in a race against the clock. The longer this takes, the more dead bodies they will have to deal with. They need a break in the case and they need it sooner rather than later, and so they grimly decide to go over all the details in all the cases once again. Early in the afternoon Pete drifts into the office and Vegas¡¯ heart skips a beat. Pete simply has that effect on him these days; he¡¯s the sand that brings Vegas¡¯ cog system to a grinding halt whenever he¡¯s around. It¡¯s embarrassing, really. Vegas gets distracted by Tem¡¯s sharp intake of breath. His partner has turned white as a sheet, looking stunned before his face crumbles and he quickly looks away from Pete. Confused, Vegas glances at Pete and then it hits him¡ªPete is wearing Vegas¡¯ clothes. And Tem has noticed that too. Well, shit. This is awkward to say the least. ¡°What is the matter, Detective? Not happy to see me?¡± Great. Apparently Pete has decided to rub it in. Fuck. Vegas glares at him and shakes his head. But Pete merely smiles innocently and as a result, both Tem and Vegas get irritated with him simultaneously. ¡°If you want to make my day, leave and never come back,¡± Tem replies resentfully, his voice full of hurt and irritation. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you are doing here anyway. I¡¯m back now, so this team is fully operational and does not need your help any longer. Besides, you haven¡¯t been a great help at all, come to think of it.¡± ¡°Pete¡­¡± Vegas warns him, and then turns to glare at Tem as well. ¡°Tem¡­ just stop it, all right? Both of you ¡­ think of this office as Switzerland. Neutral ground. Stop it with these arguments, please? Let us focus on work in here.¡± Pete simply ignores Vegas. Of course he does. Maybe Vegas needs to wear a glittery multicoloured suit in order not to be ignored? ¡°Fortunately it isn¡¯t up to you to decide if my work here is of any help or not, Detective. I¡¯m not going anywhere, and you better come to terms with that. No matter how you feel, Vegas wouldn¡¯t want me to leave anyway, he¡¯s rather attached to me,¡± Pete informs Tem smugly. Tem snarls angrily and turns to Vegas, who thinks he might as well lean back and eat popcorn, watching this train derail, since nobody listens to him these days, no matter what he says. ¡°Make him leave! I¡¯m your goddamn partner, and I can¡¯t work properly when he¡¯s strutting around, trying to rub whatever that thing between you two is in my face!¡± Vegas throws his hands up in frustration, increasingly tired of those two crossing words over him. ¡°Is this a fucking soap opera or what?! Hello? Switzerland? Did either of you listen to what I said?¡± And automatically he adds, ¡°There¡¯s nothing going on between Pete and me.¡± As soon as the words are out, he regrets them. Wrong. The situation has kind of changed. Or has it? Gah! Pete arches an eyebrow at him, rolls his eyes, and Vegas gives him a hesitant, apologetic smile. Meanwhile Tem has decided to call his bluff. ¡°Bullshit. He¡¯s wearing your clothes!¡± ¡°Correct, and that¡¯s not the only thing I¡¯m wearing,¡± Pete adds, and damn if he isn¡¯t gloating. Time for the kitten to show his claws it seems. ¡°I¡¯m wearing his mark, too.¡± He tilts his head to the side for Tem to have a better view of his neck. Bloody hell, wasn¡¯t that bite with the hickey covered by a bandaid this morning? Apparently Pete has taken it off. And that hickey is very visible. Vegas feels his face getting hot as he flushes. He stares at it and is hit by a flashback of the sound Pete made when he sucked on his throat. Damn, he¡¯s getting aroused again just thinking about it. Tem¡¯s angry hiss snaps Vegas out of his momentary distraction, especially when Pete decides to take this one step further. ¡°Take a good, hard look at him, Detective. Doesn¡¯t he look as if he wants to pounce me and continue right where we left off last night? But how about we take the bed this time, and not the shower,¡± he purrs, that last part directed at Vegas, who shivers instinctively with delight. Holy shit. Vegas can¡¯t believe Pete just said that. And he can¡¯t believe that every word is true either. Shit. No shower is fine though, too damn slippery anyway, the bed will be better. Or the couch. Or the kitchen table. Shit. And does that mean Pete hasn¡¯t had enough of him yet? It really sounded like it, which is so totally fine with Vegas, because he will never get tired of Pete. Shit. Even Tem has a limit when it comes to how much cruel teasing he can endure. And while Vegas is still staring at Pete, trying to process his words and fantasising about what to do to him next, Tem¡¯s had enough. In the end it isn¡¯t Vegas who pounces, but Tem; he launches himself at Pete, and the next moment they¡¯re engaged in a wild scuffle. Or rather, Tem is trying to hit Pete, who in turn is busy ducking away from under Tem¡¯s fists. Well, that went sideways quickly. Vegas blinks in surprise, then glances at the closed door in alarm. They¡¯re at work; this is a police station; are they out of their mind?! ¡°Stop it,¡± he hisses urgently. ¡°Will you two stop it already!¡± By now the whole situation has escalated into a straight out fist fight. Vegas gets up and tries to separate them, but Tem is really furious and refuses to let go. Pete is already sporting a bloody nose. This fight seems awfully mismatched when it comes to their fighting abilities; Pete is a psychologist after all, and not trained in hand-to-hand combat like Tem. In the end, Vegas does the only thing he can think of that could perhaps make those two stop before they seriously hurt themselves. A spur of the moment decision. ¡°I¡¯m being targeted by the killer!¡± Vegas doesn¡¯t shout, but it¡¯s a close call. Fuck. He did it. He said it out loud. Fuck. He wants to take back those words instantly; he doesn¡¯t want anyone to know, and definitely not them. Too late. How is he going to explain this mess? Fuck. Well, at least it seems to have the desired effect¡ªboth of them freeze and turn their heads simultaneously to look at him in surprise. ¡°Say that again¡­?!¡± Tem asks astonished, breathing hard. ¡°What the hell do you mean¡­?!¡± Pete bursts out, equally out of breath, and very shocked. ¡°It is a long story¡­¡± Vegas gives them a tired smile and shrugs helplessly. ¡°Switzerland. Neutral ground. Could we please focus on work so that I don¡¯t end up as a fucked up art installation in some desolate warehouse eventually?¡± ¡°You¡¯re joking, right?¡± Pete shoves Tem off, and Tem doesn¡¯t resist for once. They¡¯re standing next to each other, still breathing heavily, both of them staring at Vegas, their clothes and hair a rumpled mess. ¡°This isn¡¯t funny, Vegas. Not funny at all¡­¡± It seems Pete isn¡¯t sure if he should be alarmed or irritated with Vegas. Tem has turned ghostly pale. As a police officer he takes this with absolute seriousness; he¡¯s seen enough threats against colleagues with a nasty ending. ¡°What makes you think this is the case, Vegas? Have you been contacted by the killer in any way? What do you mean?¡± ¡°As I said, it is a long story.¡± With a sigh, Vegas walks up to Tem and straightens his hair. ¡°Make yourself presentable and then go and get us some coffee and snacks, we¡¯ll need them.¡± Then he turns to Pete, simply ignores the glare¡ªyes, he touched Tem, so what?¡ªand takes out a tissue to gently dab away the blood still trickling from his nose. ¡°Does it hurt?¡± he can¡¯t help asking. ¡°Vegas,¡± Pete is clearly exasperated. ¡°Never mind the damn nosebleed¡ªwhat the hell do you mean when you say you are being targeted?¡± ¡°Clean yourself up, Pete.¡± Vegas can¡¯t resist, he lightly brushes his thumb over Pete¡¯s lips when he¡¯s finished wiping away the blood. So soft. ¡°We¡¯ll talk as soon as Tem comes back with the coffee. I promise both of you, I¡¯ll explain everything, all right?¡± And that¡¯s all he plans to say for now on the matter. ¡°Both of you get the fuck out of this office for the next 30 minutes. I need some alone time and that is non-negotiable.¡± They try to get him to talk anyway, but he¡¯s having none of it. Vegas shoves both of them out the door, closes it very firmly in their faces and then turns around and leans against it. His knees are shaking. He needs time to prepare himself for this talk, he can¡¯t let them see how worried he really is. Against his own better judgement he has dragged them into this nightmare and he¡¯s terrified of the consequences. Tem will have a conflict of interest. And Pete¡­ Pete¡¯s about to have a very rude awakening about the realities of Vegas¡¯ life. How will he react?
They have sequestered themselves in the office with a ¡®Do not disturb¡¯ note on the door. They have coffee, and Tem even got some snacks, as requested. Vegas holds on to the coffee mug as if his life depends on it, he¡¯s incredibly on edge. It really doesn¡¯t help that he has two pairs of eyes on him, watching his every move. They¡¯ve decided to pull their chairs together into a loose circle for this talk. But Vegas doesn¡¯t want to talk, he wants to run. Just run, it doesn¡¯t really matter where to; he wants to run and forget about this whole mess. ¡°Just get on with it already.¡± Pete still sounds mostly irritated. He seems to believe Vegas made all of this up just to break up his fight with Tem. He used their short break to wash the blood stains from his t-shirt, but Vegas wonders if he¡¯ll have even more bruises tomorrow. And he wonders if he will be able to check, or if Pete will call it quits after this conversation. Vegas swallows hard. He does not like feeling like this. ¡°Give him a break already,¡± Tem reprimands Pete. ¡°It¡¯s obviously difficult for him to talk about it, can¡¯t you see that?¡± He turns towards Vegas with a warm, genuine smile. ¡°Do you mean this is connected to you personally, or were you referring to the Theerapanyakul family because of the bodyguard issue?¡± ¡°What bodyguard issue?¡± Pete looks at both of them, confused. ¡°Why do I get the feeling I¡¯m missing some vital information here?¡± ¡°Well¡­ I¨CI decided to share this sensitive information just with Tem, I am sorry,¡± Vegas stutters and looks away. Pete huffs with irritation, but refrains from commenting any further. A quick glance and yeah, the way he¡¯s clenching his jaw is a dead give-away¡ªthis is pissing him off. Not a good start at all. ¡°Based on a specific tattoo on the second victim, I discovered that he was working as a bodyguard for my extended family,¡± Vegas explains quietly, looking at his hands. It¡¯s easier to talk about this if he doesn¡¯t have to see their faces. ¡°He was listed as an active bodyguard for my youngest cousin, Kim. Since this concerns the Theerapanyakul family, I contacted Porsche and my oldest cousin, and we had a discussion about this. Kinn is looking into the matter on his side, to make sure that this isn¡¯t tied to the family¡¯s business partners. Which of course is unlikely, I told him so right away. Tem found out about this connection as well while doing the background check on the victim; he knows how complicated things get as soon as my family is involved, so we decided to keep the information between us and not share it with anyone else. I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t give Vegas a hard time about it, please. Everyone who works here knows that anything connected to the Theerapanyakul family is considered a sensitive issue. The less people know about this, the better. That¡¯s why we¡¯ve kept it out of the official case documentation so far,¡± Tem elaborates patiently. ¡°Tem is correct. This is also the weakest link to me personally; that victim is more connected to me via the family business. As far as I remember I didn¡¯t have any interaction with him whatsoever,¡± Vegas points out. ¡°Fine, whatever.¡± Pete seems to accept that explanation. Vegas casts another quick glance at him, but once again the professional mask is firmly in place, not showing any emotions. ¡°This is important information for the profiling though, I will need to make adjustments now. Go on, Vegas, there is more, I am sure.¡± Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. Of course there is more. Vegas swallows drily, his fingers holding the coffee mug so tightly that they¡¯re turning white. He clears his throat repeatedly. ¡°I recognised yesterday¡¯s victim.¡± He wants to run away from this conversation so badly that his whole body is aching from suppressing his fight or flight instinct. ¡°That guy¡­¡± If only his throat wouldn¡¯t feel as if it¡¯s closing up. Vegas shaky voice gets softer by the second. ¡°That guy is¡­ was¡­ my¡­ he was my drug dealer¡­¡± Tem curses quietly. Since Vegas refuses to look up, he doesn¡¯t see Pete¡¯s reaction, but Pete is awfully silent, and that never bodes well. ¡°Fuck, I thought you¡¯d stopped¡­¡± Okay, so Tem¡¯s upset now, great. ¡°I was so sure you stopped, Vegas. When did you start again?¡± And just a moment later his partner adds in alarm, ¡°You¡¯re not high right now, are you?¡± Oh hell. Taking a deep breath, Vegas faces Tem and gives him an apologetic smile. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I swear I haven¡¯t been taking anything for the longest time, I only slipped once a little while ago, when I had a really shitty day.¡± ¡°Damn it, Vegas.¡± Tem sighs deeply and there is disappointment and concern in his eyes. They look at each other, a lot left unspoken. ¡°You lied on your assessment forms for the therapy.¡± Pete finally decides to speak up. ¡°Of course I did.¡± Vegas snorts softly. ¡°You think I¡¯d admit on an official document that I¡¯m popping pills?¡± ¡°And is that all you do?¡± Pete¡¯s voice is neutral, and very mild, and somehow that makes it worse. ¡°Just pills? Not smoking or snorting or shooting anything up?¡± Ouch, that hurts. Before Vegas can formulate a reply, Tem is once again defending him passionately. ¡°Of course he doesn¡¯t, don¡¯t be ridiculous. He¡¯s not a drug addict.¡± Pete isn¡¯t impressed at all. ¡°And you lied to me as well, Detective. You are covering up for him and thereby enabling his addiction.¡± ¡°I am not addicted to anything, all right, will you stop it already?!¡± This is getting out of hand and Vegas is stressing even more. ¡°I never did any heavy drugs, just something now and then to take the edge off when I was stressed out of my mind. That¡¯s all. And I haven¡¯t been taking anything for the longest time, that is, until you showed up and started messing with my mind.¡± Vegas finally raises his eyes and gives Pete a sharp look. ¡°You and your fucking mind games¡­¡± They stare at each other, neither of them willing to give in. Pete¡¯s face is entirely expressionless; he¡¯s wearing his damn psychologist mask again, and Vegas hates it because in the depth of those dark eyes there is something that hints at Pete having a lot of feelings about this topic; feelings he isn¡¯t voicing. And Vegas desperately wants to know what those feelings are. Tem clears his throat. Loudly. ¡°All right, so that victim is your former dealer. When did you last meet up with him? And how many people know he supplied you with drugs?¡± Trust Tem to get them back to work on the matter at hand. With a frown, Vegas breaks eye contact with Pete. He places the mug with the now cold coffee on the table behind him and leans back in his chair, giving those questions some thought. ¡°I met him a couple of weeks ago; that was for the first time in well over a year? And I don¡¯t think anyone else knows about our connection; you are the only one who was aware I was doing recreational drugs and I didn¡¯t even tell you his name. This is not something you talk about with other people. And I don¡¯t know any other users I would recommend him to.¡± Tem asks for the exact date, taking notes, and Vegas gives it to him. Meanwhile Pete sits in the chair, twirling his multicoloured pen in his fingers, deep in thought. ¡°Since this is the second victim that has a connection to you, it doesn¡¯t look like a coincidence,¡± Pete finally announces. ¡°Which leaves two options: The killer has either been stalking you for over a year to be aware of your drug habit, or he¡¯s been tailing you somehow these last few weeks ever since the killings started, and thus became aware of the victim when you went to see him recently.¡± Well, isn¡¯t that just great news? ¡°I don¡¯t think I am that easy to stalk; I¡¯m a police officer after all. Surely I would have noticed?¡± Vegas really can¡¯t think of any moment when he had the notion that he was being followed, but he¡¯s starting to feel uneasy. It¡¯s one thing to know an insane killer is out there, but it¡¯s an entirely different thing to deal with the knowledge that this insane killer might be keeping a close eye on him personally. ¡°Maybe he placed a tracker on your car?¡± Tem is ever so practical, even though he seems very alarmed at the thought of a murderer stalking the person he likes. ¡°We should check that.¡± ¡°Or maybe he¡¯s just that good,¡± Pete adds drily. ¡°You only need to watch some movies or tv series to know that even police officers are bloody amateurs when it comes to noticing that someone is tailing them, if that someone has the right training. Maybe the killer has been in the military, or has a background as an intelligence operative? I¡¯m sure you can even find YouTube tutorials about professional shadowing.¡± ¡°Fuck.¡± Vegas sighs deeply and runs his fingers through his hair, as always when he¡¯s stressed. ¡°Where exactly did you meet the guy? Did you have a fixed meeting place? Maybe we can check the CCTV in the area to see if we find something suspicious?¡± That¡¯s actually a good suggestion from Tem. Vegas readily supplies the street names. ¡°What else can you remember from that day? Anything could be useful, Vegas.¡± ¡°I was a bit out of it that evening so I doubt I would have noticed anyone following me. I didn¡¯t get high right away, I went to a bar and had a few drinks first.¡± And wasn¡¯t that an epic miscalculation on his part? Pete sighs at that and remarks quietly but emphatically, ¡°You fucking idiot.¡± He twirls the pen faster, the only sign that he might be upset. And this time, Tem is in total agreement with him. ¡°Damn, Vegas. You should know better than to mix alcohol and drugs.¡± ¡°I know, I know, it won¡¯t happen again, I¡¯m sorry, all right?¡± A glance at both of their doubtful faces, and Vegas repeats himself. ¡°It won¡¯t happen again, I learned my lesson, I swear. I got into a damn bar fight that night and was messed up pretty badly. You could say I learned my lesson the hard way.¡± ¡°Wait a moment¡­¡± Tem frowns and interrupts, then checks the notes he¡¯s taking. ¡°You got into a bar fight? On that night? In that area? Do you remember the name of the bar?¡± ¡°Why? Is this important?¡± Vegas tries to remember but comes up with a blank. ¡°No clue? I think there was a tattoo parlour next to it though? Why do you ask?¡± ¡°Oh shit¡­¡± And now it is Tem¡¯s turn to look thoroughly uneasy. ¡°Remember the conversation we had a few days ago, when we talked about how crazy this city is getting? The bar fight aftermath I had to investigate? The nail gun?¡± Vegas feels himself getting pale. No way. No fucking way. He¡¯s feeling ill to his very bones; his throat is constricting and breathing gets increasingly difficult. It really is all connected to him. This isn¡¯t a coincidence. People are getting killed because of him once again. And soon it will be his turn. Tem rambles on, sounding more and more alarmed. ¡°I don¡¯t think there were that many bar fights in that exact area, on that exact evening. It must have been the same fight you were in. Fuck! You should be glad you got away before shit starting hitting the fan, Vegas. I mean, that nail gun business sounds just like something our killer would do, coming to think of it. And damn, it was nasty, I tell you¡­ Five people, Vegas. He nailed five people to the wall with a nail gun in that alley behind the bar. We didn¡¯t get any good descriptions; the victims were mostly drunk and the assailant was masked. And there was no CCTV nearby so we couldn¡¯t¡ª¡± Tem¡¯s voice dissolves into white noise. Vegas can¡¯t breathe. He knows he¡¯s going through the right motions but somehow the oxygen just doesn¡¯t reach his lungs. He can¡¯t breathe and gasps in desperation, doubling over on his chair. Air. He needs air. Sound and vision comes and goes. ¡°¡­ Vegas! Vegas!!! Fuck¡­ what¡¯s wrong?¡­¡± ¡°¡­ well damn¡­¡± Vegas needs air! Someone is touching him, shaking him. He just needs air, he can¡¯t breathe. ¡°¡­ call an ambulance¡­¡± ¡°¡­ take your fucking hands off him¡­¡± ¡°¡­ Vegas, can you hear me¡­¡± ¡°¡­ I¡¯m running out of patience with you, Tem, back off! I¡¯m only tolerating you because of Vegas¡­¡± What the hell is happening? Why can¡¯t he breathe? What the hell is going on? Is he going to die? Is he having a heart attack? He needs air! He has his eyes open but everything is a blur, he can¡¯t make out anything but vague shapes. Is he having a stroke? ¡°¡­ Vegas, look at me¡­ what¡¯s wrong¡­¡± ¡°¡­ for fuck¡¯s sake, give him some space already. Let me handle this, he¡¯s having a panic attack. Tem, fuck off, last warning¡­¡± Vegas¡¯ heart pounding madly. This can¡¯t be healthy. This feels all wrong. He¡¯s getting light-headed from lack of oxygen and can hear the rush of his blood in his ears. He¡¯s going to die. Fuck. He¡¯s going to die right here and now and that knowledge increases his panic. He doesn¡¯t want to die! There are sounds of a scuffle. Then someone touches his shoulder. ¡°¡­ Vegas¡­¡± He doesn¡¯t want to die. He doesn¡¯t want to leave Pete. Shit, he¡¯s having a heart attack. Or a stroke. Or both. ¡°¡­ Vegas¡­¡± Vegas can¡¯t breathe! Hands on his face. Warm. Soft. He doesn¡¯t want to die! ¡°¡­ Vegas¡­ I¡¯m here¡­¡± Oh God, he doesn¡¯t want to die! But he can¡¯t breathe and his heart is about to give out and this is it, there¡¯s nothing he can do about it, he¡¯ll die. Then he feels lips brushing against his¡ªa spark of electricity in the darkness that is snuffed out right away by a flood wave of panic¡ªand Pete¡¯s calm voice flows over him, a safety line that keeps him from being washed away in the sea of panic he in engulfed in. ¡°I¡¯m right here, Vegas, everything is going to be all right. It¡¯s just a panic attack. You¡¯re going to be all right. I¡¯m right here. Concentrate on my voice. I¡¯ll help you.¡± Vegas clings to that voice. Pete¡¯s voice. He loves that voice. If he has to die, then he wants this voice to be the last thing he hears. He¡¯s still frantically gasping for air, black spots in his vision. Everything is a blur. ¡°You¡¯re hyperventilating. I¡¯m going to help you fix this. First you need to sit up again, like this.¡± Hands are pulling at him, making him change his position in the chair. Then those hands move to his face, cradling it. ¡°Are you listening, Vegas? Can you hear me? Vegas?¡± The hands holding his face tighten slightly, increasing their pressure against his skin. ¡°Vegas?¡± Then more sharply. ¡°Detective Theerapanyakul? I want you to listen and follow my instructions, Detective!¡± Some part of Vegas reacts to that authoritative tone of voice. Orders. He needs to follow orders, yes, so he tries to nod and is rewarded with thumbs caressing his cheeks. ¡°Great. Now listen closely to me¡­¡± Pete¡¯s tone of voice turns almost hypnotic. ¡°You will do exactly what I tell you. Begin by slowly exhaling all of your air out. Then, gently inhale through your nose to a slow count of four. Hold at the top of the breath for a count of four. Then gently exhale through your mouth for a count of four. At the bottom of the breath, pause and hold for the count of four. You can do that, right? Detective, I know you think this is ridiculous but please, let¡¯s give it a try. Just once, okay?¡± Gentle breathing is not an option right now, how come Pete doesn¡¯t understand that? Vegas is suffocating, he needs oxygen right now, he¡¯s gasping for air frantically. ¡°Listen to my voice Vegas¡­ Inhale: One, two, three, four¡­ Hold your breath: One, two, three, four¡­ Exhale: One, two, three, four¡­ Hold your breath: One, two, three, four¡­¡± Pete sounds calm, so calm, surely he would be more frantic if Vegas was in danger of dying, right? So maybe he won¡¯t die? Vegas tries to concentrate on the voice, tries to do what the voice is saying, but it is so damn difficult. But Pete just keeps talking, repeating the instructions over and over again, his hands stroking Vegas¡¯ face gently the whole time. At some point¡ªVegas doesn¡¯t notice it first¡ªhis breathing adapts and falls into line with Pete¡¯s instructions. Inhale. Wait. Exhale. Wait. Repeat. The knot in his throat dissolves, his heartbeat slows down. It gets easier to breathe. He is alive. He is still alive. Sound and vision normalise as well. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± is the first thing he says, his voice raspy and very faint. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, please don¡¯t leave me. I swear I¡¯m not an addict. I¡¯m really not such a terrible person. Don¡¯t leave me.¡± Now with the initial panic receding, another worry takes over. He¡¯s such a mess, surely Pete is having second thoughts now after witnessing this meltdown. Pete is still kneeling before Vegas¡¯ chair, his warm hands cradling Vegas¡¯ face. He¡¯s gazing at Vegas, and it feels as if he¡¯s looking straight into Vegas¡¯ fragile soul. ¡°I¡¯m not going anywhere,¡± he reassures him gently. ¡°I¡¯m right here. I¡¯m not leaving.¡± Hearing him say that nearly causes Vegas to start crying and wouldn¡¯t that be embarrassing? He holds it in, barely, just giving Pete a watery smile. Now in the aftermath of the panic attack, he can feel that he¡¯s trembling uncontrollably. ¡°It¡¯s all right, don¡¯t worry about it.¡± Once again Pete seems so in tune with him that he knows exactly what Vegas is thinking. ¡°That¡¯s the after- effects of the adrenaline rush. It¡¯s perfectly normal.¡± He turns to Tem, who is hovering nearby, worry written all over his pale face. Oh, and Tem seems to have a nosebleed? How did that happen? ¡°Go and get Vegas something warm to drink with lots of sugar in it,¡± Pete orders him in a tone of voice that allows for no objection. Without protest, Tem leaves right away, and then it¡¯s just Vegas and Pete in the office, staring at each other. Vegas doesn¡¯t know what to say. He feels exhausted, drained and embarrassed. But apparently words aren¡¯t necessary. Pete¡¯s lips curve into an affectionate smile¡ªthere is that dimple again¡ªand then he leans in and simply kisses Vegas. There is the all familiar spark and tingle, but this is a slow and gentle kiss, the kiss that Vegas has been longing for since he woke up this morning. It¡¯s long overdue, and he sighs into Pete¡¯s mouth and just allows himself to drown in the sensations and the closeness, for once not overthinking. When Tem comes back to the room he finds them in the position he left them; Vegas is still sitting on his chair with Pete kneeling before him. They¡¯re holding hands, their fingers laced together and their foreheads leaning against each other. Tem looks at them and swallows hard. It¡¯s very obvious who¡¯s the third wheel in this room, and it hurts. He interrupts their moment quietly, ¡°I brought you some milk tea with extra syrup.¡± Vegas sighs and reluctantly opens his eyes again, pulling away from Pete. ¡°Thank you.¡± To take the tea he needs to release Pete¡¯s hands and he hates it, but they shouldn¡¯t be holding hands here anyway. Someone else might walk into the office at any moment, after all, even though they¡¯re probably getting so used to Vegas¡¯ violent outbursts that they just ignore them. Pete seems totally unconcerned about getting caught. He simply smiles, rises and stretches before returning to his seat. ¡°Drink the tea, Vegas, you need the sugar. And then let us know if you are up to continuing the conversation.¡± Taking a careful sip of the hot tea and nearly burning his mouth, Vegas can see that Tem opens his mouth to speak¡ªbut Pete gives him such a dark glare that his partner immediately reconsiders and stays silent. Why does Tem have a bloody nose? Something must have happened between these two when he was out of it, but Vegas doesn¡¯t have the energy to get to the bottom of this pit of vipers. ¡°Let¡¯s just get it over with.¡± He sighs deeply and takes another sip of tea. It is hot and sweet and just what he needs right now. Tem knows his taste well. Speaking of which, Tem clearly thinks that continuing this talk is a bad idea, but after a wary glance at Pete he grits his teeth, picks up his notebook once more and asks the next question. ¡°All right then¡­ What is your connection to the first victim?¡± Vegas almost regrets his decision to continue right there and then. It can¡¯t be helped though; now that he knows about the incident at the bar, which is definite proof that he¡¯s being stalked by an insane killer, he needs their assistance. And for him to get that help, both Tem and Pete unfortunately need more information. ¡°We had sex. He was one of my one-night-stands,¡± he states, sounding a lot calmer than he feels. Vegas can see Tem¡¯s fingers clenching tightly around the pen in his hand. He feels bad for him; it must be painful to be reminded of the fact that Vegas is having sex with other people. And Pete¡­ Pete just folds his arms before his chest, looking at Vegas ever so calmly. As if this doesn¡¯t bother him at all. Or maybe he suspected Vegas having flings like this all along? Suddenly Vegas feels the need to clarify things. ¡°I¡¯m not sleeping around indiscriminately, I swear. It¡¯s not that I like having one-night-stands. I really don¡¯t. I know it¡¯s not safe. I simply don¡¯t have many options¡­¡± And then he shuts up, because he knows he¡¯s making things worse. Another wave of embarrassment creeps up on him and he looks down at his hands once more. ¡°It¡¯s all right, Vegas. I understand.¡± Why does Tem have to be so matter-of-fact about this? ¡°I¡¯ve known all along, this isn¡¯t news to me.¡± Now that definitely makes it worse. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Tem.¡± Pete shifts in his chair, regarding Vegas sharply. ¡°Are those one-night-stands really just one time hook-ups, or do you have regulars you shift between?¡± ¡°Pete¡­¡± Vegas gives him a helpless glance. ¡°I know this sounds bad, but could you please not make me feel like a total slut? What am I supposed to do? Can both of you just for a moment try to see my side of this? My father makes it impossible for me to have a steady relationship. You want me to live my life like a monk? I¡¯m feeling horrible enough about this already, I don¡¯t like casual sex. To put it bluntly, there¡¯s only so much you can do with your hands, now and then you need the real deal. And no, I do not have ¡®regulars¡¯. I just hook up in a bar or club. Most times I don¡¯t even know their names. I never saw Beam before that evening, and I didn¡¯t plan on ever seeing him again.¡± As expected, Tem gives him an encouraging smile, even though he appears to be deeply uncomfortable with the whole topic. So predictable. So reliable. So loyal. It¡¯s sweet; Tem is an easy person to like and be friends with, and he would be an easy person to love as well. Once upon a time, Vegas thought he could be that person loving Tem, but that was before Pete crashed into his life. Tem is a quiet river compared to Pete¡¯s whitewater madness. And unexpectedly, Vegas is discovering that he prefers a wild ride to a gentle river cruise. Speaking of whitewater¡­ Pete has listened patiently to his explanation, but now he is gracing him with such a deceptively gently smile that it instantly makes Vegas¡¯ inner alarm bells go off. ¡°There will be no more one-night-stands,¡± Pete declares with absolute certainty. ¡°You better remember what I told you yesterday, because I meant every damn word of it, and you have the tendency to conveniently forget my warnings.¡± Message received loud and clearly. Vegas swallows drily and nods hastily. He remembers, oh, yes, he remembers. Yesterday he thought it was a cute remark, but he just now got the tiniest glimpse of the same Pete who jumped off that roof. Not taking Pete seriously would be a fatal mistake. ¡°Nodding won¡¯t do, Vegas; I need some verbal acknowledgement from you.¡± The way Pete is staring at him makes Vegas feel hot and cold; it¡¯s both exciting, and scary as hell. ¡°I will not be having sex with anyone else, I promise.¡± It¡¯s a no-brainer really. Why on earth would Vegas want to sleep with someone else, now that he has Pete. He has Pete, right? And damn, doesn¡¯t that take them right back to the root of the problem? What are they to each other now? ¡°At some point you and I need to have a talk, Pete.¡± ¡°Eventually, yes¡­¡± Pete shrugs nonchalantly. It isn¡¯t the answer Vegas was hoping for, but it is better than nothing. ¡°You two need therapy,¡± Tem states bitterly. From where he¡¯s sitting, he stares at both of them with disbelief written all over his face. ¡°Could we please focus on not getting Vegas killed? You can deal with your toxic personal life after work hours.¡± ¡°Sorry,¡± Vegas mumbles, and Pete just smirks darkly. ¡°So in summary, you do not follow any specific patterns when it comes to your sexual encounters.¡± Tem sounds awfully stiff now. ¡°Do you go to the same clubs and bars?¡± And back to their murder problem it is. ¡°Basically, yes. I have a handful of places I prefer. The days vary. There is no pattern there at all.¡± ¡°When did you hook up with the first victim then?¡± Vegas has been thinking about this a lot, so he can give Tem an exact date. ¡°We¡¯d best go check the security tapes of the club then,¡± Tem suggests, and Vegas flinches a bit. ¡°Uhm, that won¡¯t be necessary. I already collected those tapes. And had a look at them.¡± ¡°Damn. You¡¯re messing with potential evidence now, Vegas? Are you out of your mind?¡± As a fellow police officer, Tem finds this appalling. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, okay? I panicked. It was a stupid thing to do, but I was so worried I would get suspended if anyone found out that I knew the victim.¡± Pete interrupts them once more. ¡°Both of you are missing an important fact here: the murderer must have either been stalking you already by then, following you to the club that night in order to see your interaction with your one-night-stand, or he was at the club for some other reason but you caught his attention on this very night for the first time.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t like either option,¡± Tem admits, and Vegas nods in agreement. ¡°You don¡¯t have to like it, I am just stating the obvious,¡± Pete shrugs. ¡°Think carefully, Vegas: has anything else out of the ordinary happened to you since then? Any strange phone calls? Weird letters or notes? New neighbours? New friend requests on social media? We¡¯re going to have to look at all of those things.¡± Vegas is bewildered. ¡°Not to my knowledge. I simply don¡¯t understand, why me? What is so special about me? My life sucks. Why would a serial killer pick a police officer to obsess about? Isn¡¯t that illogical?¡± Tem frowns and suggests, ¡°Maybe he likes the challenge?¡± Then he turns towards Pete and asks him, reluctantly, ¡°From your professional point of view, how much danger is Vegas in?¡± Pete resumes twirling his multicoloured pen with his fingers, contemplating this for longer than Vegas likes. This isn¡¯t a good sign. Neither is the frown and the increasingly grave expression on his face. ¡°I need another day to analyse the new information and incorporate it into my profile. But I think it¡¯s safe to assume that Vegas has guessed correctly; the killer is indeed targeting him. So far it¡¯s all indirectly connected to Vegas; as far as we know, no direct contact has been made¡ªyet. This is most likely going to change in the very near future. The killer will need reassurance that Vegas is aware of the offerings¡ªthe gifts¡ªhe¡¯s leaving behind for Vegas. And by that I mean the victims, of course.¡± Pete twirls the pen faster. ¡°It really all depends on how patient this murderer is. Will he be able to wait until Vegas figures out that he himself is the connection between all the cases? No matter how many dead bodies this takes? Or will he be forced to leave Vegas more tangible clues?¡± He stops, momentarily lost in thoughts. ¡°Considering all the serial killer case studies I have read, I don¡¯t think Vegas is in immediate danger. But that will change the moment the killer takes the step to initiate contact. Once that happens, it¡¯s only a matter of time before the murderer shifts his full focus from second-hand acquaintances directly onto the object of his obsession, with all the dire and potentially lethal consequences for Vegas that this entails.¡± ¡°Well, shit¡­¡± Both Tem and Vegas stare at Pete with wide eyes. Not good. Not good at all. Fuck. Chapter 14 ¡°Speak English!¡± said the Eaglet. ¡°I don¡¯t know the meaning of half those long words, and, what¡¯s more, I don¡¯t believe you do either!¡± It¡¯s in the middle of the night, the room is dark, and apart from the faint traffic noises from outside, the only sound in the room is Vegas¡¯ frantic breathing. He¡¯s sitting in bed, shivering all over, trying to catch his breath and shake off the last dark whispers of the nightmare he¡¯s just woken up from. The specifics of the dream elude him, which is probably good. All that he¡¯s left with is an overwhelming sense of dread. He¡¯s covered in cold sweat, the t-shirt sticking uncomfortably to his clammy skin. Everything¡¯s quiet, too quiet. It grates on his already frayed nerves. He¡¯s so tired but wide awake at the same time. Rolling over and trying to go back to sleep does not sound like an option right now. Vegas turns on the light. For the first time in his life he¡¯s no longer feeling safe in his own apartment and it sucks big time. This won¡¯t do. He climbs out of bed and heads straight for the cupboard with the gun safe. As soon as he has the Glock in his hands he feels better. Then he proceeds to systematically check his apartment for possible intruders. Of course there are none, but he needs to do this for his own peace of mind. He double-checks that the front door is locked. After a brief moment of hesitation he goes into the living room and gets two chairs, placing them against the door¡ªjust to give himself a bit of a head start should someone try to force their way into his home. He feels like an idiot for doing this. But better stupid than dead, and therefore he also makes a mental note to get new locks, better locks, more locks. Then he goes to take a quick shower because all that cold sweat feels disgusting. And while he¡¯s in the shower, he feels resentment bubbling up inside of him. He shouldn¡¯t be alone right now, so where the hell is Pete? Does he have no sense of empathy for what Vegas is going through after the big reveal? Then again, knowing Pete, he¡¯s probably doing this on purpose. But damn¡­ seriously? How can he just calmly tell Vegas he¡¯s going to end up as the final victim of a serial killer, and then leave him alone with that knowledge? It¡¯s driving him insane; he¡¯s getting whiplash from the emotional rollercoaster he¡¯s being put through by this man. One moment Pete is warm and compassionate, and the next he¡¯s distant and seems completely oblivious to what Vegas needs. It¡¯s baffling, and Vegas resents him for that. Unfortunately that doesn¡¯t stop him from being wildly in love with Pete. They¡¯re such a mess. Tem is right¡ªwhatever that thing is between them, it¡¯s rather toxic. After the shower, he pours himself a drink, double-checks the front door again and then goes back to bed. This time, he puts the Glock underneath his pillow, within easy reach. Sleep doesn¡¯t come for the longest time; he¡¯s simply too hyper-alert. Is this how his nights are going to be from now on? This sucks.
The next morning Vegas is tired and grumpy. Not a good combination for someone with anger issues. He calls the locksmith, arranges for better locks to be installed and then goes on a long run to blow off some steam before work. And yes, he¡¯s surprised that Tem is already sitting by his computer when he arrives. ¡°You couldn¡¯t sleep either?¡± Vegas stifles a yawn before heading over to his desk to turn on his computer. He tries to avoid looking at the murder board; knowing that he might end up as one of the photos on it is rather unsettling. ¡°Sleep is overrated,¡± Tem mutters and shrugs. Vegas walks over to him to check what he¡¯s working on, but Tem actives the monitor sleep mode before he has a chance to take a look. Oh, well. ¡°Did you have coffee yet, Vegas? Or should I rather ask, how much coffee did you have already? Want some more?¡± ¡°No thanks, I think there is more coffee in my veins than blood. I should probably avoid coffee for the rest of the day if I want to be able to sleep within the next week. So¡­ what do you want to work on today?¡± Vegas assumes that Tem might have more questions about what they discussed yesterday. ¡°Arm called, he¡¯s on his way with the autopsy results.¡± Aww, hell¡­ ¡°Great, what a lovely way to start the day.¡± Sarcasm is the only way Vegas can deal with this right now. ¡°I¡¯m not getting paid enough for this shit¡­¡± ¡°Me neither,¡± Tem agrees wholeheartedly, and they settle down to wait for the ME. When Arm arrives, he does so in the company of Pete. They seem awfully chummy¡ªVegas didn¡¯t think they knew each other that well, and it makes him frown. Then the frown deepens; Pete is wearing a shirt with an atrocious fish print. His fashion sense seems to be non-existent, or rather, it¡¯s in sync with his equally cringeworthy interior decoration preferences. Vegas sighs inwardly. Pete¡¯s a lost cause. In contrast, Arm¡¯s t-shirt of the day states ¡®Wisdom has been chasing you, but you¡¯ve always been faster¡¯. Vegas guffaws; yet another relatable quote¡ªhe loves it. What he doesn¡¯t love is the enthusiastic interaction between Arm and Pete; jealousy leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Vegas knows that Arm isn¡¯t interested in Pete in that way, but the easy way Pete jokes with the ME still rankles. Mine, Vegas wants to yell at Arm. Mine mine mine. Don¡¯t even look at him. Gah! He¡¯s turning into a cave man, how idiotic! This needs to stop. He decides to give Pete the cold shoulder for now. ¡°Vegas, you¡¯re going to love this¡­¡± Arm starts enthusiastically. No, Vegas is sure he¡¯s not going to love whatever Arm is about to tell him. He offers the ME a seat, nods politely in greeting to Pete, and prepares to take notes. ¡°All right, what do you have, Arm? Did you find anything that will help us catch the killer? Some DNA? Fingerprints? Anything like that?¡± There¡¯s always hope, and Vegas hopes fervently that they will catch the killer before he himself becomes a victim. ¡°No.¡± Of course he didn¡¯t. But Arm is entirely too cheerful about this failure, if you ask Vegas. ¡°No fingerprints. No DNA. But how about seed pods?¡± He seems thrilled, and starts typing on his ever-present tablet, then turns it around to show Vegas, Tem and Pete a photo of something brownish that looks look like a deformed, dried flower bud. ¡°I¡¯ll have to take your word for it that this is a seed thing,¡± Vegas says sceptically. ¡°It looks more like something that got accidentally deep fried. Where did you find it? At the crime scene?¡± ¡°Seed pod, Vegas, not seed thing. And yeah, you could say I found it at the crime scene. Or rather, it was placed dead centre, in a way.¡± Tem frowns. ¡°Placed? Not accidentally left behind? What makes you so sure about that?¡± ¡°Because I doubt our victim voluntarily swallowed these pods.¡± Arm rolls his eyes at Tem. ¡°Be quiet and let me speak. Now where was I? Ah yes¡­ I recovered several seed pods like this from the otherwise empty stomach of the victim. They were a bit damaged by stomach acid, but salvageable.¡± ¡°Can they be used as some sort of herbal medicine?¡± Tem wonders, totally forgetting that he was supposed to shut up. ¡°Or maybe they¡¯re some form of drug, something similar to magic mushrooms perhaps?¡± Vegas speculates; the guy was a drug dealer after all. Pete remains silent, just listening to Arm with fascination written all over his face. Vegas hates it. He hates hates hates it. Stop looking at Arm, Pete, I don¡¯t like it. All those theories are met with Arm¡¯s raised eyebrows. He makes Vegas feel as if he¡¯s back in school with the teacher glaring at him because he has just sprouted some nonsense. ¡°As I was saying¡­¡± Arm gives them a stern look once more, a warning for them not to interrupt him again. ¡°I have some contacts at international universities, so I sent them an email with more detailed photos. The first results were mailed to me this morning, and you¡¯ll be delighted to know that these are seed pods of Asiatic Lilium hybrids¡ªin short, someone stuffed lily seeds down our victim¡¯s throat.¡± ¡°Oh fuck.¡± Both Vegas and Tem groan simultaneously, looking at each other. There is their missing link. ¡°Fascinating,¡± Pete mumbles. ¡°Two out of three now.¡± He glances at Vegas who pointedly avoids to meet his eyes, instead looking down to doodle in his notebook. ¡°You two will need to go over the first crime scene again to find the lily connection there.¡± He turns back towards Arm. ¡°We should have lunch together some day, I have some great contacts at international Universities, maybe I can make some introductions. It is always good to have a broad contact network in your field of work, I suppose.¡± ¡°Sure, it would be my pleasure,¡± Arm nods eagerly. ¡°Let¡¯s do this sooner rather than later. I had the most fascinating response from the international community with regards to the Blood Eagle. I think I might have to write a paper on it; everyone is thrilled and intrigued. I even had some history departments contact me about it already. Word travels fast in academia.¡± Vegas is fuming internally. Cold shoulder, he reminds himself. It¡¯s stupid to get jealous. Focus on work. Screw you, Pete. If you have a lunch date with Arm, I¡¯m going to blow a fuse. And we really need to sit down to have a talk about us. ¡°All right, I guess Tem and I know what we have to work on today then. Anything else of interest, Arm?¡± ¡°As you could see at the crime scene, there were first instar larvae present. I¡¯m taking an educated guess that the death occurred around 36 to 48 hours before the body was found. Closer to 36 hours I¡¯d say, from the size of the instar larvae. The victim was alive and conscious until the murderer started to remove the skin, underlying tissue and muscles of the back, which caused moderate haemorrhaging. He had a bad heart¡ªthe pain was most likely unbearable, and he went into shock, which triggered heart failure. He died relatively quickly at that point.¡± ¡°Lucky him.¡± Vegas shudders. The way these people die is bad enough, but now with the very real prospect of him suffering through a similar fate¡­ no wonder he¡¯s having nightmares. I hope I die quickly as well, please spare me that suffering. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t the killer be frustrated if the victim dies before the ¡®artwork¡¯ is complete?¡± Tem wonders. A valid point, and suddenly Pete has three pairs of eyes on him. He blinks with surprise at the sudden attention, a slight flush creeping into his cheeks. ¡°Uhm¡­ that depends? If the goal is to keep the victim alive as long as possible to inflict maximum suffering, then yes. But as far as I can recall we haven¡¯t seen signs of a violent outbursts at either crime scene; I would expect there to be some sort of evidence for that, if the early death really triggers frustration. So I guess it doesn¡¯t matter when they die.¡± Arm¡¯s phone plings. ¡°Sorry, gotta go. No rest for the wicked, more bodies to collect,¡± he announces cheerfully, then taps a few buttons on his tablet. ¡°There you go, I forwarded all of you the autopsy report. Enjoy.¡± And he heads for the door. Just before leaving, he turns around once more. ¡°Call me when you have time for lunch,¡± he reminds Pete and then he¡¯s gone. You call him without talking to me first and I¡¯ll make you regret it, Vegas thinks darkly. There¡¯s a long moment of silence in the office as everyone mulls over the new information. Then Vegas remembers he forgot to do something important this morning. With a few clicks, he prints out something, then grimly pins a photo of the Swiss national flag on one of the empty walls. ¡°Switzerland,¡± he very sternly reminds both Pete and Tem. ¡°Both of you better behave from now on; I want no fights, no arguments, no teasing in here. This office is neutral fucking Switzerland, and if you can¡¯t deal with that, there is the door. Am I making myself crystal clear?¡± And then as an afterthought, he gives both of them a big and obviously fake smile. ¡°Now both of you say ¡®Yes, Vegas, I will abide by your rules¡¯. ¡± A wide, genuine grin spreads over Pete¡¯s face. ¡°Yes, Vegas, I will abide by your rules.¡± Tem is taken aback by Vegas¡¯ vehemence in the matter. ¡°Err¡­ sure. Yes, Vegas, I will abide by your rules too.¡± ¡°Splendid. Now can we get some work done?¡± ¡°Fine. Would you two like to hear my initial thoughts on the killer then?¡± Pete asks. ¡°Not really, no. But let¡¯s hear them anyway. I suppose it¡¯s good to know more about the person who will try to kill me.¡± With a sigh, Vegas makes himself comfortable in his seat. He¡¯s sure that this will only lead to even more nightmares. Pete frowns at him. ¡°Still not funny, Vegas.¡± Then he seats himself by his computer and pulls up his files. ¡°All right¡­ I apologise in advance for getting overly technical or explaining too much. I just want to make it easier for you two to understand.¡± He pauses, glances at his notes. ¡°As both of you are probably aware of, serial murders are very rare, despite what various TV shows portray. A serial murder case involves multiple victims and the series may span days, months or even years. The victims can be spread out all over a country and even over several countries. The killer¡¯s behaviour is sometimes not consistent across cases, and there may not even be an obvious connection between the killer and the victims; in short, serial murder cases are very difficult to spot and investigate for average law enforcement personnel.¡± ¡°Over the years, different classification systems have been developed to link certain personality types or behavioural patterns with different series of murder. I won¡¯t bore you with the details¡ªlet¡¯s just say it¡¯s difficult to come up with a good classification system. They¡¯re all flawed in one way or the other. In addition to that, you have the problem of popular myths about serial murders messing up the investigations, those myths being fed mostly by movies, books, and television.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve heard those myths before: all serial killers are white males who are evil geniuses, and travel around the country killing multiple victims for sexual gratification. Deep down they all want to get caught by the police. They were raised in dysfunctional or abusive families and they¡¯re loners, incapable of maintaining long term relationships. The violence they inflict gets worse the more people they kill, and once a killer starts murdering, he can never stop. And if there is a stop, the killer was either in prison, joined the military or was admitted to a mental health facility. Sounds familiar?¡± Vegas nods, and so does Tem. He has to admit, so far this sounds interesting. Let¡¯s see what his baby shrink has come up with; maybe he¡¯s actually good at his job. One thing is for sure¡ªthe way he speaks confidently about this matter is sexy as hell ¡°Okay, I want you to forget about all these myths again because they¡¯re bullshit, they¡¯re causing more harm than you can imagine. They can actually hinder an investigation completely. Just forget about everything you¡¯ve ever heard about serial killers on TV or at the academy.¡± ¡°The definition of a serial murder we¡¯ll be using for this is ¡®a single offender who killed at least two victims in separate events at different times¡¯. I believe we can put a checkmark on that, because we can now definitely link the three cases that we are aware of.¡± ¡°Wait a moment, are you saying there might be more cases that we¡¯re not aware of yet?¡± Can this get any worse? Apparently it can. Well, shit. Why didn¡¯t Vegas think about this earlier? Maybe because he¡¯s been too busy ogling his therapist instead of focusing on his work. ¡°Yes. I don¡¯t think that what you consider to be the first case in this series is actually the first time he killed.¡± Even Pete seems to be unhappy about that. ¡°The MO is simply too advanced for a first kill. I¡¯m sorry, I know this isn¡¯t anything you want to hear.¡± ¡°Well, shit.¡± Tem sighs deeply. ¡°I suppose we need to do a deep dive into the database and see if we can find any additional weird cases in the whole country, and not just Bangkok. What time frame do you suggest for the search?¡± he asks Pete, taking notes. ¡°Go back at least 10 years. 15 to be safe.¡± Both Vegas and Tem look up from taking notes and glare collectively at Pete. ¡°You¡¯re joking, right? Do you have any idea how much work that will be?¡± Tem complains heatedly. ¡°Maybe we can request additional manpower for this?¡± suggests Pete, the eternal optimist. The other two men snort with amusement at the naivety he displays. ¡°Dream on, Pete, dream on. You got a lot to learn about the realities of being a cop in this city. Tem and I will try to manage as best we can. More overtime, just great.¡± Vegas ponders if he should bring a sleeping bag to work, since he will be spending a lot of long days here in the near future. Maybe this isn¡¯t even a bad idea, he would most certainly be a lot safer here than at home, so maybe he could even sleep without any nightmares? ¡°Go ahead, continue please.¡± ¡°Uhm¡­¡± Poor Pete seems confused by their cynical reactions. ¡°Err¡­ so let¡¯s try to figure out the motivation of the killer first.¡± He looks like a befuddled professor. So damn cute. No, wait, cold shoulder. Pete continues, ¡°We have five categories when it comes to the killer¡¯s motivation. Let¡¯s start with ¡®Profit¡¯. I think we can all agree we can discount that one, right?¡± He waits for them to nod before he continues. ¡°The next one is ¡®Anger¡¯. That means the victims are killed because the killer projects his hostility towards another person or group onto them. Jealousy and revenge fall under this category as well. I¡¯m fairly sure we can discount this as well, but¡ª¡± and here he stops to look directly at Vegas, ¡°¡ªthere is a minute chance that the killer bears a personal grudge against the Theerapanyakul family, represented by you. So we can¡¯t discount this completely.¡± ¡°Just one more reason to despise my family.¡± Vegas sighs deeply. ¡°What¡¯s next?¡± ¡°¡®Mental illness¡¯. Self explanatory. The killer has a psychiatric malady and that mental illness is a significant contributing factor to the murders.¡± Tem interrupts Pete. ¡°Well, obviously our killer is mentally ill. I mean, what normal person would do things like this to other people?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think it¡¯s that easy,¡± Pete replies thoughtfully. ¡°It depends on what psychiatric condition we are talking about. It definitely isn¡¯t psychosis or schizophrenia I think. Perhaps sociopathy or psychopathy though. These all fall under ASPD, Antisocial Personality Disorder. But I doubt that a medical condition is the explanation for why he¡¯s killing people. There must be more to it.¡± Competent Pete is hot, Vegas muses as he listens closely. The sparkling eyes, the way he speaks and gestures to make additional points¡ªhot as hell. Very distracting, too. Vegas wants some alone time with this Pete; he can think of a couple of things he would like to do to him. ¡°Vegas¡­?¡± ¡°Huh?¡± Vegas feels his face getting warm. ¡°I am sorry, I was spacing out, what did you say, Pete?¡± He feels himself flushing even more as Pete arches an amused eyebrow at him, as if he¡¯s aware in what directions Vegas¡¯ thoughts have been wandering. Caught. Oops. Pete repeats himself. ¡°I was asking you if you agree with my assessment.¡± Smiling at him¡ªoh dear, dimple alert. ¡°Err¡­ sure. I agree.¡± Damn, this is embarrassing. ¡°Once again sorry, please continue.¡± Pete¡¯s smile widens. ¡°The next motivation to kill would be ¡®Sexual¡¯.¡± Bloody hell. Vegas sinks deeper into his seat, wishing he could disappear. He feels like a teenager who has been caught reading a naughty magazine. Tem clears his throat loudly and frowns at both of them. Oops again. ¡°This is defined as a murder motivated by sex and includes any type of sexual interaction, no matter how subtle or diverse. I suppose we can¡¯t discount this option completely either, until we have seen evidence that refutes it.¡± ¡°He did have sex with the first victim,¡± Tem reminds them. ¡°Yes, but there were no signs of sexual interaction with the other ones. Maybe the sex with the first victim had more to do with the method of the actual kill than it being the motivation behind the kill? Somehow I don¡¯t see the killer doing this mainly to get off.¡± Vegas is sceptical. If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. ¡°All the victims so far are men¡­¡± Tem hesitates. ¡°Does that mean the killer is gay?¡± ¡°If the motive is sexual gratification, then it stands to reason that the killer is gay or bisexual. Statistically, there are very few gay serial killers though,¡± Pete points out. ¡°What else is there?¡± Vegas would like to move on; thinking about sex and the killer in the same context is disturbing. ¡°Everything else falls under the ¡®Other¡¯ category.¡± Pete absently runs his fingers through his hair, deep in thoughts. ¡°We clearly need to give this more thought; maybe it will become clearer when we have more facts or more victims. For now, let¡¯s move on and look at the killer¡¯s victim selection and approach.¡± ¡°In other words, what is the primary means the killer uses to approach and gain access to his victims? We have three categories here, the first one is ¡®Ruse¡¯, which means the killer uses a trick or a con to gain access to the victim. Then we have ¡®Blitz¡¯¡ªan immediate physical attack, without any verbal interaction. And last we have ¡®Surprise¡¯, where the killer utilises stealth and situational circumstance to confront the victim.¡± ¡°The first victim was definitely ¡®Ruse¡¯.¡± Everyone agrees with Tem on this, and he continues: ¡°Since the second victim was an experienced bodyguard, it must have been either a ¡®Surprise¡¯ or a ¡®Blitz¡¯ attack. I am leaning towards the ¡®Blitz¡¯ attack, since I¡¯ve seen what the Theerapanyakul bodyguard training is like first hand.¡± Yeah, Vegas knows that bodyguard training very well¡ªhe¡¯s been subjected to it himself. Character building, his father called it. Vegas would have preferred to go and play football with his friends instead of learning how to shoot a weapon, or almost drowning in a pool while trying to get out of the ropes binding his feet. Character building, my foot. It was bloody child abuse, nothing else. ¡°And victim number three was probably ¡®Ruse¡¯ again. I¡¯m guessing he was approached under the pretext of buying drugs, or perhaps with the lure of a larger drug deal.¡± Tem has a thoughtful expression on his face. ¡°He¡¯s damn smart, this killer. It¡¯s rather scary, isn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°Arm calls it ¡®delightfully refreshing¡¯¡­¡± Vegas points out with a smirk, which makes Pete chuckle. Tem rolls his eyes. ¡°Whatever it is, I¡¯m not seeing any definite pattern here. What¡¯s next?¡± ¡°We need to look at the relationship between the killer and the victim. The ¡®Customer/client¡¯ relationship we can discount right away; it doesn¡¯t apply to our situation. Then we have the ¡®Relative/familial¡¯ category¡­¡± Pete glances at Vegas, who is suddenly all tense. ¡°This includes blood relatives as well as blended family and extended family. Anything you wish to tell us, Vegas?¡± ¡°Leave it alone, Pete. This has nothing to do with my family.¡± It¡¯s very clear that Vegas doesn¡¯t want the talk to go in this direction. ¡°Sorry, can¡¯t do that. This is the one time you must not avoid discussing your family dynamics, however difficult this must be for you. You think there¡¯s even the slightest chance that someone from your family wants you dead, and is taking it out on substitutes for now, until they¡¯ve worked up the courage to target you directly?¡± ¡°Go to hell, Pete,¡± Vegas growls in warning. ¡°We might despise each other, but we do not kill each other. You can take my word for it.¡± Wisely, Tem doesn¡¯t get involved in this argument, he just watches Vegas closely, with something akin to sympathy in his eyes. Pete, though, is completely unfazed. ¡°Eventually you and I will need to discuss your family dynamics, otherwise we¡¯ll never get to the root of your anger issues, but that¡¯s for another day. I just have to take your word for it and hope you¡¯re not omitting anything important again. Let¡¯s move on for now¡­¡± Fuck you, Pete. Vegas still has no intention to talk about his family, not now and not ever. And besides, they¡¯re no longer therapist and patient, are they? Their last therapy session was ages ago and besides, it¡¯s impossible to continue therapy now that they¡¯ve become lovers. ¡°I think we can exclude the ¡®Acquaintance¡¯ relationship as well. I¡¯ve seen no signs that there was any prior contact between the killer and the victims, however slight. The same goes for the ¡®Stranger¡¯ category.¡± ¡°But I assumed they were strangers to him, so why do you exclude this category?¡± Tem is confused. ¡°Because there¡¯s another category, the last one, which fits our cases much better. The ¡®Targeted stranger¡¯.¡± ¡°Ah, okay¡­¡± That actually makes sense to Vegas, because they were definitely targeted, and all because of him. All those people would be alive if it weren¡¯t for him. He feels terrible about it. ¡°It means that the killer knew who the victim was, but the victim most likely had no knowledge or familiarity with the killer. This fits to a T for all three cases, since we have seen no evidence of any contact between the killer and the victims prior to the murders yet.¡± Pete glances at his notes again and frowns. ¡°The next point is the body disposal¡­¡± Vegas and Tem groan again. This is a horror they do not wish to revisit. ¡°Sorry,¡± Pete mutters sheepishly. ¡°Anyway, the bodies were neither dumped nor in any way concealed. They weren¡¯t transported from the murder scene at all. In fact, at least at the second crime scene, the killer went to great lengths to ensure the integrity of the crime scene even in case there was a delayed discovery of the body¡ªby picking a location that had access to climate control. I suppose he didn¡¯t want the flowers to go bad ¡­¡± he ponders thoughtfully. ¡°I¡¯ll never again go and buy red flowers for anyone, that much I can tell you,¡± Vegas shudders. ¡°I don¡¯t think I will ever forget their smell either.¡± Pete tilts his head to the side, watching Vegas intensely. ¡°Is that so? Interesting. Anyway¡­¡± He takes out his pen and starts twirling it with his fingers again. ¡°Even with the first body, he made sure to disconnect the AC unit and close the window, presumably in order to avoid flies finding their way into the room through the gaps around the hose, and destroying the scene before the arrival of the police. Or perhaps he wanted to hasten the decomposition in the heat? All three bodies were left ¡®as is¡¯, meaning the killer left the victims at their residence, or took the victim into an abandoned building, killed the victim, and afterwards left the victim inside that same structure.¡± Everyone takes a moment to look at the murder board that displays the graphic images of their three crime scenes, the stuff of nightmares as far as Vegas is concerned. When Pete continues, there is the slightest hint of an underlying tension on his voice. ¡°All three bodies were displayed. This means that the killer intentionally positioned the victim¡¯s body after death to either shock the police, the victim¡¯s family, or the general public. Or to send a message, to make a point about what he thinks about the victim personally or about the class the victim represents¡ªbut that goes mostly for sex workers¡ªor he¡¯s sending a message through the substitute victims to his real target, which appears to be you, Vegas.¡± ¡°Well, thank you so much for pointing that out to me again, Pete. It¡¯s not as if I would ever forget that I am on a hit list¡­¡± Vegas gives him an irritated sideways glance. ¡°So all three cases were a message to me, fine. What¡¯s the damn message then, because I¡¯m obviously too stupid to get it? ¡®See what I am going to do to you?¡¯ or perhaps ¡®You thought the last scene was bad, look at this one, my creativity is endless, aren¡¯t you curious yet as to how I¡¯m planning to kill you?¡¯¡­¡± He can feel himself getting stressed again because, damn, this is what¡¯s on his mind all the time now. He¡¯s going to end up like a fucking art installation for someones twisted amusement after going through unimaginable torture. How is he supposed to deal with that knowledge? With a frustrated groan he leans forward and buries his face in his hands. ¡°I¡¯m so screwed¡­¡± Risking Pete¡¯s ire, Tem puts a hand on Vegas¡¯ shoulder, squeezes briefly and allows it rest there for comfort. ¡°I am so sorry, Vegas. Don¡¯t give up hope yet, all right? We will fix this, you¡¯re not going to end up dead, trust me.¡± ¡°If only I had your confidence¡­¡± Vegas sighs, because he feels the situation is hopeless. ¡°We¡¯re screwed, Tem. We have no real lead on the killer and he¡¯s probably already planning the next murder.¡± Apart from a slight narrowing of his eyes, Pete doesn¡¯t react to Tem touching Vegas; maybe the whole Switzerland thing has sunken in. ¡°Yes, based on the behaviour of other serial killers that I have studied he¡¯s probably planning the next kill already, Vegas, but I¡¯m fairly sure it isn¡¯t you just yet, so stop wallowing in self-pity.¡± Pete twirls his pen, watching Vegas pensively. ¡°Snap out of it. If you¡¯re that worried, you can always ask to be put into protective custody or perhaps you could ask your family to lend you some bodyguards for the time being?¡± Vegas snaps out of it, all right. He straightens up in alarm and vehemently shakes his head. ¡°My family must under no circumstance find out about this.¡± There is almost a hint of panic in his voice now. ¡°Swear to me that you are not telling them anything, that goes for both of you. Not a word to them. Pete, do not call them behind my back. Tem, don¡¯t even think about discussing this with Porsche. If my family finds out about this, you will never see me again.¡± ¡°Aren¡¯t you being a bit overly dramatic now, Vegas?¡± Pete leans back in his chair and point the pen at him. ¡°Stop threatening me.¡± ¡°Damn it, Pete, this isn¡¯t meant as a threat against you! This is literally what is going to happen, should my family find out that I am in any sort of real danger of getting killed. They¡¯re not going to lend me some bodyguards; they¡¯re going to come, take me with or without my permission, lock me up somewhere and throw away the key.¡± The mere thought is sends a shudder of anxiety through Vegas. Even if they just put him in the safe house, it will be a golden cage. But they¡ªhis father¡ªwill probably know that even the safe house won¡¯t be able to hold him, and then it¡¯ll be the cellar, and he hates it there, he hates the damp, moldy smell and the sound of the people screaming and moaning in agony and the darkness and the flickering lights¡ªhis breath is becoming irregular again. He¡¯s eight years again and he hates the cellar, he doesn¡¯t want to be locked up here again, he¡¯ll be a good boy. Just please, no more cellar¡­ Then there¡¯s a sharp pain in his leg that startles him, and he finds himself back in the here and now. Bloody hell, his thigh hurts! And no wonder, Pete is grinding the tip of his pen ruthlessly into the muscle there. Shit! Vegas gasps in pain and smacks the pen away. ¡°Fuck!¡± ¡°Welcome back to reality.¡± Pete is completely unapologetic about inflicting violence. Not only that, he¡¯s also holding up his index finger in warning to Tem, who looks as if he wants to strangle Pete for hurting Vegas, but doesn¡¯t dare to move. ¡°You had a bit of an episode,¡± Pete explains calmly, withdraws his hand and starts twirling that damn pen again. ¡°Some childhood trauma, if I may guess? Another thing we need to work on¡­¡± Vegas blinks; he¡¯s speechless. It was effective, yes, but surely this isn¡¯t an approved method of dealing with patients having a traumatic flashback? He¡¯s starting to wonder how Pete ever got his licence. Pete, meanwhile, is determined to get back to business. ¡°Anyway¡­ the killer is a Thai male, most likely between 25 and 35 years old. He¡¯s highly educated, most likely holds a university diploma or is still studying, or is self-taught through online courses. It¡¯s unlikely that he¡¯s married but he might be in a steady relationship. He will have a prior arrest record, most likely for misdemeanours like assault and/or battery offences. Or larceny. His level of violence shows little to no escalation, but since the first murder we are aware of already started out at a pretty high level of violence I see little possibility to escalate from that in the future. He¡¯s probably killed before, multiple times even. It¡¯s unlikely that he has been restricting himself to Bangkok alone, he¡¯ll have murdered in other cities as well. I am doubtful about him being active in rural areas though, he seems more like a city person. His crime scenes are so elaborate, it must be important for him that they¡¯re discovered and admired. The chances of no one finding a rural crime scene are pretty high, I don¡¯t think he would go for it.¡± Here, Pete pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts, absently biting his lower lip while pondering something. And damn, despite being in the middle of a fucking life-threatening mess, Vegas feels himself getting all hot and bothered watching this. Damn it! Focus Vegas, focus. ¡°The killer is highly organised. He avoids leaving physical evidence, he¡¯s cleaning up the crime scenes, wears PPE, and at least once a condom. We don¡¯t know about possible DNA, Arm hasn¡¯t left a report about that yet. The killer is also removing items from the scenes. Clothing, shoes, phones, IDs. In some cases this includes missing body tissue as well. I find it unlikely that the purpose of this is to keep trophies; it¡¯s more likely that this falls under evidence tampering. He¡¯s also actively leaving clues at each crime scene that connect the different victims to each other.¡± ¡°When we look at the characteristics of the victims chosen so far, the only thing that the victims we know of have in common is that they¡¯re Thai, male and have some sort of a connection to Vegas, however vague. There¡¯s no other pattern here¡ªhe¡¯s mixing victims like Beam, who through his behavioural pattern can be categorised as a high risk of victimisation, and someone like the bodyguard, who due to his extensive training is categorised as a low risk, which is unusual. Obviously he¡¯s not afraid of taking risks. As for his method of operation, it changes with each victim. He doesn¡¯t have a preferred weapon of choice. He doesn¡¯t have a preferred manner of death, apart from it being unusual and gruesome. You¡¯ll need to look at the manners of death again, and see if any of them have been used in murders before, be it historical or fictional, since he obviously gets some inspiration from somewhere, as we can see with the Blood Eagle. The only distinctive feature we have regarding manner of death right now, is that some form of torture is involved; not for the pure sake of torture, but as part of the procedure the killer puts the victims through in order to achieve the display he wants to arrange.¡± ¡°I think I just lost my appetite for lunch,¡± Tem shudders involuntarily. Vegas couldn¡¯t agree more. ¡°Since there are still so many unknown variables when it comes to the killer, and since you¡¯re in a race against time, the most important advice I can give you right now is the following: If you want to catch this killer, it¡¯s paramount to identify his first murder, or attempted murder, and by first murder I don¡¯t mean the first murder that you¡¯re aware of right now. You need to go back and find the very first crime scene, the very first time he killed.¡± Pete pauses and looks at both of them, dead serious. ¡°It¡¯s like with all things you do for the very first time: if you¡¯re not proficient in it yet, the greater the probability that mistakes are made. And these errors will be the clues you need to identify the killer.¡± Easier said that done, Vegas thinks. Dumb ways to die So many dumb ways to die Dumb ways to die So many dumb ways to die
And then it¡¯s lunchtime already. Pete simply packs up and leaves before Vegas can really process everything. Huh? Wait a moment¡­ he¡¯s walking out on him again? No way. Again? They need to talk. ¡°Be right back!¡± he calls out to Tem and rushes out of the office. A quick glance left and right, yes, he can see Pete standing by the elevator. Vegas hurries to catch up with him and breathlessly manages to squeeze through the doors just as they¡¯re starting to close. Pete has been checking something on his phone; he looks up, their eyes meet and lock. A familiar spark rekindles between them. Neither of them speaks; there are other people in the elevator with them. They just assess each other silently. The elevator stops, the doors open, some people disembark, the doors close again. Less people in the cabin with them now. Vegas¡¯ eyes flicker down to Pete¡¯s lips and then back up; he can¡¯t resist the temptation to wink. He can see Pete swallow drily as the sexual tension between them increases. The elevator stops again, the doors open, more people disembark, the doors close again. There is only one more person in the cabin with them now and the woman is totally oblivious to her surroundings, checking her phone. Vegas feels his lips curling into a slow smile and Pete swallows again, the hand holding the phone trembling ever so slightly. He seems to be entranced by the naked desire he can see on Vegas¡¯ face and this time it¡¯s him looking like the mouse before the rattlesnake. Rightfully so, because this rattlesnake is readying itself to strike. Are they going up or down? Vegas doesn¡¯t know, he couldn¡¯t care less, his full attention is solely focused on Pete. First, he just wanted a chance to talk in private. But it seems reason has disembarked along with the fellow passengers on the elevator, and madness has taken over. Yes, Vegas must have gone utterly and totally mad. Blame it on Pete, who is too damn hot for his own good when he¡¯s fully immersed in his competent psychologist persona. Vegas could barely control himself while listening to him earlier, and now even that control is about to fly out the elevator doors. The elevator stops, the doors open, the woman disembarks, the doors close again. And they¡¯re alone. The elevator starts moving and Vegas casually reaches out and presses the emergency stop button. The cabin comes to a rather sudden stop. ¡°What the hell¡­¡± Pete manages to blurt out, before Vegas slams into him, grabs his face and kisses him so roughly that Pete drops his phone in surprise. Yes! This is what he wanted to do all along. Finally! Vegas wants to drown himself in Pete, he licks into his mouth and growls possessively. Mine. He feels Pete shudder as he presses him against the wall. All mine. Pete makes some incoherent noises, he has his hands on Vegas¡¯ hips, his fingers digging in as he tries to keep up with Vegas¡¯ frantic kisses. Burning, they¡¯re burning together; he will never get used to the intensity with which his body reacts to Pete as soon as they touch. He craves him so badly, body and soul, he, too, wants everything. And surely Pete feels the same way because after the initial surprise he¡¯s kissing Vegas like a man possessed, pulling at Vegas¡¯ uniform, trying to find a way underneath with his wandering hands. It sends a sharp spike of arousal through Vegas. He nearly forgets where they are; all he wants is to touch Pete, he wants skin contact, he wants him naked again, he wants a repeat of that glorious night¡ªbut then the elevator¡¯s speaker makes a crackling noise and comes to life. They¡¯ve run out of time. Damn. ¡°Hello? Is there a problem?¡± someone from technical support asks. Vegas curses silently and pulls away from Pete¡¯s mouth, breathing hard. ¡°Everything¡¯s fine here.¡± He has to clear his throat. ¡°Sorry. It was a misunderstanding, I accidentally pushed the wrong button.¡± Pete looks so delightfully dazed, ruffled and thoroughly kissed, Vegas wants to purr and rub himself all over him. It¡¯s hard to concentrate on anything else, when he wants to keep kissing him. ¡°Oh, okay,¡± the service technician replies. ¡°Please press the button again to start the elevator and be more careful the next time. Have a nice day.¡± The speaker falls silent again. ¡°Are you completely out of your mind?¡± Pete has found his voice again, blushing furiously. He pushes Vegas away and bends down to pick up his phone. ¡°We¡¯re at work. Does this elevator have a camera?¡± He glances around nervously, scanning the cabin, and pales a bit when he sees the camera lens in one of the corners. Vegas grins cheekily, straightening his uniform again, and shakes his head. ¡°That camera has been dead for years. What¡¯s up, Pete? Not ready for a walk on the wild side? Wasn¡¯t it exciting? Want some more?¡± Because Vegas definitely wants some more. The question is, where can they go, someplace safe, where they won¡¯t be disturbed¡­ ¡°Wild side, my ass,¡± Pete mutters. He seems thoroughly flustered, and that makes him even more sexy in Vegas¡¯ eyes. Vegas dutifully presses the stop button once more and the elevator jerks to life again and continues its journey downward. ¡°Your hair looks ruffled.¡± Vegas can¡¯t stop grinning. ¡°Need help fixing it?¡± ¡°Vegas!¡± Pete hisses in exasperation and hastily runs his fingers through his hair, trying to make himself look presentable again. It¡¯s probably best not to tell that his lips are swollen from kissing, he would surely throw a hissy fit if he knew. As the elevator continues to move downward, Vegas feels very pleased with himself. They should do this more often. ¡°So¡­ don¡¯t you think you should ask me for permission first before you go on your lunch date with Arm?¡± he can¡¯t help teasing Pete. ¡°Now why on earth would I need to do that?¡± The elevator stops and the doors open; they¡¯re in the basement with the parking garage, is Pete calling it a day already? Well, he does exit the elevator, so Vegas trails along. ¡°Because I don¡¯t like how you fawn all over him perhaps?¡± Vegas didn¡¯t plan on answering so truthfully, but there it is. ¡°You do know Arm isn¡¯t into men, right?¡± Pete is slowly walking along the rows of parked cars, but now he stops and turns around to confront Vegas, mild disapproval written all over his face. ¡°Don¡¯t be boring, Vegas. I¡¯ll meet with whoever I want and do whatever I want, you better keep that in mind.¡± Huh? Somehow this isn¡¯t how Vegas expected this conversation to go; he wanted to tease Pete a little, but he definitely does not like what he¡¯s hearing right now. ¡°I beg your pardon? What exactly do you mean by ¡®do whatever I want¡¯? Because I don¡¯t like the sound of that.¡± He can¡¯t help but frown. What¡¯s going on here? Once again Pete exhibits such complete control over his facial expressions that he¡¯s entirely unreadable; it¡¯s unnerving. ¡°It means exactly what you think it means. I don¡¯t need your permission for anything because we never had an agreement to be exclusive.¡± So this is how it must feel to have a dagger plunged into your heart, Vegas notes, completely floored by that unexpected answer. He had no idea words could hurt this much. Because this hurts, and it hurts badly. That¡¯s what he gets for allowing himself to care so much about this man, he should have known better. Stupid stupid stupid. ¡°I see ¡­¡± he somehow manages to get those words out. ¡°I suppose you gave me the impression of exclusiveness with your ongoing tantrums about Tem, but I guess I had it wrong.¡± Bitterness creeps into his voice and he hates himself for it. He doesn¡¯t want to show any of the emotions he¡¯s feeling right now, it will only make him even more vulnerable. ¡°That still stands, Vegas. You stay away from Tem and anyone else.¡± Pete narrows his eyes and gives him a sharp look. ¡°Nothing has changed there.¡± ¡°Oh, so the exclusiveness applies to me, but not to you?¡± Vegas scoffs; he can¡¯t believe this. Pete can¡¯t possibly be serious about this, right? ¡°Take it or leave it, Vegas. Your choice.¡± Pete is entirely too blas¨¦ about this matter, he folds his arms on his chest, so damn aloof all of a sudden. It rankles, especially after that episode in the elevator just now. ¡°Pete¡­ seriously?¡± This whole conversation is absurd; Vegas feels as if his world has been upended all of a sudden. What the hell is happening here? ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we have a talk about this? About us? Because I do not like where this is going. I really don¡¯t understand what you want from me. You¡¯re giving me so many mixed signals I feel like my mind¡¯s going to explode. Could we please sit down and talk, really talk, about us and everything for once? Please?¡± Vegas cringes slightly when he hears himself pleading like this, but he doesn¡¯t know what else to do. He desperately needs clarification on this matter¡ªit seems he keeps misinterpreting everything. What exactly are they to each other? Clap Clap Clap In surprise Vegas turns his head in the direction of the sudden sound, and sees a man leaning casually against a nearby concrete pillar, clapping his hands theatrically. Tall, lanky, relatively good looking, immaculately dressed in a suit, presumably their age. Vegas automatically takes note of all of this, his mind racing. What exactly did this guy overhear? This isn¡¯t good, not good at all. He should have paid more attention to their surroundings, should have ensured that they¡¯re alone and can¡¯t be overheard. Not good at all. ¡°Sorry to interrupt this riveting conversation¡ª¡± The man smiles at Vegas, and somehow that smile just feels wrong, Vegas can feel the hair at the nape of his neck standing up. He instantly dislikes this guy. The stranger pushes himself away from the pillar and straightens his expensive suit. He looks like a banker. Or someone Kinn would associate with. ¡°¡ªbut I¡¯m on a tight schedule and time is ticking¡­ tick tock tick tock¡­¡± And with that he turns his attention from Vegas to Pete, and the hungry way he looks at Pete awakens something feral deep inside of Vegas. ¡°Time to go, Pete. Say your goodbyes.¡± Vegas¡¯ gaze skips over to Pete, and he doesn¡¯t like what he sees there either. Pete¡ªhis Pete¡ªis looking at that stranger with fond exasperation, and the barest narrowing of eyes. They know each other, that much is obvious. Just how well remains to be seen. ¡°I told you not to come here,¡± Pete sighs deeply at the stranger. ¡°You never listen to me. Very well¡­ I suppose you can tag along, since you¡¯re already here.¡± He then turns back towards Vegas and gives him a curt, distant nod. Not only is the mask firmly back in place; the invisible wall between them has been slammed into place as well. What the hell? ¡°This conversation is over. Have a nice day, Detective.¡± And while Vegas is still reeling from this icy dismissal, Pete turns around and strides away towards his car, parked at a short distance. What. The. Hell? Vegas is simply stunned. What the heck is going on? Less than 10 minutes! They were fine in the elevator; it took them less than 10 minutes to go from frantically making out to ¡®we might as well be strangers¡¯. What the bloody hell is going on? Vegas is thoroughly confused. The stranger seems to find all this drama amusing. He chuckles softly, and even that¡¯s giving Vegas goosebumps, not in a good way. Vegas does not like the way this guy is looking at Pete, or the way this guy is looking at him either, come to think of it. As if he pities him. Something about this man just rubs Vegas the wrong way. ¡°He¡¯s adorable, isn¡¯t he?¡± The stranger casts a longing look at Pete¡¯s retreating back, licks his lips¡ªthe beast inside of Vegas growls angrily¡ªand then turns his handsome head to smirk at Vegas. ¡°It seems he has you wrapped around his little finger. He¡¯s such a naughty boy. Is he playing his little mind games with you? Tsk¡­¡± He tuts when he sees how Vegas flinches. ¡°Such a naughty boy indeed, can¡¯t resist playing¡­ Don¡¯t take it to heart, Detective. That¡¯s just how my Pete is.¡± Before he can stop himself, something akin to a feral growl escapes Vegas mouth. He clenches his hands into tight fists, feeling the all familiar rage bubbling up inside of him. ¡®My Pete¡¯. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?! Pete belongs to him! ¡°Just who the hell are you?¡± Vegas snarls angrily at him. Before the stranger can answer, Pete, who is now standing by his car, calls out sharply to him. ¡°Tawan!¡± ¡°On my way¡­¡± the man calls back before giving Vegas another smug smile. ¡°Me? I¡¯m his on-again, off-again. Have a lovely day, Detective.¡± And with a wink, the man turns around and saunters away to catch up with Pete. What the fuck?! Chapter 15 ¡°It¡¯s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.¡± Left behind in the deserted garage, Vegas is spiralling, and not in a good way¡ªagain. One pill makes you larger And one pill makes you ¡­ NO! No no no. Just as he swore, he¡¯s learned his lesson. No more pills. No more booze. And he has learned the other lesson as well. No Tem. And better no Porsche either. And that¡¯s what makes this downward spiral so fucking difficult to cope with. Where is my safety net, Vegas wonders, still standing rooted to the spot between the rows of parked cars, where is the damn light in the darkness when you need it? And why does he even bother? Why not just fall and crash? He¡¯s living on borrowed time anyway, isn¡¯t he? Why not sooner rather than later? Bad thoughts, very bad thoughts. Deep down Vegas feels like a hurt little boy. He keeps investing feelings in people only to get bitterly disappointed. And who is that Tawan person anyway? How long has he known Pete? Is he really Pete¡¯s type? Everyone leaves. Somehow he gets trampled into the dust every time he decides to open up to someone. Standing in that garage, watching Pete drive away with his ¡®on-again, off-again¡¯ felt as if he had a wound that won¡¯t stop bleeding, and he can¡¯t find any bandaids that fit. What does Tawan have that I don¡¯t have? Why would you pick him over me? I¡¯m not a toy, he thinks dejectedly. And he sure as hell didn¡¯t agree to being someone Pete can scratch his itch with while he¡¯s being ¡®off-again¡¯ with his boyfriend. Damn you, Pete. Why can¡¯t you see what is right before your eyes? I am right here! Pick me. The worst part is that he can¡¯t switch off his emotions, even if he wants to, and so he bungees back and forth between righteous indignation at being played, and indescribable heartache. How pathetic you are, Vegas. Truly pathetic. After a while he heads home. He doesn¡¯t have the heart to go back to the office. He has had enough shit to deal with this day. Fuck work. Let them file a complaint if they want, he doesn¡¯t give a damn. He goes home and changes into some casual clothes, takes his phone and heads out again. The cab drops him off in the middle of downtown, right in front of an oddly pointed skyscraper, a sea of glass separated by lush, green terraces. Breathtaking as always. He hasn¡¯t been here for the longest time, but nothing appears to have changed. Nothing ever changes here. Vegas makes a call. ¡°Hey cuz¡­ What series are you currently watching? Mind if I join for a bit?¡± There is startled silence on the other end of the line, followed by a delighted shout. ¡°The more, the merrier! Perfect timing, dad¡¯s away on a business trip. Hurry up, quick, quick! You there, call and inform security that Vegas is coming. Oh, we need more popcorn! And party hats! Glittery party hats! Hurry up, Vegas. Why aren¡¯t you here yet?¡± And Vegas grabs this safety line and holds on tight, so very tight. Save me, Tankhun. Don¡¯t let me drown.
Vegas hates his family. He also loves them fiercely. It¡¯s complicated. Thankfully, being around his oldest cousin is always easy and conflict free. For now, he can throw caution into the wind and relax. The Main family residence is like Fort Knox; he¡¯s as safe as he can get, no insane killer will be sneaking in here, so that¡¯s one thing less to worry about. His cousin takes one look at him¡ªapparently he must look like hell, because Tankhun morphs into a mother hen; he sits Vegas on an enormous couch, with numerous pillows and soft blankets. There are assorted beverages, snacks, sweets and ice cream, his outrageously dressed cousin and a happy pile of bodyguards. Soon they¡¯re all watching some hilarious Korean historical drama that makes everyone laugh all the time. It is balm on Vegas¡¯ bleeding heart. He doesn¡¯t need to think, he doesn¡¯t need to worry, he doesn¡¯t need to feel. He just exists in the here and now. 16 episodes. They finish the show sometime in the middle of the night; only Tankhun and Vegas are still awake. Some bodyguards have wandered off to bed, others are sleeping on the floor, snoring softly. The end credits roll, and it gets silent in the large room. Vegas is tired but doesn¡¯t know if he can sleep yet. There is a pink, glitter-covered party hat perched precariously on his head, and he¡¯s absently munching on popcorn. His cousin sits next to him, for once quiet and relaxed. They stare in silence at the screen of the enormous tv until it turns dark. ¡°Are you happy, Vegas?¡± Tankhun suddenly asks him, out of the blue. That question is easy enough to answer. ¡°Right now? Not so very much, no,¡± Vegas replies in a small voice. ¡°You want to talk about it?¡± His cousin leans back into the soft pillows, keeping his voice low because he doesn¡¯t want to wake anyone up. ¡°Not sure,¡± Vegas answers truthfully. ¡°My mind is a mess. Hell, my whole life is a mess. Sometimes I wonder if I¡¯m going insane.¡± ¡°Maybe you should try therapy,¡± Tankhun suggests softly, and Vegas almost chokes on the popcorn he¡¯s eating. He tries to hold it in but can¡¯t help starting to giggle hysterically. Oh, the irony. It really is too funny. Tankhun seems puzzled by this reaction. ¡°I did therapy too after¡­ well, you know. It was pretty okay, you should give it a thought, Vegas.¡± Vegas tries to get himself back under control, he doesn¡¯t want to offend his cousin after all. It¡¯s my damn therapist who¡¯s the problem, he wants to tell Tankhun. But he doesn¡¯t dare to. No one in his family must know he¡¯s seeing a therapist; word might get back to his father otherwise. ¡°I¡¯ll think about it,¡± he mumbles quietly as soon as the giggles have died down. ¡°We could dye your hair,¡± Tankhun offers next, and Vegas is hit by a wave of deep affection for his cousin. His mother is dead and no one cares how Vegas feels about that. Macau cries all the time, Vegas has to console him, but who is drying his own tears? He¡¯s feeling so lost and unhappy, the grief is tearing him apart. ¡°We could dye your hair,¡± his oldest cousin suggests gently. ¡°That will make you feel better, Vegas. Maybe you won¡¯t need to cry that much afterwards.¡± And so they dye his hair a vibrant violet blue. Tankhun does all the work, and Vegas feels cared for again¡­ just like his mother cared for him. It feels wonderful; it¡¯s worth the harsh beating he gets from his father as soon as he discovers Vegas¡¯ new hair colour. Inappropriate, his father shouts. What will the people at the funeral think? Vegas remembers the feeling of Tankhun¡¯s fingers in his hair as he rinses out the colour and endures the beating in silence. There¡¯s at least one person in his family who still sees and cares about him. His mom is dead, and everyone has forgotten about her children, everyone but Tankhun. He sees their grief, and he cares. Vegas throat feels tight as those memories resurface. ¡°Thank you,¡± he replies, and it comes from the bottom of his heart. ¡°That¡¯s a great idea but I don¡¯t think the people at work would appreciate it. But thanks anyway.¡± Tankhun just smiles and nods, he understands. His cousin is a lot smarter than people give him credit for. They fall silent again, both lost in thoughts. It¡¯s a comfortable silence that Vegas eventually breaks. ¡°Tankhun?¡± ¡°Hmmm¡­?¡± ¡°If anything should ever happen to me, you will take care of Macau, right? Promise me?¡± This is another matter that weighs heavily on Vegas¡¯ mind. Who will protect Macau when he¡¯s gone? Not if, but when. The clock is ticking. ¡°Is there anything I should know about, Vegas?¡± His cousin scrutinises him closely. Apparently he has noticed that something is off with Vegas this evening. ¡°Why this kind of request all of a sudden? You have a terminal illness you¡¯ve neglected to tell us about?¡± ¡°No, don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ve just seen way too many shitty crime scenes and dead people lately.¡± Understatement of the century, but he won¡¯t go into details. ¡°It makes you ponder your own mortality. I worry what will happen with Macau if I am gone. You will keep an eye on him, right? Make sure my dad doesn¡¯t sink his claws into him?¡± ¡°I promise,¡± Tankhun replies quietly, with utmost sincerity. ¡°I¡¯ll do my best, but I don¡¯t have the same leverage against my uncle as you apparently do.¡± Tankhun is smart indeed. He¡¯s figured out that Macau lives a relatively domestic violence-free life only because Vegas has been taking certain precautions. Vegas smiles in the darkness. ¡°I¡¯ve made arrangements to transfer my leverage to you in case of my death.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± His cousin seems surprised and perhaps even a bit proud. Vegas¡¯ smile widens and they fall silent again. Vegas¡¯ thoughts drift. He exists in the here and now. He tries to block out everything else. Just this night; he has to get through this night, and then tomorrow everything will surely be more bearable. And surely he can even get used to the dull pain in his heart. It will simply take some time. At some point, his eyes close. Tankhun pulls a blanket over him as Vegas drifts off into an exhausted sleep, and then he watches his sleeping cousin with a deeply troubled expression on his face for the longest time.
Vegas has a late start for work the next day; in fact he doesn¡¯t show up until noon. He sleeps in, then goes for a swim in the stunning outside swimming pool of the Main family mansion, treats himself to a sauna visit and then a massage, and finally has the most delicious pancakes he¡¯s ever tasted for breakfast. All in Tankhun¡¯s company and under the watchful eyes of the bodyguards, who aren¡¯t quite comfortable with him hanging out this long with their boss. The prejudice against the Minor family lives on. Before he leaves, Vegas makes a point to wave at one of the many security cameras, because he knows Chan will see this when he returns, and it will make him frown and have one of his talks with Tankhun. The little joys in life. Tem is already in the office. He smiles when he sees Vegas. ¡°There you are. Did you have a relaxing morning? Would you like to hear some good news?¡± Oh, good news is always welcome. Vegas nods eagerly. ¡°What do you have?¡± ¡°I got the lily connection to the first case. We¡¯ve been blind idiots. It was so obvious, I don¡¯t understand how we didn¡¯t see this earlier.¡± Vegas is baffled. ¡°Seriously? What is it? We¡¯ve been going over that crime scene again and again, what did we miss?¡± ¡°It¡¯s one of the books from the crime scene,¡± Tem informs him with a grin. ¡°¡®Lily¡¯ is part of the book¡¯s title. ¡®The Red Lily¡¯. Stupid, isn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°Shit¡­ yeah. So simple it gets overlooked. Thank you, good work. So what are we going to do next? Shall we tackle the database for other whacky murder cases?¡± Vegas is not looking forward to that one. ¡°We might as well do that.¡± Tem looks equally unenthusiastic. ¡°Unless you want to go to the boss and ask for more manpower?¡± Both look at each other and then laugh. Yeah, right. As if that will ever happen. Database search it is. They divide the fifteen year search window, Vegas gets the last eight years and Tem takes the previous seven years. Neither of them really expects to find anything anytime soon, because they¡¯ve worked with this database before and it¡¯s a pain in the ass. The search engine for it sucks, a lot of information has to be entered manually, and it needs to be entered over and over again as they work their way backwards in time, month by month. This will probably keep them busy for at least a week, if not longer. They¡¯ve been working a while when Tem hesitantly speaks up. ¡°Vegas? I think Pete¡¯s been looking for you. Have you talked to him today?¡± Vegas stops typing mid-sentence and tenses up; until this moment he had all his issues with Pete packed away into a far away corner of his mind. He doesn¡¯t feel ready to unpack them just yet. ¡°Is that so?¡± he replies, with maybe a bit more bitterness in his voice than necessary. ¡°No, I haven¡¯t talked to him, he can write an email if he has something to say. I¡¯m busy.¡± Grimly, he goes back to work, knowing that Tem is staring at him in astonishment. Whatever. Screw Pete. He doesn¡¯t want to talk to him or even think about him. Tem wisely shuts up. They manage to work in peace and quiet for a few more hours, then the door opens. Pete is a storm cloud incarnate; one can almost feel the static electricity in the air multiplying within seconds of his entry. Both men look up from their computer screens; Tem¡¯s eyes widen with alarm and he casts nervous glances from Pete to Vegas and back. As for Vegas, his heart might skip a beat when he looks at Pete¡ªwho is wearing a shirt so dark grey that it¡¯s a perfect match to the stormy, ominous expression on his face¡ªbut there¡¯s still that dull heartache as a constant reminder about what happened yesterday. He clenches his jaw in determination and goes back to work, refusing to look any further at Pete. Screw you, you two-timing bastard. Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see Pete staring at him. His gaze is so intense, it¡¯s a miracle that the monitor partially shielding Vegas from Pete¡¯s view isn¡¯t instantly evaporated. Fucking great. He¡¯s seen angry Pete before, and thought surely it couldn¡¯t get worse than how he acted back on that roof, but apparently he was wrong¡ªthere is still room for further escalation. Just great. What the fuck is he even upset about this time? Shouldn¡¯t it be Vegas, who has the sole right to be upset right now? Screw you, Pete! When Pete finally speaks, his voice is so coldly furious that Tem instinctively scoots backwards with his office chair to try to increase the distance between them. ¡°Where the hell have you been, Vegas?¡± Vegas can feel himself grow very still, his fingers frozen in position above the keyboard. Danger. But then his initial bout of instant terror is washed away by a scalding wave of fresh anger. ¡°Fuck off.¡± And he defiantly shows Pete the middle finger ¡°Switzerland!¡± Tem tries to remind both of them with a trembling voice, but the neutral ground has already turned into an active war zone. Too late. ¡°I ask you again, Vegas, where the hell have you been?¡± Pete¡¯s tone of voice is truly terrifying. The anger is rolling off him in thick waves; it¡¯s almost tangible. ¡°That¡¯s none of your bloody business. But if you really want to know, I was at home. There, happy now? Then go and leave me the fuck alone so I can work, and take your pissy attitude along with you.¡± Vegas looks up just to glare at Pete and then gulps, because Pete¡¯s dark eyes are sparkling with fury, he¡¯s so angry his cheeks are flushing. Wow. Dangerous and at the same time so damn hot. Shit. Apparently Vegas has said something that triggers Pete, because he jolts into motion, stomps across the room and then slams his fists full force on the desk in front of Vegas; so hard that the desk vibrates, the monitor shakes and the sound echoes through the office like a sharp crack. Tem jumps in his seat, and so does Vegas. ¡°No, you weren¡¯t home! Don¡¯t you fucking lie to me!¡± ¡°Are you talking back to me?! Are you?! Want me to teach you another lesson, boy?¡±¡­ and father slams his palms onto the desk so hard, everything on it rattles¡­ and that¡¯s just a prelude, Vegas knows it, soon those hands will hit his face and if he¡¯s lucky there won¡¯t be any bruises¡­ should have kept his mouth shut¡­ should have stayed silent¡­ too late now¡­ And fuck that memory! He¡¯s an adult now, he won¡¯t let anyone treat him like this. Vegas feels the all familiar heat of rage flooding his body like a wall of fire. ¡­ one¡­ with utmost care he saves the document he is working on. ¡­ two¡­ a deep breath. ¡­ three¡­ he raises his eyes to face Pete who is hovering by his desk like an angel of wrath. ¡­ four¡­ ¡°Don¡¯t you dare use this tone of voice when talking to me,¡± he informs Pete, his voice tight with barely suppressed anger. The air between them positively crackles with the promise of violence. ¡°¡­ Switzerland¡­¡± Tem interjects weakly again, but neither Pete nor Vegas pay any attention to him. ¡°And don¡¯t you dare try lying to my face! Where the fuck did you spend the night, because you sure as hell weren¡¯t at home!¡± Pete is trembling with fury; his nostrils are flaring. He looks as if he wants to ram those clenched fists straight into Vegas¡¯ face. ¡°Oh, is that so? How would you know?¡± Vegas unfolds himself slowly from his chair, his own level of anger rising steadily, because what the fuck does Pete think he¡¯s doing?! Who gives him the right to behave like this? You want to fight, Pete? Bring it on. And he reaches out and shoves Pete backwards, away from his desk. Pete snarls with outrage and darts right back. ¡°Because I checked, you asshole. I checked and you weren¡¯t home! So where the hell have you been?! And with whom?!¡± ¡°Ah yes¡­ Thank you for reminding me, I¡¯d like that key back, please.¡± The angrier Vegas gets, the calmer he sounds. And he sounds eerily calm now. At the same time, he¡¯s thrilled. You don¡¯t like that, do you? Not knowing where I spent the night? No, you don¡¯t like that at all. Serves you right! ¡°¡­ Oh shit¡­¡± Tem moans anxiously from somewhere behind them. ¡°Vegas¡­¡± Pete is clenching his fists so tightly the fingers are turning white. ¡°Answer my fucking question!¡± ¡°The hell I will! You¡¯ve got no right to ask me this in the first place! I¡¯m not your fucking possession! Go to hell and get out of my fucking life!¡± Vegas glares at Pete; his veins are on fire, there is just so much red hot anger coursing through him right now. He wants to hurt Pete, not just physically but emotionally too, if that¡¯s even possible. Pete briskly pushes the monitor to the side to get rid of the obstacle between him and Vegas, leans closer across the desk, and hisses, ¡°Where the hell did you spend the night?! I told you I don¡¯t share!¡± He really does look rather upset, Vegas notes. ¡°Well, neither do I!¡± Vegas snarls right back at him. ¡°I¡¯m not your damn rebound toy! As far as I¡¯m concerned this thing between us is over. And I can do whatever I want with whomever I want! Does that sound familiar? Yeah? Stings, doesn¡¯t it?¡± Pete stills, fixating Vegas, his eyes very black in his flushed, incensed face. ¡°Is that supposed to mean you spent the night with someone else, Vegas?¡± His voice is dripping icicles, so very cold. And the look in his eyes¡­ wow. Well, he did, just not in the way Pete imagines. Time to push some buttons, to rub it in, to make it really hurt. Vegas is well aware that this is most likely a very bad idea, but he doesn¡¯t give a damn. ¡°Hell yeah,¡± Vegas drawls lazily. ¡°I sure did. And it was great¡­¡± Take that, you asshole, and choke on it! You probably spent the night with your on-again, off-again boyfriend; who the fuck are you to judge me! Cats can stand totally still, only to explode into instant movement, jumping an astonishing distance without needing to take a run-up. Once again, Pete channels his inner great cat; he moves so swiftly that it totally takes Vegas by surprise. One moment Pete is on the other side of the desk, glaring darkly at Vegas, the next he¡¯s jump-sliding over it¡ªhow the hell did he do that?¡ªsending the paperwork piled up on it flying all over the place, only to slam into Vegas, the force of the impact pushing both backwards until Vegas¡¯ back hits the wall hard. It knocks the breath out of Vegas, but before he can even process this, Pete¡¯s hands snap around his throat like steel manacles. He¡¯s besides himself with outrage, he¡¯s flat out livid, and he starts to squeeze. ¡°I¡¯m going to fucking kill you!¡± Vegas can¡¯t breathe. Well, for now he still can, but it¡¯s very difficult. He has to strain to suck the air into his lungs because those hands sure as hell hold on tight, and they keep tightening more and more. Pete is insanely strong, the thought skitters through his mind, who would have thought. This isn¡¯t the first time he¡¯s been choked, and the unpleasant sensation triggers a violent flashback. His father is drunk. Or angry. Or both. It¡¯s bad either way, because instead of the regular beating, today he is really trying to kill Vegas. The look on his face is scary, Vegas can feel the tears running down his face as he¡¯s gasping for breath, clawing at the hand that¡¯s constricting his airflow. ¡°¡­ Pa¡­¡± he croaks in panic, but then he can¡¯t even speak because his own father is trying to choke the life out of him¡­ and Vegas doesn¡¯t understand why¡­ why does he hate Vegas so much¡­ don¡¯t kill me¡­ please don¡¯t kill me¡­ Pa¡­ I can¡¯t breathe¡­ Pa¡­ Pa¡­ Pete¡­ Pa¡­ Pete¡­ Faces blend into each other, back and forth. Vegas blindly grabs Pete¡¯s wrists, but instead of fighting for his life he just holds on. They¡¯re in this together. Pete wants to kill him? Fine. Let¡¯s burn together. ¡°¡­ just¡­ do¡­ it¡­ bring¡­ it¡­ on¡­¡± he manages to wheeze, defiant to the last. And then he can¡¯t press out any more words because he¡¯s run out of air, the pressure around his throat increasing. Underneath all that rage Pete looks hurt, Vegas recognises dimly, and feels a spike of extreme satisfaction. For the very first time, Pete seems genuinely upset, hurt even. Gotcha. How do you like the taste of your own medicine? Sucks, doesn¡¯t it? Vegas would crow, but he seems to be dying, he can hear the blood rushing in his ears, the frantic beat of his heart like a sledgehammer in his head. His lungs are burning. Even when the dark spots appear in his field of vision, he doesn¡¯t avert his gaze. He has locked eyes with Pete; he wants him to be the last thing he sees. He hates him. He loves him. Let¡¯s be soulmates in hell. As for Pete, he seems completely unhinged. A glorious angel of death that seems determined to strangle him. ¡®I¡¯m going to kill you¡¯, he said. And he¡¯s true to his word. Are those tears in his eyes? So you care after all¡­ From the right side the barrel of a gun moves into Vegas¡¯ ever diminishing field of vision, the muzzle coming to rest against Pete¡¯s temple. Click. There goes the safety catch. ¡°Let go of Vegas or I will blow your brains all over this office.¡± Tem sounds incredibly stressed, his voice nearly cracking with panic. Not good. Not good at all. Because Pete won¡¯t stop. And Vegas is pretty damn sure that this isn¡¯t an empty threat from Tem¡ªhis partner will pull that trigger. ¡°Trust me, nothing would give me more pleasure than to end you, you bastard. I couldn¡¯t care less about the consequences either. As long as you¡¯re dead, everything is fine with me,¡± Tem rambles on, the barrel of the gun wavering slightly. Also not a good sign. Vegas wishes he could see the trigger finger but his field of vision gets smaller by the second, he¡¯s going to lose consciousness soon. He should be panicking, but all he feels is an eerie calm that subdues all the frantic signals of his body screaming after oxygen. Tem is really going to kill Pete. Not going to happen. Vegas doesn¡¯t know where he mobilises the energy from, maybe from sheer desperation because Pete must not die. He jerks forward, closer to Pete, and twists his body; he can hear Tem yelping and then his head is between Pete and the gun. And every time Tem moves the gun, Vegas moves as well, shielding Pete stubbornly. Pete, whose hands somehow remain firmly attached to his throat. Pete must not die. ¡°Vegas!¡± Tem sounds desperate and confused. ¡°What the fuck are you doing? Move away!¡± ¡°¡­ Vegas¡­¡± The way Pete exhales his name is almost magical. There is so much raw emotion in that single word; mostly disbelief and wonder, but so much more. Not on my watch, Vegas thinks. I¡¯ll take a bullet for you every day. And Vegas would love to do a deep dive into what else Pete is feeling at this exact moment, but his legs buckle beneath him and down he goes as his vision turns black. The hands around his throat are suddenly gone, and his body is finally able to follow its fundamental instinct to inhale, even if Vegas himself is more or less out of it right now. He¡¯s on the floor, gasping and shuddering and then coughing violently. Not quite unconscious, not quite awake. Caught in the in-between. He¡¯s aware that Tem and Pete are arguing fiercely, but is so busy forcing air into his lungs while coughing uncontrollably, that he can¡¯t make out the words. His throat hurts. It hurts just as bad as he remembers. There will be bruising. Swallowing will hurt for at least a week. This is going to suck big time. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. Vegas wonders if he¡¯s in shock, perhaps. He¡¯s taking all of this way too calmly. He should be upset. He should be afraid. He should be angry. And instead he feels¡­ immense satisfaction? It¡¯s because of that look on Pete¡¯s face as he was trying to kill Vegas. He has managed to force Pete right out of his comfort zone and into unknown emotional territory. Gotcha. It feels extremely satisfying. And doesn¡¯t that just demonstrate how truly fucked up he himself is? What normal person takes pleasure in deliberately pushing the boundaries like this? Vegas is messed up pretty badly, just like Pete; they compliment each other nicely, each of them is a big, glaring red flag. Damn, but his throat hurts. He wants some water. The worst of the coughing seems to be over. As long as he tries to breathe in slowly he hopes to avoid triggering another round of coughs. Pete and Tem are still arguing¡ªblah blah blah¡ªhe envisions them as comic figures with little speech bubbles full of *#!*#?!?!#. Vegas tentatively opens his eyes and only sees their legs. Maybe he should bite them, like a dog. Damn. Where do these thoughts even come from? His mind is a complete mess, runaway skittering thoughts everywhere. He wants water. Why is no one paying attention to him, he almost died, hello? The victim is right here, on the floor in front of them. Assholes both of them. He opens his mouth to voice his displeasure, but out comes only a garbled ¡°¡­chhhrrff¡­¡± Oops. And oww¡­ speaking hurts. Fine. Seems he has to do everything himself. He knows there is a water bottle in his desk drawer. Surprisingly enough, sitting up is way easier than he thought. And him moving is finally enough to draw their attention to him. The voices fall silent, but only for a moment. ¡°Vegas! How are you feeling? Are you all right?¡± Tem anxiously bends down and tries to assist him in getting up. Vegas smacks his hands away. He understands why Tem did it, but he can¡¯t get the picture of the gun muzzle pressed against Pete¡¯s temple out of his mind, and he¡¯s holding a grudge. You tried to kill my man, fuck off. To be fair, Pete gets the same treatment when it¡¯s his turn to try and help him up. No, he hasn¡¯t forgiven Pete for trying to choke him either. Apart from a looming headache, a bit of dizziness and the mother of all sore throats, Vegas seems to be doing okay. With grim determination he manages to get back to his feet, holding on to his desk just in case, and gets the water bottle. The first mouthful is sheer bliss. Water has never before tasted this good. And as expected, swallowing hurts like a bitch. Making a point of ignoring both men, Vegas takes his time sipping the water. He¡¯s pondering his next move. Actually, there is not much to think about, he knows what needs to be done next. When he finally feels sufficiently hydrated again, he casts a glance at the rest of his dysfunctional team. No bloody noses, so they didn¡¯t get into a scuffle, which is an improvement. No drawn guns either, that¡¯s also good. He mainly focuses on Tem for now, he¡¯s still feeling a bit too raw to deal with Pete. ¡°Tem¡­¡± Vegas cringes because his voice sounds terribly hoarse even to his own ears. ¡°I would like to talk to Pete in private.¡± He pauses to cough and then drink some more water. ¡°I¡¯m not leaving you alone with him!¡± Tem argues fiercely. ¡°He just tried to strangle you, Vegas! That wasn¡¯t a damn game, he really tried to kill you!¡± ¡°Since I¡¯m the victim, I¡¯m well aware of it. Now please leave us alone. Pete will no longer try to kill me, isn¡¯t that right, Pete?¡± He gives the man in question a quick glance and can barely suppress a shudder of dread mixed with excitement at the sight of him, because Pete is still angry. No, Vegas isn¡¯t ready yet to deal with him at all. Pete rolls his shoulders and shrugs. He looks like something wild that has been temporarily put on a leash but can break free at any moment. Okay, Vegas understands why Tem is reluctant to leave; Pete still very much has his ¡®predator on the hunt¡¯ vibe. ¡°Just leave, Tem. I¡¯d rather have that talk here than having to walk through the whole damn police station and then up to Pete¡¯s office on the top floor in my condition. But if you refuse to cooperate, I will do just that.¡± Vegas pauses to drink some water again. ¡°How does my throat look, is it very obvious? Do I need to cover it up?¡± Poor Tem looks like hell; well, he¡¯s been through emotional hell. Vegas is really trying to see his side of this whole mess, but pulling a gun on Pete¡ªfuck¡ªit leaves a very bitter taste in his mouth. And it doesn¡¯t seem as if Tem is willing to follow his wish and leave either. ¡°You¡¯ll probably need to cover it up with something,¡± Tem decides, after yet another troubled look at Vegas. ¡°It doesn¡¯t look too good.¡± ¡°He fucking deserved it,¡± Pete mutters angrily from the side, and starts pacing like a caged tiger. Yes, this is far from over. They really need to have their long overdue talk. Vegas glares sharply at him and then holds up his hand to stop an angry Tem from engaging Pete again. ¡°Don¡¯t.¡± He sighs and takes another sip of water. ¡°You¡¯re really going to make me walk through the building, aren¡¯t you? Well, fuck you, Tem.¡± Vegas does not have anything to cover his throat up with, it is Thailand in summertime, there are no scarves or anything like that. He¡¯ll just have to ignore the curious looks. Grimly, he heads for the door. ¡°Bloody hell, fine¡­ stop acting like a martyr, Vegas. Sit down, rest, I will leave.¡± Exasperated and worried, Tem glares at Vegas for making him do this. He then turns towards Pete and damn, Vegas doesn¡¯t like the look of pure hatred on Tem¡¯s face. It spells trouble for the future. ¡°Don¡¯t even think about hurting Vegas again. I wasn¡¯t kidding, I will kill you without a second thought.¡± Pete, who is still pacing, gives Tem a dark look. You can try, that look says, just bring it on. Yup, goodbye Switzerland. Any pretence of neutrality has been thoroughly blown out of the window. It seems this office will from now on be a permanent war zone. Fuck. ¡°Thank you, Tem. I know this isn¡¯t easy for you, and you don¡¯t understand why I¡¯m behaving this way, so thank you for listening to my wishes anyway.¡± Vegas absently rubs the aching skin of his neck and gives Tem a faint smile. ¡°It¡¯ll be all right, don¡¯t worry.¡± And as Tem is about to open the door and leave, he adds quietly. ¡°Please lock the door behind you. I don¡¯t want anyone to come in here to interrupt.¡± Tem doesn¡¯t like this at all; he exits and closes the door with a bit more force than necessary. And then locks it. There, done. Now for part two, and this talk is going to suck, Vegas is well aware of it. With a sigh, he slowly walks back towards his desk, looks at all the scattered papers on the ground and sighs again. Let¡¯s procrastinate a bit longer, he decides, and starts picking up things, very pointedly ignoring the still pacing Pete. He doesn¡¯t need to look at him to be aware of his presence; Pete is still a raging storm cloud making the air around him crackle with violence barely held in check. ¡°Are you in pain?¡± Pete inquires after a while. ¡°Yes,¡± Vegas answers truthfully while sorting the papers he just picked up into the right piles. He¡¯s still avoiding eye contact. ¡°Good,¡± Pete remarks with a viciousness that would catch most people who don¡¯t really know him by surprise. He looks so cheerful, innocent and nice most of the time, but Vegas has gotten a glimpse behind that mask, and what he¡¯s seen is scary and at the same time irresistibly exciting. ¡°I didn¡¯t lie, you know,¡± he informs him quietly. ¡°I really did go home. My real home; I went back to my family.¡± He pauses for a moment of contemplation and then admits freely, ¡°I probably could have phrased it differently to make that clear to you but quite frankly, I didn¡¯t want to. I wanted you to draw all the wrong conclusions.¡± ¡°I see,¡± Pete says quietly. ¡°So you spending the night with someone else¡­?¡± ¡°Also true but not in the way you think. I slept on the couch. With my oldest cousin. And a bunch of bodyguards. After spending the night watching all episodes of a K-drama.¡± There, the papers are sorted again; now Vegas has nothing else to keep him busy. He leans against his desk and finally faces Pete. ¡°You are a fucking idiot,¡± Pete informs him with heat. It¡¯s obvious that he¡¯s trying to slip behind one of his stoic masks again, but apparently he¡¯s having problems controlling his temper today. ¡°I really would have killed you.¡± ¡°I know. But I was angry and wanted to see how far I could push you. I guess I got my answer now. Also, I¡¯m going to die anyway, the clock is ticking. I figured it might as well be you sending me off. I¡¯d rather die at your hands than suffer through a violent prolonged death at the hands of a deranged killer. I¡¯m pretty messed up, right?¡± Vegas looks at Pete and sighs, his heart aches because he¡¯s just so damn in love with this madman. ¡°Let¡¯s call it quits, Pete,¡± he proposes quietly. Pete stops pacing and gives Vegas a hard stare. ¡°What the hell is that supposed to mean?¡± ¡°I think you know exactly what it means. I¡¯m getting off this train. No more games for me. Let¡¯s go our separate ways from now on.¡± Damn, this hurts badly. Vegas is aching all over saying this, but he really sees no other way. ¡°Are you dumping me?¡± Pete seems almost shocked, as if it never even occurred to him that this consequence of his actions might be on the horizon. ¡°In order to dump you, don¡¯t I need to have had you in the first place, Pete? But I never really had you, did I?¡± Vegas points out the obvious. ¡°I was just a participant in your little mind games, nothing else. Something to amuse yourself with, a rebound toy.¡± Pete just stares at Vegas, a myriad of emotions flickering through his eyes, and clenches his hands into fists. ¡°Stop it, Vegas, I don¡¯t like the sound of this.¡± Distress is seeping into his voice. ¡°I don¡¯t like being your plaything. And I¡¯m definitely not your possession. You told me loud and clear that we¡¯re not exclusive, that we are nothing. Now deal with it.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not what I meant!¡± Pete is getting frustrated. ¡°I wasn¡¯t prepared for you to get all clingy, so I got defensive!¡± ¡°Bullshit!¡± Vegas is just as frustrated as Pete. ¡°I made a joke because I was feeling jealous and didn¡¯t know how else to deal with it, and you brutally shut me out¡ªagain. You do that all the time; you reel me in and then you keep me hanging, and you expect me to be okay with it. Well, I¡¯m not!¡± ¡°Damn it, Vegas. Try seeing this from my point of view for a change? I could lose my licence and my job because of you, you really expect me to forget about that? Of course I¡¯m trying to keep you at a distance, but that does not make me want you any less.¡± ¡°Oh, don¡¯t try using that argument¡ªwhen have you ever been a real therapist to me? How many sessions did we have before you talked your way into my murder investigation because that was more interesting than my therapy? I haven¡¯t had any real therapy from you at all!¡± Vegas points his finger accusingly at Pete who seems slightly stunned. ¡°You were supposed to help me with my anger issues, but you are just as fucked up as I am. Hell, I think my anger issues are nothing compared to yours. You were supposed to help me¡­¡± His voice trails off; he doesn¡¯t know how to make Pete understand how let down he feels. ¡°I tried! I am still trying! I had my life under control until I met you, and now everything is completely chaotic! I tried to keep my professional distance in order for me to be able to be a real therapist to you, but you just wouldn¡¯t let me. You¡¯re in my head, all the time! You think I like feeling like this?¡± Pete starts pacing again. He seems incredibly tense. ¡°I don¡¯t like it. I don¡¯t like thinking about you all the time. I don¡¯t like how angry you make me. I don¡¯t like not being in control of myself. I hate it. My life is out of control since I met you.¡± ¡°Great. You¡¯ll no longer have to worry about that because it is over. I¡¯ll find myself another therapist, one that will actually help me. You finish your report about the serial killer and then go back to whatever you did before we met. I live my life, you live your life. If you are lonely, go and reconcile with your Tawan. End of story.¡± Vegas runs his fingers through his hair because he¡¯s feeling quite upset. This conversation is stressing him out big time. ¡°I disagree. I don¡¯t want this! I don¡¯t want you walking out on me! And what the fuck has Tawan got to do with all of this? What the hell did he say to you in that parking garage?¡± Pete sounds as stressed as Vegas feels. ¡°He said he¡¯s your on-again, off-again boyfriend.¡± Just repeating those words aloud hurts. And Vegas is tired of hurting because of Pete, this isn¡¯t healthy. Pete curses under his breath and comes to a stop in front of Vegas. ¡°Is that the real reason you want to break things off?¡± ¡°Seriously?¡± Vegas makes the mistake of looking Pete in the eyes and almost loses himself in them. Damn. ¡°What kind of an idiotic question is this, Pete? I think you having a boyfriend is a damn good reason not to get involved with you.¡± ¡°So you¡¯re jealous.¡± This knowledge seems to please Pete. Vegas is irked. ¡°I don¡¯t get involved with people who are in a relationship. That might be your kink but I don¡¯t swing that way. If you want to have an affair on the side, go and find someone else,¡± he growls angrily. ¡°Vegas¡­¡± Pete looks him in the eyes and then his lips curve into that damn dimpled smile that knocks the breath out of Vegas every single time he¡¯s subjected to it. He feels suddenly breathless. ¡°Tawan is not my boyfriend.¡± ¡°Stop it, Pete¡­¡± Vegas says helplessly. He doesn¡¯t want to hear this. He doesn¡¯t want to hear it, because how is he supposed to extract himself from this mess between them, if Pete rekindles the prospect of something deeper? ¡°I¡¯m not in a relationship with Tawan. I¡¯m very much single, and I¡¯m very much attracted to you, Vegas,¡± Pete continues earnestly, waltzing right past Vegas¡¯ objections. Vegas swallows hard and it hurts. This is exactly what he wants to hear, who is he kidding? At the same time he also wants to turn off the emotions welling up inside of him upon hearing this. Damn, he doesn¡¯t want to be in love with Pete anymore. ¡°Good for you,¡± he mumbles, and forces himself to look elsewhere. Anywhere other than Pete¡¯s expressive, hopeful face is fine, because Pete has shrugged off the anger and now he is once again the delightful, enthusiastic psychologist that Vegas fell for in the first place. ¡°I¡¯m still calling it quits.¡± ¡°Nonsense.¡± Pete won¡¯t have it. ¡°You¡¯re just as attracted to me as I am to you.¡± ¡°You trying to kill me kind of put a damper on my attraction to you,¡± Vegas tries to argue, but that simply elicits a soft chuckle from Pete. ¡°Liar, liar, pants on fire.¡± Pete takes another step closer and since Vegas is currently leaning against his desk he can¡¯t evade him by backing away. Not good. Vegas knows what will happen when they touch, because he doesn¡¯t have control over his damn body as far as Pete is concerned. ¡°Want me to tell you an uncomfortable truth about yourself, Vegas? You very much like my dark side.¡± Unfortunately Pete is right. Vegas does like it when Pete gets unhinged and loses control. It¡¯s so damn exciting. ¡°Perhaps,¡± he admits. ¡°That doesn¡¯t make it a healthy attraction though. You¡¯re a glaring red flag and so am I. We just keep hurting each other. We are not compatible.¡± ¡°Would you like me to show you just how compatible we are?¡± Pete inches even closer and Vegas¡¯ breath catches when he starts to lean in. ¡°Stop it, Pete,¡± he demands with desperation. ¡°Look at my throat, you just tried to strangle me. You¡¯re not good for me, and I¡¯m not good for you; this between us is never going to work and I¡¯m so damn tired of you giving me mixed signals. I don¡¯t want this anymore; it¡¯s exhausting.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll make it work, trust me. And to be fair, I wouldn¡¯t have acted the way I did if you hadn¡¯t deliberately pushed my buttons, can we at least agree on that? I could say I¡¯m sorry for what I did to you earlier on, but you and I know that I am not, and besides, you got a kick out of it, I could see it in your eyes.¡± Pete shrugs nonchalantly and when Vegas casts him a quick irritated glance he answers it with a cheeky grin. ¡°I can kiss it better though¡­¡± ¡°No thanks.¡± His instinct warns Vegas that it is now or never, time to leave while he still can. ¡°Just leave me alone. We are over.¡± But before he can evade it, Pete already presses his mouth on the right side of his neck, exactly where everything is feeling sore and achy, and where the skin is overly sensitive right now. Vegas flinches visibly; it hurts, yes, but at the same time it¡¯s electrifying. He feels the all-familiar rush, it feels so damn good. Shit. ¡°Don¡¯t. I¡¯m not going to change my mind¡­¡± And then he has to bite his lip in order to hold back in the moan that almost escapes his mouth when Pete starts trailing kisses from one side of his throat to the other. Holy shit. Vegas knows he should hate this. He knows he should protest, he should push Pete away, he should get out of this office. He knows. And against better knowledge he stays in place and doesn¡¯t move. Pete is his drug and he wants his fix. That doesn¡¯t mean he will make it easy for him though. If Pete thinks a bit of kissing will make everything all right again, he¡¯s in for a surprise. Pete is very careful with his neck, the kisses are soft and gentle and incredibly nice and even though he¡¯s determined not to show any reaction Vegas can¡¯t suppress the occasional shiver. ¡°You like this, Vegas?¡± Pete murmurs against his skin. Vegas snorts with irritation and refuses to answer. Besides, he¡¯s busy keeping himself in check, his hands are holding on to the edge of the desk just to keep himself from grabbing Pete. And when Pete tries for a real kiss he turns his head away to the side. ¡°Nice try, but this isn¡¯t going to work.¡± Vegas blames his hoarse voice on his damaged throat because that¡¯s easier than to admit how much Pete is affecting him. ¡°You are so damn stubborn.¡± Pete chuckles softly, settling for brushing his thumb over Vegas¡¯ lips. ¡°Why bother resisting, just admit that there is no way either of us can walk away from this.¡± ¡°Just watch me¡­¡± Vegas replies grimly. Gently but firmly he pushes Pete away to get some distance between them. ¡°Attraction isn¡¯t everything. I want something that you very obviously can¡¯t give me.¡± Vegas goes to sit behind his desk, putting one more obstacle between him and a very determined-looking Pete. Not that he ever expected Pete to take a ¡®No¡¯ for a ¡®No¡¯ in the first place. He probably senses that it isn¡¯t a very determined ¡®No¡¯ from Vegas¡¯ side, more¡¯s the pity. ¡°You might be surprised just how much I¡¯m willing to give you to make this work,¡± Pete responds and graces Vegas with another dimpled smile. ¡°I¡¯m definitely surprised at myself. Take a chance on me, Vegas. We can make this work.¡± Oh, damn. Pete is saying all the right things, and Vegas wavers. This is such a bad idea. Vegas should be running screaming in the opposite direction right now to get the hell away from Pete, and yet here he is, seated at his desk, they¡¯re staring at each other and Vegas wants him so damn much it is inconceivable. He¡¯s surprised at himself as well. Pete seems to sense how confused about his own feelings Vegas is. He walks slowly around the desk, giving him ample opportunity to move away if he wants to, but of course Vegas stays in place. He doesn¡¯t have the energy to draw out the inevitable. ¡°We can make this work,¡± Pete insists and smiles earnestly at him. ¡°Let me show you.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t trust you with my sanity, you¡¯re going to drive me insane.¡± Vegas sighs because he knows the fight is already lost. ¡°I hear you and I want to believe you, I really do. But I don¡¯t really see either of us getting better at not hurting the other one. Can we please be realistic and honest about this, Pete?¡± Distance, they need some distance between them. Vegas rolls his office chair backwards until it hits the wall, and leans his head against it as he looks up at Pete. ¡°Why me? What are you thinking? What do you even see in me? How do you expect me to be with you if you keep your thoughts completely locked up and out of my reach?¡± Strangely enough this just makes Pete smile even more. ¡°You really have no idea how attractive you are, Vegas. When I walked into the office that first day and got my first look at you, it felt like a gut punch. I had seen your photo in your file, but the reality was so much more than what I expected and I really wasn¡¯t ready to be instantly attracted to you. You are so damn oblivious, you don¡¯t even notice how everyone ogles you. It¡¯s rather charming but also very frustrating.¡± It just takes him a few steps and then Pete is standing once again before Vegas¡¯ chair, looking down at him. He has that intense expression on his face again. The one that Vegas knows so well, and that does weird things to his heart. ¡°You are so damn fascinating, Vegas. You¡¯re rude, you¡¯re cold, you¡¯re distant, you have a short fuse, you can be exceptionally violent. You¡¯re constantly pushing everyone away who comes too close to you. You also have a nice sense of humour, and care enough about other people to go and rescue the drunken therapist that you hate from the clutches of a horny nightclub crowd. You care about some of your family even if you refuse to admit it, so you cut them out of your life. You¡¯re so worried about other people getting physically hurt because of you, that you have cut yourself off from any potential relationship and only allow yourself to have the bare minimum of friends. You¡¯re a man full of contradictions.¡± Vegas swallows hard as he listens to this. Swallowing hurts, but that¡¯s nothing compared to the ache in his heart. Damn Pete for reading him so thoroughly. ¡°I see you, Vegas,¡± Pete continues quietly, looking him in the eyes. ¡°I see all of you. The good and the bad. And I like what I see. You don¡¯t have to change for me. I don¡¯t see a mess when I look at you, you are perfect just the way you are right now. I have never met anyone who is such a perfect match for me. You have no idea how glad I am that I met you. Does that answer your question?¡± Vegas closes his eyes, because he can feel the tears welling up in them. It¡¯s so overwhelming hearing all this. It makes his emotions run wild; he is feeling so damn much and all at the same time. ¡°What do you see in me, Vegas?¡± he can hear Pete asking softly. He doesn¡¯t even have to think about the answer, it comes naturally. Vegas opens his eyes, and gives Pete a watery smile. ¡°You¡¯re my missing puzzle piece. Now, I am finally complete.¡± ¡°That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said about me.¡± Pete swallows hard as well, he seems overcome with emotions; in fact he even looks a bit shocked about his own emotional response to these words. And then he simply straddles Vegas and places his hands on his shoulders. ¡°I can make this work, Vegas. I promise you, I can make us work.¡± This is taking Vegas by surprise. Pete looks so damn earnest, and he wants to believe his words so badly, but deep down he knows this is all just an illusion, it will not work out. Then again, he will most likely die soon anyway, why not enjoy this while it lasts? Vegas meets Pete¡¯s eyes, rests his hands on his hips and smiles faintly. ¡°Fine. We can try.¡± As a reward Pete gives him another wide dazzling smile and Vegas allows himself to lose himself in that smile for a while. Pete leans in, his breath feathering across Vegas¡¯ face. ¡°Thank you. I can make this work,¡± he murmurs once again, as if he needs to convince himself of this more than he needs to convince Vegas, and then he plants a quick kiss on the tip of Vegas¡¯ nose. It tickles and makes Vegas smile reluctantly. Pete gives him another peck straight on the lips, but the touch is so fleeting that the resulting spark isn¡¯t enough to turn into another raging fire of uncontrollable desire. Vegas thinks he could get used to this, the weight of Pete on him, the warmth of his body seeping through his clothes, the closeness. All of this very effectively erases any bad feelings and memories between them¡ªfor the moment at least. In the here and now, they¡¯re fine. And they will make this work. They exchange a silent, affectionate look, basking in the moment. Then Pete begins kissing Vegas; he starts from the corner of his mouth, making his way downwards, a trail of light kisses along the throat until he reaches the edge of Vegas¡¯ uniform shirt. ¡°Let me show you just how compatible we are,¡± Pete whispers against his skin. ¡°Right here, right now?¡± Vegas is caught between delight and alarm. ¡°We¡¯re at work.¡± ¡°That didn¡¯t stop you in the elevator,¡± Pete points out, draws back and gives Vegas a cheeky grin while deftly undoing the first button. ¡°Where is your sense of adventure, Detective Theerapanyakul? How about a walk on the wild side?¡± Vegas shivers because damn, he¡¯s ready to walk the wild side, hell yeah. ¡°Someone could walk in,¡± he points out nevertheless. ¡°Tem locked the door when he left.¡± Pete undoes the second button. ¡°Tem might come back and walk in,¡± Vegas protests weakly. ¡°Exciting, isn¡¯t it?¡± is Pete¡¯s only comment regarding the matter, and that is that. He undoes another button. Vegas feels the thrill of discovery and just hopes Tem has the good grace to stay far away from the office. ¡°Bring it on then,¡± he whispers and leans back to see Pete will do next. Pete gives him another mischievous grin and then starts with the kisses again; from the collarbone downwards, following in the path of him slowly undoing all the buttons of Vegas¡¯ uniform shirt. Vegas grins as well, he likes this playful side of Pete very much. Besides, he really does deserve this reward for all he has been put through the last 24 hours. His breath hitches repeatedly as Pete makes his way down, it just feels so damn good. Once all the buttons are undone, Pete folds the fabric to the side and then simply stares reverently at Vegas¡¯ bare chest, taking it all in. ¡°Damn Vegas¡­ You have no idea how long I¡¯ve been wanting to do this¡­¡± And without further ado, he leans in, his hot breath brushing Vegas¡¯ skin, making it tingle, before his mouth fastens around his nipple. Vegas nearly jolts right off the chair, almost dislodging Pete from his lap. He curses under his breath, and tightens his grip on Pete¡¯s hips, holding him in place. Holy shit. His reaction draws a chuckle from Pete. ¡°I knew you¡¯d like that.¡± And then that devil swirls his tongue around the nipple and Vegas thinks he surely must have gone to heaven. He stifles a groan, shudders and doesn¡¯t even get a break to adjust to the sensation before Pete¡¯s tongue draws a straight line right across to the other nipple and repeats the swirl there. And then he just goes back and forth, swirl to swirl. Holy shit. How did they get here again? Weren¡¯t they just fighting a short while ago? Not to mention that Pete tried to kill him earlier on? Never mind all that now, nothing matters except Pete and his hot mouth. Vegas arches his back, pushing himself against that mouth and shuddering silently with pleasure. He wants to groan, but bites his lip to stay quiet while Pete is doing his utmost to drive him insane with desire. When Pete starts sucking on the nipples, Vegas thinks he¡¯s going to come in his pants; the pleasure hits him like a lightning bolt. His fingers are digging hard into Pete¡¯s hips; he¡¯s pulling him as close as possible and both of them hiss with pleasure as they start grinding against each other. Then Vegas¡¯ phone rings, they both jump with alarm and then laugh breathlessly. Vegas wants to ignore it, but Pete reaches back and fishes the phone from the desk, handing it to Vegas before he goes back to lavishing attention on Vegas¡¯ nipples. ¡°What is it?¡± Vegas barks into the phone. And the next moment he starts to flush, because it feels as if he¡¯s been caught with the hand in the cookie jar. ¡°Yes, I¡¯m still alive and everything is all right, Tem.¡± Pete, the devil, takes that moment to use his teeth on the extremely sensitive flesh, giving it a light bite and Vegas mouth falls open in a silent shout. He can barely hear what Tem is saying because Pete starts to pinch the other nipple at the same time, making the pleasure almost unbearable. ¡°Whatever,¡± Vegas interrupts Tem hoarsely. ¡°I am in the middle of my conversation with Pete, I know you¡¯re worried, but stop interrupting. We¡¯ll talk later.¡± And then he hangs up, just drops the phone and inhales a very shaky breath. ¡°Good Lord, do that again.¡± Pete grins and does just that. This is spiralling out of control quickly. Vegas can hear his colleagues from outside; they¡¯re just a door away from being discovered and it¡¯s thrilling as hell. He ponders if he should ask Pete for a handjob, because he¡¯s so damn aroused he¡¯s ready to explode when Pete comes up for air, all flushed himself. ¡°Please tell me you were planning on ravishing me at some point and therefore have a condom and lube with you?¡± he asks Vegas urgently. Pete never ceases to surprise him. Vegas blinks. ¡°Seriously? You want to do it here? Right now?¡± ¡°Yes, right here and now.¡± Pete¡¯s hands slide down Vegas¡¯ chest to the edge of his pants. ¡°Wild side, remember? Let me ride you.¡± And with a wicked smile he gropes him. Vegas jerks at the touch; the sensation of Pete¡¯s hand rubbing him through the rough fabric of his pants is out of this world. He casts a quick glance at the door and then throws all caution to the wind. ¡°In my bag.¡± They share a breathless grin, then Vegas scoots the office chair closer to the desk to be able to get to the drawers while Pete feverishly starts to undo his belt and buttons. When they¡¯re not trying to hurt each other, they really are an exceptionally crazy match, Vegas thinks in a daze, while struggling to get the condom and the lube and at the same time assisting Pete in pulling down his pants. Pete shrugs off his own pants and underwear as well, he looks deliciously wicked, his eyes gleaming with mischief. They¡¯re both hard; Vegas wants Pete now. ¡°Stop grinning.¡± He mock-glares at Pete. ¡°I swear you are such a bad influence on me. I can¡¯t believe you talked me into having sex at work.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t see you putting up a lot of objections,¡± Pete points out, winks and starts lubing himself. ¡°Now put on the damn condom already before someone decides to interrupt again.¡± ¡°So bossy¡­¡± Vegas rolls his eyes, but secretly he¡¯s delighted, and enjoying this very much. And he enjoys it even more when Pete straddles him once again, and they¡¯re skin against skin this time. Damn, this feels good. ¡°Slow down,¡± Vegas warns Pete, as he lowers himself on Vegas¡¯ cock; it¡¯s obvious from the expression on his face that it hurts, he isn¡¯t quite ready yet. ¡°Slow down, Pete,¡± he quickly grabs Pete¡¯s waist and pulls him closer. Their chests are pressed so tightly together, Vegas can feel Pete¡¯s throbbing heart through his shirt. ¡°Slow down and relax,¡± he murmurs against his ear and wraps his arms around him in a hug. ¡°Well, I don¡¯t want to slow down. I¡¯m horny and I want to fuck you,¡± Pete growls with frustration and desperately grinds himself against Vegas¡¯ cock. ¡°If you keep this up, I will come, and we¡¯ll never get to any actual fucking,¡± Vegas points out with a chuckle. It¡¯s true, he is so damn aroused by the whole situation that the friction against Pete is on the brink of being too much. ¡°Kiss me,¡± he whispers breathlessly, and brings Pete¡¯s face up to kiss him passionately. The all-familiar madness ensues. At some point Vegas breaks the kiss; he¡¯s panting so badly, he needs to breathe. But Pete won¡¯t let him, he digs his fingers in Vegas¡¯ hair and pushes his head back towards his, hard, because he doesn¡¯t want to stop. Their lips meet once more, they¡¯re back the way they were before, exploring each other¡¯s mouth. And sometime amidst all this, lust overpowers pain and Pete slides into place and begins to move. Vegas wants to shout, but they need to keep quiet. Which is kind of a turn on as well, not that he needs to be turned on any more than he already is, because Pete riding him is sheer ecstasy, not to mention the blissful expression on his face¡ªit is all perfect and Vegas pulls him in for another long and hot kiss. Pete is slowly grinding himself back and forth, Vegas¡¯ cock lodged deep inside him. Then Vegas phone starts ringing again. ¡°Oh, for fuck¡¯s sake!¡± Panting heavily, Vegas somehow manages to reach down and pick up the phone he dropped earlier on without dislodging Pete, who is clinging to him like a monkey. ¡°Not now, Tem!¡± he more of less yells into the phone. ¡°I¡¯m having a moment here, leave me alone!¡± And then he disconnects the call with a growl. ¡°A moment, huh?¡± Pete laughs against his throat and licks the skin there. ¡°I sure hope this will last a bit longer than a mere moment.¡± As a reply, Vegas flexes his hips, and Pete¡¯s whole body tenses and shudders; he holds one hand over his mouth to try to reduce the volume of his gasping. Vegas has to laugh softly. Then he sends the office chair they¡¯re sitting on swirling like a wild merry-go-round. Pete doesn¡¯t seem to know if he should laugh or moan, so he does both. They cling to each other until the chair bumps into the wall and comes to a stop; both of them gasp, and then Pete arches his back and moves his hips, slowly rising up and then lowering himself. Now it¡¯s Vegas¡¯ turn to hold back a moan. At least they¡¯re not interrupted again after this. This isn¡¯t just sex, this is making love, Vegas realises at some point. The intense eye contact between them, the slow long kisses, the connection between them at this moment is simply so profound that Vegas can¡¯t wrap his mind around it. As if he could ever walk away from this; no, Vegas knows they¡¯re in it together, until the bitter end. Pete is doing some drive-him-crazy circular motions with his hips and Vegas feels he can¡¯t last much bit longer. Thankfully Pete picks this moment to throw his head back in silent ecstasy and pant through his orgasm. Watching Pete in the throes of pleasure is intoxicating. He¡¯s a glorious sight to behold, Vegas thinks. His dark eyes look at Vegas, wild and beautiful, and Vegas feels his heart overflow with love for this impossible, irritating, wonderful man. ¡°Pete¡­¡± His voice is trembling as badly as his body. He grits his teeth in an effort not to make any sound, and then he comes so hard that his eyes roll back in his head. It feels as if every bone is his body has liquified, he sinks against Pete and just shudders uncontrollably for a minute¡ªeven the slightest movement is too much and sets off another spasm of pleasure. They hold each other for what feels like the longest time. ¡°We need to do this more often,¡± Pete eventually whispers. He sounds exhausted, but very pleased. He pulls back a bit to be able to make eye contact with Vegas and gives him a wide, dimpled smile that makes butterflies erupt in Vegas¡¯ stomach. When Pete leans in, the expression on his face is precious beyond description. One hand cups Vegas¡¯ cheek and the other rests on his waist, and then their lips meet once more in a soft kiss. ¡°Congratulations, Vegas.¡± Pete¡¯s voice is heavy with a mixture of wonder and disbelief. ¡°You got yourself a boyfriend, let¡¯s go steady.¡± Chapter 16 ¡°I call it purring, not growling,¡± said Alice. ¡°You still owe me an explanation.¡± It¡¯s getting late, the sun has set, and he and Pete are sitting in a parked car in front of Vegas¡¯ apartment building. Vegas is still feeling slightly overwhelmed by all that¡¯s happened today. Pete¡¯s unwillingness to leave his side is much appreciated, though. It seems Pete was very serious about what he said earlier on, and has invited himself for a sleepover. Which is totally fine with Vegas; he doesn¡¯t want to be separated from Pete right now either. ¡°An explanation about what?¡± Pete stretches lazily, too sleepy¡ªand maybe sore¡ªto move. Best to get this over with before it eats him alive. ¡°A explanation about Tawan,¡± he demands quietly. ¡°I already told you he¡¯s not my boyfriend, what else do you want to know?¡± Reaching out, Pete takes Vegas hand and laces their fingers. ¡°It¡¯s okay, just ask.¡± ¡°How long have you known him and why does he seem to think you two are in a relationship?¡± ¡°I have know Tawan for a while¡ªabout a year perhaps? He was one of my very first patients.¡± Pete seems very sincere as he divulges this information. ¡°I¡¯m truly sorry that he upset you, he¡¯s a very troubled person. Harmless, but well¡­ troubled. He¡¯s a bit delusional at times, it seems that he¡¯s stopped taking his medicine once again. Tawan has these episodes now and then, I will contact his current therapist to hopefully sort this out quickly.¡± Vegas casts Pete a quick sideways look and then stares straight ahead at the other parked cars again. ¡°He seems very attached to you. Did you play your little games with him, too?¡± He doesn¡¯t want to ask this; he doesn¡¯t want to hear the answer to it either. But he asks anyway, because he wants to put the whole Tawan business behind them today. Pete hesitates for a second before answering. ¡°I might have given him the wrong impression about my interest in him at some point.¡± Vegas snorts softly. ¡°So you flirted with him.¡± He doesn¡¯t like the thought of Pete flirting with Tawan, he really doesn¡¯t like it, but that was before Pete met Vegas, so he really has no right to get upset about it. ¡°Was that all?¡± Pete fleetingly tightens his hold on Vegas¡¯ hand. ¡°You really want an honest answer to this, Vegas?¡± He has turned his head to look out the window as if he doesn¡¯t want to face Vegas. ¡°Not really, no. But answer me anyway,¡± Vegas sighs. He already knows the answer. ¡°No, that wasn¡¯t all,¡± Pete admits quietly. Vegas clenches his jaw as he feels jealousy bubbling up inside of him. The thought of Pete making out with this Tawan guy is nauseating. ¡°How many times?¡± He asks nevertheless, his voice tight with irritation. ¡°Just once.¡± Pete sighs and starts rubbing his thumb against Vegas¡¯ palm. ¡°It was a one time thing, never meant to turn into something lasting. Unfortunately Tawan didn¡¯t get the memo. I shouldn¡¯t have done it in the first place, it was an idiotic mistake to make.¡± ¡°Did this happen a lot? You having a fling with your patients?¡± Because Vegas does not want to be one of many, that would really sting too much. ¡°Stop making me sound like a slut, Vegas. That was the only time I fucked a patient¡­ well, before I met you that is.¡± Vegas cringes and, for a moment, to urge to end everything, call it quits and run as far as possible becomes nearly overwhelming. ¡°I don¡¯t like it,¡± he admits unhappily. ¡°I know I have no right, but I feel so damn jealous. I instantly disliked the guy and the thought of you and him being together at some point ¡­ I don¡¯t like how that makes me feel.¡± He turns his head and gives Pete a helpless glance. ¡°I¡¯m not happy about all of your one-night-stands either, Vegas. And I am not proud of myself for sleeping with Tawan. But it was just that, scratching an itch. Plain sex, no feelings involved. It was vastly different compared to what¡¯s going on between the two of us now. You know that, right?¡± Pete searches his face, looking for confirmation. ¡°I¡¯ve never asked anyone else to go steady, Vegas. Not once.¡± ¡°I know.¡± Vegas sighs. ¡°Sorry. I¡¯ll try to shelf the jealousy.¡± Then something else occurs to him. ¡°You said he was a former patient. Why did he show up at the police station then?¡± ¡°He has a hard time accepting that I¡¯m no longer his therapist. I promise I will see to it that he won¡¯t bother me again. I think this time I told him in no uncertain terms that there is not, and will never be, any relationship between him and me.¡± ¡°I really hope he got the message this time. If he smirks into my face one more time I will not be held accountable for what I will do.¡± And Vegas means it. He¡¯s feeling very possessive when it comes to Pete, and he will not tolerate any interference. ¡°Did I ever tell you how hot you are when you threaten bodily harm, Vegas? If not, now you know.¡± Pete grins and squeezes his hand. ¡°Any more questions, or can we go inside now to make dinner? I¡¯m starting to get hungry.¡± ¡°You¡¯re probably the only one who thinks my violent tendencies are sexy.¡± Vegas slowly shakes his head in disbelief. ¡°Sure, let¡¯s get going. If I have any more questions, I¡¯ll let you know.¡± They head inside and have a surprisingly harmonious evening. Vegas shoves the whole Tawan issue to the back of his mind; he¡¯s satisfied with Pete¡¯s explanations and, as far as he¡¯s concerned, the matter is over and done with. Time to concentrate on his own life ¡­ and his new boyfriend.
The days go by, and Vegas still thinks he¡¯s dreaming. He¡¯s been thoroughly steamrolled by the force of nature that is Pete. His life has been completely upended in just a matter of¡­ how long have they known each other now? It¡¯s just bewildering. It seems he really is in a relationship now. Vegas still can¡¯t wrap his mind around this. It¡¯s crazy. How did this happen? Did he really agree to this? Of course he did, because Pete has driven him stark raving insane. The exact same Pete who is currently sitting on Vegas¡¯ couch, in Vegas¡¯ apartment, reading a book called ¡®Feeling Good Together: The Secret to Making Troubled Relationships Work¡¯¡ªit¡¯s unreal. Vegas, too, is lying on the couch, his head resting comfortably in Pete¡¯s lap. ¡°Tell me again why you¡¯re reading this particular book?¡± Pete lowers the book and gives Vegas an exasperated look over the rim of his glasses. Pete is wearing glasses. Vegas heart does a happy little skip. Pete is so damn cute with glasses. ¡°I¡¯m reading this book because I have promised you to make this relationship work. And since I don¡¯t have any experience with prior relationships to fall back on, I might as well educate myself by reading what the experts have to say on the matter.¡± ¡°You are such a nerd,¡± Vegas points out affectionately. ¡°It¡¯s very endearing.¡± ¡°This is important to you¡ªof course I¡¯m trying to make sure I don¡¯t mess up.¡± And there is the dimpled smile again. ¡°You should probably read the book as well, it¡¯s not like you¡¯re an expert on relationships either.¡± Vegas looks affronted. ¡°Hey, I¡¯ve been in a relationship before.¡± ¡°Really?¡± Pete blinks in surprise. ¡°I thought this was all new to you, too?¡± ¡°I was 17 years old,¡± Vegas explains. ¡°I was very much in love and had a few blissful weeks before my father found out about it and put my boyfriend in the ICU, and that was the end of it. Well, I guess that doesn¡¯t really count as a real relationship, you¡¯re right.¡± ¡°Oh¡­¡± It seems that Pete is unsure how to react. ¡°That must have been pretty traumatic?¡± he eventually guesses, hesitantly. ¡°You have no idea¡­¡± Vegas¡¯ voice trails off. He doesn¡¯t want to be reminded of this incident; it was horrific then, and being reminded of it hurts even now. ¡°Want to talk about it?¡± Vegas sighs. ¡°Not really. Do I have to?¡± ¡°It would be nice if you could talk about it but I am not going to force you.¡± Pete smiles at him. He smiles a lot these days. It¡¯s been about a week since they got together and it feels as if everything¡¯s changed. Everything. Vegas¡¯ cupboard now has some of Pete¡¯s clothes in it¡ªjust in case Pete sleeps over which he does¡ªa lot. The bathroom has Pete¡¯s beauty products, shower gel, his Eau de Toilette¡ª¨¦GO?STE, and if that isn¡¯t fitting¡ªand even a toothbrush. Pete has bought the food and snacks that he likes as well. He hasn¡¯t moved in fully, but he¡¯s certainly put his mark on the apartment, and Vegas likes it a lot. Even work has been peaceful, largely due to the fact that Tem apparently has taken a temporary leave of absence to care for his sick grandmother. Vegas is alone in the office and can actually get some work done, it¡¯s incredibly nice to work in peace and quiet. Sometimes Pete joins him and they work beside each other in quiet harmony. Simply looking at Pete makes Vegas feel all warm and fuzzy inside. This is everything Vegas ever wanted; he¡¯s torn between delight and terror, because there are two big threats looming on the horizon. One of them being the insane serial killer out to get Vegas, the other one being his father, who will go after Pete the moment he finds out about him. ¡°I met him in high school.¡± Vegas closes his eyes and starts talking softly. ¡°He was a sweet guy, very gentle. I had a crush on him for the longest time but didn¡¯t dare to act on it. My father was pushing very hard for me to date the daughters of prospective business partners at that time. I think I was about 13 when I first figured out that I wasn¡¯t really interested in girls at all, and I made the colossal mistake of confiding in my father. Let¡¯s just say he didn¡¯t take that well at all, so afterwards I was very careful not to show my attraction to boys.¡± ¡°But this boy was simply too cute. I was a teenager with raging hormones, and I felt invincible and rebellious, so in the end I did make a move on him and we got together.¡± Vegas sighs and then feels Pete¡¯s fingers carding through his hair. The quiet comfort this gives him allows him to continue with his story. ¡°I had a couple of wonderful weeks of dating, holding hands, the whole shenanigans. I was so happy and so damn stupid, I thought I could have it all. Then my father sent me an invitation for lunch at his favourite restaurant.¡± Vegas pauses and swallows hard. ¡°I really was so damn stupid. I went there, my father was waiting in front of the entrance for me. I had just said hello and that¡¯s when I saw my boyfriend across the street, heading my way. I still remember the smile on his face the moment he saw me. Myself, I was just frozen in surprise and panic, I couldn¡¯t move. Maybe if I had been able to react, to call out to him, maybe it would have ended differently, who knows¡­¡± Once again, Vegas swallows hard. ¡°He crossed the street to get to me and never really had a chance. I can still see it before me, the moment the car hit him, it has burned itself into my mind. The sound¡­ there was a dull thud¡­ the impact sent him flying through the air, he hit the windshield, slid over the roof and hit the street hard. It was like watching a puppet fall, its limbs fluttering around lifelessly and broken¡­¡± Vegas voice trails off; for a moment he¡¯s back on that sidewalk, caught in a nightmare. ¡°I think I screamed. I don¡¯t remember much more, other than wanting to run to his side, but my father wouldn¡¯t let me. The bodyguards held me back and I had to watch from the side, just a bystander, while strangers tried to save his life. My father made me watch until the ambulance drove off with him.¡± A shudder runs through Vegas. ¡°I saw the driver who hit him, you know. He was my father¡¯s main bodyguard at that time. It was all arranged. I thought I was so clever, but my father put an end to it.¡± ¡°That¡¯s horrible, Vegas. I¡¯m so sorry,¡± Pete remarks softly, and gently strokes his hair. ¡°It was just the start, Pete. My father made me go to the hospital and sit in the waiting room with my boyfriend¡¯s parents while the doctors were trying to save his life in the operating theatre. I was just 17¡­¡± Again, Vegas swallows hard. It hurts just talking about this. ¡°I had to witness their anxiety and worry, all the while knowing that I was ultimately responsible for their son being in this state.¡± ¡°I honestly don¡¯t understand how a father could do this to his child. I really don¡¯t understand. He arranged a private hospital room for his son¡¯s ¡®friend¡¯ in the Theerapanyakul family wing, offered generously to pay for all the medical expenses. The parents were so grateful. Father even made me sit in the ICU by my boyfriend¡¯s bedside later on. I will never forget the sounds¡­ the buzzing lights, the squeaking of the shoes on the tiles, the intercom calls, the humming of the pumps, the beeping of the various monitors¡­ And the smell¡­ antiseptics¡­ hospital air¡­¡± Vegas shudders again, turns and buries his face against Pete¡¯s stomach. ¡°He made me sit there for 24 hours and then he made me turn off the life support,¡± he whispers in a very small voice. ¡°He said that this was all my fault for being a freak and then he made me flip the switch. An hour earlier the doctor had been there, informing us that my boyfriend was expected to make a full recovery, that they were hoping to be able to disconnect him from the life support after another 48 hours. His parents were so relieved, they cried and hugged me. And my father¡­¡± Vegas¡¯ voice breaks. ¡°My father¡­¡± He can¡¯t even cry anymore about this. ¡°He knew¡­ and he made me flip the switch and watch him suffocate right before my eyes. I loved that boy¡­ and he made me kill him.¡± Silence spreads in the room. Vegas has run out of words, and Pete seems shocked into speechlessness. Eventually, he leans down and places a gentle kiss on the top of Vegas¡¯ head. ¡°I¡¯m so very sorry, Vegas. I shouldn¡¯t have asked you to tell me about this traumatic experience, I had no idea. I¡¯m truly sorry.¡± ¡°It¡¯s okay, it was a long time ago. He got away with everything, you know? Of course he did, Gun Theerapanyakul always gets what he wants. He probably even paid off all the doctors so there wouldn¡¯t be an inquiry. I fucking hate him.¡± Vegas snuggles closer against Pete, soaking up the comfort he offers. ¡°Your father is a horrible person, no wonder you broke off any ties to him.¡± ¡°Do you understand now why I¡¯m so worried, Pete?¡± That worry is gnawing on Vegas day and night, and it¡¯s relentless. ¡°I¡¯m having nightmares about this. But this time the person being hit and flying through the air would be you. You have no idea how scared I am about loosing you, if my father finds out about us.¡± Pete sighs softly and runs his fingers through Vegas¡¯ hair for a little while longer. ¡°Give me your phone, Vegas.¡± ¡°Hmmm? Why?¡± ¡°Because I¡¯m a controlling boyfriend?¡± Pete snorts softly. ¡°Just give me the damn phone, Vegas. I¡¯ll add you to my ¡®Find My¡¯ app so that I don¡¯t have to worry all the time about some serial killer kidnapping you, and you do the same with me, so you can make sure that I am not in the clutches of your father in case I lose contact with you.¡± ¡°That sounds like a reasonable idea. Thank you.¡± Actually, Vegas thinks this is a great idea. If it were up to him he would GPS-tag the hell out of Pete, including some sort of parameter alert if he gets within a certain distance to his father or the family compounds. He¡¯s that worried, yes. ¡°Now stop worrying, Vegas, everything will be fine. I can stop reading for a while and distract you if you want?¡± With his face still buried against Pete¡¯s stomach, Vegas chuckles softly. ¡°Distract me how?¡± He inhales deeply, Pete smells so damn nice, it¡¯s that Chanel Eau de Toilette. ¡°Why don¡¯t we retire to the bedroom and find out?¡± Pete suggests cheekily. Damn that minx. Vegas grins reluctantly. And then he really does get very thoroughly distracted for the next few hours.
Vegas wakes up in the middle of the night. He isn¡¯t really awake, and about to fall back asleep. He blindly searches for the warm body that¡¯s supposed to be lying next to him. Oh, there it is. With a contented sigh, he snuggles against it and sleepily opens his eyes. Apparently Pete is also awake and quietly observing him. ¡°What are you looking at?¡± Vegas mumbles sleepily. It¡¯s so dark in the room, he can¡¯t clearly see the details of Pete¡¯s face. ¡°You.¡± Pete¡¯s voice is a mere whisper in the darkness. ¡°You put yourself between me and a gun¡­ why?¡± ¡°Because I like you very very much¡­¡± Vegas mumbles. The last thing he sees before he falls asleep again is Pete frowning slightly, as if puzzled by that answer, his eyes not leaving Vegas¡¯ face for the longest time.
Vegas is slowly but surely working his way through his part of the database. It¡¯s mind-numbing work. He¡¯s compiling an ever-growing list of wonky murder cases. Nothing that might obviously be part of their murder series yet, but some strange cases nevertheless. It¡¯s been over a week, and Tem is still absent. Vegas tries to call him several times to check if he can start working on Tem¡¯s part of the database while he¡¯s gone, but no one answers the calls. Tem seems to be sulking. Damn. No one in administration seems to know when he will be back either. Vegas is trying not feel annoyed, but staying calm is a challenge. They don¡¯t have time for such tantrums; the clock is ticking. Who knows when their killer will strike again. He leaves a couple of irritated messages for this partner and then just starts tackling those earlier years as well. Damn, he hates working with this database!
The days go by and it¡¯s yet another weekend. Instead of having a quiet evening at home, Vegas finds himself out clubbing. This is, of course, all Pete¡¯s idea, and Vegas is regretting it already, for multiple reasons. Being out and about with Pete is sheer insanity. They nearly get into a serious argument about this early that evening, because Pete¡¯s still not taking the threat of possible exposure seriously enough. Vegas is though¡ªand he¡¯s terrified. Terrified to be outed. Terrified to be seen by someone who knows him and his father, who will then spill the beans about Vegas having a boyfriend. Pete just waves all of Vegas¡¯ objections off as if they¡¯re unimportant, which is incredibly irking. Eventually they reach a compromise: they will go out together, but to a bar way across town that Pete apparently knows. Far away from Vegas¡¯ usual hunting grounds. The chances of him encountering anyone he knows here are very slim. The other reason to regret coming here is that he does not like how the people waiting in line to enter with them ogle his boyfriend¡ªhis boyfriend, he can¡¯t wrap his mind around this, will never get used to it. It¡¯s his own fault, in a way. He told Pete to put on those leather pants again and a nice shirt. And he did, the shirt is very nice¡ªand very sheer. Black, with black twigs embroidered on it, and blood-red blossoms. There is a lot of skin on display. Pete looks stunning; it¡¯s a miracle that they even made it out of the apartment without Vegas ravishing him. He did something with his hair too; it looks all ruffled and wild and sexy. Just looking at him is driving Vegas insane. ¡°Let¡¯s go home again,¡± he mutters grumpily, and glares at yet another woman looking Pete over with barely disguised lust in her eyes. Pete just laughs at him. ¡°Stop being so jealous, Vegas. I¡¯m not making a big fuss over all the people staring at you.¡± And when he sees Vegas sceptical look, he rolls his eyes again. ¡°You¡¯re so oblivious, it¡¯s amazing.¡± Nevertheless, he takes Vegas¡¯ hand and squeezes it briefly. Vegas feels a moment of panic; he¡¯s not used to holding hands in public. What if someone recognises him? They talked about this, damn! No touching. Tonight they¡¯re pretending to be just friends. Inconspicuously, Vegas pulls free, and slips his hands into his pockets. Once they¡¯re inside the club, thumping music washes over them. It¡¯s a busy night, there¡¯s a sea of undulating bodies on the dance floor in the muted, ever-changing lighting. Pete is leading the way, weaving through the crowd as if this is his second home. Vegas has trouble keeping up with him; it¡¯s way too crowded for his liking, and people are getting too close to him for his comfort. It seems that Pete is heading straight for the bar. Great. Vegas feels another spike of anxiety. Barkeepers are very perceptive. They will figure out what¡¯s going on between Pete and Vegas in a heartbeat, especially if Pete keeps forgetting himself. The moment the barkeeper spies Pete, she starts smiling widely and gives him a wave. ¡°Oh honey, you are back, long time no see.¡± They¡¯re obviously acquainted, and this doesn¡¯t sit well with Vegas. Pete just grins widely at her. ¡°I came as soon as I had some free time. I¡¯m in the mood to celebrate tonight, so keep the drinks coming.¡± Vegas pushes through the crowd to stand behind Pete, and gives the barkeeper a faint smile over Pete¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Not too many drinks tonight for this one here, please.¡± ¡°Oh my¡­ A friend of yours, honey?¡± The woman purrs with delight as she looks Vegas over, then glances back and forth between him and Pete, and arches an eyebrow in question. Still grinning like a minx, Pete leans back against Vegas, who automatically reaches out to sling an arm around his waist, only to freeze in a panic a second later. Shit, almost slipped! Vegas takes a hasty step back to get some distance between himself and Pete. Despite the music, he can hear Pete¡¯s amused huff. ¡°My friend is shy, don¡¯t mind him,¡± Pete declares with a cheeky grin. ¡°I think I¡¯ll start with a Mai Tai¡­ One for Vegas too.¡± ¡°No thanks. Cocktails are not my thing. A single malt whiskey for me, please.¡± Vegas sighs inwardly. They talked about this too, no heavy drinking tonight, but apparently Pete has conveniently forgotten about it. So typical. Both of them stay by the bar, sipping their drinks while watching the crowd on the dance floor. The music washes over Vegas; he can feel the thumping rhythm with his whole body. He exhales slowly and just allows himself to relax next to Pete. This is nice. Everything will be fine. After a while restless Pete goes to the dance floor. Vegas isn¡¯t into dancing, so he gladly stays behind; just watching Pete is entertaining enough already. Good grief, he just can¡¯t believe he¡¯s in an actual relationship with this unpredictable wild cat. It feels so unreal. And they¡¯re actually out and about, not hiding at home. This is madness. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. He¡¯s just so damn in love with Pete. Vegas watches him move in perfect harmony with the energetic rhythm of the music, and he¡¯s enthralled. All mine. I really won the jackpot. Mai Tai, Negroni¡­ ¡°You¡¯ll need to wear a different outfit next time we come here, Vegas. Everyone¡¯s staring at you, you look entirely too attractive. Don¡¯t think I¡¯m not aware of it.¡± Taking a short break from dancing, Pete glares at no one in particular, then lifts Vegas¡¯ hand and tries to kiss his palm. Vegas¡¯ heart skip a beat and he hastily pulls back his hand. ¡°Pete,¡± he warns sharply, then glances around to see if anyone noticed. But Pete just laughs and disappears on the dance floor again. Such a minx! Mimosa, Last Word¡­ Vegas is still on his first drink while Pete is practically inhaling one cocktail after another. He tries to gently remind him about their ¡®No heavy drinking¡¯ rule, but Pete simply ignores him. ¡°My friend¡¯s so damn handsome, isn¡¯t he? The most gorgeous man in the club.¡± Pete smiles giddily at the couple standing beside them waiting for their drinks, and Vegas flinches slightly. He feels his face getting hot with embarrassment. ¡°Come and dance with me, Vegas, this song is great!¡± And Vegas is pulled onto the dance floor against his will. Blue Hawaii, Aviation¡­ ¡°Vegas, are you having fun? I am having soooo much fun, I¡¯m sooooo damn happy. Are you happy too? I really really want you to be happy¡­¡± Vegas feels the butterflies in his stomach as Pete showers him with those lethal, dimpled smiles, leaning close, so close, way too close. He should probably tell him to stop drinking, Pete is getting a bit wild, what if someone sees them¡­? Slightly stressed out, Vegas gulps down the remains of his whiskey and orders a new one. Cosmopolitan, Black Manhattan¡­ ¡°Stop ogling him, go away, he¡¯s taken,¡± Pete viciously growls at a harmless bystander just picking up a drink at the bar, while clinging possessively to Vegas, who tries to evade the wandering hands without calling attention to them, and then sends Pete back to the dance floor. Damn it, has Pete lost his mind? Vegas yo-yos between annoyed exasperation and feeling utterly charmed by Pete¡¯s drunken antics. Because Pete is definitely drunk by now, and Vegas is feeling slightly buzzed as well. How many drinks did he have already? Vegas has lost count, Pete is very distracting. In fact, he¡¯s so distracted by keeping an eye on his out-of-control boyfriend that he doesn¡¯t notice he has company until a very familiar, smiling face suddenly appears right in his line of vision. ¡°Hello? Earth to Vegas? Are you drunk already or just spacing out?¡± Shit. Startled, Vegas takes a surprised step backwards, nearly stumbles because he¡¯s feeling rather unsteady all of a sudden, and then stares wide-eyed at Porsche. Porsche is here. Shit. Oh shit! The man in question wiggles his eyebrows at Vegas and grins cheekily. ¡°Cat got your tongue, Vegas? I didn¡¯t expect to meet you here, what a lovely surprise.¡± He turns his head and calls out over the music. ¡°Hey Kinn, look who¡¯s here!¡± Shit shit shit. This can¡¯t be happening. Vegas takes a panicky peek past Porsche and yup, there¡¯s his cousin, looking imposing as always, heading their way. Perfectly dressed, perfectly groomed, immaculately handsome as always. As an automatic reaction to all this perfection, Vegas narrows his eyes in irritation. So typical of Kinn to show up and ruin everything! He curses under his breath and glares at both men. ¡°Of all the bloody nights and places¡­ why did you have to come here today?!¡± Fuck! What are Porsche and Kinn doing in this part of Bangkok? What are the odds of them picking the same random place to hang out? What has he done to deserve this? And damn, he shouldn¡¯t have been drinking this much, he feels ill equipped to deal with this impending disaster. Porsche is taken aback, but Kinn just smirks at Vegas. ¡°Lovely to meet you too, cousin. Of course it would be an even better evening if you weren¡¯t here. How about you leave? Then you don¡¯t have to see me and I don¡¯t have to suffer your presence either.¡± Vegas huffs in outrage and forgets about his worries for a moment. Kinn is insufferable! ¡°Well, since I was here first, why don¡¯t you leave?¡± ¡°Guys¡­¡± Porsche sighs deeply. ¡°Cut it out, okay? We¡¯re in public.¡± Then he turns to Kinn and gives him one of his signature smiles. ¡°Why don¡¯t you go and buy me a drink?¡± Kinn wavers. He¡¯s thoroughly enchanted with Porsche; they¡¯re really nauseatingly in love with each other. His cousin is about to turn around to get Porsche his drink, but then he narrows his eyes while looking at Vegas. At the same moment, Vegas feels an arm slip around his waist and then Pete is curling against his side, leaning his flushed and sweaty face against his shoulder while narrowing his eyes at Porsche, completely ignoring Kinn. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll be damned¡­¡± Porsche is more than a little surprised by Pete¡¯s sudden appearance and this unexpected display of affection. He blinks and gives Vegas a dumbstruck look. ¡°Seriously?¡± Vegas is just as startled as Porsche. Oh no. He feels like a deer caught in the headlights, his mind going blank as goosebumps erupt along the path that Pete¡¯s fingers leisurely trail over Vegas¡¯ abdomen. He should probably put a stop to this, but it feels so damn nice¡­ ¡°Your newest boytoy, cousin?¡± Kinn inquires silkily, looking Pete over in a way that Vegas finds entirely unacceptable. The instant anger snaps him right out of his daze. But before he can voice his irritation at Kinn¡¯s behaviour, Pete digs his fingers into his waist and Vegas swallows his words. ¡°Let me guess¡­ you must be the nosy cousin, who called me to interfere with Vegas¡¯ therapy,¡± Pete comments softly, shifting his attention to Kinn. Oh, hell. Vegas doesn¡¯t know what he should be more alarmed about; Kinn seeing him with Pete¡ªa very clingy Pete¡ªor Pete taking note of picture-perfect Kinn. Bad memories raise their ugly head; his crushes tend to ignore Vegas whenever is cousin is around. Yes, he feels rather insecure every time Kinn is nearby. Especially when he¡¯s had something to drink, like tonight. Pete¡¯s mine. Kinn better not try anything. Porsche seems to be stuck between horror and delight about that reply; he exchanges an alarmed look with Vegas, while Pete and Kinn glare at each other. Well, Kinn is glaring in his typical commanding ¡®Head of the Main family¡¯ way, while Pete is looking Kinn over with bored insolence. He doesn¡¯t seem to be impressed with Kinn at all. ¡°This is Vegas¡¯ therapist,¡± Porsche hastily interjects. ¡°Therapist? Makes me wonder what kind of therapy you are giving my cousin.¡± Kinn snorts softly and Vegas growls. He wants to plant his fist in that hated face but once again the fingers digging into his waist remind him that Pete wants to handle this on his own. He should probably do something about these fingers, but some primitive part of him rejoices in Pete¡¯s possessive streak. See Kinn? All mine. ¡°You should be the last person discussing work ethics with me, Khun Kinn, isn¡¯t that right? I¡¯m sure your body count is higher than mine. When in a glass house¡­¡± Pete points out, ever so sweetly, and Vegas feels his lips curl into a reluctant smile. ¡°Retract the claws, kitten,¡± he warns Pete affectionally, before turning his attention to Kinn. Perfect Kinn. Kinn who has it all, who never had to hide his lovers. And something in Vegas just snaps, the alcohol in his bloodstream washing away all caution. ¡°As for you¡ªWatch your mouth. You better behave when it comes to my boyfriend or I swear I will drag you to the bathroom and wash out that mouth with soap,¡± Vegas threatens him softly. Before Kinn can explode in his face, Porsche steps between them. ¡°Boyfriend? Such great news, isn¡¯t it, Kinn? We¡¯re really happy for you.¡± Kinn snorts again, but immediately glances around cautiously. He must be aware that it wouldn¡¯t do to make a scene in public; you never know who might be watching and taking note. The media is everywhere. ¡°Yes, we¡¯re indeed delighted that you¡¯ve finally found someone who can stand being in your presence long enough to actually be in a relationship with you, Vegas,¡± he comments sarcastically. ¡°Are you very attached to your boyfriend?¡± Pete asks Porsche softly, then glances around. ¡°No additional bodyguards tonight? Tsk, careless¡­¡± ¡°Wow.¡± Porsche blinks in astonishment at Pete. ¡°And here I thought you were a mild-mannered cinnamon roll¡­¡± ¡°He fakes it very well, we really are a great match,¡± Vegas informs Porsche with a certain amount of pride. ¡°Trust me, you do not want to piss him off.¡± A quick glance at Pete and Vegas feels heat unfurl in his stomach. Pete looks feral. ¡°Tone it down,¡± he warns Pete playfully. ¡°Unless you want me to drag you off into a dark corner?¡± ¡°Good grief¡­¡± Kinn makes a gagging sound and rolls his eyes. ¡°Porsche, what drink do you want? If I have to look at this any longer I¡¯ll throw up.¡± Kinn frowns at both Vegas and Pete and then sighs deeply. ¡°Let us just go to another club, Porsche.¡± ¡°But we just got here¡­¡± Porsche is slightly irritated with his boyfriend. ¡°You finally had some spare time, you promised me we¡¯d have fun tonight.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll make it up to you. I promise. Let¡¯s go.¡± Kinn tugs gently at his arm. ¡°Make it up to me how?¡± Porsche seems reluctant to leave. ¡°I am sure we will come to an agreement,¡± Kinn murmurs softly, looking Porsche over suggestively, and Vegas snorts softly, because he has a very good idea where they¡¯ll end up if they actually leave; and¡ªspoiler alert¡ªit won¡¯t be another nightclub. ¡°I¡¯m intrigued, tell me more,¡± Porsche laughs at his boyfriend, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He winks at Vegas. ¡°Got to go, it seems. We need to have lunch soon, I think we have a lot to talk about.¡± ¡°I¡¯m afraid Vegas will not be able to meet you anytime soon for lunch. Or dinner. Or a coffee. Or just in general.¡± The smile Pete gives Porsche is sweet, but chilling. ¡°I suggest you stick to phone calls for now.¡± Once again, Porsche is struck speechless. Before he can reply, Kinn grabs his arm and starts dragging him away. ¡°What a sensible suggestion for once. There really is no need for you to meet Vegas in person. Goodbye, cousin. Let¡¯s not meet again anytime soon.¡± ¡°Seriously Kinn? Still jealous of Vegas?¡± Porsche starts arguing, as he¡¯s being led away, off into the crowd. ¡°Hey Kinn¡­¡± Vegas has a moment of clearheadedness and calls out after them. ¡°Keep your mouth shut about this, all right?¡± And he nods towards Pete. Kinn stops for a moment and gives Vegas a hard look. ¡°I might despise you, but I¡¯m not cruel, Vegas. Don¡¯t worry. Your secret is safe with me.¡± And with that he leaves, dragging his boyfriend along with him. ¡°Just out of curiosity, what are you going to do if I meet up with Porsche?¡± Vegas turns his attention back to Pete, absurdly pleased about his possessiveness. ¡°You don¡¯t want to find out, Vegas. Stick to phone calls for now, if you care about Porsche¡¯s health.¡± ¡°You are such a vicious feral kitten,¡± Vegas chuckles, then throws all caution to the wind, slips both arms around Pete¡¯s waist and does the unthinkable¡ªhe gives him a quick kiss. In public. Where people can see them. But he¡¯s so tired of hiding, so damn tired. He loves Pete and he wants to be able to express his feelings openly. Just like his irritating cousin always does with Porsche. Only a quick kiss, surely that¡¯s okay. Vegas feels dizzy, if it¡¯s from the kiss, or from all the alcohol, he isn¡¯t sure. ¡°You¡¯re getting more and more adventurous.¡± Pete smiles drunkenly at Vegas, and the damn dimple makes an appearance. Vegas wants to eat him alive. ¡°Go dance, Pete. I¡¯ll get you another cocktail. Enjoy yourself. Let¡¯s have a fun evening now that my cousin¡¯s gone, all right?¡± Vegas gives him another quick kiss, and then affectionately ruffles his hair. With Kinn gone, their evening out resumes as planned. They have a few more drinks; Vegas no longer cares about limiting himself, and Pete¡¯s going wild. He seems determined to drink himself through the whole rainbow of colours tonight. Since he¡¯s clearly enjoying himself, Vegas doesn¡¯t put a stop to it. Whenever Pete is dancing, Vegas sits by the bar and simply watches him. Life is good; he could get used to this. When it becomes very obvious that Pete is more than a little drunk, Vegas decides to call it a night. ¡°Why don¡¯t you go to the restroom and splash some water on your face, Sunshine, I don¡¯t want you passing out on me again. I¡¯ll settle the bill and then we go home.¡± ¡°I like it when you call me sunshine.¡± Pete is leaning against him, he kisses Vegas¡¯ cheek repeatedly and sighs happily. Vegas can smell the alcohol on his breath. Yes, very much drunk indeed. ¡°I¡¯ll be right back¡­ no flirting while I¡¯m gone, no no no¡­¡± And he gives Vegas a look that¡¯s supposed to be stern, but instead makes him look incredibly cute, like a little boy protecting his toys. ¡°Don¡¯t think I haven¡¯t noticed how everyone¡¯s staring at you, Vegas.¡± ¡°So you keep telling me. Let them stare, I¡¯m not interested,¡± Vegas reassures him. ¡°Now off you go.¡± He gently pushes Pete away and goes to settle the bill. Vegas is not a party animal in general; now and then he likes nights like this, but hopefully they won¡¯t do this every weekend. There are simply too many people around for him to feel fully comfortable, and it¡¯s too loud. And he does not like the way people look at Pete either, that damn jealousy keeps bubbling up now and then. Vegas is distracted, until one of the many bar employees approaches him, looking slightly anxious. ¡°Excuse me, I think your friend has run into a bit of a problem in the restroom, I think you should go and have a look.¡± Oh bloody hell, what now? He better not be throwing up, Vegas frets as he makes his way through the crowd as swiftly as possible in his own inebriated state. That¡¯s it, no more unlimited cocktails for Pete. The poor guy will have such a hangover tomorrow, it¡¯s just not worth it. But throwing up doesn¡¯t seem to be the problem this time. Vegas enters the restroom, takes one look, and immediately feels his hackles rising. It seems his boyfriend has attracted a parasite. A very familiar parasite. Pete is at the back of the restroom, pushed into a corner. He looks flushed and flustered and is in the middle of a heated argument with the idiot crowding him, who happens to be fucking Tawan. Who has his hand on Pete¡¯s waist and the other is caressing Pete¡¯s cheek. Pete tries to push the hands away repeatedly. A small group of partygoers is standing nearby, watching the two arguing men curiously. Vegas feels himself going very still. ¡°Kindly remove your hands from my man,¡± he says softly, because he too incensed to even shout. How dare this asshole touch Pete! Mine! ¡°My knight in shining armour¡­¡± Pete slurs the moment he sees Vegas. He looks vastly relieved while trying to shrug off Tawan¡¯s wandering hands. ¡°See him? Just look at him,¡± and he manages to point at Vegas while he continues to argue. ¡°All mine. Don¡¯t want anyone else. Just go away, Tawan.¡± Tawan does not go away. No, this parasite turns his head to glower at Vegas. He reminds Vegas of a well-dressed doll; expensive suit, expensive tie, expensive haircut. Just another spoiled rich kid who doesn¡¯t get his will and sulks because someone else took his toy. Vegas simply can¡¯t take him seriously. But this spoiled brat has his hands all over Vegas¡¯ boyfriend, and that is simply unacceptable. ¡°Seriously Sunshine, I leave you alone for a short while and look what happens. Maybe I need to handcuff you to me the next time we come here.¡± Vegas locks eyes with Pete and winks playfully, but there is a dangerous gleam in his eyes as he slowly strolls towards them. ¡°Fuck off,¡± Tawan bitches, his tone of voice grating on Vegas¡¯ nerves. He even has the nerve to smirk at him. ¡°Pete¡¯s just temporarily confused¡ªhe was mine long before he met you.¡± He strokes Pete¡¯s cheek again. If Vegas had claws, they would extend now. The comment about handcuffs seems to excite Pete; despite the mess he¡¯s in he¡¯s suddenly grinning widely at Vegas. ¡°You know I like your handcuffs¡­¡± But then he frowns and slaps away the hand that keeps touching his face. ¡°Damn it, Tawan, stop it, I was never yours. Why on earth would I want you when I can have Vegas?¡± This elicits an angry snarl from Tawan; it seems Pete has hurt his feelings. Not that Vegas cares about this man¡¯s feelings. Pete can stomp on them as much as he wants. As for himself, he¡¯s about to do some stomping too. ¡°Want me to rescue you, Pete?¡± he asks, his voice deceptively mild. ¡°Pretty please.¡± Pete gives him a dimpled, drunken smile and as far as Vegas is concerned, this is all the permission he needs. He told Tawan to stop touching Pete, but the guy didn¡¯t listen. Tough luck. Time to teach this parasite some consequences. Vegas springs into action, and he can move pretty fast when he wants to. Tawan doesn¡¯t even have time to be alarmed before Vegas slams into him and grabs him by his hair and the back of his shirt, yanking him violently away from Pete. ¡°Mine!¡± he snarls, and uses the force of the movement, coupled with a half-turn of his body, to casually slam the other man into the wall. ¡°Don¡¯t fucking touch what¡¯s mine!¡± There¡¯s some commotion behind Vegas as the curious bystanders, who until now were just watching the drama unfold, now hurry to leave the restroom in a panic. And it¡¯s probably good for them to leave, because Vegas isn¡¯t done with Tawan yet. He still has his hold on the now groaning man and drags him across the floor, further away from Pete. Tawan flails and tries to break free, but Vegas is relentless. ¡°You don¡¯t seem like you¡¯ve gotten the message to leave my boyfriend alone,¡± Vegas snaps at him in irritation. ¡°Well, let me make it perfectly clear to you once and for all¡­¡± The all familiar rage is flooding Vegas, and this time he welcomes it with open arms. A kick and the door to one of the toilet stalls crashes open. Panicking, Tawan scrambles to break free, looses his footing on the tiles and goes down, but Vegas¡¯ hold on him is unbroken; he just drags the now screaming man into the stall and then slams his face against the toilet bowl, hard. Blood explodes from Tawan¡¯s nose. ¡°Pete is mine!¡± Fury is surging through Vegas now, Tawan was touching his Pete and that¡¯s simply unacceptable. Again, he slams the man¡¯s head against the porcelain toilet seat. More blood, this time from the mouth. ¡°Mine!¡± ¡­ slam¡­¡°Mine!¡± ¡­slam¡­ ¡°Mine!¡± Vegas just continues doling out the violence, red bleeding into his vision¡­ red red red ¡­just like the blood splattering on the white tiles and fixtures. ¡°I¡¯ll fucking kill you if you ever touch him again, or approach him, do you hear me?!¡± The pretty doll isn¡¯t so pretty anymore, it screams and moans and groans and whimpers and it¡¯s annoying as hell so without a second thought, Vegas dunks its head into the toilet bowl, down into the water. There, better. No more screaming. Grim satisfaction fills him. It doesn¡¯t stop struggling though, in fact, it struggles even more now. But Vegas is holding on like a man possessed, he¡¯s caught in a world of red hot rage, and all he wants is to shut this thing up, erase it, end it. Mine mine mine, the beast inside him howls. ¡°I don¡¯t fucking share¡­!¡± he hisses. Hands grab him¡­ d¨¦j¨¤ vu¡­ another time, another body. ¡°Khun Vegas¡­ Khun Vegas¡­ Stop¡­ you are killing him!¡± As if he fucking cares, he will take care of this Tawan problem once and for all¡ªmine mine mine¡ªbut the damn hands keep pulling him away. ¡°Khun Vegas¡­ don¡¯t!¡± Vegas growls and manages to kick the pitiful doll hanging lifelessly over the toilet bowl one more time as he¡¯s being dragged away and out of the stall. ¡­Red Red Red¡­ And then there are fresh hands, different hands, arms that encircle him from behind and hold him back, hot hands diving underneath his shirt, there is shocking skin contact, heat against his back and a familiar voice, whispering in his ear. ¡°Vegas¡­¡± He¡¯s so goddamn fucking angry¡­ ¡°Vegas¡­¡± He just wants to grind that parasite into the dust¡­ ¡°Vegas¡­¡± He wants to rip off those hands so that they will never again touch what is his¡­ ¡°Vegas¡­¡± And then someone¡ªPete¡ªbites his earlobe. Shit, that hurts. What the hell? The unexpected pain makes some of the rage evaporate and Vegas comes back to his sense. He¡¯s still in the restroom. Some bar employees are administering first aid to Tawan, who looks pretty beat up¡ªserves him right! And there is Pete, hugging him from behind, he smells of alcohol and rosewood, apparently he¡¯s just bit him, and now he¡¯s sucking on the very same earlobe, wringing a gasp from Vegas. ¡°That was so damn hot,¡± Pete whispers breathlessly. ¡°Such a freaking turn on¡­¡± Vegas is still riding the after-violence adrenaline rush, he¡¯s feeling a bit dazed but at the same time he is very much aware of Pete pressing against him. He can clearly feel just how aroused he is¡­ and Vegas just snaps, flipping from violent rage straight into dizzying lust. He grabs Pete by the shirt and marches out of the restroom while pulling him along, without a backward glance at the mess he made. Vegas is aware that Pete is laughing, trying to keep up with him without stumbling, very unsteady on his feet because he¡¯s so damn drunk. Whatever. Such a damn tease, pushing all the right buttons when it comes to Vegas. Being with Pete will certainly never get boring. Some brave employees step into his path, trying to stop him from leaving, but Vegas is a man on a mission now. Growling, he flashes his police badge, shoving it more or less into their faces. ¡°Get the fuck out of my way!¡± he hisses aggressively and shoulders past them. Vegas has an iron grip on Pete, pulling him along, and is making his way through the crowd towards the inevitable back door. They need to get away from other people. They need some privacy right now. There it is. Vegas opens the back door, yanks Pete through it and kicks the door shut again. It leads into a dimly illuminated courtyard area, connected to a larger alley, used to store delivery crates and barrels, and where the employees come for their cigarette breaks. There are red lanterns hanging from wires, red and blue neon signs, faded posters on the walls, some chairs and tables, and some benches. Pete stumbles against him, chuckling wildly, drunken mischief written all over his cute face. ¡°Are you going to lecture me about flirting with other people again?¡± He gives Vegas one of his Cheshire Cat smiles. ¡°Are you going to beat them up as well?¡± The way Pete is looking at him sets Vegas blood on fire. ¡°You are so damn sexy when you are all feral, Vegas¡­¡± Vegas huffs, caught between amusement and exasperation. ¡°Lecture you? Hell, no. You like me being feral? Kitten, you are in for a wild ride then.¡± He¡¯s come to the end of his tether, grabs Pete¡¯s face and kisses him roughly; an insane open mouthed kiss with a lot of tongue that sends excited shockwaves through his whole body. This is such a bad idea since they¡¯re in a public space, Vegas has had a few too many drinks, the adrenaline from the fight is still buzzing in his veins, and Pete is obviously very drunk. But when have they ever behaved rationally? Pete actually growls, he¡¯s very much into the kiss, apparently he wasn¡¯t kidding when he said that he was turned on, because he¡¯s pretty frantic at this point. Vegas will probably have scratch marks on his back the next day, the way Pete is clawing at him. They stumble backwards in their kiss until Pete¡¯s back hits the nearby wall and Vegas comes up for air, breathing hard. ¡°I¡¯m going to fuck you and it¡¯s going to be rough, so now is your one and only chance to stop me, kitten.¡± Judging from the look on Pete¡¯s face, that warning just manages to turn him on even more. ¡°Stop talking, Vegas, and just do it,¡± he pants excitedly. ¡°You know I¡¯m not a damn porcelain doll that¡¯s going to break easily.¡± So much for that. Vegas grins darkly and pulls Pete in for another long and wild kiss. Then he grabs him and turns him around, shoving him against the wall face first. While nuzzling Pete¡¯s neck and inhaling his intoxicating scent, he quickly unzips Pete¡¯s leather pants, pulling them down and groans. No underwear¡ªagain! ¡°You damn minx¡­¡± Vegas is so delighted he can¡¯t put it into words. ¡°Promise me, next time you¡¯ll tell me, so I that I¡¯ll know you¡¯re naked underneath whenever I look at you during the evening.¡± Pete laughs breathlessly, wiggling his bare ass. ¡°I knew you¡¯d like it.¡± ¡°Oh yes, I like it very much¡­¡± Vegas whispers into his ear, and draws his teeth and lips along the line of Pete¡¯s neck while undoing his own pants. Pete shudders against him. ¡°Hands on the wall, and hold on.¡± As soon as Pete is steadying himself against the wall, Vegas smacks his ass and then pulls his hips back towards him. ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­¡± He breathes against his neck. ¡°This is going to hurt.¡± They have no condom and no lube, so yeah¡­ some spit will have to do. Pete snorts, completely unconcerned but a moment later he yells, because yes, it hurts. Vegas quickly slaps his hand over Pete¡¯s mouth to stifle the sounds. ¡°Sorry. Just try to breath through it.¡± And then he shoves himself deeply inside Pete, whose whole body tenses in pain. Damn, this is almost uncomfortably tight even for Vegas. If he didn¡¯t have complete trust in Pete to speak up if it were to hurt too much, he wouldn¡¯t do it. One hand keeps covering Pete¡¯s mouth, the other hand grabs one of Pete¡¯s wrists, pressing it against the wall. ¡°Pete¡­¡± Vegas gasps against his throat, nipping at it. Pete groans in a mix of pain and pleasure, and Vegas stops holding back. He said it would be rough, so rough is what Pete gets. It¡¯s a hard and fast fuck¡ªthis is all about Vegas needing to blow off some steam after the earlier violent interlude. Pete is just along for the ride right now, his shouts are stifled by Vegas¡¯ hand, he¡¯s shaking and trembling, the force of Vegas¡¯ thrusts slamming him relentlessly against the wall. At some point the door opens, an employee wants to have a cigarette break; he takes one look at the scene before him and hastily makes a u-turn, disappearing inside again. Vegas has been wanting to do this since their first unforgettable night at this bar. It feels as if the gates have opened, and everything he¡¯s been so carefully holding back is pouring out of him in this moment. He¡¯s always held back when it comes to his sexual encounters, always. But with Pete it feels as if he can let go, that Pete can take whatever he throws at him, that he can take a rough ride and even enjoy it. And damn, he¡¯s taking it so well. Vegas groans as he buries himself as deep as possible inside of Pete. As he kisses Pete¡¯s throat he can feel him trembling violently. The sounds Pete is making are a huge turn-on; he would be screaming down the house if Vegas wasn¡¯t stopping him. Pete¡¯s legs buckle and Vegas has to hold him up, pressing him hard against the wall; Pete will probably have abrasions on his face from being rubbed against the stone surface, because he can¡¯t even steady himself with his arms anymore, he¡¯s just a trembling mess. It¡¯s exciting as hell but all good things must come to an end. ¡°Mine!¡± Vegas growls against Pete¡¯s neck as he shudders through his orgasm. Pete just whimpers; he seems incapable of forming coherent words any more. Vegas knees are shaking badly as well, but he has to hold both of them up because he doesn¡¯t want to end up on this dirty floor with Pete, no thanks. ¡°Bloody hell¡­¡± He feels as if he¡¯s just finished running a marathon, completely drained. ¡°Are you all right?¡± Vegas somehow manages to ask Pete, who shakes his head. Then nods. Then shakes his head again. ¡°Sorry?¡± It feels as if he¡¯s expected to apologise but in truth, Vegas isn¡¯t sorry at all. As far as he¡¯s concerned, this was mind-blowingly great sex, and he deserved every second of it. It takes Pete a few attempts to get the words out. He sounds hoarse and exhausted. ¡°I¡¯m not complaining.¡± But when Vegas slips out of him, he hisses in pain and takes a deep steadying breath. Vegas takes note of this, feeling pure satisfaction. ¡°Can you stand on your own?¡± Because he¡¯s still holding Pete up like a limp puppet, pressed against the wall, cradled in his arms. Pete weakly shakes his head. ¡°Don¡¯t think so. Happy now, Vegas?¡± ¡°Hell yeah¡­¡± Vegas chuckles. He¡¯s fully engulfed in the after-sex glow and it feels damn nice. ¡°You should have done this in the restroom, in front of Tawan, to rub it in,¡± Pete whispers tiredly, and Vegas is speechless for a second at the pure viciousness of that suggestion. He kisses Pete¡¯s throat again, licking the scar he marked him with and sighs contentedly. ¡°Time to retract the claws, kitten. I think he got the message loud and clear this time, even without going to such extremes.¡± ¡°It would have been hot though¡­¡± Pete mumbles, and Vegas notes that he¡¯s starting to slur his words. ¡°Time to head home and call it a night, kitten.¡± He checks his pockets for some tissues to clean them up a bit before leaving, and puts their clothes back into order. Pete allows himself to be manhandled, he really has run out of fuel, the alcohol is hitting him hard now. ¡°Call me your sunshine again¡­ I like being your sunshine¡­¡± He slurs, completely collapsing against Vegas. ¡°Let me carry you home then, Sunshine.¡± Vegas gives him an affectionate peck on the lips and somehow manages to sling Pete onto his back in a piggyback position, holding on to his arms and legs so that he doesn¡¯t slip off again as they make their way out of the alleyway. Pete nuzzles his neck and sighs softly. ¡°¡­you¡¯re my Sunshine too¡­ so dark before¡­ ¡± And then he falls silent, his head resting heavily on Vegas¡¯ shoulder. Yes, life is good. Vegas can¡¯t stop smiling. Life is crazy, it¡¯s unpredictable, but right now it¡¯s damn good.
The whole kitchen smells deliciously of food. At long last, Vegas is done with the damn database search. It would have gone so much faster with the help of his partner, but Vegas had to do it all on his own in the end, because Tem, the bastard, is still sulking and on leave. In order to celebrate, Vegas has bought dinner on his way home and is now filling various bowls and plates, heading back and forth between the kitchen and the dining area. A quick glance at his watch; Pete¡¯s cutting it close, but he should be here soon, which is good, because Vegas is hungry. It¡¯s been a long day at work. Then his phone rings. For the briefest of moments, Vegas tenses, but it isn¡¯t Arm calling, thank God, it¡¯s Pete¡¯s number. While on his way to the table, Vegas is trying to juggle two plates with hot food while answering his phone at the same time. ¡°The food is ready, you better be here soon.¡± There is static at the other end. Bad connection? Eventually some noises. Maybe pocket dialing? Vegas rolls his eyes, so typical for Pete. Then he finally hears Pete¡¯s voice, sounding very far away, muffled and hard to understand. Yes, must be pocket dialing. Vegas has to smile. ¡°¡ªWell, that ¡­ unexpected¡­ where is Vegas?¡ª¡± Since he¡¯s right here at home, and Pete should know that, Vegas stops in mid-motion and frowns, trying to make out more of the conversation, but the connection is really bad; he can only understand a few words now and then. ¡°¡ªno time for¡­ ¡­ leaving¡­ ¡­ nonsense¡­ ¡­ call¡ª¡± What the hell is this about? Vegas is confused and slowly starts to walk towards the table to set down the plates because they¡¯re heavy and awkward to hold, and his hands are starting to hurt from the heat. He can hear more, indistinct noises before Pete¡¯s voice suddenly becomes crystal clear against his ear. ¡°¡ªJust what are you planning to do with that gun?¡ª¡± And then all that¡¯s left is the beeping of a disconnected call. The plates slip from Vegas¡¯ suddenly numb fingers and shatter on the floor, spilling food all over the ground. Chapter 17 When the chips are down I¡¯ll be around With my undying, death-defying love for you This cannot be happening. Vegas is seized by an all-encompassing, mind-numbing panic. He¡¯s frozen, he can¡¯t think. The knowledge that he needs to act, act now, is there, but he just can¡¯t move. He¡¯s standing in the middle of the room, the shattered plates and splattered food on the floor in front of him, and stares blindly straight ahead. Beep beep beep ¡­ He can¡¯t wrap his mind around what¡¯s just happened. The continuous beeping of the disconnected call is hammering into his skull like icy spikes, freezing every thought. Beep beep beep ¡­ Gun. Beep beep beep ¡­ Pete mentioned a gun. Beep beep beep ¡­ Pete is somewhere and there is a gun involved. Beep beep beep ¡­ Vegas whimpers in distress; the sound just floats out of his mouth and echoes through the room. This cannot be happening. He can¡¯t let this happen. He needs to move. Now! ¡­Beep beep beep beep beep¡­ Red hot urgency melts away the frozen stranglehold panic has on him. Vegas takes a shaky breath and hits the redial button with trembling fingers. No one picks up. This is bad. And good too. It is better than the dreaded ¡®The number you are trying to call can¡¯t be reached¡¯ message. It means the phone is still operational. Good. This is good. He can work with that. Think, Vegas, think! But his mind has slowed to a crawl, everything feels like slow-motion. Vegas presses a few more buttons, making another phone call. ¡°Where is Pa?¡± is the first thing he asks when the call connects. His voice sounds very strained even to his own ears. ¡°Vegas? Is that you?¡± Macau sounds totally surprised, which is understandable, since Vegas hasn¡¯t called him in over a year. Vegas can feel himself tremble hearing his brother¡¯s voice; he almost cracks and falls apart at that moment. Can¡¯t do that, need to save Pete. ¡°Where is Pa, Macau?¡± he asks again. His brother seems to sense the urgency behind the question. ¡°He¡¯s in Singapore, on a business trip.¡± ¡°Are you sure?¡± Vegas doesn¡¯t trust this information at all; his father is sneaky. ¡°Yes, I¡¯m sure.¡± ¡°This is important, Macau. Are you 100% sure that he¡¯s not in the country?¡± There¡¯s no margin for errors, Pete¡¯s life depends on it. ¡°Yes, I know for sure that he¡¯s in Singapore. I¡¯ve been having video conferences with him the whole day. Are you going to tell me what this is about, Vegas?¡± ¡°Maybe later. Thank you.¡± Vegas hangs up. The hand holding the phone is trembling visibly. Vegas tries to take another deep breath to calm down, because he can feel himself starting to hyperventilate. Inhale. Hold breath. Exhale. Hold breath. It was Pete who taught him this method. Vegas can feel the tears gathering in his eyes. Damn it! He needs to stop, he needs to get himself back under control! Think, Vegas, think! So his father isn¡¯t in the country. That means shit, as far as Vegas is concerned, because his dad has an army of goons working for him. One of them could have snatched Pete. Who else? Inhale. Hold breath. Exhale. Hold breath. Tawan. Maybe Tawan is responsible for this. That guy is obsessed with Pete; there¡¯s a good chance that even after the beating he took from Vegas, he¡¯s still not willing to give up on Pete. The man is troubled, Pete said so himself. Maybe he has access to a gun and has cornered Pete to force him to get back together? Vegas has seen his share of domestic violence incidents and the length some people go to ¡®get back together¡¯ with their loved ones who have moved on. So if it really is Tawan, this is also not good news. Inhale. Hold breath. Exhale. Hold breath. This can¡¯t be happening! He needs to get going, he needs to do something! Vegas starts walking towards the bedroom to get his gun, then hisses in pain as he steps onto one of the shards of the broken plates. Shit. Cursing, he limps to the bedroom and opens the cupboard to get to the gun safe. He¡¯s taking the Glock. And extra ammunition. His foot is bleeding, but he doesn¡¯t have the time to deal with that. Vegas just puts on some socks, shoves the gun into the back of his jeans and heads for the exit. He needs to get going, he needs to save Pete. But once he has put on his shoes, he realises he has no idea where Pete is right now. Damn it, his mind really is like total mush right now! Think think think! Yes! The app. He can find Pete¡¯s phone through the app. Hopefully whoever did this hasn¡¯t thrown away the phone just yet or disabled it in any way. Loading¡­ Vegas clicks on ¡®Devices¡¯¡ªand breathes a sigh of relief. There¡¯s Pete¡¯s phone, still switched on. So far, so good. It¡¯s halfway across the city though, why on earth did Pete head that way instead of coming home? The little icon jerks forward on the map. Pete¡­ or his phone¡­ is on the move. And so is Vegas. He grabs his car keys and runs out of the apartment. His foot hurts. And so does his heart. This can¡¯t be happening!
Vegas is weaving his car through the traffic like a madman; it¡¯s a miracle he hasn¡¯t caused an accident yet. His phone is in the holder; it shows the map with the little icon representing Pete¡¯s phone. Still moving. Vegas curses at the other drivers, at the traffic in general, he curses because otherwise he¡¯s afraid he would most likely start crying. He¡¯s so damn scared. What the fuck is happening? Who¡¯s snatched Pete? Where are they heading? He¡¯s terrified of involving the police at this stage, because they will lock him out of the whole operation and the thought of watching this from the sidelines is unbearable. Also, if this really involves his family no one will dare to make a move to save Pete. Pete must have called him on purpose, Vegas decides. He must¡¯ve had a bad feeling, and this hidden call was his SOS. Deep down he hopes it is Tawan he¡¯s dealing with. He can handle this lunatic rich boy, in fact that guy will be lucky if he comes out of this alive, because fear for Pete is turning Vegas into a very unpredictable person. If this was done by his father though¡­ then the whole situation will turn into a nightmare. Vegas has been avoiding a direct confrontation with his father for the longest time. He fears just how much the conflict would escalate now that he¡¯s an adult. They¡¯re too much alike in temper; this could turn very ugly. But since this is about Pete, Vegas is willing to go heads on even with his father. Fuck! Another traffic jam! Vegas shouts in frustration and hits his hands against the steering wheel as the car comes to a stand-still. Fuck fuck fuck! He doesn¡¯t have time for this! The traffic at this time of the early evening is a nightmare and Pete has a head start, he was already halfway across town when Vegas set off. At this pace it will take Vegas forever to catch up with him. Fuck fuck fuck! He feels so tempted to try and call again, but he doesn¡¯t want to draw attention to the phone. If the phone is shut down, everything will be lost. The phone is his lifeline to Pete. Pete¡­ this can¡¯t be happening, they just got together. Fuck! Why? Why is life so damn cruel when it comes to him? This is so fucking unfair! I finally find my soulmate and this is what happens? Really? Vegas is so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn¡¯t realise at first that the icon has stopped moving. He¡¯s stuck in this damn traffic jam, he hates it, when will the traffic lights turn green already? What was the last thing he said to Pete this morning? He can¡¯t remember. He hasn¡¯t told Pete that he loves him yet and now he feels horrible for being such a coward. He¡¯s currently about 40 minutes behind, maybe 30 minutes if he decides to break all traffic rules in existence and to willingly endanger himself and other drivers. Where the hell is Pete? A glance at the phone. The icon is still there. It is still there. Not moving. Stuck in traffic too? Then get the hell out of the car, Pete. If you can. Or if he¡¯s making you drive, ram the car into a wall, you have experience with that. The icon is still there. Still not moving. Not moving at all. Soon it¡¯s been 5 minutes and no movement. Have they parked? Have they arrived wherever they were heading? And where the hell is that in the first place? The street names seem vaguely familiar¡­ Vegas hits the brakes hard, the car comes to a screeching stand still. All around, other drivers are starting to honk but Vegas is totally oblivious to it. He stares in shock at the little map and ice floods his veins. ¡­ No¡­ ¡­ Nonono¡­ ¡­ Oh God¡­ There is a third option. He forgot about the third option. Buckets. Flowers. Wings. He forgot. How could he forget? 40 minutes, maybe 30 minutes. Too long. Vegas is starting to hyperventilate again. He slams his foot down on the gas pedal and yanks the steering wheel to the side; the car slides out of the line of standing cars and onto the sidewalk. Vegas presses down the horn and just hopes everyone will jump out of the way in time as he floors the gas pedal. He needs to hurry. Buckets. Flowers. Wings. This just got so much worse. He needs to hurry. Buckets. Flowers. Wings.
40 minutes. Vegas¡¯ car comes to a stop in front of an all too familiar graffiti-covered concrete building in a run down redevelopment area, and he just sits there for a moment, trembling all over. 40 minutes. The traffic has been atrocious. He has broken every traffic rule there is and it still took him 40 endless minutes to get here. The fear is crippling in its strength. Vegas doesn¡¯t think he can even stand right now, his legs are shaking so badly. He doesn¡¯t want to be here again; he¡¯s experiencing the worst kind of flashbacks. He doesn¡¯t want to be here. But there is Pete¡¯s car, parked under the only working street light in the whole street, as expected. The icon hasn¡¯t moved. It has been stationary on the map for the longest time. 40 minutes. And the phone is not in the parked car in front of him, according to the app. Of course it isn¡¯t. He will have to go inside the building. Oh, God. Please let this be a bad dream. Please let him wake up now and find himself in bed next to a sleeping Pete. This can¡¯t be real. Buckets. Flowers. Wings. Inhale. Hold breath. Exhale. Hold breath. He can do this. Pete is depending on him. He can do this. Vegas swallows hard and then takes the phone and slips it into his pocket. It isn¡¯t needed anymore. He knows exactly where Pete is. Or perhaps this is a trap meant for himself. In that case, so be it, he has been living on borrowed time anyway. He exits the car and takes a look around. The area is deserted. Why can¡¯t he have just a little bit of luck? A police patrol would be very welcome now. But the street is empty, the air heavy with the threat of rain. Just another normal warm summer evening. He can do this. Vegas looks up and, as expected, high up on the 5th floor, there is a shimmer of light from behind the dirty windowpanes. He crosses the street and heads for the building¡¯s entrance. The door looks closed; the formerly broken lock has been repaired, but when he slowly presses the handle down it becomes clear that someone has unlocked the door, as expected. Sloppy not to lock it again, but perhaps the kidnapper wanted to make it easy for Vegas¡ªso considerate. Vegas checks his gun again, and the spare magazine as well. All right, time to rock and roll. Gun in hand, he slowly pushes the door open, glances around and then enters cautiously. To the right is the reception area where Pol puked his guts out. All empty of course, and dark. No lights are on, and Vegas will not change that. There¡¯s enough dim light coming through the windows for him to find his way. To the left the staircase looms in the dark, a black maw leading upwards into what Vegas imagines to be his worst nightmare. And there is the steel railing he cuffed Pete to. Memories from that day resurface and Vegas¡¯ breath catches. Why did he allow himself to fall in love and make himself this vulnerable? I hate feeling this way. In a moment of clearheadedness, Vegas takes out his phone again and sends a short text message to Arm, outlining the situation and his location. Arm will make the right decisions based on this, decisions that Vegas right now can¡¯t make because this feels way too personal. Plausible deniability. If Vegas calls the cops himself, they¡¯ll yank him off the case. Tell him to wait for backup. Which is impossible. So he leaves all that hassle to Arm. Having done that, the only thing left to do is to head upstairs into nightmare territory. His eyes have adjusted to the dim light by now, so he can traverse the stairs without fear of falling. Up he goes, slowly and steadily, gun in hand. All is silent upstairs, which is both good and bad. Good because if there had been screaming, Vegas would have lost it. Bad because you can do a lot of damage in 40 minutes, maybe Pete is no longer able to scream¡­ Vegas draws in a shaky breath and pushes that thought firmly out of his mind. No, surely Pete is all right. He has to be all right. Everything will be fine. The first inkling that everything will not be fine comes when he rounds the corner to the 3rd floor landing. There¡¯s something on the floor there, lying in the darkness. Something small. Trash? Vegas slowly inches closer. Recognition hits the same second as his nose registers a hint of the same sweet fragrance that¡¯s been haunting his nightmares for weeks now. A single large red blossom with petals that shift into solid black, with vividly orange filaments. Vegas doubles over, and retches violently all over the floor. Oh, God. This can¡¯t be happening. He heaves and heaves until there is only bile left and he¡¯s left panting, with tears running down his face. Oh, God. 40 minutes. All is silent upstairs. 40 minutes. Oh, God. Shivering all over, Vegas wipes his mouth with his sweater and then stumbles past the damn flower, ascending the stairs on legs that tremble so hard that they nearly buckle beneath him. 40 minutes. Closer to 50 minutes by now. Oh, God. He should have been faster. When he arrives at the fifth floor landing, there¡¯s another flower, and Vegas has to bite his lips in order to hold back a desperate moan. And the damn door to the open-plan office is closed as well. I can¡¯t deal with this. I¡¯m not ready, I can¡¯t deal with this. If anything has happened to Pete¡­ his mind just refuses to follow this line of thought any further. He needs to get himself under control again. The hand holding the gun is trembling so badly that he won¡¯t be able to hit anything he shoots at. Inhale. Hold breath. Exhale. Hold breath. Repeat. Vegas takes a deep breath and opens the door. No icy air this time; the air-conditioning has been switched off. There is still a faint scent of fire and flowers in the air. No one has bothered to deep-clean the area since the building will be demolished anyway. Not much has changed here really. It is still a bare office landscape only interrupted by the occasional support pillars. There¡¯s no litter on the ground anymore, because the CSI team has collected all of it. The windows are still gaping like dark portals into the netherworld. Even the flickering neon-lights towards the back of the open space are exactly like Vegas remembers the scene. It¡¯s as if he¡¯s reliving that damn day once again, and Vegas wants to throw up, but his stomach is empty. I can¡¯t do this. I can¡¯t do this. The area seems empty apart from¡ªohgodohgodohgod¡ªthere is that damn broken support pillar and something¡ªsomeone¡ªis tied to it. Vegas gasps audibly, it feels as if he¡¯s been gut-punched hard. He¡¯s moving forward before he becomes aware of it, beside himself with fear. This can¡¯t be happening. Way too much time has passed. This can¡¯t be happening. Pete¡­ He must have made some kind of raw sound as he stumbles forward towards the circle of light and the person tied to the pillar there. Suddenly he hears a strained, raspy and very familiar voice. ¡°Oh, for fuck¡¯s sake, just look at him, you nutcase. You¡¯re really going too far. Vegas, I¡¯m okay¡­ relax¡­ I¡¯m okay.¡± Pete¡ªbecause it really is Pete who is tied to the pillar¡ªhas lifted his head and somehow manages to give Vegas a very faint smile. The sheer relief of seeing him alive feels like another gut-punch. Not too late after all. His boyfriend is alive, but doesn¡¯t look too good, Vegas notes, as the initial panic washes away and he can think more clearly again. Pete must have been snatched straight from work, because he¡¯s still wearing the pale-yellow shirt with the large white flowers that Vegas knows so well¡ªand has grudgingly started to like, because he associates it with sunshine, and it really suits Pete¡¯s sunny smiles so well. Right now that shirt is rumpled and has some stains on it from Pete¡¯s bloody nose. He¡¯s been roughed up quite a bit and will have bruises on his face by tomorrow, from the looks of it. Vegas takes a step towards him, and in the same moment there is movement in his right field of vision. He doesn¡¯t even have to think; he just reacts as years of practise have taught him. The next second he¡¯s pointing his gun at the figure stepping slowly out of the shadow of another pillar. ¡°I told you to shut the fuck up,¡± drawls another very familiar voice. Vegas¡¯ eyes widen with disbelief ¡­ no way, what the fuck is going on here¡­ and he lowers the gun again. What the hell?! ¡°So that¡¯s who you called.¡± Tem snorts derisively as he looks at Pete. ¡°I should have known¡­ Oh, well, this doesn¡¯t really change anything.¡± Then he turns to look at Vegas and sighs softly. ¡°You really shouldn¡¯t have come here. I am so sorry.¡± What. The. Hell?! Vegas can¡¯t wrap his mind around this. Tem is here. Tem, who is supposed to be on leave, across the country, taking care of his sick grandmother. But Tem is right here, standing right before him, looking at Vegas with pity in his eyes. And he¡¯s holding a gun in his hand too. ¡°What the hell is going on?¡± Vegas asks, his voice sounding very small. None of this is making any sense at all to him. Why is Tem here? Why is Pete tied to the damn pillar? Why the damn flowers? Why is his partner holding a gun? ¡°Tem?¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Vegas.¡± Tem strolls past him and towards Pete. ¡°I know this must be very confusing to you. Would you like to explain it to him?¡± he asks Pete with a smile that sends a chill through Vegas. ¡°Why don¡¯t you go and fuck yourself¡­¡± Pete suggests softly. His legs seem to be tied to the pillar with a rope¡ªno melted chains this time¡ªand his arms are bent backwards, around the pillar. Handcuffs? Despite the precarious situation he¡¯s in, he looks remarkably calm as he faces Tem, before focusing on Vegas again. Their eyes lock and automatically Vegas takes another step towards him. He just wants to wipe all that blood from his face, to touch him to reassure himself that Pete really is alive. ¡°Don¡¯t.¡± Tem raises his hand and points the gun at Pete. Vegas freezes in mid-motion and his heart skips a beat, only to start racing as the inevitable adrenaline rush hits him hard. ¡°What the hell are you doing, Tem?¡± He looks at his partner¡ªhis best friend!¡ªdisbelief written all over his face. ¡°What¡¯s with the gun? Stop that shit, it¡¯s not funny at all.¡± ¡°Oh, this isn¡¯t a joke, Vegas. I can assure you that I¡¯m dead serious about this. Don¡¯t move. You weren¡¯t supposed to come here, but now that you¡¯re present, you can watch, but don¡¯t interfere.¡± Tem¡¯s voice is so cold that Vegas has trouble reconciling this version of his partner with the man he has known for years. Tem is not only his partner, but his friend! They¡¯ve been friends for years; apart from Porsche, this is the only friend he has allowed himself to have. He knows that Tem is jealous of Pete, but this is really going too far. ¡°Tem! Lower the damn gun!¡± he urges him. ¡°Yes, Tem, be a good boy and listen to Vegas,¡± Pete adds wryly, which he probably shouldn¡¯t have done because this results in Tem backhanding him hard across the face with the gun. Blood explodes from Pete¡¯s mouth and Vegas groans in distress. ¡°Shut the fuck up!¡± Tem growls angrily. Vegas wants to move but doesn¡¯t want to risk upsetting Tem any further, and thereby endangering Pete. What a fucking nightmare! ¡°Please stop it, Tem.¡± He resorts to begging now, anything to stop this madness. ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s gotten into you, but please stop and talk to me and leave Pete alone. Please¡­¡± While Pete is spitting out blood, wincing in pain, Tem turns and stares angrily at Vegas while waving the gun in the general direction of Pete, which sends another spike of anxiety through Vegas. ¡°You want to talk? Fine. Trust me, when I¡¯ve finished talking, you will point your gun at this bastard as well. Time to take off the pink glasses and face reality, Vegas!¡± ¡°Shut up,¡± Pete says quietly. Blood is dripping freely from his split lip down onto his sunny shirt, creating a stark contrast in colours. ¡°Vegas, don¡¯t listen to him.¡± Vegas casts Pete a helpless look. The urge to keep him safe is the only thing holding him in place right now, because Tem looks way too unhinged for his comfort. ¡°I¡¯m sure this is all just a big misunderstanding,¡± he insists anxiously and casts a nervous glance at the gun Tem is still waving around. ¡°There is no misunderstanding, it¡¯s all a big fucking lie. You need to trust me, Vegas.¡± Tem sounds so sincere that it hurts. ¡°You need to stay away from him, he¡¯s not who you think he is¡­¡± With an angry hiss, Tem points his gun accusingly at Pete. ¡°He¡¯s been lying to you the whole damn time!¡± This seems to make Pete angry; Vegas recognises the furious look in his eyes. ¡°Shut the fuck up!¡± Pete snarls at Tem. ¡°You¡¯re a delusional idiot who¡¯s just jealous that after all these years of pathetically pining for Vegas, he¡¯s decided to fuck me instead of you¡­¡± Before Vegas has the chance to fully comprehend what Pete has been saying, an enraged Tem pulls the trigger. A whip-like crack echoes through the room, and simultaneously Pete¡¯s body jerks violently. ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ time slows to a crawl¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ Vegas¡¯ ears are ringing, shock is freezing him in place. At Pete¡¯s right shoulder, white flowers on a sunny yellow background shift into red. All sound has disappeared, there is just a low grade buzzing in his ears now. One flower. Two flowers. Three flowers. All turning red before his shell-shocked eyes. It goes alarmingly fast. Has time reset? The whole upper right side of Pete¡¯s chest is soon drenched in red. Pete has slumped forward, more or less hanging in the rope tying him to the pillar. So much red. ¡­white noise¡­ Even if he is making a sound¡ªand part of him is pretty sure he¡¯s vocalising his distress in some way¡ªVegas can¡¯t hear it. All sound has disappeared with the crack of the gunshot and the bullet that slammed into Pete¡¯s shoulder. Vegas¡¯ world is eerily quiet now. Tem is still pointing his gun at Pete and Vegas is pointing his gun at Tem. When did he do that? When did he raise his arm? He can¡¯t remember making a move but there it is: he¡¯s pointing his gun at his best friend. ¡­ white noise¡­ Vegas can see that Pete is still breathing. So much red. Way too much red. He can see that Tem¡¯s mouth is moving; he must be speaking, but he can¡¯t hear a thing. So much red. Who is he talking to? Pete? Or Vegas? So much red. ¡°Drop the gun.¡± That¡¯s what Vegas says but he can¡¯t hear his own voice. Has he really said it? He tries again. ¡°Drop the gun.¡± He still can¡¯t hear anything other than the buzzing in his ears, but Tem has stopped glaring at Pete and is now looking incredulously at Vegas and the gun pointed his way. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡°Drop the gun, Tem,¡± Vegas whispers, caught in his bubble of stress-induced silence. ¡°Please drop the gun and step away to the side.¡± So much red. More red flowers now. Vegas¡¯ breathing gets shallow with fear and the buzzing in his ears increases. So much red. Tem seems to be yelling at him, pointing at Vegas¡¯ gun and then at Pete. He seems to have a lot to say to Vegas, but all Vegas is interested in right now is the direction in which Tem¡¯s gun is pointing, and unfortunately the weapon is still trained on Pete. ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡°¡­Pete¡­¡± Vegas whispers in desperation and is rewarded with the tiniest movement as Pete tries to lift his head but fails. Still alive. Way too much red though. ¡°Put the gun down, Tem. Please¡­¡± ¡­ white noise¡­ His partner is stomping his foot in clear frustration with Vegas. He¡¯s trying to make a point¡ªtalking talking talking¡ªbut Vegas can¡¯t hear a single word. Tem is a very good shot, Vegas knows this. Normally his partner has a steady aim, but today the hand threatening Pete with the gun is trembling alarmingly. Vegas takes note of all these small details. So much red. ¡°Please drop the gun, Tem. Please don¡¯t make me do this,¡± Vegas begs with ever growing desperation. ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡°Don¡¯t make me do this¡­ Please don¡¯t make me do this, Tem¡­¡± Vegas whispers desperately. ¡°Please don¡¯t¡­ please¡­ Drop the gun.¡± Nothing matters except the gun pointed at Pete. And the ever increasing number of red flowers on Pete¡¯s blood-drenched shirt. ¡­ white noise¡­ Whatever Tem is trying to achieve with this mad act, he has badly miscalculated his own importance to his friend. Vegas loves Tem in his own way, just not the way Tem wants. And yes, Tem has been more of a family to him these last years than even his real family was. Pete though¡ªPete is the air that Vegas breathes. There is no Vegas without Pete. So when Tem¡¯s trigger finger starts twitching alarmingly, Vegas does not hesitate. He pulls the trigger without a second thought. Because a bullet travels at speeds far exceeding 1000 metres per second, Tem doesn¡¯t have a chance to duck or yell, he just jerks, his head is flung sideways by the force of the impact as the bullet enters his brain. And then he just crumbles lifelessly to the ground. The recoil of the gun in his hand causes the first crack in the wall of ice that Vegas¡¯ mind instinctively slams into place to protect himself, but he still feels he¡¯s about to shatter. Sound bleeds back into his life. He can hear harsh breathing; is it the sound of his own breath? Vegas is too stunned to make sense of it, he stares at the body on the ground in total shock¡ªthe body¡­ so much red there too¡ªdark red rivulets spreading out from it over the concrete floor. So much red. Vegas tears his gaze away from the body to stare in total disbelief at the gun in his hand. He didn¡¯t. Or did he? The gun suddenly becomes unbearably heavy, and slips from his numb fingers, clattering to the ground. Red on grey. So much red on grey. It¡¯s just spreading and spreading, reaching out to him. So much red. ¡°Well shit¡­¡± A very weak voice disturbs the silence and Vegas flinches hard, then whips his head around and gasps with a new sense of urgency. Pete! He momentarily forgot that Pete is still tied to the pillar. His shirt is soaked with blood; he¡¯s managed to lift his head and looks just as stunned as Vegas must be looking right now. Nevertheless his boyfriend attempts to smile reassuringly as soon as their eyes meet. ¡°Oh good, you can hear me again¡­ Think you can untie me?¡± Pete asks weakly. ¡°I don¡¯t want to alarm you but I don¡¯t feel so good.¡± Another crack in the shield appears. Shit! Vegas stumbles forward and then he¡¯s cradling Pete¡¯s pale face in his trembling hands, trying to brush the blood away with his thumbs, but just smearing it all over Pete¡¯s face. ¡°Pete¡­ oh God¡­ Pete.¡± Vegas is so shell-shocked he can¡¯t even find words for the distress he¡¯s feeling. So much blood. All rational thoughts are trapped behind a thick shield of ice deep in his mind, and it feels as if he¡¯s frozen in place right beside them. Meanwhile his hands are on autopilot; he¡¯s brushing back Pete¡¯s hair, stroking his cheeks, touching the field of red flowers where the wet shirt sticks to Pete¡¯s shoulder¡ªso much red¡­ he doesn¡¯t like red, he wants it to stop¡­ ¡°Vegas¡­¡± Pete¡¯s voice drifts into his consciousness like a warm ray of light in the darkness. ¡°I know you are in shock but you need to untie me now¡­ please¡­¡± Another crack appears. Oh yes¡­ he needs to untie Pete. Vegas nods numbly and gets down on his knees to find the knot holding the rope in place. There it is. But untying it proves to be a struggle because Vegas¡¯ hands are slick with Pete¡¯s blood¡ªred red red¡ªhis fingers keep slipping and he can hear himself sob in frustration. And another crack appears. ¡°¡­ You¡¯re doing good¡­¡± Pete¡¯s voice washes over him. ¡°¡­ don¡¯t stress¡­¡± His voice sounds very weak and that just adds another layer of anxiety to the whole messy situation. Finally the knot comes undone and Vegas can get the damn rope off. Pete¡¯s legs buckle, he sinks down to the floor against the pillar with a pained groan, and then Vegas remembers that his hands are still handcuffed around the pillar too. Fuck. ¡°Sorry¡­ sorry¡­ I¡¯ll fix this, I promise¡­ just hold on¡­¡± He can feel the tears running down his face and wipes them off with the back of his bloody hand. Handcuffs. They need to come off, yes. He will need the key for that and the key is with¡­Vegas whimpers in distress. Notgoingtherenotgoingthere¡­ Another crack appears. ¡°You can do this, Vegas,¡± Pete mumbles weakly. He really looks awfully pale, nearly white. So much red. White and red. ¡°I can do this¡­¡± Vegas repeated and crawls over to T¡ªnotgoingtherenotgoingthere¡ªto the body. The rivulets of red surrounding it look like clawed hands, accusingly reaching out to Vegas, and he feels his breath hitching several times. ¡°¡­the key¡­¡± Pete reminds him quietly and then stifles a groan of pain. The key, yes. The key should be in the back pocket of the trousers because that¡¯s where T¡ªnotgoingtherenotgoingthere¡ªVegas holds back a sob and with shaky hands reaches out to touch the body and turn it to the side, so he can fish the key out of the pocket there. The body is still warm. Vegas feels his throat getting tight, and he swallows painfully. Another crack appears. There is the key, he can feel it, and he pulls it out of the pocket with trembling fingers. It¡¯s connected to a key ring with a dangling rubber Robo- cop face. Vegas gave this keyring to Tem the day they graduated, and his friend has been using this ever since. Vegas looks down at the keyring in his bloody fingers and then at the body. The body. ¡­ another crack and then the ice shield shatters¡­ The body. Tem. A raw, choked sound escapes from Vegas. He explodes into motion, he can hear himself whimper like a hurt animal as he frantically starts checking for a pulse, but his hands are trembling so badly that he can¡¯t feel anything. Not that it makes a difference, he knows it¡¯s futile anyway. It was a head shot. There is no way for Tem to survive this. So much blood. There¡¯s so much blood¡­ the head¡­ oh God, Tem¡¯s head¡­ so much blood. Vegas is keening, his hands are covered in blood, Pete¡¯s blood and Tem¡¯s blood, there is blood everywhere, he doesn¡¯t know where to touch, what to do¡­ Tem is dead. He has killed Tem. Oh God!!! ¡°Vegas!¡± Pete manages to shout somehow and then coughs up blood. ¡°Snap out of it!¡± Tem is dead. Tem is dead. Tem is dead. Tem is¡­ Tem¡­ ¡­ ¡°¡­Damn it¡­ Vegas ¡­¡± Pete pleads, and shudders in pain. ¡°¡­ please¡­ save me¡­¡± Vegas is sobbing so hard that his whole body is shaking, but this call for help has him scrambling on all fours back to Pete¡¯s side. Pete can¡¯t die. Not Pete too. He drops the key several times, his fingers are just too damn slippery with blood, but then the handcuffs come off, and Pete falls forward, straight into Vegas¡¯ arms. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare die on me,¡± Vegas begs between sobs and shifts Pete so that he¡¯s lying more comfortably against him. Pete tries to chuckle but only coughs up more blood. Shit. Not good. Vegas tries to remember something he read a long time ago about lung injuries and blood and such, but his mind is wiped blank. ¡°¡­ don¡¯t worry¡­¡± Pete is coughing up even more blood, but still manages to wink playfully at Vegas. ¡°¡­ not getting rid of me¡­ that easily¡­¡± Vegas tries to smile through his tears but fails miserably. ¡°I¡¯m going to stick to you like superglue from now on, you damn idiot. You won¡¯t get rid of me for the rest of your miserable life.¡± His tears are dripping down onto Pete¡¯s face, mingling with the blood there. Vegas presses one hand against the wound on Pete¡¯s shoulder to stem the blood flow somehow, because Pete¡¯s loosing too much blood and it¡¯s scaring the hell out of him. ¡°Hang in there, Pete¡­ I¡¯m sure Arm is already sending help, but I¡¯ll call and tell them to hurry up.¡± He takes out his phone with his free hand and somehow manages to make a call to dispatch without falling apart. Vegas gives them the code for ¡®Officer down¡¯ and tells them to send an ambulance in case one isn¡¯t on the way already, and to hurry. Once that is done, he focuses his attention solely on Pete again. Pete seems to have trouble keeping his eyes open, but for now he¡¯s still looking at Vegas as if he¡¯s the centre of his world. ¡°You chose me¡­¡± he whispers sluggishly. ¡°¡­ you saved me¡­¡± Of course he did. ¡°I love you,¡± Vegas tells him quietly, with a teary smile. ¡°I know.¡± Pete lifts a trembling hand and caresses Vegas¡¯ cheek. His hand feels so cold that Vegas gets even more anxious. In stark contrast to that cold hand, Vegas feels the heat of Pete¡¯s blood against the hand that is firmly pressing down on the wound, and he¡¯s quietly despairing. ¡°Don¡¯t die on me, Pete.¡± He¡¯s back to sobbing now, he can no longer hold it in. ¡°Please don¡¯t die on me. I love you so damn much. Help is on the way, please hold on just a little bit longer, all right?¡± Pete¡¯s eyes flutter shut. ¡°¡­¡­. sure¡­¡­.¡± he whispers, so faintly that Vegas has trouble understanding him. ¡°Hang on¡­ just a little bit longer¡­¡± Between sobs, Vegas leans down and kisses his cold, bloody cheek. ¡°Stay with me, Pete¡­ You need to stay awake¡­ please don¡¯t die on me¡­¡± And that¡¯s how the paramedics and the police officers descending on the crime scene eventually find them: a blood-covered Vegas sobbing uncontrollably while clutching an equally blood-soaked, unconscious Pete against his chest.
¡°And what happened next?¡± ¡°I told him to drop the gun,¡± Vegas replies tiredly and shifts to find a more comfortable position. The chair isn¡¯t meant to be comfortable though, it¡¯s as hard and cold as the rest of the interrogation room. Grey, bleak walls. A two-way mirror on the wall he is facing. There are cameras pointed his way, he can hear their faint buzzing echoing through the room whenever there is a lull in the conversation ¡°Then what?¡± Vegas doesn¡¯t know the officer leading the interrogation. Not that it makes a difference. The guy is doing his job; someone has to ask all the questions, it might as well be him. ¡°Then Khun Saengtham told him to drop the gun as well.¡± And was perhaps a wee bit snarky doing so. But of course Vegas does not mention that. ¡°And then?¡± ¡°Then Detective Piangvanich shot him.¡± Vegas is desperately trying not to fall apart while recalling what has happened earlier on. Before his inner eye, everything is blurred. All the raw memories are safe to look at this way, from a blurred distance. ¡°Just like that? Without any further provocation?¡± Vegas sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. It feels sticky and crusty, it must be because of all the dried¡ªnotgoingthere. ¡°Yes, just like that. I don¡¯t understand it either.¡± ¡°What happened next?¡± ¡°I pointed my gun at him. I suppose it was a reflex, I don¡¯t remember. He had shot a man right before my eyes. He had a gun in his hand. He was a threat.¡± Vegas has grown tired of looking at the investigator, his gaze drifts around the room. How many times have they gone over this now? He can¡¯t remember. He¡¯s lost all sense of time. In here, there is just the flickering neon light, no windows. He doesn¡¯t know if it¡¯s still night, or daytime already. Tiredness has given way to plain exhaustion. He¡¯s only awake because of all the black coffee he¡¯s been drinking ever since coming back to the police station. ¡°And you told him to drop his gun?¡± ¡°Yes. Repeatedly. I told him to drop the gun and step aside. I don¡¯t know how many times. It felt like an eternity but I suppose it wasn¡¯t all that long.¡± ¡°Why do you think Detective Piangvanich didn¡¯t heed your warning?¡± ¡°I honestly don¡¯t know.¡± Because he was out of his mind with jealousy. ¡°This was my first time seeing him since he took his leave of absence. I didn¡¯t even know he was in the city. He hasn¡¯t been in contact with me for over two weeks, didn¡¯t reply to my messages either. I don¡¯t know what got into him to behave like this¡­¡± ¡°And he didn¡¯t say anything to explain himself?¡± Tem sure did have a lot to say but Vegas couldn¡¯t hear it. All he could hear at that point was white noise, but he can¡¯t tell anyone about that either. A police detective who has stress-induced blackouts? He would lose his job. ¡°No. He seemed irritated about the whole situation. Very unhinged.¡± ¡°Why did you take the decision to fire the shot then?¡± Vegas swallows dryly and stares down at his hands. They¡¯re so dirty. He absently starts scraping off the dried blood with his fingernails. ¡°Khun Saengtham was in medical distress.¡± That¡¯s a nice neutral way to put it. For a moment the blurry bubble flickers, and Vegas recalls a vivid imagine of blood-soaked white flowers¡ªso much red. His heartbeat speeds up alarmingly and then everything is blurry again. He swallows hard. ¡°As I was saying, he was in increasing medical distress. Detective Piangvanich showed no signs of putting the gun down; he kept waving it in Khun Saengtham¡¯s direction, and he was getting more and more agitated. His hand was shaking and so was his trigger finger. I feared he¡¯d shoot Khun Saengtham again at any moment, that¡¯s why I intervened.¡± Such a nice way of saying that he shot his best friend in the head. ¡°Was this really the only option you had in this situation?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­¡± Vegas shrugs tiredly. ¡°I just don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t think I could have done anything else. It¡¯s not as if I had plenty of time to think. I saw the trigger finger twitch, and I took the shot.¡± There is a small crack in the wall on the left. Vegas feels cracked too and doesn¡¯t understand how he¡¯s still holding up. It feels as if he should be crumbling, falling apart into small tiny pieces, like in one of those Chinese Xianxia dramas where the heroes receive a mortal wound and slowly dissipate like tiny flakes of ashes blown away by the wind. Why is he still in one piece? This feels so unreal. ¡°Detective Theerapanyakul?¡± Vegas blinks, he must have been spacing out. He gives the other man an apologetic smile. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, what did you say?¡± ¡°What did you do next?¡± ¡°I went to Khun Saengtham, checked on him and then removed the rope.¡± So much blood¡­ so damn much blood. ¡°He was handcuffed too, so I had to get the keys from the body¡­¡± His voice trails off there for a moment as he tries to keep the images of that moment at bay. ¡°While I was near the¡­ body¡­ I checked for a pulse. Maybe I tried to administer CPR too¡­ I don¡¯t remember, sorry. It was all rather traumatic, I¡¯m having trouble recalling all the details.¡± Vegas notices that he¡¯s wringing his hands, so he puts them into the pockets of his jeans. They¡¯re dirty too. His hands. His jeans. His sweater. His hair. Everything is sticky and encrusted with dark flaky dried blood. ¡­ Pete ¡­ I need to see Pete¡­ Need to see that he¡¯s still alive¡­ Vegas ruthlessly slams mental barrier upon barrier into place, everything to protect himself from this line of thought. Can¡¯t go there right now. Can¡¯t. Need to hold it together just a little bit longer. ¡°How many shots did you fire?¡± ¡°Just one.¡± One was enough¡­ he¡¯s a good shot¡­ he¡¯s been shooting people since he was five years old¡­ ¡°Did you use your own gun, Detective Theerapanyakul?¡± ¡°Of course.¡± ¡°What happened to the gun?¡± Vegas can¡¯t remember. ¡°I don¡¯t know? I think I dropped it?¡± He shrugs helplessly. ¡°I know I was holding it and then I wasn¡¯t. I¡¯m sorry, I know this isn¡¯t really helping you,¡± he apologises again. He has been doing that a lot these past ¡­hours? ¡°I simply can¡¯t remember¡­¡± The investigator leafs through the papers and notes in front of him. ¡°Let¡¯s start at the beginning again. You said you received a call¡­¡± Vegas buries his face in his hands and groans. He¡¯s so damn exhausted. How many more times do they need to go over the details? He doesn¡¯t want to remember this nightmare, he just wants to forget everything. He¡¯s so exhausted he feels like a zombie. What time is it even? How long has he been here? Who¡¯s watching on the other side of the mirror? What else do they want to know? Hasn¡¯t he told them everything already, repeatedly? ¡­ Pete ¡­ ¡­ notgoingthere¡­ notgoingthere¡­ He takes a steadying breath, looks up again and reflexively forces himself to smile to show his willingness to cooperate. ¡°Yes, I was preparing dinner when my mobile phone started to ring¡­¡±
When Vegas starts spacing out more and more, and stumbles over his words in utter exhaustion, they finally decide to end the interrogation. At this point, Vegas feels so numb that it¡¯s almost an out-of-body experience for him. The only thing he clearly feels right now is a dull throbbing in one of his feet; did he injure himself at some point? He can¡¯t remember. All his lovely butterfly thoughts have flown away, his brain is empty, nothing fluttering around in there. It takes him a moment to comprehend that he¡¯s supposed to leave now. Really? Already? Finally? What is he supposed to do again? Oh, leave¡­ Vegas slowly walks¡ªlimps¡ªto the door they hold open for him and steps out into the corridor. He has to blink because the light out here is much brighter than on the inside of the interrogation room. There are chairs against the walls of the hallway, and from those chairs three people are rising. Vegas rubs his tired eyes, everything is a blur, he knows them, right? ¡°Finally,¡± Porsche mutters under his breath, hurrying towards him. Macau is faster though. ¡°Vegas!¡± he exclaims, and enfolds his big brother into a bear hug, which Porsche joins as soon as he¡¯s by Vegas¡¯ side. ¡°Group hug!¡± Tankhun announces, and in the safety of their combined arms, Vegas allows himself to crumble. His mental barriers pop like a soap bubble, and the tears start rolling down his face; he leans against them and cries heart-wrenchingly. ¡°I killed Tem¡­¡± he sobs, and simply keeps repeating himself over and over again, ¡°I killed Tem¡­¡± The three continue hugging Vegas and allow him to cry, offering quiet comfort. But Vegas has cried so much these last 12 hours, he doesn¡¯t have the energy left to cry for a long time. He¡¯s so damn exhausted, that his tears run dry sooner rather than later. Tankhun dabs the wetness from Vegas¡¯ face with his designer jacket, Porsche ruffles Vegas¡¯ hair affectionately and Macau holds Vegas¡¯ hand very tightly. It feels so damn good to be surrounded by so much love. Sometimes family is great. ¡°I¡¯ve got to go,¡± Vegas sighs tiredly. ¡°Go where?¡± Macau wonders curiously. ¡°Going home with us, of course,¡± Tankhun declares, and Porsche nods in agreement. ¡°You¡¯re not staying on your own tonight.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve got to go,¡± Vegas repeats, and shakes his head because he¡¯s feeling so dazed. ¡°I¡¯ve really got to go.¡± ¡°Go where, Vegas?¡± Now it¡¯s Tankhun¡¯s turn to ask. ¡°I need to go to the hospital,¡± Vegas mumbles quietly. ¡°Oh Vegas¡­¡± Porsche casts him an understanding look and sighs deeply. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, you can¡¯t do that right now.¡± ¡°Huh?¡± What did Porsche say? Vegas doesn¡¯t understand. Of course he can. ¡°I¡¯ll just take a taxi if none of you can drive me,¡± he adds, and stifles a yawn. ¡°What time is it anyway?¡± ¡°Why does my brother need to go to the hospital?¡± Macau asks Porsche, slightly confused. Porsche looks around and then lowers his voice. ¡°Because he¡¯s in a relationship with the guy who got shot.¡± ¡°I thought Vegas was in a relationship with Tem?¡± Now Macau is completely confused. Vegas is also confused. How did Macau know about him and Tem? ¡°It¡¯s complicated,¡± Vegas and Porsche state at the same time. ¡°What do you mean, I can¡¯t go to the hospital?¡± Vegas turns towards Porsche and blinks, because he¡¯s seeing him double for a second. Damn, he is about to crash soon. He needs to get going. ¡°Because your father has sent someone to keep an eye on you,¡± Porsche points out quietly. That sure as hell puts a stop to all of Vegas¡¯ immediate plans. A wave of despair crashes over him again. He¡¯s been holding it together all this time, telling himself that he¡¯ll get to see Pete as soon as he gets out of the damn investigation room¡ªand now this. Vegas feels himself tearing up again. ¡°There, there¡­¡± Tankhun slings an arm around his waist and pulls him in for a quick hug. ¡°Come along, Vegas. You look as if you¡¯re going to keel over any second now; you can¡¯t possibly go anywhere in this condition; you¡¯ll scare the hell out of everyone. We¡¯ll go home, clean you up and feed you, and Porsche will make some calls to find out more about your special friend, all right?¡± Macau glances at Tankhun and Porsche, unsure if he¡¯s invited too, and is taken by surprise when Porsche pokes him in the side. ¡°That goes for you too, kiddo. You¡¯re coming with us.¡± ¡°Well, that¡¯s settled then,¡± Tankhun proclaims, and drags his cousin along towards the exit. Porsche and Macau hurry to catch up with them. Vegas is too exhausted to argue or resist. And neither of them acknowledges the fact that their group is being tailed by some of Khun Gun¡¯s watchdogs.
¡°Just a quick snack, a change of clothes and I¡¯ll wash my face¡ªthen I really need to find a way to somehow sneak into the hospital,¡± Vegas reminds Tankhun once again, as he¡¯s being pulled along through the Main family mansion. He¡¯s been trying to explain this to his cousin, his brother and Porsche over and over; they always nod, but he has the feeling they aren¡¯t taking him seriously at all. He knows it¡¯s risky, but he¡¯s surely going to die if he can¡¯t check up on Pete soon. He doesn¡¯t know how to explain it to them; he really needs to go to the hospital and see Pete. Touch him. Reassure himself that he¡¯s still alive. It feels as if someone has torn him in half; this enforced separation is killing him. It was difficult enough already handing Pete over to the paramedics, and Vegas¡¯ heart has been aching ever since Pete was carried away on the stretcher. He simply can¡¯t take it anymore, he needs to be by Pete¡¯s side. ¡°Yes, of course, but have something to eat first,¡± Tankhun explains as they enter his apartment. ¡°I¡¯ll get you some food and arrange for some clothes as well. I hope you¡¯re not attached to what you¡¯re wearing right now, I don¡¯t think those can be salvaged.¡± He looks his cousin over and frowns, but behind the bossy behaviour Vegas can sense Tankhun¡¯s deep unease. This must be unsettling for him. It most likely brings back bad memories from his childhood. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Vegas mumbles tiredly. ¡°Sorry for being such a burden. I¡¯ll leave as quickly as possible.¡± Tankhun brushes Vegas¡¯ apology aside. ¡°Nonsense. You are family, not a burden. Porsche and Macau, clean him up a bit. I¡¯ll be right back with food and something to wear.¡± He strides out of the room, calling for his bodyguards. The three men left behind look at each other. Porsche points towards one for the doors. ¡°The bathroom is over there, Vegas. Go take a shower. I¡¯ll make some phone calls in the meantime.¡± Like a robot following orders, Vegas wanders into the bathroom, completely numb with exhaustion. Such a large bathroom. Light and airy. Tankhun actually has rubber ducks lined up on the edge of the bathtub; they come in different colours and sizes. Rather pretty. Vegas has already forgotten why he came in here and stares blankly at the kaleidoscope of colours. ¡°Damn.¡± Someone behind him sighs and when Vegas turns his head he sees his brother and Porsche, both looking at him with concern. ¡°Huh?¡± Why do they look so concerned? Is something the matter? Vegas is so tired he can¡¯t think straight. ¡°You¡¯ve been in here for nearly 10 minutes, Vegas, apparently just staring at the wall,¡± Macau tells him solemnly. Oh. How embarrassing. ¡°I was supposed to do what?¡± Vegas has to ask, because he can¡¯t remember. ¡°You need to clean up, Vegas,¡± Porsche reminds him patiently. ¡°Go take a shower.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t need a shower, I¡¯ll just splash some water in my face,¡± Vegas mumbles, but both Macau and Porsche shake their heads. His brother steps closer and gently turns Vegas around so that he¡¯s facing the mirror above the sink. ¡°You really need a shower, Vegas. Look at yourself.¡± Vegas doesn¡¯t recognise the man in the mirror. Is that really him? No wonder everyone is treading on eggshells around him, looking concerned. He looks like the walking dead. There¡¯s dried blood splatter everywhere; he¡¯s covered in it, clothes, throat, face, hair, hands. His eyes are red and swollen from all the crying. He looks more dead than alive at his point; no wonder everyone thinks he will collapse any second. ¡°¡­Oh¡­¡± ¡°Macau will help you clean up,¡± Porsche decides. ¡°Why me? I think I should check on Tankhun to make sure he picks clothes Vegas will actually be able to wear,¡± his brother protests. ¡°Because Kinn will kill me if he finds out that I was in a bathroom with a naked Vegas. And if Kinn doesn¡¯t kill me, Vegas¡¯ boyfriend will do so as soon as he¡¯s out of the hospital.¡± Macau is astonished and Porsche nods grimly at him. ¡°Trust me, that one is a vicious little cinnamon roll. Suits Vegas perfectly, if you ask me, much better than ¡­ well¡­¡± And he shuts up because he almost mentioned Tem, and wouldn¡¯t that have been awkward. ¡°Fine, I¡¯ll clean him up.¡± Macau is intrigued, but apparently decides to ask more questions another time. He shoos Porsche out of the bathroom. Vegas tried to follow their conversation, but his thoughts keep drifting off; he can¡¯t focus on anything right now. What was he supposed to do again? ¡°Let me help you take off those clothes,¡± his brother reminds him gently, then assists Vegas in peeling off the blood-soaked jeans and sweater. The skin underneath is smeared with blood too, even his underwear. So much blood¡­ Vegas breaks out in cold sweat. All Pete¡¯s blood. Macau manoeuvres him into the bathtub, adjusts the water temperature, and methodically showers Vegas off, using a washcloth to rub away the dried blood. Vegas sits there with his eyes closed, he¡¯s so damn exhausted. He wants to help but simply doesn¡¯t have the energy left for it. As Macau rinses his hair, Vegas can feel tears gathering in his eyes again. He sits there like a heap of misery while his brother massages the shampoo in. ¡°Am I too rough?¡± Macau asks anxiously when he notices the state Vegas is in. Vegas shakes his head. He can¡¯t stop the tears though; he really is no longer in control of himself. ¡°I just¡­¡± His voice breaks and he shrugs helplessly. ¡°I just want Pete¡­¡± he whispers then, with so much heartache in his voice that Macau flinches in sympathy. ¡°I can¡¯t do this anymore¡­ I need Pete¡­ I¡¯m so scared of loosing him¡­ I really need Pete.¡± Macau swallows hard, then drops the shower head and hugs his brother tightly. Vegas clings to him and cries quietly. ¡°I can¡¯t do this anymore¡­ I really need to see Pete¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯ll fix it,¡± his brother promises solemnly and kisses the top of Vegas¡¯ head. ¡°I promise. I¡¯ll make sure you get to see your Pete as soon as you¡¯ve eaten something, all right? Let¡¯s just finish cleaning yourself up first.¡± Vegas nods quietly amidst tears, and Macau continues. It takes a while until the water runs clean. Vegas is bundled into an enormous, fluffy towel, then Macau leads him back into the living area. He¡¯s noticed that Vegas is limping, so a while later one of the in-house doctors shows up, take a look at the cut on the sole, cleans it, tapes it and puts a bandage over it. Vegas is in such an exhausted daze that he has trouble staying awake. He can¡¯t sleep yet though, he needs to find a way to get to Pete first. Speaking of which¡­ Porsche returns while Macau is drying Vegas¡¯ hair. ¡°Found him!¡± he announces proudly. ¡°I got the hospital and the room number.¡± And since he knows from personal experience what information Vegas craves the most, he adds: ¡°He¡¯s doing all right. They had to operate to remove the bullet. He was very lucky; the bullet somehow missed the ribs, lung and artery, only damaging the muscles, and got stuck in the shoulder bone. But he lost a lot of blood and had to get a transfusion. The nurse I spoke to said he¡¯s still unconscious, but they expect him to make a full recovery.¡± Vegas breathes a sigh of relief, all the tension draining out of him. He would cry again but it seems he has run out of tears. ¡°Thank you,¡± he whispers softly. ¡°Thank you.¡± Porsche smiles. ¡°When you¡¯ve eaten something, and are dressed, I¡¯ll smuggle you out of here. Macau will stay to distract your father¡¯s goons so that everyone thinks you¡¯re staying overnight with the Main family.¡± Vegas feels overwhelming gratitude at this moment. He doesn¡¯t know what to say. ¡°Tankhun got you some clothes too. Something you can actually wear¡­¡± ¡°I heard that!¡± And there is his oldest cousin again, marching into the room. His bodyguards trail behind, carrying an assortment of plates which they place on the nearby table before Tankhun shoos them out of the room again. ¡°I¡¯m not giving you any of my designer clothes,¡± Tankhun informs Vegas. ¡°Because I know you have no fashion sense to appreciate them. So you will have to make do with those boring bodyguard suits. You can skip the jacket though, way too warm for that. Now go and eat. I got you rice porridge and fruits and fresh orange juice. No more coffee for you. Go on, eat. I know you¡¯re not hungry, but you need food to function.¡± It is true, Vegas isn¡¯t hungry but everyone is making a fuss over him so if eating will make them happy, that¡¯s what he will do. While he eats and gets dressed, all he can think about is Pete. I need to hold on just a little bit longer. Just a little bit longer.
Vegas hates hospitals. He¡¯s so out of it he can¡¯t even remember how Porsche managed to smuggle him out of the mansion; he¡¯s having blackouts. One moment he was in the car, and now he¡¯s limping along a seemingly endless hospital corridor, following Porsche, who guides him gently with a firm grip on his arm. The sound of their shoe soles on the rubber floor brings back dark memories. No, Vegas does not like hospitals at all. He hates the smell. He hates the silence. He hates the frantic bursts of activity when the monitor alarms start beeping. Just a little bit longer. Almost there. He just needs to hold it together a little bit longer. Vegas stumbles and would have fallen, but Porsche holds him up. ¡°You can do this,¡± he tells his friend quietly. ¡°Come on, Vegas, you can do this.¡± Vegas nods, or at least he thinks he nods. He feels so numb and tired. Everything keeps blurring before his eyes, and then snaps back into focus. So damn tired. Almost there, almost there. At some point Porsche opens a door and leads him through it. It¡¯s a hospital room like countless others, nothing special here. The light has been dimmed, but Vegas can still make out a single bed surrounded by quite a bit of machinery. Lots of muted blipping and humming noises with the occasional beep. The moment Porsche releases his hold on him, Vegas is limping towards that bed and the person lying in it. Pete is connected to the machines with a lot of cables. He¡¯s on an IV drip, too. He looks very pale, but at least someone took the time to wipe away all the blood from his bruised face. Vegas looks down at his motionless, unconscious boyfriend and can feel himself starting to tremble. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I¡¯m late¡­¡± he whispers hoarsely, stifling a sob. ¡°But I¡¯m here now, Pete.¡± With numb fingers, he pulls a chair closer to the bed and sinks down on it because his legs will no longer support him. From somewhere behind him, he can hear Porsche say something, but all his attention is focused on Pete now. Porsche can wait. ¡°I¡¯m here now¡­¡± Vegas gently takes Pete¡¯s hand, careful not to disturb the IV line, and lifts it to place a soft kiss on the palm. ¡°I¡¯m here now¡­¡± He rubs his face against that palm, needing the skin contact to ensure himself he¡¯s not just imagining it. Then he laces their fingers together and lowers the hand back onto the bed. ¡°I¡¯m here, Pete¡­ everything will be all right now.¡± With a deep sigh, Vegas leans forward until his upper body is supported by the bed and his cheek is touching the hand that he¡¯s holding on to for dear life. ¡°I love you so damn much,¡± he mumbles as his eyes flutter shut. And then he promptly falls asleep. Chapter 18 ¡°Have I gone mad?¡± ¡°I¡¯m afraid so, but let me tell you something, the best people usually are.¡± Vegas wakes up when the doctor comes to check on Pete. He¡¯s all stiff, everything aches and he has a bad headache, but he refuses to go home and come back later. He refuses the offer of a makeshift bed, too. Pete is still asleep; it¡¯s the drugs they said, he¡¯s on heavy painkillers. Vegas only lets go of Pete¡¯s hand during the examination, but as soon as the doctor and the nurses have left the room, he laces their fingers together again. It feels as if he cannot breathe if he isn¡¯t touching Pete. He very quickly falls asleep again. When he wakes up the next time, it¡¯s because Pete¡¯s fingers have started twitching. Blurry eyed, Vegas looks up; it¡¯s much lighter in the room. It must be daytime, but Vegas has no clue what time of day it is. He takes a moment to stretch his aching body, and when he looks at Pete again, his eyes are open. Pete seems very dazed at first, then a look of surprise crosses his bruised face as he recognises Vegas standing beside his bed. Vegas is so relieved, he can feel himself tearing up again. ¡°Hello sleepyhead. About time you woke up, I was getting worried.¡± Pete tries to speak but instead just coughs weakly. Vegas figures his mouth and throat must be dry, but he doesn¡¯t dare give him something to drink without checking with the nurses first. ¡°Just a moment¡­¡± He hurries to the bathroom and wets some paper towels, then goes back to Pete and gently dabs the wet paper against his lips. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I don¡¯t know if you are allowed to drink anything yet,¡± he explains, and Pete smiles faintly. ¡°You want me to call the doctor?¡± Pete shakes his head and tries to speak again. This time it works, but his voice sounds very raspy. ¡°What are you doing here?¡± ¡°That¡¯s an exceptionally stupid thing to ask. Where else would I be?¡± Vegas sits on the side of the bed and takes hold of Pete¡¯s hand again, squeezing it gently. ¡°You already forgot what I told you before you passed out? Superglue, remember?¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t think you would mean it so literally¡­ Go home and get some sleep, Vegas, you look like hell,¡± Pete sighs tiredly. ¡°No need to stay here.¡± ¡°Bullshit. I¡¯m not going anywhere, I nearly lost you¡­¡± Vegas voice trails off and he swallows hard. ¡°I¡¯m not going anywhere,¡± he repeats with quiet force, leans forward and kisses Pete softly. ¡°They will have to drag me out of here kicking and screaming if they want to separate me from you, so you better get used to my presence here, you idiot.¡± This seems to puzzle Pete. ¡°¡­ I don¡¯t understand¡­¡± he mumbles, genuinely confused, and stifles a yawn. ¡°All you need to understand is that I love you and I can¡¯t bear to be separated from you right now,¡± Vegas tells him affectionately. ¡°Now get some more sleep; you need to heal so that you can get out of here quickly and come home with me.¡± Pete¡¯s eyes flutter shut again. ¡°¡­ Home¡­¡± he sighs softly, as if this is a foreign concept to him. Vegas chuckles. The medicine really makes Pete adorably confused. ¡°Go to sleep, Sunshine,¡± he whispers gently and kisses Pete¡¯s cheek. ¡°I¡¯ll be here when you wake up. Everything is going to be all right now.¡± And as Pete drifts back to sleep, Vegas simply climbs up into the hospital bed and curls up next to him, careful not to disturb any of the many cables. It¡¯s a tight fit, but it can be done, and soon both of them are asleep again.
48 precious hours. Vegas doesn¡¯t know how Porsche, Macau and Tankhun have managed it but Vegas gets 48 precious, uninterrupted hours with Pete. He only leaves Pete¡¯s side to go to the bathroom. Pete drifts in and out of sleep, and now and then they¡¯re interrupted by the nurses and doctors checking up on the wound and taking more blood samples. The IV drip is removed after 24 hours. More and more cables and machines, too. The doctor reassures Vegas that everything looks good, but that Pete will have to stay here for observation a few more days before they will release him. Pete seems to be really tired most of the time, no wonder, he¡¯s been through a lot. He also keeps telling Vegas to go home, and is baffled that Vegas refuses to do so. Vegas just rolls his eyes and ignores him. He doesn¡¯t want to go home and it¡¯s only partially because he doesn¡¯t want to be separated from Pete. He also knows that as soon as he steps out of the hospital room, real life will come crashing down on him with a vengeance, and he¡¯s not ready for that. In fact, he¡¯s been very good at ruthlessly blocking out everything that has happened. Especially when Pete tries to talk to him about what happened. ¡°We¡¯ll talk about it later,¡± he deflects, straightening the sheets on the bed without meeting Pete¡¯s eyes. ¡°No need to hurry, for now let¡¯s focus on you getting better first. Just rest, Pete, everything else can wait.¡± No, Vegas really doesn¡¯t want to talk or think about the shooting. Tem¡¯s last words are still echoing in his mind¡ª¡°He¡¯s been lying to you the whole damn time!¡±¡ªand Vegas doesn¡¯t dare to open this Pandora¡¯s box just yet. So Vegas is simply refusing to think about it for now, but he knows this can¡¯t last forever. And indeed, it doesn¡¯t. After 48 precious hours, Porsche arrives to pick up Vegas. ¡°Sorry, but we can¡¯t stall any longer. The police wants to have a word with your boyfriend and I¡¯m sure you would rather not have them finding you here. Besides, Macau says he needs to get back home, so you need to be seen leaving the mansion with him in order not to arouse your father¡¯s suspicion.¡± Porsche gets a reluctant thank you from Pete for his efforts, and Vegas¡ªVegas is quietly panicking. He doesn¡¯t want to leave Pete¡¯s side. Both of their phones have been temporarily confiscated as evidence, so he can¡¯t even call Pete if he leaves now. Pete seems to sense something is wrong. He gives Vegas a questioning look. ¡°Everything all right?¡± ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m fine,¡± Vegas forces himself to smile. ¡°You just concentrate on getting better, I¡¯ll see you when you get out of here.¡± And then he gives Pete a long hard kiss that tastes of desperation before he turns around and walks out of the room without a glance backwards. If he casts another glance at Pete in the hospital bed, then he won¡¯t be able to leave; he knows it. Porsche gives him a sympathetic look, and follows him. ¡°He¡¯ll be okay, don¡¯t worry. I think he was looking a lot better already. Kinn has arranged to put a discreet guard by the door to make sure that none of your dad¡¯s goons come anywhere near him, in case you¡¯re worried about that.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not worried, my dad doesn¡¯t know about Pete.¡± That¡¯s correct, right? ¡°But thanks anyway,¡± Vegas sighs, as they both walk through the endless hospital corridors again. He¡¯s not ready for this. He¡¯s not ready to face the aftermath of these traumatic events. He¡¯s not ready for reality. But no one really cares about how he feels. Life must go on.
Guess who is suspended pending the outcome of the ongoing investigation into the death of his partner? It was to be expected really, so he isn¡¯t shocked or upset about it. The problem is that this means Vegas has a whole lot of time on his hands now, when he¡¯d rather bury himself in work. The apartment is large and empty. There¡¯s only so much cleaning he can do, this is the downside of liking it when everything is neat and organised. There¡¯s nothing for him to do here to keep himself busy, so Vegas goes for a run. Twice, that first day. Long runs. Then he buys groceries and actually cooks instead of buying takeaway. As long as he keeps himself busy, everything will be fine, he keeps telling himself. But there comes a time when there¡¯s nothing left for him to do, when it¡¯s dark outside, when there are no TV programs that can keep at bay the deep ache in his heart because he¡¯s sitting all alone on the couch, missing Pete. Vegas wallows in misery and calls it a night, but the bed is large and empty, too, without another body to snuggle up to and the sheets still smell of Pete. I can do this, he reminds himself. One day at a time. I can do this. And finally he falls asleep.
Vegas¡¯ mind is comfortably black. Like the untouched surface of a lake during a warm summer day without even the slightest breeze. Tranquil. Dark. Silent. Blissful undisturbed sleep¡ªuntil the ripples start. ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ movement in the darkness¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ something shifting there¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ something rising in the dark¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ out of the darkness towards the surface¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ but the surface won¡¯t be broken¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ something wants to surface¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ fighting, pressing upwards¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ rising¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ breaking through¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ shadows pearling off familiar features¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ black hair, white skin, red blood¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ black eyes flickering open¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ staring¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ mouth opening¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ black hair, white bone slivers, red blood, grey brain tissue¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ pale lips forming words¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ Vegas jerks awake with a scream. He¡¯s covered in icy sweat and trembling all over, the memories of the nightmare so fresh and vivid that he¡¯s gasping for breath. ¡­ Tem¡­ The images from that night, which he has successfully kept submerged until now, come crashing down on him. Vegas barely makes it to the bathroom before he starts throwing up violently. ¡­ Tem¡­ The tears come again, and Vegas curls up on the cold tiles, crying unconsolably. ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­¡± he whispers between sobs. ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­ I¡¯m so sorry¡­¡±
¡®I¡¯m fine.¡¯ Vegas still has no phone, but he has email. When Porsche writes to check up on him, this makes lying so much easier. ¡®I¡¯m pretty busy, doing chores, working out and such. Don¡¯t worry. I am fine.¡¯ He¡¯s not hungry. He doesn¡¯t have the nerve to cook; jarring visual flashbacks hit him at unpredictable times, and he¡¯s already dropped several plates and glasses. Cooking doesn¡¯t feel like a safe activity to do right now. He¡¯s not hungry, because he feels sick to his stomach whenever those flashbacks hit him, and he¡¯s tired of throwing up. ¡®Stop fretting,¡¯ he writes to Macau. ¡®The department has organised trauma therapy already, I¡¯m fine.¡¯ In fact, Vegas can¡¯t sleep without nightmares. Dead Tem haunts his dreams incessantly. This is what he deserves, so he doesn¡¯t complain and endures it. This is his punishment for killing his best friend, and the punishment is relentless. Every night. Several times. Tem¡¯s bloody ruined face keeps staring at him, yelling at him soundlessly. Every night. Every time he tries to sleep. ¡®Yes, I¡¯m watching that series right now, thank you for the recommendation. It really is a great distraction,¡¯ he writes to Tankhun. But Vegas is too tired to watch TV. He goes for endless runs to exhaust himself even more, because he hopes he will collapse with exhaustion and then be able to sleep. It doesn¡¯t work though. The nightmares wake him anyway. After four days he starts taking sleeping pills and those knock him out good. He sleeps for 18 hours and only wakes up when an angry Macau shakes him and demands to know if he¡¯s trying to kill himself. How did his brother get into the apartment? Oh yes, Macau has a key. He apologises profusely and feels bad for scaring his little brother. Okay, no more sleeping pills, back to the nightmares it is. Vegas is quietly going insane. He hasn¡¯t heard anything from Pete directly and it¡¯s driving him nuts. Porsche is keeping him updated about Pete¡¯s health, but Vegas aches to hear Pete¡¯s voice. When is his boyfriend going to be released? Will he go home to his own place? Will he come here? Who will pick him up from hospital? Is he going to blame Vegas for the whole disaster? Damn. How did he allow himself to become so dependent on another person? This part of being in love sucks. Yes, Vegas is quietly going insane. He¡¯s sleep deprived, the guilt over killing Tem is wearing him down. He is heartbroken. When the doorbell rings after a week, he¡¯s glad for any interruption, even if it is only the mailman or some door-to-door salesperson. What he gets it so much better though, because in front of his door stands Pete, right arm in a sling, looking exhausted. ¡°Sorry, I forgot my key,¡± he apologises, with a faint smile. Vegas looks at him and wants to weep with gratitude. Instead he simply opens his arms and Pete walks right into his embrace. Both of them sigh deeply and just hold on to each other; Vegas feels as if the world has realigned itself and everything will be all right now. ¡°I missed you so damn much,¡± he whispers against Pete¡¯s hair. ¡°You have no idea how much I missed you.¡± Yes, with Pete around he will be able to cope.
¡°You¡¯re going to drive me crazy.¡± A few days later Pete is caught between exasperation and fondness, and Vegas feels himself blush. ¡°I¡¯m not an invalid, I can walk. It¡¯s the shoulder that was injured, not my feet. So if you don¡¯t start relaxing, I¡¯ll move back into my apartment,¡± he threatens. All right, so perhaps Vegas is overdoing it a bit when it comes to caring for Pete, but he can¡¯t help himself. He feels that it¡¯s his fault that Pete got shot, and he wants to make it up to him. ¡°Don¡¯t leave,¡± he begs, because the thought of not having Pete around is too scary to contemplate. ¡°I¡¯ll try to tone it down, I promise.¡± Pete arches an eyebrow at him; it¡¯s very clear he doesn¡¯t believe it even for a second. ¡°You better. Just stop fussing already. I¡¯m fine. You saw the wound, it¡¯s healing well. The doctor said to take it easy, he did not say bedrest. If you¡¯re so worried I will pass out, you can come along, but I¡¯m going for a short walk now. If you keep me locked up here, I¡¯ll start screaming and that will upset your neighbours.¡± Vegas thinks that his neighbours must be used to strange noises from his apartment by now but he doesn¡¯t say that out loud. Instead he glares at Pete and then goes to get his shoes. With one arm in a sling, Pete needs help tying the shoe laces. ¡°Fine. But only a short walk. We can go to the little caf¨¦ at the corner and have an ice cream.¡± ¡°Yes, mom,¡± Pete chuckles. He ruffles Vegas¡¯ hair affectionately while his shoes are getting tied. ¡°I appreciate what you are doing for me, Vegas, but you need to give me some space. You understand that, right?¡± Yes, Vegas understands, but he doesn¡¯t like it. ¡°Sorry. I will try not to be too clingy.¡± They head off for some ice cream, and Pete is right, he¡¯s doing much better. He doesn¡¯t even get tired during this outing. But Vegas worries nevertheless. He came too damn close to loosing Pete and now he¡¯s having the worst kind of separation anxiety. On the outside he¡¯s all smiles, but deep inside he¡¯s a bundle of raw nerves.
¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ black hair, white bone slivers, red blood, grey brain tissue¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ pale lips forming words¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ VEGAS¡­ The nightmares won¡¯t stop. They¡¯re Vegas¡¯ constant nightly companion nowadays. Dead Tem is haunting him unforgivingly, calling out to him, trying to speak through the white noise. At this point, Vegas can¡¯t even cry anymore, he just shudders silently in terror every time the dream confronts him with his friend¡¯s ruined, bloody face. He¡¯s started to sneak out of the bedroom as soon as Pete has fallen asleep to sleep on the couch, because he doesn¡¯t want to disturb him ¡°Vegas¡­¡± He whimpers in his sleep. I¡¯m so sorry. So sorry. Please forgive me, Tem. I¡¯m so damn sorry. ¡°Vegas¡­¡± Someone shakes him awake and he¡¯s disoriented for a moment, almost falling off the couch as he sits up. In the dim light of the living room he can make out Pete, standing beside the couch, looking down at him with a frown. ¡°Care to explain to me why you¡¯re sleeping on the couch, Vegas?¡± his boyfriend asks him softly. Oops, caught. ¡°Sorry?¡± Vegas sits up straight and tries to give him a smile, but in the aftermath of the nightmare it proves impossible. Pete sighs deeply. ¡°Do you want to talk about it?¡± ¡°Not really.¡± And that¡¯s very true. Vegas would rather keep pretending that nothing ever happened. If he doesn¡¯t talk about that night, maybe the memories of it will fade away eventually. ¡°Too bad, because I want to talk about it.¡± Pete sits down beside him. For a while, both of them stare silently into the darkness. ¡°Do you want a drink or do you want to talk about it while being sober?¡± ¡°I suppose that means you are going to ignore my wish not to talk about it?¡± Of course. Pete has donned his psychologist mask, which means Vegas is screwed. Damn. With a frustrated sigh, Vegas leans back on the couch and rubs his tired eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t think getting drunk will make this easier, so no thanks.¡± ¡°Fine.¡± Pete leans back too, and there is another long pause in the conversation. ¡°Do you have the nightmares every night, Vegas?¡± he eventually asks. ¡°I¡¯m not an idiot, I¡¯ve noticed that you¡¯re always sleeping on the couch, you know.¡± ¡°Sorry,¡± Vegas apologises again. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to wake you.¡± Another pause. ¡°Yeah, I am not sleeping too well these nights.¡± What an understatement. ¡°What are you dreaming about? That night?¡± ¡°Not exactly. Are you going to be pissed off when I tell you I dream about Tem?¡± Because that is a very real possibility as far as Vegas is concerned; Pete has a very jealous streak, and he has a feeling that Tem being dead doesn¡¯t change that. ¡°It¡¯s to be expected; it was a very traumatic event,¡± Pete shrugs, surprising him. ¡°Have you talked to anyone about that night?¡± ¡°I talked about it during the initial interview directly after it happened, but I haven¡¯t talked about it since.¡± ¡°You can¡¯t avoid it forever, Vegas. You need to talk about it, I¡¯m sure you have a lot of questions and thoughts about what happened.¡± ¡°No, I¡¯ll just read the inquiry notes eventually, that will be enough.¡± Denial is bliss. ¡°Bullshit.¡± Pete is calling him out. ¡°Go ahead. Ask me. I know you must have thought about it. Ask me.¡± Vegas sinks deeper into the couch. ¡°I have nothing to ask. It¡¯s over and done with, nothing is going to change what happened. Reading the official report will be enough.¡± ¡°Reading the official report won¡¯t give you the answers you need, don¡¯t be a stubborn idiot. You know that the report won¡¯t contain the entire truth.¡± Damn it, Pete is really determined to push this issue. ¡°So you are saying you lied during your interview?¡± Pete smirks in the darkness. ¡°Of course I did. As did you. The only ones who know what happened that night and why it happened are you and me. And we both have our reasons not to tell the entire truth.¡± ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have lied,¡± Vegas reminds him automatically, the cop part of him irritated about sabotage to the official procedures. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. ¡°I¡¯m really in no rush to loose my license because of our relationship,¡± Pete points out. ¡°Besides, you probably neglected to tell them about Tem¡¯s jealousy issues too, am I right? And for obvious reasons.¡± He sighs, sounding slightly annoyed. ¡°Don¡¯t be a coward, Vegas. Ask.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want to know, all right? Stop pressuring me, Pete.¡± Vegas is getting vexed, because he really doesn¡¯t want to revisit that horrible night, and there are certain facts he simply doesn¡¯t want to look into any closer. ¡°It¡¯s enough that he haunts my dreams, I¡¯m feeling guilty enough already. What do you want? An apology from me? Fine. I¡¯m sorry my jealous friend tried to kill you. I¡¯m so damn sorry I got you into this mess. And I¡¯m sorry for killing him too. I¡¯m sorry for everything, I don¡¯t know how many more times I have to repeat myself.¡± ¡°No one is blaming you, Vegas. That¡¯s not the point.¡± ¡°He is blaming me! Every damn night he is blaming me, looking at me with those accusing eyes, calling me, trying to talk to me!¡± Vegas clenches his hands into fists because he¡¯s upset and frustrated and tired and that makes it so easy for the anger to rise. He doesn¡¯t want to be angry with Pete, that would be unfair. ¡°You don¡¯t know that he is blaming you; it¡¯s just a projection of your fear that manifests as a nightmare, because you have no idea what he was talking about during that night, isn¡¯t that right, Vegas? You got stuck in your little bubble of silence again as soon as I was shot, and so all you have to go on is what he said before everything turned quiet, and the snippets of the conversation beforehand. And without the right context, this is scaring you. You¡¯re feeling so guilty for shooting him, you haven¡¯t even dared ask me what actually happened.¡± Wow, Pete is brutal and unfortunately quite right. Vegas flinches. ¡°Ask me,¡± Pete once again demands. ¡°I can tell you exactly what he said. Ask.¡± ¡°Can we please drop this?¡± Because Vegas remembers a few things Tem said before everything turned silent, and he really doesn¡¯t want to delve into this any further. Ignorance is bliss. Fat chance of Pete allowing this, though. ¡°Let¡¯s see¡­ I got a text message to meet you downtown, and when I went to park in the parking garage there, Tem was waiting for me. I instantly had a bad feeling, because your partner wasn¡¯t supposed to be in the city, he was supposed to be on leave. It was easy to see that he was very upset, and I found this alarming. That¡¯s why I decided it was better to be safe than sorry, and made the hidden call to you ¡­¡± Vegas swallows hard and closes his eyes. They¡¯re really going there, huh? Well, fuck. ¡°I asked him where you were, because at this point it was obvious that he used you as bait. He started talking about how he had it all figured out, that I was a bad person, that he would make sure that I¡¯d stay away from you from now on, and that you deserved better.¡± That does unfortunately sound very much like something a jealous Tem would say. Vegas sighs, he really does not want to hear this but it¡¯s useless trying to stop Pete now, he knows that. ¡°I told him I had no time for his antics, that I would leave because I didn¡¯t want to listen to his nonsense. Then I told him I was going to make a call. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, because I knew you¡¯d hear me better this way. And that¡¯s when he pulled the gun on me.¡± Pete turns his head to give Vegas a thoughtful look. ¡°I managed to warn you about the gun before he smacked the phone out of my hands. But I was fairly sure you¡¯d get the hint and come to the rescue. As you did.¡± ¡°I just don¡¯t understand what got into him to act this way¡­¡± Vegas says quietly, once again reliving the terror he felt after getting that phone call. ¡°Do you have any idea how terrified I was¡­?¡± His voice breaks and he just shakes his head. ¡°You thought it was your father, didn¡¯t you?¡± Pete asks, sympathy in his eyes. Vegas nods silently. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, Vegas. That must have scared the hell out of you. You weren¡¯t the only one scared, it was rather unsettling to have a gun pointed at me, I can tell you. Tem handcuffed me, took my phone, stuffed me into the back of my car and took me across town.¡± Pete pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts. ¡°You know, I called to check on my father,¡± Vegas tells him meanwhile. ¡°I called my brother and probably scared the hell out of him. I also thought it might have been Tawan who¡¯d snatched you¡­¡± ¡°I see. So what did you feel when you figured out where I was being taken?¡± Pete asks him quietly. Vegas can¡¯t suppress a shudder. ¡°I have never been so scared in my life, Pete. I was so damn scared, I think my mind froze. I thought I would be too late. The traffic was so bad, no matter what I did, it still took 40 minutes to catch up with you. You have no idea how terrified I was.¡± Vegas leans forward and buries his face in his hands. ¡°40 minutes. I thought you were at the mercy of this madman for 40 minutes¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, Vegas,¡± Pete apologies as if it is his fault that he was kidnapped. ¡°Honestly, I was just confused when I realised where Tem was taking me. It didn¡¯t make any sense. And when I saw the flowers on the stairs, I thought that maybe he was an accomplice, but that didn¡¯t make any sense either.¡± Another shiver runs through Vegas. ¡°I nearly lost it when I saw the flowers. I really thought I¡¯d find you dead at that point, horribly disfigured, and that it was all my fault for taking too long to get to you.¡± ¡°Oh Vegas¡­¡± Pete sighs and reaches out to gently ruffle Vegas¡¯ hair. ¡°No wonder you have nightmares, I¡¯m so sorry. I promise I will help you get over this trauma.¡± Vegas just swallows hard. ¡°Did Tem say anything about the flowers?¡± ¡°No. He just chuckled when he saw my shocked reaction to them. It was rather unnerving.¡± Pete gives Vegas a faint dimpled smile in the darkness. ¡°I have to admit when he started tying me to the pillar I started to get rather worried. But I knew you¡¯d come for me, so I tried my best to keep him occupied and distracted. Which wasn¡¯t all that difficult really, it was rather easy to push his buttons. As you could see from my bruises¡­¡± They both fall silent, lost in thoughts. Vegas has questions he doesn¡¯t dare to ask, the memory of Tem¡¯s voice running circles in his head¡ª¡®It¡¯s all a big fucking lie¡¯¡ªno, he really doesn¡¯t want to go there¡­ ¡°Ask.¡± Pete breaks the silence. ¡°Just get it over with and ask, Vegas.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want to,¡± Vegas admits. ¡°I¡¯m so damn scared of the answer, I don¡¯t want to ask.¡± ¡°You¡¯re scared that what he said is true, that I lied to you.¡± There it is, the elephant in the room, the unexploded bomb that Vegas is determined to stay away from as far as possible. The words that have been gnawing at him in the back of his mind ever since that night. Vegas swallows drily, but stays silent. He wants to run from the room, he hates himself for feeling this vulnerable about his feelings for Pete. ¡°If it weren¡¯t so tragic I¡¯d laugh¡­¡± Pete sighs again. ¡°It was all a big fucking misunderstanding, Vegas. The thing that triggered him was a damn misunderstanding. When he told you that I had been lying to you the whole time? He was talking about Tawan.¡± Vegas draws a startled breath and looks at Pete. He did not expect this. What does Tawan have to do with all this? Pete meets his eyes and smiles helplessly. ¡°Tem thought I was cheating on you with Tawan. That¡¯s what he meant. Apparently he was snooping around in my background, stalking me while we all thought he was taking care of his sick grandmother. He must have found out about Tawan somehow and drew the wrong conclusions, just like you did at first. It was all a damn misunderstanding.¡± Stunned doesn¡¯t even come close to describing how Vegas feels right now. No way. This is it? This whole damn nightmare happened because of a misunderstanding? No way. Fuck. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, Vegas. I tried to explain it to him but he wouldn¡¯t believe me. And then you showed up and you looked so damn upset that it made me angry. And I didn¡¯t want you even more upset, so I tried to make Tem shut up about his stupid theories, but that backfired spectacularly.¡± Vegas groans softly. Knowing all this makes it better but also so much worse. ¡°I was a bit out of it afterwards, but Tem got really upset at you for pointing your gun at him. He kept telling you about Tawan and you didn¡¯t react to it which is logical because you didn¡¯t hear him, but he didn¡¯t know that so he simply got more upset. I suppose he thought you were siding with me against him. If it¡¯s any consolation, I think you really saved my life when you took the shot. It sounded as if he was about to put a bullet in my head to remove me from your life once and for all.¡± Pete falls silent. And Vegas¡­ Vegas tries to come to terms with all the new information. ¡°What a fucking mess¡­¡± he whispers, shaking his head in defeat. ¡°What a fucking mess¡­ Why did Tem have to be so damn jealous? He should have just let me go, then he would be alive now. Shit. I shouldn¡¯t have encouraged him back then¡­ this is all my fault, I shouldn¡¯t have let him fall in love with me¡­ this is all my fault¡­¡± And the tears are back again, running down his face. He¡¯s already cried so much this past week and yet there seems to be no end in sight. But this time he¡¯s enveloped in a tight, warm embrace. Pete pulls him into his arms and holds him close, stroking his back softly. ¡°It¡¯s all right, let it all out. You¡¯ll feel much better afterwards. Go on, have a good cry. I¡¯m here. It¡¯s okay to fall apart now, I¡¯ll catch you.¡± And Vegas falls apart. He¡¯s been holding it together in front of Pete, he didn¡¯t want to be a bother, but now he just pours out all his grief over Tem and his anxiety about Pete dying; the sheer amount of emotions within him is unreal. When did he allow himself to care so much about other people? He should have known better. His father has taught him the hard way what caring for other people will lead to, and just look at the mess that it¡¯s caused. If only he hadn¡¯t allowed himself to care for Tem. If only he wasn¡¯t so desperately in love with Pete that it would make him shoot his best friend without hesitation. If only¡­ And Vegas cries and cries for the longest time, and true to his word, Pete is there, catching him, holding him together.
They get their phones back a few days later. Both of them have come to the agreement to treat these days off like a regular vacation, and they soon notice that neither of them has a clue what to do with quality time. Two workaholics with too much time on their hands, forbidden to do actual work. There are no chores to be done, the apartment is spotless, they can¡¯t renovate or paint anything because Pete is supposed to take it easy. Out of sheer desperation they decide to check out the local museums, and that keeps them more busy than either of them expected. Bangkok has a lot of museums. The last time Vegas was at a museum was with his mother, so that was a very long time ago. Pete grew up in an orphanage but says he visited some museums while studying abroad. Both of them are pleasantly surprised by how much fun they¡¯re having. It¡¯s wonderfully distracting. They¡¯re worn out but happy in the evenings, and sleep comes easily. Even the nightmares lessen; Tem doesn¡¯t visit Vegas¡¯ dreams more than once per night. Pete insists on buying a souvenir from every museum, and soon Vegas finds his apartment riddled with colourful decorative objects. They¡¯re having endless discussions about necessary vs unnecessary items and their fair share of laughter about it as well. Vegas never thought being suspended from work could turn out to be this enjoyable, but with Pete by his side it feels as if he¡¯s opened the doors to a whole new world. They¡¯re both like kids in a candy store, gleefully exploring the in and outs of being in a relationship and doing ¡®normal¡¯ things together as a couple. Vegas is still careful not to show his affection too openly when they¡¯re in public, but he can feel that Pete is wearing him down. Maybe he really is overestimating the threat his father poses. Then Vegas¡¯ phone rings and reality catches up with them again in a most unpleasant way. ¡°Vegas, I¡¯ll text you an address, meet me there. I think we got another one, but this one is a bit different. Oh, and you are no longer suspended, I cleared it with the captain. Now hurry up.¡± And then Arm just hangs up again without waiting for a reply. Vegas gives Pete an alarmed look; they were just about to go grocery shopping. ¡°Shit¡­ seems we ran out of time.¡±
When Vegas pulls up in front of the junkyard, it is with no small amount of trepidation. He¡¯s on his own; he¡¯s left a fuming Pete behind at home, ignoring all of his protests. Pete will make him pay for this, that much is for sure, but Vegas doesn¡¯t care. His boyfriend is still on sick leave, he can¡¯t come along. End of story. This is the first time Vegas actually sets foot in a junkyard. He has only seen them on TV until now. Definitely an interesting experience. It¡¯s located in yet another industrial area, but this one is bustling with life. Arm wasn¡¯t kidding when he said that this crime scene is different. This place is so lively it is freaking Vegas out. Wrecked cars are neatly stacked over each other in row after row. There are enormous piles of various rust covered car parts everywhere. The hot air tastes like rusty metal, machine oil and dust. What¡¯s new is that there are four patrol cars parked by the entrance and the officers are currently very busy keeping curious bystanders at bay. Some of them seem to be in a heated discussion with a small group of men. Part of the initial anxiousness drains out of Vegas and he slips back into his cop persona as he approaches them. He flashes his badge and arches an eyebrow. ¡°What is going on here?¡± Maybe he shouldn¡¯t have asked that, because now he finds himself the unwilling centre of attention. ¡°How much longer is this going to take? I have work to do,¡± complains one of the men wearing a worn tool belt. ¡°You can¡¯t just lock out our customers like this, we¡¯re losing business,¡± another interjects with frustration. ¡°If I¡¯d know it would cause this much disruption, I wouldn¡¯t have called you.¡± The third man doesn¡¯t look like a mechanic; perhaps he¡¯s the owner of the place. Vegas holds up his hands to stop them for a moment. ¡°I¡¯m sorry this crime scene is causing so much trouble for all of you, these friendly officers here will write a report about your complaints that you can then submit and see if there¡¯s the possibility of compensation.¡± His colleagues give him the evil eye for placing this work burden on them, and Vegas just grins and excuses himself after asking for the whereabouts of the CSI team. Is he worried? Yes. Because if Arm is correct about this, and he usually is, the dead person will be someone associated with him. So yes, Vegas is worried, but since all the people he cares about most are safe, he keeps telling himself that he will be able to handle this. Also, he simply can¡¯t imagine a truly gruesome murder scene here. There are just too many people around; the killer would have had no time for elaborate, horrifying arrangements. Vegas walks deeper into the labyrinth of the junkyard, following the directions he got. It¡¯s loud here too, he can hear the sound of cars driving past, and assorted machines at work somewhere nearby. Rounding another stack of gutted cars, he finally spies Arm and Pol further ahead. As he walks towards them, the stacks of corroded car wrecks turn into stacks of neat ¡®hay bales¡¯ of compacted cars. The crime scene seems to be centred around one of those metal ¡®hay bales¡¯. It¡¯s sitting on the dirty ground a few meters away from a larger machine that Vegas assumes to be a car crusher. This one has seen better days; it looks just as old and dirty as the surrounding metal scrap. Arm and Pol are fully suited up, overalls and all. Vegas stops at a distance to them and waves hello. ¡°Do I need to suit up as well?¡± ¡°Oh, there you are, Vegas. No, don¡¯t bother, this scene is a mess anyway, about a hundred people have been all over it, one more person won¡¯t make a difference. Come here, let me show you what we¡¯ve got.¡± Arm adjusts his glasses and beckons Vegas to come closer. The first thing Vegas notes when approaching cautiously is the familiar stench of decomposition. Hell, this one smells ripe. No wonder, they¡¯re out in the open. In these temperatures, decomposition will be rapid. And since they¡¯re out in the open, he knows what this also means¡ªflies. Oh, hell. The second thing he notices is that the compacted car in front of them is a good deal larger than the stacked car bales. Interesting. ¡°Why is this another size?¡± he asks Arm as he steps closer. ¡°And what exactly am I looking at here?¡± So far this really doesn¡¯t look like any of the nightmarish crime scenes he¡¯s been to before. Arm gladly explains everything to him; sometimes Vegas wonders if Arm likes hearing himself lecturing other people. ¡°The car crusher over there broke down over a week ago with this here stuck inside. Pol and another technician took a look¡ªit seems to have been deliberately sabotaged. This salvage yard has another, more modern crusher, so repairing this one was not a priority. Today, the service technician finally dropped by and opened up the crusher. The workers removed this nearly compacted wreck here. Then they noticed the smell. They took a closer look and called it in directly. I didn¡¯t think much of it first but well¡­ go and have a look yourself and you¡¯ll understand why I called you.¡± In all truth, Vegas does not want to find out where that smell comes from. He has a very active imagination, and by now a fair idea of what probably transpired. It can¡¯t be helped, he needs to take a closer look. The smell makes his stomach heave, but a quick glance at Arm, who is watching him closely, and he knows he better not show any signs of nausea if he values his life. The compacted car wreck looks like Vegas expects it to look, based on what he has seen on various TV shows. ¡°So I assume the crusher was stopped mid-work on purpose? To keep this car from being compacted completely?¡± Slowly, he makes his way around the huge rectangle of metal. He was right about the flies, they¡¯re buzzing around lazily, a whole cloud of them lifting when anyone gets too close to the car remains. Vegas can see maggots in various sizes as well, crawling through the dust surrounding the metal bale. Ewww¡­ disgusting! ¡°It appears that way,¡± Arm agrees and points down at something Vegas can¡¯t see from where he¡¯s standing. ¡°Take a look at this.¡± While Pol is collecting maggots with tweezers, Vegas rounds the smelly car wreck to be able to see what Arm is pointing at. Bloody hell. ¡°Is that¡­ a hand?¡± He needs to double-check with Arm because while the thing sticking out from between the sharp metal edges has the rough outline of a hand, it certainly doesn¡¯t look like a hand anymore. This might have to do with the missing fingertips, and the fact that the flesh that still remains attached to the bones and tendons is discoloured and crawling with maggots. Yuck! ¡°Bingo,¡± Pol mumbles from the side. ¡°I need more maggots from inside the crusher,¡± Arm reminds his assistant coolly. ¡°Am I correct in the assumption that the rest of the body attached to this hand is inside this compressed pile of car junk?¡± Just that hand wouldn¡¯t smell that badly. ¡°I admit this is unusual, but why do you think this is one of ours?¡± ¡°I¡¯m afraid you need to look closer at the spaces between the metal, Vegas.¡± And then Arm adds sternly, ¡°Try to hold your breath, no throwing up on my crime scene, remember.¡± ¡°Yeah yeah yeah¡­¡± The things he has to endure as a cop¡­ Vegas sighs and leans down to take a closer look, trying very hard to breathe as little as possible. Another cloud of flies lifts and buzzes around his head and face, and it¡¯s very hard to resist the urge to swat at them. Arm is right, there is something stuck between the metal; and not just in one place, but several. What is this? It looks blackish, kind of melted? Arm hands him a spotlight and when Vegas turns it on, his stomach drops. Flowers. Wilted flowers. Very familiar wilted flowers. ¡°Shit.¡± ¡°There was a card too,¡± Arm adds quietly. What the fuck?! ¡°A card? Are you kidding me?¡± This is new. Is this an escalation? For a moment he wishes Pete were here to give his professional opinion. Arm holds out a plastic evidence bag. Inside of it is a small card, the size of a business card. It seems to be one of those cards you can order to go along a bouquet of flowers. The side facing Vegas has little balloons printed all over it. Then Arm turns the bag around so that Vegas can see the back of the card. ¡®You¡¯re welcome¡¯ is neatly printed on it. Shit. The sheer nerve of it. Vegas can feel himself getting angry. ¡°What an asshole,¡± Vegas growls. ¡°Pretty cheeky, yes.¡± Arm seems to find this amusing. ¡°I wonder what he¡¯ll do next¡­¡± ¡°And I hope there won¡¯t be a next time, because that would mean that yet another innocent person got murdered,¡± Vegas reminds him, visibly irritated. ¡°What are your plans now? Do you even have space for this in your lab? How are you going to transport the wreck, by truck?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll borrow one of the trucks from here and then we take the wreck to the harbour. I already made a call to a friend who works at Customs, we¡¯ll run it through one of their Container X-Ray machines there. Based on those images it¡¯ll be easier for me to take the thing apart bit by bit then. It will take a while though, I¡¯m sorry.¡± Arm doesn¡¯t sound sorry, he sounds delighted with the challenge this poses. Vegas sighs deeply and swats at the flies. ¡°I am so tired of this shit. Anything else you need me for right now? If not I will put those good colleagues of ours at the entrance to work canvassing the area, I bet this time we¡¯ll have an abundance of CCTV and dash cam footage to go through.¡± ¡°Go ahead, knock yourself out. Go back at least 10 days. Up to 14 days, just to be safe.¡± Arm shrugs, already back to taking notes on his tablet. ¡°You can tell them I need another hour and then they can help me with the removal of this, so that everyone can go back to work.¡± ¡°All right, give me a call as soon as you find out more, I¡¯m curious to know what the X-Ray will show.¡± Vegas waves goodbye and heads back towards the entrance of the junkyard. A car crusher. Seriously? Where does their killer get his inspiration from, horror movies? And that card. He has a feeling this card will be pretty significant. What worries him most is the body. Who will it be? How was that person connected to him? I¡¯m sorry, Vegas thinks tiredly. One more person is dead because of him. He¡¯s turning out to be quite an angel of death and all against his will. Vegas left his family to get away from all the violence and the killings, but apparently this is his destiny and nothing he can run away from.
¡°I come in peace, bearing gifts.¡± Cautiously, Vegas enters his apartment, carrying the bag with the take-away food. Pete was pretty irritated with him when he left, which means it¡¯s better to be prepared for some sort of retaliation. All is silent. Vegas doesn¡¯t know if he should be relieved or worried. And to be honest, deep down he finds this rather exciting. Tiptoeing forward, he takes a peak into the living room. Oh, dear. Pete is sitting on the couch, reading. Wearing glasses. Vegas heart happily skips a beat. So cute. Even in anger he¡¯s cute, because Pete must still be irritated, otherwise he would have answered Vegas when he called out. ¡°I bring peace offerings?¡± Vegas takes a step into the room, on guard. Pete very slowly lowers the book and studies Vegas and the bag dangling from his outstretched hand as if they¡¯re alien visitors. Vegas feels a shiver of trepidation mixed with excitement running through him. No, Pete still hasn¡¯t forgiven him. Another cautious step forward and Pete throws one of the decorative pillows into his face. Hard. Oww. Vegas nearly drops the bag with the food. ¡°Oh, come on¡­ Yellow curry rice¡­ with extra chillis¡­¡± Another pillow hits his head before he can duck away. Pete has very good aim. Vegas checks to make sure he¡¯s throwing with his left hand; he wouldn¡¯t want Pete to strain his injured shoulder after all. There are a lot of pillows left to throw. ¡°¡­ Honey¡­¡± This time he manages to duck to the side and the pillow sails past his head and hits the wall behind him. Pete still hasn¡¯t said a word, although his eyes narrowed ever so slightly when Vegas called him ¡®Honey¡¯. Hmmm¡­ ¡°¡­ Sweetie¡­¡± Vegas feels like a matador, taking a step towards the couch and at the same time sidestepping the angry bull elegantly as another pillow swooshes past him. He¡¯s slowly making his way towards Pete. ¡°¡­ Sugar¡­¡± It¡¯s difficult to keep the laughter out of his voice as another pillow hits his side. ¡°¡­ Cutie¡­¡± He tries to calculate how many more steps he needs, and how many pillows are left on the couch. Pete glowers at him but Vegas can see his lips twitching slightly. ¡°¡­ Babe¡­¡± Vegas makes a dash for it, ducking beneath another pillow, and then he¡¯s standing right in front of Pete, smiling down at him. Pete glares at him, but the usual darkness is missing from his gaze. In fact, he appears irritated but reluctantly amused. Their eyes lock and Vegas feels the all familiar heat unfurl in the depth of his stomach. ¡°Don¡¯t be angry with me, Sunshine,¡± Vegas pleads softly. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Pete just huffs with irritation, and he looks so damn adorable in his anger that Vegas drops the plastic bag without a second thought and straddles him. The glasses are cute but in the way; Vegas plucks them off Pete¡¯s nose and carelessly drops them somewhere to the side. ¡°Let me make it up to you.¡± And then he dives in for a kiss. Just one or two kisses to placate Pete, he tells himself. That should work. But Vegas still hasn¡¯t learned that there is no such thing as ¡®just one or two¡¯ when it comes to Pete. The second their lips touch all reason disappears from his mind just like a popping soap bubble. Poof, gone. Vegas digs his fingers into Pete¡¯s hair as desire sweeps over him like a storm surge. ¡°Vegas¡­¡± Pete protests breathlessly. ¡°Later¡­¡± Vegas mumbles heatedly, and there is more urgent kissing for a while. ¡°I¡¯m still angry¡­¡± Pete mutters between kisses. ¡°Later¡­¡± Vegas nips playfully at Pete¡¯s throat and starts to unzip his pants. ¡°Don¡¯t think you¡¯ll distract me with this¡­¡± Pete warns him and then groans as Vegas¡¯ hands dive into his underwear, going straight for his cock. ¡°Later¡­¡± Vegas goes for another deep kiss as he starts to stroke Pete¡¯s cock. ¡°Later¡­¡± Pete agrees with a moan. And then they¡¯re busy; the food gets cold, the anger is forgotten, there is just the two of them, once again caught up in the seemingly bottomless sea of lust and desire that exists between them.
¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ black hair, white bone slivers, red blood, grey brain tissue¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ pale lips forming words¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ VEGAS¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ VEGAS¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ VEGAS YOU HAVE TO¡­ With a gasp, Vegas jerks awake, his heart racing like crazy. Go away. Leave me alone Tem. I¡¯m sorry, but just leave me alone. All I want to do is to live my life. I¡¯m sorry. Just go away. He snuggles up against Pete and goes back to sleep.
Arm has sent the X-rays, and Vegas spends his first day back at work alone in his office, typing up the crime scene report while consulting Pol¡¯s photos and video footage. A box in the corner holds a large amount of CCTV tapes and dash cam memory cards that he will need to go through over the next few days. He will certainly not be bored, that much is sure. Which is good, because the office is awfully empty without Pete or Tem. First thing this morning Vegas emptied Tem¡¯s desk. That hurt badly. Now he just wants to forget and move on, ignore the way everyone at the police station is looking at him. His colleagues are talking behind his back as well, but that¡¯s nothing new, he can live with that¡ªhe¡¯s lived with it for years now. Vegas Theerapanyakul, Mafia heir turned cop. He¡¯s ignored the gossip in the past, and he will do the same thing now. Work will keep him busy. On the way home from work, Vegas does an emergency grocery run; apparently Pete has discovered cooking tutorials on YouTube, and is determined to put Vegas through ¡®How spicy can the food be before Vegas gets blisters in his mouth¡¯ hell. They will need to have a talk about this soon because Vegas really really doesn¡¯t like spicy food. He parks his car in the garage and unloads the large paper bags with vegetables. Did he really get everything Pete texted him? He has the feeling he forgot something. Frowning, Vegas lifts one of the bags to glance inside it while making his way towards the elevator. That moment of distraction is all it takes. Something hits him in the back, and immediately all of his muscles spasm. A wave of shooting, excruciating pain floods his entire body. The paper bags fall to the ground as Vegas looses the ability to move his arms and hands, the vegetables rolling over the ground. His body jerks as all the muscles contract. He feels frozen; he falls and there is nothing he can do about it. Vegas hits the concrete hard, unable to do anything, incapacitated by the agonising pain. He can¡¯t speak. He can¡¯t think. He¡¯s completely stunned. ¡°Gotcha.¡± Someone enters his field of vision, but everything is blurred by pain, so Vegas can¡¯t process what he¡¯s seeing. The person snickers softly. ¡°Say goodnight, Vegas.¡± And then something hits the side of his head hard, and everything goes dark. Chapter 19 ¡°How fine you look when dressed in rage. Your enemies are fortunate your condition is not permanent. You¡¯re lucky, too. Red eyes suit so few.¡± His head hurts. This is the first thing Vegas takes note of when he regains consciousness. He has a splitting headache; the right side of his head is pounding in sync with his heartbeat. His head is not the only thing hurting; his entire body is aching. All his muscles are sore as hell, as if he¡¯s been running a marathon. Even the muscles around his eyes hurt when he tries to open them, so he stops trying. Bloody hell. What the hell happened? The last thing he remembers is carrying in the groceries and then¡ªshit! Someone tasered him! They got tasered in training at the academy once. A nasty experience and now it happened again! Which of course leads to the next question: who tasered him? Tick tock, tick tock¡­ did I run out of time? Seriously? Already? Terror is flooding Vegas. No, he¡¯s not ready for this yet. This is so unfair, he wants to live! The anxiety rising within him pushes the pain aside for a moment. Think Vegas, think! As the daze in his mind recedes he becomes aware of several things: he seems to be seated on some sort of hard, cool surface, with his legs stretched out before him and his back resting against another hard surface. Bare skin against¡­ stone? ¡­ bare skin¡­? Vegas shifts a bit¡­ good, he¡¯s still wearing his boxers it seems. His arms¡­ they hurt¡­ they¡¯re raised, hanging in mid air? Bloody hell. Vegas tries again to open his eyes and his time he succeeds. At first he thinks he¡¯s gone blind, because there¡¯s just darkness. Then the darkness slowly dissolves into vague shapes. There is no light source nearby; the only dim light filtering in is through large windows somewhere to his right. It seems to be nighttime. And now Vegas can also see what is wrong with his arms; they¡¯re handcuffed to some sort of chain that goes up towards the ceiling high above. Very high above. What is this place? The thought is immediately followed by indignation. He¡¯s chained up like an animal! What the fuck?! He¡¯s not a pet! He¡¯s going to kill whoever did this! Vegas turns his head to scrutinise his surroundings, ignoring his screaming muscles, and is puzzled by what he can make out in the darkness. This seems to be some sort of loft apartment? It¡¯s certainly not at all what he expected; he was betting on some abandoned office space or perhaps an old factory. This here is ¡­ odd. Doesn¡¯t really fit the pattern. Judging from the huge windows, the high ceiling and unplastered walls, this seems to be a converted former industrial building. And judging from the furniture he can make out, it is a very much lived-in loft apartment. What the hell is going on? And damn, Pete is going to be so worried. Vegas looks around, searching for his clothes, but can¡¯t see them anywhere. He just hopes whoever took him forgot about his phone, then Pete can track him. The cop part of him rears his head and tells him not to get his hopes up. They didn¡¯t find any phones or other personal belongs at the other crime scenes. The guy is too smart, Vegas thinks with a sinking heart. He wouldn¡¯t make this sort of mistake. Fuck fuck fuck! Vegas struggles to pull himself up on his feet. Everything aches like hell. Damn taser! He needs to get the hell out of here before the crazy dude comes back and turns him into ¡¯Art Project¡¯ #5. He needs to get himself unchained¡­ and there he runs into the first problem. A closer look at his wrists and his heart sinks. The handcuffs themselves are bad enough; they¡¯re maximum security handcuffs and it will be next to impossible to open them even if he finds a tool. But the handcuffs aren¡¯t his only problem, no, that jerk has also used duct tape to tape his wrists together and¡ªseriously, this is so overkill¡ªVegas can see flex cuffs too. Fuck fuck fuck! He is so screwed. Another wave of anxiety hits Vegas full force. He doesn¡¯t want to die yet! He has a visual flashback to buckets full of glistening intestines, and barely suppresses a whimper. He doesn¡¯t want to die! Not like this! Not yet! The chain, then¡­ what about the chain? The way the chain is connected to the handcuffs might be the weak link? No luck here either. It looks like a heat-treated steel chain with padlock rings, just like the ones used for high security transports of prisoners. Just longer. Way longer. Vegas looks up and for a moment dizziness washes over him as the right side of his head protests against the movement. The ceiling is about four meters above him, the chain winds through some sort of metal ring there ¡­ no¡­ is that a pulley?¡­ and then goes on and on to the side, through another pulley and then down again across the room, way out of his reach. Fuck! Vegas yanks at the chain, but that only results in some sort of chain reaction in the pulley system that makes the chain shorter; now the chain allows him to lower his hands to about waist height, but if he sits down again they¡¯ll be stretched way above his head. Shit. It¡¯s a struggle to keep the mounting anxiety at bay. Think, Vegas, think! His circle of movement is restricted by the chain and there¡¯s nothing, simply nothing, in his vicinity that he could use as a tool or as a weapon. Someone planned ahead. Not good. Think, Vegas, think! Vegas closes his eyes, takes a few deep breaths and then listens. Dead silence. No, wait¡­ far away he can make out the sounds of car engines, a road maybe? Will it be worth calling for help? The killer could be nearby, he could alert him to the fact that Vegas has regained consciousness. That would be bad. Maybe wait until daytime to call, to increase the chances of other people being around to hear him? Fuck! Vegas is so damn stressed. He doesn¡¯t want to die! Macau¡­ Oh God, he can¡¯t leave his little brother behind, his father is going to have a field day when Vegas disappears, crying some crocodile tears and then making Macau¡¯s life a living hell. Cannot let this happen! And Pete¡­ He¡¯s not ready to leave Pete behind either. No way. He just found him, he refuses to be separated from him. He wants a long and happy, and probably very chaotic, life with Pete. I don¡¯t want to die! I¡¯m not going to die! Not here, not yet, not now!
Eventually dawn comes, and with it more light filtering through the windows. By now, Vegas has had to face the grim reality that his phone must be switched off or has been left behind, because otherwise Pete would surely have sent the police after him already. So he¡¯s on his own, and if he wants to get out of here alive, he will only have himself to rely on. At least now he can get a better idea of the place he¡¯s kept in. It¡¯s indeed a loft apartment, open spaced. A kitchen area in one corner, but unfortunately far away from Vegas. Something akin to an office a bit further to the side; he can see a laptop there and a printer. A table and some chairs close to the kitchen, and assorted seats, couches and coffee tables arranged in small groups all over the large area. A large bed on the side the furthest away from him. The end of the chain seems to be close to a door that he assumes to be the entrance. There is another door, maybe leading to a bathroom. Vegas can see potted plants that seem to be thriving; there is also a basket of fresh fruits on the kitchen counter. An empty glass and a bottle of wine on one of the couch tables. Someone lives here. More importantly for him though, he spots a plastic bottle of water nearby. It would have been within easy reach had he tried to get it while still being seated, but now the chain has shortened and he has to work hard to reach it with his outstretched leg to roll it towards him. Water, great. Vegas is thirsty. There is a chance the water has been tampered with, but that¡¯s a chance he¡¯s willing to take. He drinks a bit but decides to keep some in reserve. With the edge of the handcuffs he scratches a small mark into the wall behind him. Keeping track of time might be a good idea. And time he has. Lots of time. Vegas is getting tired, so he sits down, but in that position his hands are now raised above his head, which is very uncomfortable in the long run. But he needs to rest, he needs to keep his strength up in order to fight and so he falls into a fitful sleep riddled with nightmares of Tem, shouting his name, telling him¡­ something¡­ but he always wakes up before Tem gets to the point. He sits, then he stands for a while, until his legs start hurting, then he sits down again until his wrists, arms and shoulders hurt too much and he has to get up again. It gets warm in the loft during the day. The air-conditioning isn¡¯t working, or there is none. Vegas is glad he¡¯s only wearing his boxers. He throws caution to the wind and shouts for help but there is no reaction and eventually he gives up when his throat starts hurting. He can still hear the cars far away, but nothing else. Wherever this apartment is located, it must be pretty deserted in the area. Vegas is hungry as well, but hunger can easily be ignored. His father used to lock him up in his room or in the cellar for a day without any food. He rations his water but by the evening the bottle is empty. At least he can use it to pee in now. Vegas mood shifts like the sun; between anxiety, anger and desperation. The asshole wants to play mind games with him? Just you wait. I¡¯m going to fucking kill you if you get anywhere close to me. I am going to wrap this chain around your neck and choke the life out of you. I¡¯ll drag you down to hell with me.
Another day, another mark on the wall. Vegas is hungry and thirsty and by now very grumpy. He feels sweaty and dirty, his wrists are aching like hell and he has a lump on the side of the head where he was knocked out, which aches as well. He¡¯s fed up with this situation. He¡¯s fed up with waiting. He¡¯s fed up with being treated like a dog. He hates the chain. He hates the handcuffs. He hates everything! When he hears sounds coming from the direction of the entrance, he¡¯s vastly relieved. He just wants to get this over with¡ªcome and try to kill me already. And if not, give me food and water, damn it! Vegas gets back up on his feet and watches the door warily. It swings open and the person who enters is the very last person he expected to see. Seriously? Seriously?! Anxiety turns into white hot rage. ¡°Look who¡¯s up again¡­ How are you doing, Vegas? Enjoying your stay here?¡± Tawan strolls into the apartment with a gleeful smile on his face as he looks Vegas over. The murderous look on Vegas¡¯ face makes him pause for a second, then he heads over to where the chain is secured against the wall and pulls sharply. As a result, Vegas¡¯ hands get yanked up high above his head, his circle of movement thereby suddenly severely restricted. Vegas growls, and Tawan laughs. ¡°What the fuck do you think you¡¯re doing, you lunatic?! Has no one ever told you that you can¡¯t just go around kidnapping people?¡± Vegas snarls, seething with anger. ¡°I knew you were not the quickest bunny in the forest but this certainly is the dumbest thing you could have come up with as revenge for the beating I gave you.¡± Tawan narrows his eyes in annoyance and yanks on the chain again. Now Vegas is forced to stand on his toes and yeah, that hurts. ¡°It would be wise of you to shut up, Vegas. You¡¯re not the one in charge here right now, I am, and I can do whatever I want to you. So shut your filthy mouth or suffer the consequences.¡± Vegas looks at Tawan, the rich boy in the designer suit with the expensive haircut, doing his best to intimidate and scare him, and he can feel the corners of his mouth starting to twitch. All the anxiety and fear of the last day unloads itself; Vegas¡¯ shoulders starts shaking. At first he tries to hold it in, but then he gives up and bursts out laughing. His whole body is shaking with mirth, he laughs and laughs, and seeing Tawan¡¯s face go all red with humiliation just makes him laugh even harder. ¡°Stop it!¡± Tawan hisses. ¡°Shut up!¡± He gets up close to Vegas and shoves him hard, and since Vegas is more or less dangling from the chain he swings against the wall, skin scraping against the stone there. Ouch. But even that doesn¡¯t stop him from laughing. The thing that does make him shut up is Tawan using the handle of a broom he got from somewhere to hit him hard across the chest. Fuck! Vegas breathes through the pain and glares at the other man, panting hard. ¡°Asshole¡­¡± he mutters and receives another hit. Fuck! ¡°Don¡¯t like that, do you? Well, there is plenty more of that for you,¡± Tawan chuckles, sounding deranged. Pete wasn¡¯t kidding, this guy is troubled. ¡°Not so nice to be on the receiving end of violence for once, is it? How do you like it, Vegas? Want some more?¡± Tawan rams the end of the broom handle into his solar plexus, which knocks the wind out of Vegas, pushing him against the wall once more, and leaving him gasping for air. ¡°What do you want?¡± Vegas asks breathlessly, as soon as he¡¯s able to talk again. ¡°Money? An apology?¡± ¡°I want you to suffer.¡± Tawan glares at him and starts pacing back and forth. ¡°I want you to hurt. I want you to be in pain. I want you to beg me to let you go. I want you to walk away from Pete and never ever get anywhere close to him again.¡± Vegas can¡¯t help it, he snorts with derision. He¡¯s supposed to take this deranged puppy seriously? He expected to be dealing with a truly disturbing serial killer and this is what he gets? And now he¡¯s supposed to be scared? Boy, do I have news for you. ¡°You have obvious mental health issues,¡± he informs Tawan curtly. ¡°You abducted a police officer, imprisoned him here, you¡¯re threatening him and using force to hurt him. Newsflash you nutcase, you¡¯re going to jail. I hope your little temper tantrum here is worth it when you are locked up for a couple of years, but don¡¯t worry, maybe I¡¯ll allow Pete to send you a postcard every second year.¡± As expected, this gets him a good beating with the broom handle. Vegas allows his body to swing along with the strikes because that way it hurts less. He knows. You could say he¡¯s had years of practice being a punching bag. The thought makes him chuckle again; he grunts through the pain and chuckles some more, driving Tawan into a frenzy. For a moment Tawan¡¯s face blends with the memory of his father¡¯s enraged features, so angry because a stubborn teenaged Vegas doesn¡¯t make any sound during the beating he¡¯s receiving. ¡°Is that all you got?¡± Vegas wheezes as he¡¯s being battered and laughs. ¡°You bloody amateur. You want me to suffer? I¡¯m Vegas Theerapanyakul, you asshole. I¡¯m the fucking crown prince of the minor Theerapanyakul family. Since my early childhood I¡¯ve been subjected to a level of violence that would make you wet your pants and curl up in a corner. Just bring it on. You better pray the police gets you before my family does because my uncle will remove your bones one at a time.¡± And then he receives yet another hit to the head¡ªnot again!¡ªand everything goes dark.
Vegas awakens to a world of pain. He¡¯s still dangling from the damn chain, his hands and arms are so numb he can¡¯t even feel them anymore, and the rest of his body signals the all-familiar, painful aftermath of a beating. If someone were to ask him, he¡¯d rank this as ¡®medium¡¯ when it comes to the level of pain he¡¯s had to endure in his life so far. Irksome, but he¡¯s had worse. It doesn¡¯t feel as if any ribs are broken; he can breathe just fine. When it comes to his head, he¡¯d rather not get any further hits there or he¡¯ll spiral straight into a concussion again. He¡¯s probably pretty bruised, Vegas assumes. Kind of hard to check right now, it¡¯s dark, so it must be nighttime again. That asshole Tawan has just left him hanging here. With a groan, Vegas stretches his legs and feet until his toes touch the ground and there is a little less strain on his hands. He won¡¯t be able to do this for long periods, so this will be a night without any rest. Fuck. The most urgent problem right now is that he¡¯s thirsty. Really thirsty. He mouth is dry, his throat is dry. This isn¡¯t good. He can go without food for a bit longer, but he desperately needs water soon. Pete must be pretty upset by now, Vegas worries, and wonders if the police is looking for him. Because if they are, this means his family knows as well, and isn¡¯t that going to complicate things when he¡¯s found? Everyone is most likely so upset right now, and all because of a spoiled brat with issues. Tawan deserves a good beating for all this, and Vegas will take great pleasure in doling out punishment once he gets out of these handcuffs. Damn, his shoulders ache. Vegas grits his teeth and glares into the darkness. I¡¯m going to fucking kill you, you bastard.
The days blend into each other. Tawan comes and goes, he gloats, rages, whines, beats and threatens Vegas. He makes the mistake to get too close to Vegas and gets a nice hard kick into his crown jewels, courtesy of Vegas. Tawan¡¯s howls of agony are extremely satisfying to listen to. They¡¯re even worth the cigarette burns to the arms that Vegas receives in retaliation. Just some more scars to add to the old ones¡ªas if his father hasn¡¯t subjected him to something like this before. Vegas laughs into Tawan¡¯s face as the glowing end of the cigarette burns his skin. He laughs because he refuses to groan in pain. How long has he been here now? Two days, three days, four days? Vegas marks the wall and bides his time. At least he¡¯s gotten some water and food. Tawan wants to keep him alive; he was most unhappy when Vegas started to pass out from dehydration. Yes, the idiot wants Vegas to submit, to beg for his freedom, to renounce Pete. He wants Vegas to be utterly broken. As if this will ever happen. Vegas simply endures whatever violence is thrown at him, because this is something he excels at, and because he firmly believes that the police will come soon to set him free. It¡¯s only a matter of time. He throws the bottle of pee at Tawan. It¡¯s extremely satisfying to see the guy curse and then having to wipe up the mess. Vegas receives a lashing with a leather belt and fuck, that really hurts, he has some very nasty welts from that afterwards. But Tawan is so weak, the skin doesn¡¯t even break. Unlike when his father used the belt on him. He still has some scars from that. I¡¯m so going to kill you, Vegas glares at the other man who keeps taunting him, while fantasising about ramming the plastic bottle down his throat until he chokes on it. You are so dead, I am so going to kill you if I get the chance.
Instead of a SWAT team, there¡¯s a knock on the door. Tawan has been drinking wine and using Vegas as a target practise, shooting golf balls at him. Thankfully he doesn¡¯t hit all that often. Vegas¡¯ hands are currently at the height of his head; he¡¯s holding on to the chain to keep the pressure from the handcuffs off his swollen and aching wrists. The knock startles both of them. And what startles Vegas even more is that Tawan places his wine glass on the table and then strolls to the door, apparently totally unconcerned with anyone finding out that he has a man chained up in his apartment. What the fuck?! The man really is a nutcase! The door opens and Vegas¡¯ heart stops. Nonono. What the hell is Pete doing here? Nonono. This is bad. This is so very bad. Why did he not call the cops? What the hell is he thinking, coming here on his own?! Tawans¡¯ whole face lights up with a wide smile and Vegas wants to rip his throat out. Don¡¯t touch him, he thinks. Don¡¯t even think about touching Pete. If Pete¡¯s sudden appearance didn¡¯t stress him out so much, Vegas would weep with happiness. He honestly didn¡¯t expect to see him again and now that he¡¯s here the emotions are simply overwhelming. God, he loves this damn idiot so much. ¡°Took you long enough,¡± Tawan drawls and gestures for Pete to enter. Pete in turn gives Tawan a dimpled, gentle smile. He reminds Vegas very much of the innocent, naive therapist during their first therapy session. What the fuck? Vegas doesn¡¯t move, he feels frozen in place. Once Pete enters the apartment, it¡¯s pretty much impossible for him not to see chained-up Vegas and yet Pete doesn¡¯t spare him more than a glance in passing. This is more distressing to Vegas than the beatings he¡¯s been subjected to these past few days. Tawan leads, heading for one of the seating areas nearby, and Pete follows him leisurely, while completely ignoring Vegas¡¯ presence. This seems to please Tawan. ¡°Would you like a glass of wine, Pete?¡± The way he leers at Pete makes Vegas want to gouge out his eyes. Mine. And what the hell is Pete up to? Why is he ignoring Vegas? ¡°Red wine? Yes, please.¡± Pete hasn¡¯t stopped smiling since he entered. He takes a seat on the couch, so relaxed and apparently unconcerned that Vegas doesn¡¯t know what to make of this situation so he stays silent, just observing everything for now. ¡°I have to admit I am a bit disappointed, Pete. I expected you a bit earlier.¡± Tawan pours Pete a glass of wine and hands it to him, then sits down right next to him. Vegas grits his teeth to keep himself from making an outraged sound. He feels like a guard dog on a leash that wants to attack an intruder. ¡°You didn¡¯t make it easy.¡± Pete sounds so mellow and gentle, it¡¯s unnerving. He takes a sip of the wine and nods his head in appreciation of the taste. ¡°A very good wine, as usual you have immaculate taste, Tawan.¡± ¡°I knew you would like it, I bought it specifically for you.¡± Tawan looks at Pete like a lovesick puppy, as if Pete is the centre of his world. Vegas¡¯ fingers clench around the hated chain. He imagines it¡¯s Tawan¡¯s throat. ¡°I¡¯m so glad you finally came to me, Pete. I¡¯ve missed you so much.¡± ¡°It would have been easier for me to come to you if you had left your new address,¡± Pete admonishes him gently, taking another sip of his wine. ¡°Imagine my surprise when I found out that you had moved. Finding your new whereabouts was rather troublesome and took up a lot of my time.¡± He looks at Tawan with a smile, but there¡¯s an invisible edge to his words. Vegas feels himself tense slightly, but Tawan seems oblivious to the fine nuances of Pete¡¯s voice. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to make it too easy for you.¡± The other man downs his wine with one gulp, places the empty glass back on the low table and then has the audacity to put his hand on Pete¡¯s thigh. ¡°You¡¯ve been so naughty, Pete, having your little fling with Vegas. You deserved a bit of punishment.¡± ¡°I see¡­¡± Pete makes no move to remove the hand that is stroking his leg. ¡°So you punished me by¡­¡± He arches a questioning eyebrow at Tawan who seems entirely too pleased with himself. ¡°By taking your toy away of course.¡± Tawan nods in the direction of Vegas. ¡°I honestly do not know what you find interesting about him. He¡¯s no fun to play with at all.¡± He shrugs and pouts like a little boy; Vegas finds it disgusting and glares at Tawan with murder in his eyes. Pete turns his head and for the first time really looks at Vegas standing there, all bruised and dirty and messed up, clinging to the chain he¡¯s tied to like a dog on a leash. He takes his time thoroughly inspecting him, his facial expression staying ever so pleasant, but through all this he avoids meeting Vegas¡¯ eyes. And Vegas hates every second of it. Pete shouldn¡¯t see him like this, so weak and useless and abused. He hates it, and he hates Tawan for exposing him like this God, how he hates Tawan. ¡°Oh, Tawan¡­¡± Something in the tone of Pete¡¯s soft voice makes the hair on the back of Vegas¡¯ neck stand up. ¡°Sometimes I think all the therapy lessons with you have been for nothing, it really seems you did not listen to a single thing I¡¯ve been trying to teach you. What a shame. What a waste of my time, and your money¡­¡± Tawan must be so besotted with Pete that he is unable to pick up on the alarming undercurrent in Pete¡¯s monologue, which sends goosebumps of apprehension down Vegas¡¯ spine. He knows that tone. He knows that tone very well. From the rooftop. And from the situation in the office right before Pete snapped. But Tawan doesn¡¯t notice that anything is amiss; instead he smiles and reaches out to stroke Pete¡¯s face. ¡°We don¡¯t need those idiotic sessions anyway, Pete. Now that we¡¯re together, we can spend the time on other things, just you and me, as it¡¯s supposed to be.¡± Pete¡¯s soft-dimpled smile is beyond scary; Vegas actually shudders and instinctively inches backwards against the wall, watching the situation unfold with wide, wary eyes. ¡°Tawan, dear¡­ let me just teach you one final thing, and then we can put the whole therapy behind us once and for all, all right?¡± Tawan nods, so oblivious that his gentle therapist has morphed into a bloodthirsty predator that Vegas almost feels sorry for him. Almost, but not quite. He¡¯s more than ready for Pete choking the living daylights out of this idiot. Serves him right. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. But what happens next is something entirely unexpected. ¡°Tawan¡­¡± Pete leans in and places a soft kiss on Tawan¡¯s lips. Vegas can¡¯t believe his eyes. ¡°You remember what I told you about toys? I don¡¯t think you do, so let me remind you again¡­¡± He reaches out and caresses Tawan¡¯s cheek gently, and Tawan leans into the touch, blatant yearning written all over his handsome features. ¡°If you take someone else¡¯s toys, you need to be able to deal with the consequences. You see¡­ some people don¡¯t like it when you steal their toys and damage them.¡± Pete gives Tawan an angelic smile while at the same moment casually smacking the rim of his wine glass against the edge of the couch table, causing it to partially break. And before Vegas and Tawan can process what is happening, Pete forcefully rams the broken glass into Tawan¡¯s throat. To say that Vegas is shocked by the development would be a colossal understatement. He expected Pete to choke Tawan, maybe knock him out. He didn¡¯t expect Pete to go totally feral. Not like this. Vegas clings to the chain and watches the bloody mayhem before him, stunned speechless. Tawan screams, or at least he tries to scream; he makes incoherent noises, blood is spraying everywhere as the two men struggle and roll off the couch onto the floor. Pete is moving incredibly fast. The element of surprise is on his side, and he gains the upper hand almost instantly. Then there is a frenzy of arm movements as he stabs Tawan over and over again with the broken wine glass; ¡­neck¡­ face¡­ chest¡­ it doesn¡¯t matter. ¡°I don¡¯t fucking share my toys!¡± Pete snarls fiercely. ¡°How dare you take what¡¯s mine!¡± He slams the jagged edge of the glass into the flesh beneath him, and Vegas remembers how insanely strong Pete is, he stabs and stabs Tawan and just won¡¯t stop, every stabbing motion flinging an arc of scarlet drops through the air like a ruby rainbow. Vegas is too shocked to even try to get him to stop. Holy shit! It feels like an eternity, but it couldn¡¯t have been more than five minutes at the most. At some point Tawan stops making noises, falls silent and still, and the only sounds left echoing through the large space is Pete¡¯s harsh breathing, and the sound of something hard slamming into wet meat. There is so much blood. So much blood. And Pete, his deceptively gentle boyfriend, is like a wild, blood-covered animal, completely out of control, still stabbing down into the corpse, which by now looks as if someone has run it through a meat grinder. Corpse¡­ holy shit¡­ Pete just killed someone. ¡°Pete¡­¡± Vegas has to clear his throat several times before he can speak, and then his voice sounds very shaky. ¡°Pete, you can stop now.¡± ¡°¡­ don¡¯t ¡­ share¡­ my¡­ toys¡­¡± Pete snarls aggressively, single-mindedly focused on reducing Tawan¡¯s remains to an unrecognisable mess. Vegas isn¡¯t even sure is Pete can hear him; he seems to be totally unaware of Vegas¡¯ presence in the room. ¡°Pete¡­¡± No reaction. ¡°Pete¡­¡± Still no reaction. Vegas just wants this to stop. It feels like he¡¯s been dropped straight into some horrid slasher movie. So much blood. Pete is covered with so much blood. So much red. It makes him sick to his stomach. ¡°Pete, would you please stop and look at me? Please?¡± he begs, his voice breaking. ¡°Could you please stop and look at me? Pete?¡± Finally his movements are slowing down; it seems Vegas is getting through to him after all. If only he wasn¡¯t confined by this damn chain. Frustrated, Vegas yanks at the chain and then groans because he forgot that this has the opposite effect, and now he¡¯s once again almost hanging in the air, his toes barely touching the floor. ¡°Fuck!¡± Pete lets up and turns his head, staring at Vegas, who stares right back as his danger sense kicks in full force, and screams at him not to move. Danger! This time he¡¯s genuinely scared of the blood-covered man in front of him; this is not the Pete he knows. A piranha in a killing frenzy, that¡¯s what comes to mind. A mindless killing machine. And now he finds himself the focal point of this blood-soaked stranger with the dead eyes, and it¡¯s freaking him out. Vegas¡¯ instincts tells him to run, but he¡¯s all but hanging from a damn chain, with nowhere to hide. Fuck! Part of Vegas wants to cry. He wants to wipe all this blood off Pete¡¯s face, he wants to give him a tight hug, he wants to check Pete¡¯s hands, because surely he must have cut himself during this staggering outburst of rage. He wants his Pete back and he wants this stranger to go away, to disappear. But Vegas doesn¡¯t dare move a single muscle. It¡¯s Pete who makes the first move. He gets back to his feet and drops the remains of the wineglass on the floor, then wipes his hands absently on his blood-covered pants, totally ignoring the dead man at his feet. Vegas groans inwardly. Tawan¡¯s blood is everywhere. There is splatter all over Pete¡¯s face and blood is dripping from his hair as well. He¡¯s horrifying to look at. Don¡¯t come any closer. Stay away from me. I don¡¯t want you anywhere near me looking like this. But it makes no difference what he wants. Pete is heading his way, and all there is for Vegas to do is to stand as still as possible, and wait for what will happen. He barely dares to breathe when Pete stops in front of him. Vegas swallows drily, utterly confused about his fearful reaction to Pete, who is just standing there, slowly inspecting him while absently flicking some remaining blood off his fingers. ¡°Are you hurt?¡± Pete asks, in such a normal and calm voice that the cognitive dissonance of the whole situation is mind-boggling. Vegas numbly shakes his head because he isn¡¯t wounded or anything, but then he pauses and nods, because he can¡¯t exactly be considered unhurt either. Damn, he¡¯s so confused, he can¡¯t think straight, and Pete looking at him like this isn¡¯t helping, it¡¯s creeping him out. Pete¡¯s eyes are so very black in his blood-smeared pale face. The pupils are dilated, making his eyes look even darker. Like a bottomless dark abyss, Vegas thinks, hanging from the chain, and in his shock he says the first thing that comes to his mind. ¡°We have to get rid of the body.¡± Pete blinks with surprise, his eyes widen, and a few seconds later he slams into Vegas, sinking those bloody hands into his hair, and then he¡¯s kissing him fiercely. Vegas is so surprised he doesn¡¯t know how to react, and his mind goes blank. Kissing is the last thing on his mind right now. He doesn¡¯t want to kiss. Pete smells of blood, he tastes of blood, and it¡¯s simply too much for Vegas to wrap his mind around. This unexpected assault has knocked him off his toes, he¡¯s once again fully suspended from the chain, with his full body weight hanging in the handcuffs and it hurts like hell. And the more desperate Pete¡¯s kiss gets, the more upset Vegas feels. He does not like this, that¡¯s all he can think about. Not like this. Not when Pete is like this. And so Vegas wrenches his head to the side, breaking the kiss. ¡°Stop!¡± But Pete just growls and pulls hard on his hair, forcing Vegas to look in his direction again before he slams their mouths against each other so hard that their teeth clank together. It hurts. This kiss hurts, Vegas body hurts and his heart hurts as well. I don¡¯t like this, he thinks desperately, trying to break free again. I can¡¯t do this right now. His wrists hurt so damn much, the smell of blood on Pete is making him nauseous, everything is just overwhelming and too much and the second he manages to once again disengage from Pete¡¯s hungry mouth, he yells loudly. ¡°It hurts, stop!¡± This causes Pete to pause for a moment, and Vegas seizes that chance and shouts incredulously. ¡°For heavens sake, you just killed a man and now you¡¯re horny?!¡± Pete freezes like a deer caught in the headlights. An expression too complicated to analyse crosses his face, and then he draws his hands back hastily, taking a step backwards and away from Vegas. The look in his eyes is no longer dead, all of a sudden it¡¯s incredibly vulnerable, Vegas notes with surprise. ¡°Am I¡­ are you disgusted with me now, Vegas?¡± he asks in a shaky voice. Vegas wants to yell at him, but that look in Pete¡¯s eyes stops him from voicing his irritation. Something tells him he needs to choose his next words very carefully. ¡°No,¡± he reassures him tiredly. ¡°You don¡¯t disgust me, I get that you need to blow off some steam after what just happened. I get it, okay? But I can¡¯t right now. I am in so much pain, just get me off this chain and out of these restraints please. It hurts so much, Pete. Help, please?¡± Pete swallows hard and nods, then turns around and strides across the room to unhook the chain from the pulley system. Vegas sinks to the ground with a groan, the excess length of the chain pooling around him, and closes his eyes, focusing on breathing through the pain. His shoulders, arms and hands are screaming, the numbness giving way to pins and needles. It¡¯s agonising. ¡°Fuck fuck fuck!¡± he curses under his breath. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Bloody hell, this hurts. ¡°I got the key,¡± Pete says quietly. Vegas didn¡¯t even hear his approach. He keeps his eyes closed. He¡¯s not ready yet to see Pete with Tawan¡¯s blood all over him. He can feel Pete inserting the key into the handcuffs and taking them off. He can also feel him cutting off the Flex cuffs. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, this is going to hurt,¡± Pete mumbles after a while, and starts removing the duct tape from Vegas¡¯ wrists too. And yes, it hurts. Vegas hasn¡¯t screamed the past few days but now that Tawan is dead he has no qualms about voicing his pain. He yells and curses and yells some more and then finally his wrists are completely free again. Vegas looks at them and sighs. Black and blue and red and swollen. Just like the rest of him, bruised all over. ¡°Any more ex-flings or ex-boyfriends with issues that I should be aware of?¡± he asks Pete, his voice tight with pain. ¡°Just to prepare myself, you know, so that I can heal properly before the next one kidnaps me.¡± There is no answer from Pete. Reluctantly, Vegas lifts his eyes and finds Pete staring in the direction of where the body is lying. Seems it has finally started to sink in what he has done. Damn. ¡°We need to get rid of the body.¡± Vegas reminds both of them again. Because that body needs to go or Pete will be in big trouble. ¡°We should probably call the police¡­¡± Pete mumbles, looking from the body to his hands, then starts rubbing them against his clothes, as if that will help remove the blood stains that have already started to dry. He¡¯s starting to look distressed, and Vegas¡¯ heart aches seeing him like this. Scary Pete is gone, this is the Pete he knows again. A feeling of great calm washes over Vegas. ¡°No. We will not call the police. If we do that, you¡¯ll end up in jail for the rest of your life. I¡¯m going to fix this, don¡¯t worry.¡± Oh God, what is he even saying? So much for being police officer. Say goodbye to all work ethics; apparently now he¡¯s disposing of murder victims. For a second Vegas feels hysterical laughter bubbling up within him before he gets himself back under control. With a groan, he struggles back to his feet before he limps over to where Tawan¡¯s remains are located. Shit, Pete made a real mess. This is massive overkill. The body is nearly unrecognisable. Minced meat. Vegas swallows hard. Time to take control of the situation. ¡°Go and get the blanket from the bed,¡± he orders Pete. ¡°You can¡¯t do that, you¡¯re a police officer,¡± Pete reminds him quietly. It seems as if all the energy has left him. True. As if he doesn¡¯t know. Vegas swallows hard again because while withholding information regarding an investigation is one thing that might be excused, what he¡¯s planning to do here goes against everything that being a cop means to him. It can¡¯t be helped though. Pete must not go to prison for this. ¡°This is irrelevant. Stop arguing with me and do what I am telling you to do. I¡¯m going to fix this.¡± ¡°You can hardly stand and walk, Vegas¡­¡± Pete tries again, but he seems so shaken by what has happened that Vegas just decides to overrule his objections for now. ¡°The blanket. Now,¡± he orders him in a harsh voice. ¡°And while I wrap the body you are going to clean yourself thoroughly in the bathroom. Take a shower. Find a plastic bag to put all your clothes into. Put on some of Tawan¡¯s clothes. And while you¡¯re at it, check where he put my clothes too. Stop thinking about this, just do what I tell you to do.¡± And when Pete just stares at him, dazed, Vegas growls. ¡°Now! Get moving! We don¡¯t have all day!¡± And that¡¯s all it takes. Pete shuffles off to follow Vegas¡¯ instructions. I can do this, Vegas thinks. I will fix this.
If there¡¯s one thing Vegas knows how to do, as a cop and as a Mafia heir, it¡¯s disposing of a body. A part of him finds this rather amusing; the rest of him is too tired to care. Tawan¡¯s remains are wrapped into a blanket, and then into several layers of large black plastic bags, to prevent any leakage during transport. Vegas has removed all of Tawan¡¯s clothes as well; they¡¯re in a separate bag. A third bag holds all of Pete¡¯s bloody clothes and a fourth bag all paper towels he used to wipe up as much of the blood as possible, as well as the damn wine glass Pete used as a weapon. Vegas is exhausted, but dealing with this is a priority. He keeps dropping things because his hands and wrists are a painful mess. While Pete is taking a very long shower, he searches the apartment for cleaning products and then empties all of them over the whole messy area. It doesn¡¯t need to be perfect, he just needs to mess up the crime scene and clean up the worst of it. He later even finds time to wrap up the cuts on Pete¡¯s hands. Pete tries to argue with him again. ¡°This isn¡¯t right, we should call the police¡­¡± But Vegas ignores him just like the last time, and as a result, Pete falls silent. Together they carry the various plastic bags down a long flight of stairs, and Vegas waits inside until Pete parks his car in front of the entrance. It¡¯s nighttime again. Vegas has lost all measure of time, right now he has no idea what day it is or how long he was held captured. Together they stuff everything into the trunk. To give Pete something to do, and himself some much needed rest, Vegas orders him to drive. ¡°Where are we going?¡± Pete asks him meekly. ¡°I¡¯ll give you directions. We¡¯ll dump him into the Chao Phraya river. With any luck he¡¯ll be washed out into the gulf. Even if he ends up in the mangroves, it¡¯ll be sufficient to destroy all trace evidence. ¡° Pete sighs. ¡°I don¡¯t think this will work.¡± ¡°Shut up and drive.¡± Then Vegas belatedly realises that this was maybe a bit too harsh and adds, ¡°Trust me, I know what I am doing. I¡¯ve had Arm lecture me on floaters, and the river, and body disposal sites a lot of times. Arm keeps complaining how people drop the bodies at the wrong spot into the river so that they wash up immediately; he told me in great detail where one needs to drop a corpse into the water to make sure it disappears.¡± This seems to be a sufficient explanation, because Pete stops asking questions. In fact, he¡¯s very quiet all through the drive. It¡¯s to be expected. After all you don¡¯t kill a person every day. Sooner or later Pete will have a full meltdown, Vegas anticipates. Hopefully later, because right now Vegas needs help getting rid of the body. They drive across the city in silence. Vegas only speaks to give directions, each of them lost in thought. Since it¡¯s the middle of the night, the spot where they drop Tawan¡¯s corpse into the water is deserted. There are no CCTV cameras nearby. Vegas makes sure to remove the plastic bag and the blanket first; those he will dispose of separately. Pete stares wide-eyed at the corpse as it slips into the brown water and is carried away by the swift current. He¡¯s very pale and Vegas would like to comfort him, but he¡¯s afraid it would cause Pete to fall apart, and that cannot happen just yet. And so he brusquely tells him to get back to the car and then they¡¯re off again, to another place. ¡°Are we going home now?¡± Pete asks with a quiver in his voice. ¡°Not just yet. But soon. Just hold on a bit longer.¡± Vegas gives him new directions. He also decides to make a phone call, very reluctantly, but it can¡¯t be helped. When they pull up in front of the Main family¡¯s mansion thirty minutes later, Vegas sighs deeply. He¡¯s been here way too often these past few weeks. This isn¡¯t good at all, his father surely has noticed. Being a police offer, and basically disowned, he¡¯s not supposed to interact with the family, especially the Main family. If he father gets wind of this, Vegas will be in big trouble. Not good at all. Vegas orders Pete to park the car and then reaches over to pull up the hood of the sweater he¡¯s wearing as much as possible, so that Pete¡¯s face is hidden. ¡°Stay back and keep your head down. Don¡¯t speak,¡± he orders, and they exit the car. Perfect Chan is already waiting for them and Vegas hands him the car keys. ¡°Everything in the trunk needs to be disposed of. I¡¯ll text you an address later; the place needs to be scrubbed and sanitised as well.¡± Chan nods, but Vegas can see that he¡¯s less than pleased about this. ¡°As you wish, Khun Vegas. Might I suggest that you utilise your own family resources for this next time though?¡± As if there will be a next time. Vegas isn¡¯t Kinn after all. Vegas snorts softly. ¡°Huh, good joke! You¡¯re developing a sense of humour in your old days. Just get it done, please? Would be such an embarrassment for the whole family to have me end up in prison after all.¡± Chan gives him a hard stare that makes Vegas feel like a small child again. He decides it¡¯s time to leave. He flashes Chan another faint smile, then drags the silent Pete away with him. Of course the man has seen the bruises on Vegas¡¯ face; they¡¯re difficult to hide. It remains to be seen what his uncle will do with this information. Vegas doesn¡¯t like being indebted to his uncle, but this is a necessary evil. Chan will make sure there isn¡¯t even a hint of physical evidence remaining that could point to Vegas and Pete. He¡¯s frighteningly efficient. Perfect Chan indeed. They take a taxi home, the silence between them is starting to grate on Vegas¡¯ nerves. It seems to grow, like an invisible mountain, getting larger and larger by the minute. Pete doesn¡¯t look at him, he just sits there, wringing his hands. This is perfectly normal, Vegas tells himself. Pete is in shock. He killed a person. This is a perfectly normal reaction. Vegas knows, he¡¯s been through this himself, but he was a lot younger than Pete. Just a child¡­ Vegas sighs. Finally, they arrive at home. The second the apartment door closes behind them, Pete strips out of Tawan¡¯s clothes. ¡°Throw them away, burn them, I don¡¯t care. Just get rid of them,¡± he says tensely and strides away towards the living room, stark naked. Vegas blinks in surprise, then looks down at the heap of clothes on the floor. He¡¯s supposed to take care of this? Now? His body is an aching mess, he¡¯s been held in captivity for days, and now he has to fix this too? But okay, Pete¡¯s been through a lot, the poor guy is probably about to have a nervous breakdown any second now. Fine. And so Vegas goes and gets yet another large plastic bag, stuffs all the clothes into it and then immediately goes to dispose of them in the large trashcan down by the garage. When he comes back to the apartment, he finds Pete in the living room. He has slipped into a set of Vegas¡¯ clothes and is currently taking a swig of whiskey, straight from the bottle. Damn. Vegas doesn¡¯t know how to handle this situation; there is some sort of dissonance between them right now that Vegas is too exhausted to figure out. ¡°You really want to get drunk right now?¡± he tentatively asks Pete, and receives a dark look instead of a reply as Pete takes another swig. Vegas raises his hands to placate him. ¡°All right, do whatever you need to do right now. I¡¯ll just take a shower, if that¡¯s okay with you?¡± And since Pete doesn¡¯t reply and just keeps drinking, he turns around and heads to the bathroom. Pete is upset. Okay. He has every right to be upset, Vegas tells himself as he strips and steps into the shower. The pleasantly hot water feels heavenly; he¡¯s been longing for a shower for days. Sure, his various abrasions, burns, welts and cuts hurt, but in a good way. He just wants to feel clean again, wash all reminders of Tawan away, watching them disappear down the drain along with the water. Good riddance, he thinks tiredly. Just a pity he died so quickly. Vegas takes a long time to shower and then it takes a while for him to try and patch himself up again. He doesn¡¯t want to bother Pete with this right now. Pete¡­ That scene when Pete attacked Tawan replays itself in Vegas¡¯ mind over and over again. He still can¡¯t believe that Pete so totally lost control, the brutal way he stabbed the other man, the sheer ferociousness of the attack. It is just a lot to take in and process. And then afterwards¡­ Vegas shudders. The look in Pete¡¯s eyes, the expression on his face as he kissed Vegas. Chilling. Truly chilling. Vegas wants to wipe these memories away and erase them. He doesn¡¯t want to think about this or deal with it right now. He¡¯s tired, he¡¯s aching, he wants a hug and some comforting words after the whole mess he¡¯s been in. What he gets is a Pete who seems dead set on getting drunk as fast as possible. When Vegas exits the bathroom the whiskey bottle is already two thirds empty. Holy shit. ¡°Uhm¡­ You might want to consider holding off on the drinking?¡± he suggests cautiously. It feels as if he has to walk on eggshells around Pete right now. ¡°You¡¯ll get alcohol poisoning otherwise?¡± Defiantly Pete takes another swig. Shit. ¡°You don¡¯t have to worry, no one will ever find out about what you did,¡± Vegas tries to reassure Pete in another way. ¡°I won¡¯t tell anyone. You¡¯re safe.¡± If only he could find the right words in his tired mind. ¡°I know how it feels to kill someone for the first time, it sucks, but trust me, you¡¯ll get over it eventually.¡± Pete snorts, seemingly unconvinced, and keeps on drinking. Damn, he¡¯s so tired. Vegas wants to go to bed. He wants someone to take care of him and instead he is now expected to be the one taking care of someone else. It¡¯s a new situation for him and he feels entirely out of his depth. He doesn¡¯t know if Pete wants him around or not¡ªsomething is amiss here and he can¡¯t figure out what it is. Confused, Vegas watches Pete quietly for a few more minutes and then gives up and sighs deeply. ¡°Well, I am going to bed.¡± ¡°Do you hate me now?¡± Pete asks softly just as Vegas is about to walk out of the room. Vegas gives Pete a puzzled look. ¡°Why would I hate you?¡± ¡°I killed someone. I am a killer.¡± Pete¡¯s words echo through the room and feel incredibly heavy. ¡°So did I,¡± Vegas reminds him softly. ¡°It¡¯s okay, you didn¡¯t mean to do it. It was more or less an accident.¡± Pete meets Vegas gaze defiantly. ¡°I wanted it though. I wanted to kill him. I really wanted to kill him. Does this disgust you?¡± The viciousness in his voice startles Vegas. He¡¯s at a loss for words to reply with. Pete takes note of it and his face turns hard. ¡°See, you hate me now.¡± Vegas helplessly shakes his head. He¡¯s the last person someone should come to when dealing with trauma. He can¡¯t even deal with his own trauma. ¡°I don¡¯t hate you. I truly don¡¯t.¡± ¡°Yes, you do. The look on your face when I walked towards you afterwards¡­ you were really disgusted with what I had done. It was written all over your face, don¡¯t bother to deny it.¡± Pete looks increasingly upset. ¡°You think I¡¯m a monster, don¡¯t you?¡± ¡°You are not a monster, Pete, I love you. You are a civilian who got thrown into a situation that you were not prepared for, and so you took some unfortunate decisions. What you saw on my face wasn¡¯t disgust, it was shock.¡± Vegas sighs and runs his fingers through his wet hair. His head hurts, he is ill prepared for this conversation, he¡¯s simply not a good trauma counsellor. ¡°If you had just called the police instead of trying to handle it on your own, the situation would have ended differently.¡± The alcohol seems to start having an effect on Pete. First he wouldn¡¯t talk, and now he doesn¡¯t want to shut up. ¡°Bullshit. You looked at me with plain horror, that wasn¡¯t shock. You think I¡¯m a monster. You didn¡¯t want me touching you either.¡± Pete points the now nearly empty bottle accusingly at Vegas. ¡°And now you¡¯re blaming me for the whole incident too.¡± If he weren¡¯t so exhausted, Vegas would be more careful how to phrase his replies, but he has always had a short fuse and Pete seems determined to light it. ¡°Well, strictly speaking it is true, it was your fault. It was your ex-fling after all who kidnapped me. And if you had let the police handle the situation, you wouldn¡¯t be a murderer now.¡± Pete flinches as if struck and then glares at Vegas. ¡°Well, thank you so much for making me feel even worse than I was already feeling.¡± ¡°Oh, give me a break!¡± Vegas¡¯ patience finally snaps and he glares right back. ¡°You¡¯re not the one who got abducted, chained up like a dog, who was beaten regularly, whipped with a belt and burned with a cigarette. You had a few shitty hours, while I had to suffer for days and then I even had to handle the body disposal for the guy you killed, and sanitise the crime scene in order to keep you out of prison. Just accept that you messed up big time, Pete! What the hell were you even thinking, coming to Tawan like this? You are not a bloody cop, I¡¯ve been telling you this over and over again.¡± Pete reels under this verbal attack, drops the bottle and clenches his hands into fists. ¡°I wanted to save you!¡± he hisses, outraged. ¡°Save me by kissing Tawan?¡± Vegas is equally outraged now that he remembers that part. ¡°What the fuck was that about? Refreshing old memories? Was it nice? Did you like it? Did you like how he groped you?¡± Pete¡¯s face turns first white and then flushes with anger. ¡°Asshole!¡± He turns around and stomps towards the door. ¡°Go to hell, Vegas!¡± ¡°Where the hell do you think you are going?!¡± Vegas shouts after his retreating form. ¡°Home!¡± Pete snarls and grabs his shoes, wallet and keys. ¡°Fine! Whatever!¡± Vegas yells after him; if he had anything in his hands right now, he would throw it at Pete, he¡¯s so angry with him. Pete slams the door shut on his way out and then it is just Vegas left in the apartment, trying to figure out how everything could unravel like this. Gah! What the actual fuck has just happened here? ¡°Bloody hell!¡± Vegas curses, and then decides to call it a night. He¡¯s not going after Pete right now. Enough is enough. Time to put himself first. He¡¯ll figure out how to fix this tomorrow.
Vegas sleeps until late afternoon the next day. No nightmares this time, he¡¯s too exhausted to even dream. And when he wakes up, he feels as if he has the body of a ninety year old. Fuck! Everything hurts! He pops some painkillers and limps into the bathroom to take another long hot shower which helps with loosening up his aching muscles. He avoids looking at himself in the mirror because he knows it looks bad. Been there, done that. As a child, the sight of his bruised body made him cry, but Vegas is an adult now. Been there, done that, gotten used to it. He¡¯s learned that bruises fade, as does the memory of what caused the bruises. He makes himself breakfast and is glad for the painkillers to finally kick in. His phone has finished loading, he found it along with his clothes in Tawan¡¯s apartment last night, just switched off. When he turns it on, he¡¯s greeted with a flurry of messages and notifications. The first thing he does is send a message to Pete: ¡®How are you doing? Sorry for what I said yesterday. Make sure to drink lots of water against the hangover. Send me a life sign or I¡¯ll send an ambulance.¡¯ The only reply he receives is an emoji with a raised middle finger. Well, at least Pete¡¯s still alive and awake. And still pissed off. Anger is probably better than drowning in self-pity. Vegas checks the date¡ªhis captivity has messed up his sense of time¡ªand then contacts work to find out that he has apparently been at home, sick with the flu these last few days. Must have been Pete who called it in. He has a message from Chan, short and concise: ¡®Done.¡¯ He has a message from Porsche: ¡®What the hell happened? Call me!¡¯ Oh, dear. Someone must have been spilling the beans. Damn Chan. He also has a message from Kinn: ¡®Stop taking advantage of the family resources!¡¯ Well, fuck you, Kinn. And a message from Arm: ¡®Did more X-rays on the wreck. Think there might be an ID stuck inside there. Will let you know when I get to it. Don¡¯t come back to the office until you¡¯re fully recovered, no one here has the time to get sick because you infected us.¡¯ So considerate, Arm. And also, an ID? That¡¯s a first. Intriguing. Vegas smears ointment on his aching wrists and bandages them. Then he goes back to bed for another nap. When he wakes up again after a few hours he gets more food and then his laptop, intending to do some work from bed, at least so that he doesn¡¯t fall behind too much with everything. The sheer amount of unread emails in his inbox is frightening. He works through them one at a time while snacking and popping more painkillers. Then an email makes him pause. The subject line reads simply ¡®Vegas¡¯. The sender is [email protected]. Tem. Vegas swallows hard, thinking about Tem¡¯s key ring. What the hell? When he reluctantly opens the mail there is no text, just an attachment. Vegas looks at the screen with apprehension. Everything within him screams not to open that attachment. He doesn¡¯t even know why but this is making him really uneasy. Nothing good will come out of this. He thinks about the Tem from his nightmares, screaming silently at him, trying to talk, to make himself heard. No, he really does not want to open this attachment. One click and an image starts loading. This looks like a photograph of a page from an old-fashioned photo album, but the photo at the centre of the page seems pretty recent, judging from the style of clothes the people on it are wearing. There¡¯s even something written underneath that photo, handwritten, blue ink, nice handwriting. Vegas takes a closer look at the photo first, zooming in. It depicts a group of people during what might have been a garden party. Most of the people are middle-aged or older, they¡¯re all well-dressed and appear to be having fun. In the background he can make out a banderole, and when he zooms in further he can decipher that this is a birthday party. There is even a date; it seems this photo is just two years old. He doesn¡¯t recognise anyone in the photo, no matter how long he looks at the group of people, and that puzzles him. Why would Tem send this to him? Because he¡¯s sure this was sent by Tem. Vegas knows that a lot of email programs allow you to schedule emails to send at specific times¡ªthis is what must have happened here. Confused, he zooms in on the hand-written text underneath that photo. It seems to consist of a list of names, most likely listing the people on the photo. Kultilda Atitarn and his wife Thanid Atitarn. Pricha Supasawat. Thampapon Kanjanapas and his wife Maniwan Kanjanapas. Kamut Saengtham, his wife Chirawan Saengtham and their son Phongsakorn Saengtham. Sugunya Ahunai. Chet Kadesadayurat. Somchair Chutimant. Nothing sounds familiar. ¡­ Wait¡­ ¡­ Kamut Saengtham, his wife Chirawan Saengtham and their son Phongsakorn Saengtham¡­ ¡­ Wait¡­ ¡­ Kamut Saengtham, his wife Chirawan Saengtham and their son Phongsakorn Saengtham¡­ Vegas¡¯ breath catches in his throat and his stomach drops. It feels as if ice is flooding his veins, as if someone has dropped a whole iceberg onto his shoulders. How is he supposed to breathe like this? ¡°It¡¯s all a big fucking lie. You need to trust me, Vegas.¡± Tem sounds so sincere that it hurts. Vegas swallows hard, staring at the list of names in total disbelief. He reads through them again and again. Yes, this is not a mistake, he read it correctly. But he doesn¡¯t trust his eyes, he must be wrong. Tem points his gun accusingly at Pete. ¡°He¡¯s been lying to you the whole damn time!¡± Vegas notices absently that his hands have started to tremble. Maybe it¡¯s from the flashbacks he¡¯s experiencing. Maybe it¡¯s from shock. He feels stunned. This must a mistake. He double-checks. He looks at the photo again, matching all the names to the people in the photo. He still doesn¡¯t recognise any of them but he recognises the names. One name in particular. What are the chances that this is another person but with the same name? Minuscule. Practically non-existent, this is Thailand after all. And now he knows why Tem sent him this photo. ¡°You need to stay away from him, he¡¯s not who you think he is¡­¡± Phongsakorn Saengtham. Written in lovely blue ink. The name burns itself into Vegas¡¯ retina. His eyes skip up to the young man in the photo. He¡¯s tall, smiling widely, towering over his parents. No dimple. It doesn¡¯t add up, Pete is the same height as Vegas, not that tall. Young as well. This photo is just two years old and the young man looks like a college freshman. Barely twenty. It doesn¡¯t add up, Vegas and Pete are the same age, in their late twenties. Pete smiles cheerfully at Vegas. There is that dimple again. ¡°This is a first for me. I didn¡¯t have any role models for adult relationships, my parents died when I was young. What did your parents do all day?¡± On the photo, Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham¡¯s very much alive parents are beaming proudly at their tall son, a son that Vegas doesn¡¯t recognise. A son that definitely isn¡¯t the same Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham he knows. With shaking hands, Vegas closes the laptop. This can¡¯t be happening. Chapter 20 ¡°I went to a hunting party once, I didn¡¯t like it. Terrible people. They all started hunting me!¡± Vegas sits on the couch, staring at the closed laptop on the dinner table as if it¡¯s an unexploded bomb. It might as well be one. He hasn¡¯t touched the thing since yesterday; for a moment he even pondered throwing it away, as if that would help. Quite frankly, he has no idea how he spent the time since looking at that email. His mind doesn¡¯t seem to work as it should; every thought seems to be frozen, but this is good. This is very good. This is self-protection. Vegas needs a break, his life has been a total shitstorm these past months, he needs a break to breathe, to rest, to heal. What he doesn¡¯t need is additional stress in the form of this. There is a coffee mug on the coffee table. When did he make himself coffee? At some point he must have eaten something too. Vegas stares numbly at the mug. He must have spaced out, because when he blinks, there is much less light in the room. The sun is setting. Oh. His head and wrists hurt, so he goes and takes some more painkillers. The laptop is kryptonite, but his mobile phone should be okay. Vegas finds a few more messages from Porsche, each one increasingly irritated. Oops. He should probably send a reply. Maybe later, when he has the energy to do that. It¡¯s a new day, well, the new day is almost over, but he automatically sends another message to Pete¡ªPete¡­ No, not going there right now¡ª¡®Hanging in there? Life sign, please.¡¯ And gets another ¡®Fuck you¡¯ emoji as a reply. Alive and kicking, it seems. Good. That¡¯s good. What is good? Another blink and it¡¯s dark outside. Huh? When did that happen? He keeps losing track of time. Maybe he has a concussion after all? Should he go see a doctor? Vegas¡¯ thoughts are interrupted by the doorbell. Oh. Maybe he¡¯s already called the doctor for a house call? Confused, he shuffles to the door. Damn painkillers must have worn off, his whole body aches again. The next apartment he rents will need to have a bathtub so he can take a long soak in hot water, which would be heaven for his sore muscles right now. Vegas finds himself standing in front of the door, wondering why he came here. Wasn¡¯t he on his way to the bathroom to take a hot shower? Then the doorbell rings again. Oh. Right. He opens the door and there is Porsche. Oh. It seems he forgot to answer all those messages. ¡°Vegas¡­¡± Porsche takes a thorough look at his best friend and sighs deeply. ¡°What the fuck? What on earth has happened now?¡± And without waiting for a reply, he walks past a still confused Vegas, heading for the living room. What¡¯s happened? Oh nothing, just my world coming apart at the seams. Small things to be glad for, Kinn didn¡¯t come along with Porsche this time. Vegas slowly follows Porsche back to the living room, where he is turning on the lights. ¡°Have you been sitting here in the dark all the time?¡± Porsche asks Vegas and frowns. ¡°You haven¡¯t been drinking, right?¡± ¡°Alcohol and painkillers do not mix well,¡± Vegas reminds him tiredly and carefully sits on the couch again, breathing through the pain in his aching body. ¡°You should¡¯t have come here, Kinn will be upset.¡± So will Pete¡­ still not going there¡­ ¡°I¡¯m sorry I didn¡¯t answer your texts, I think I fell asleep and then I got distracted and forgot.¡± ¡°Never mind Kinn. He needs some excitement in his life now, and that I am most willing to provide. He¡¯ll have a glorious fit about this visit, rant and rave for an hour, which is a great way to de-stress for him, and then we¡¯ll have even more glorious makeup sex.¡± Porsche grins cheekily, while wandering into the kitchen. Vegas groans. ¡°Too much info. Please keep in mind this is my cousin you¡¯re talking about. There are things I really do not want to know about him, and his sex life is one of these things.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t be a prude, Vegas,¡± Porsche shouts from the kitchen. ¡°Want some food? Because I¡¯m hungry.¡± ¡°I suppose I could eat something¡­?¡± Vegas doesn¡¯t have a clue when he ate last. He pops some more painkillers while Porsche gets busy in the kitchen, and after a while they have dinner in the living room, slouching on the couch. Just two besties, spending time with another. ¡°So¡­ spill the beans.¡± Porsche has found a bottle of beer and leans back, giving Vegas a stern look while taking a sip from the bottle. ¡°I want to know how you ended up like this. Chan had a minor temper tantrum over the tasks you gave him, and so did Kinn. That is pretty impressive even for you, to upset both of them at the same time. So¡­ what mess did you get into now?¡± Knowing that Porsche won¡¯t take no for an answer, Vegas sighs. ¡°I ran into an unhappy ex, and things kind of escalated.¡± ¡°Your ex? I didn¡¯t even know you had an ex.¡± ¡°Nah, Pete¡¯s ex. Well¡­¡± A glance at Porsche and yeah, ¡®It¡¯s complicated¡¯ won¡¯t do as an answer this time. ¡°So Pete had this patient that he had a one-night-stand with.¡± Did he though? Just have a one-night-stand? Vegas isn¡¯t so sure about that anymore. He isn¡¯t sure about anything¡­ not going there¡­ ¡°And the guy wanted more, so he started stalking Pete. And he got rather upset when Pete and I hooked up. So the idiot thought it would be a great idea to abduct me.¡± ¡°Seriously?¡± Porsche listens with wide, delighted eyes. ¡°This sounds like the plot of a soap opera.¡± ¡°Take a look at me¡ªI can assure you this wasn¡¯t a soap opera. The asshole tasered me, chained me up and used me as a punching bag for a few days.¡± Vegas winces slightly as he tries to find a more comfortable position to sit in. ¡°You¡¯re really loosing your touch, Vegas, to let someone get close enough to you to taser you,¡± Porsche says teasingly, but there¡¯s worry in his eyes. He¡¯s right, no Theerapanyakul family member should make these kind of basic mistakes. ¡°I was distracted,¡± Vegas mumbles tiredly. ¡°I know it was stupid, it won¡¯t happen again.¡± ¡°So what did you do then? Free yourself and beat the shit out of him, sending him to the hospital?¡± Porsche is aware of Vegas¡¯ anger issues, so of course this is what he expects to have happened. ¡°Nah. I broke free and killed him.¡± Look how smoothly the lie flows out of him. Vegas is even a bit proud of himself for this. Porsche arches both eyebrows, looking a bit stunned. ¡°Seriously? You really killed him even though you¡¯re a cop? I thought you wanted to be one of the ¡®good guys¡¯?¡± That Porsche can discuss the murder of another person so casually makes Vegas¡¯ heart ache for him and his lost innocence. ¡°Yeah.¡± Vegas shrugs with nonchalance, even though he cringes inwardly. ¡°Well, it couldn¡¯t be helped. I just kind of lost control when I broke free and took it out on him.¡± No one must ever find out the truth. No one. He can¡¯t even tell Porsche. ¡°Why did you involve Chan then?¡± ¡°Because the asshole beat the shit out of me. I took care of the body, and then I was out of energy to deal with the rest.¡± Vegas shrugs and then winces, because that hurts. ¡°Let me see,¡± Porsche insists. ¡°Up with the sweater. Let me have a look. I can help patch you up if you need it.¡± ¡°Hell no,¡± Vegas shakes his head in alarm. ¡°For all I know, your paranoid boyfriend has installed cameras in my home, just for this kind of situation. Or he will burst in just as you are inspecting my bare upper body. So thanks for the offer, but no thanks.¡± Porsche seems to find that notion hilarious. ¡°Forget about Kinn, shouldn¡¯t you be more concerned about your own little vicious cinnamon roll of a boyfriend?¡± ¡­ Pete¡­ Vegas swallow hard. Not going there. ¡°Yeah well, I think it¡¯s very unlikely that he will show up here right now.¡± ¡°Trouble in paradise?¡± Porsche takes a sip of his beer. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me he knows what you did to his ex?¡± ¡°Do I look like an idiot? Of course I didn¡¯t tell him.¡± Vegas believes he deserves an award for lying so smoothly. ¡°He¡¯s just pissed off that I disappeared for a couple of days and then came back looking like this and refusing to tell him more about it.¡± ¡°Normally I would advise you that communication is the key to a good relationship, but in this case I agree, telling him would be a bad idea. I don¡¯t think he would cope well with it. Best not to draw him into this dark world of ours.¡± Oh Porsche, you sweet summer child. If you were to see a glimpse of the Pete I saw killing Tawan, you would run away screaming. ¡°Yes, I agree, I would rather not have him know I killed someone in a fit of rage.¡± My rage is nothing compared to Pete¡¯s rage though. Vegas sighs again. ¡°He¡¯ll come around,¡± Porsche reassures him. ¡°Give him a few days and he¡¯ll be back; he is utterly besotted with you.¡± Vegas smiles faintly. He isn¡¯t worried about Pete falling out of love with him. Then his eyes fall on the laptop and he swallows hard. They have other problems. ¡°Porsche¡­?¡± he asks tentatively. ¡°What would you do if you found out that Kinn had been lying to you?¡± ¡°Lying as in cheating?¡± Porsche sorts softly with amusement. ¡°Fat chance in hell of that ever happening. I got him firmly wrapped around my little finger. What did your honeybun do, hide a couple more ex¡¯s from you?¡± No, he¡¯s pretending to be someone else. ¡°I¡¯m just trying to figure out what the consequences of me lying to him might be. How he might feel about it, that¡¯s all.¡± Vegas fakes a smile even though he feels more like crying. Porsche gives him a hard look and Vegas averts his eyes, because he isn¡¯t sure how long he can hold up this mask in front of his friend. ¡°It really depends on the lie, Vegas. And on the reason behind the lie. Kinn is very good at withholding the truth about certain matters. He doesn¡¯t outright lie to me, but that doesn¡¯t really make a difference. Sometimes I get very angry with him about this, because it hurts not to be trusted by someone you love. But he always has a good reason for doing what he does. Well, it often sounds like a good reason to him, but I usually disagree. What it comes down to is that I have learned to make an effort to listen to his reasons and to try to see his side of the story. I try to understand why he decided not to tell me the whole truth. As I said before, it is all about communication. You need to learn to talk to each other. To listen to each other without blowing up right away. And to give in and forgive.¡± Vegas can¡¯t help but feel astonished. Who would have thought hothead Porsche would turn into such a sensible guy? ¡°Who are you, and what have you done with my friend?¡± Porsche laughs and even Vegas has to chuckle, wincing because that makes his ribs hurt. Porsche notices of course. ¡°Just lift the damn sweater and let me take a look, Vegas. I swear I won¡¯t move or touch, I just want to see how badly bruised you are.¡± Vegas rolls his eyes and then gives in and lifts the edge of the sweater, exposing his chest. He knows it looks bad; the bruises, welts and burns have had time to turn into a kaleidoscope of colours. Porsche¡¯s smile disappears from his face and he looks grim. ¡°Damn it, Vegas. Are you sure you don¡¯t want me to take you to the hospital?¡± ¡°Nah, I¡¯m fine. Really. I¡¯ve had worse, trust me. I know my body well, I just need a few days of rest, food and painkillers, then I¡¯ll bounce back and I¡¯ll be as good as new.¡± Unfortunately that is true. Porsche never saw him when he was beaten by his father, otherwise he¡¯d know that Vegas speaks the truth. ¡°Well, it¡¯s your decision.¡± Porsche doesn¡¯t look happy about it, but at least he refrains from pressuring Vegas about it. ¡°Is there anything else I can do for you then? Let me send you food for the next few days so you don¡¯t have to cook and can take it easy?¡± ¡°Well, I won¡¯t say no to that offer.¡± If he spaces out while cooking, Vegas might accidentally burn down the building. ¡°Perfect, it¡¯s a deal then. Let¡¯s watch a movie and then I¡¯ll leave you alone again. If I go home already, Kinn won¡¯t be angry enough yet. It will be more exciting if I stay a bit longer.¡± Porsche grins and wiggles his eyebrow at Vegas. ¡°You¡¯re completely nuts.¡± Vegas can¡¯t help but laugh. ¡°You really enjoy teasing my cousin, huh?¡± ¡°Yes. But I enjoy the makeup sex even more,¡± Porsche replies and then quickly ducks out of the way when Vegas throws a pillow at him. Both laugh and then Vegas gets a few more hours that don¡¯t require him to think about anything else, a few hours where he can pretend that everything is just fine.
Tranquil. Dark. Silent. Blissful undisturbed sleep. Until the ripples start again. ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ Tem¡¯s voice in the darkness¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ There is no misunderstanding, it¡¯s all a big fucking lie¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ You need to trust me, Vegas¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ You need to stay away from him, he is not who you think he is¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ He¡¯s been lying to you the whole damn time¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ Not so flippant anymore now, are we Pete¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ What the fuck are you doing, pointing a gun at me, Vegas¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ You can¡¯t be serious¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ Put the gun away, Vegas, did you not hear what I told you about him¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ He is a goddamn liar, would you please listen to me, Vegas¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ He¡¯s been manipulating you this whole time¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ Will you stop pointing the damn gun at me, I¡¯m not the bad guy here¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ Stop looking at him, Vegas, and listen, really listen to me, damn it¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ I got evidence, so much evidence¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ put the gun down and I will show you¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ you are not going to believe it¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ this isn¡¯t the real Pete¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ I swear I am not lying¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ Stop threatening me with the gun already, I am not the enemy here, he is¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ he¡¯s a monster¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ a monster¡­ ¡­ white noise¡­ ¡­ monster¡­ Vegas jerks awake with a scream. Monster Monster Monster. Tem¡¯s words echo in his head and he groans and buries his face in the palm of his hands. Stop it, he thinks in desperation. Stop it, don¡¯t do this to me. I don¡¯t want to hear this. I don¡¯t want to remember. Don¡¯t do this to me. I want my happily ever after, don¡¯t ruin this for me. I hate you, Tem. Couldn¡¯t you just stay dead and silent? Why do you have to do this to me, why? Vegas is too upset to fall back asleep. One glance at the clock¡ªit¡¯s 5 am, he might as well get up. He has a cup of coffee and prepares some porridge in the rice cooker. Then he goes to sit on the couch again, staring at the closed laptop as the sun rises. He killed his best friend for a man he doesn¡¯t even really know, as it turns out. Vegas yo-yo¡¯s between anger and hurt. And guilt. Damn, he feels so guilty. Guilty for not listening to Tem. Guilty for killing Tem. Guilty for not trusting the man he can¡¯t seem to stop loving. Guilty for spying on him and secretly investigating him. Guilty for loving an obvious liar. Guilty for not being able to stop wanting Pete despite everything. Because he wants him. God, how he wants him. Vegas wasn¡¯t kidding when he said he feels as if he can¡¯t breathe without Pete. Pete lied to him. He freaking lied to him. And it¡¯s not just about a small thing; this is huge. Stealing someones identity is a serious matter, it¡¯s a crime. Who are you? Why did you do it? Vegas feels so lost, so unsure what to do next. Doubt is gnawing at him. He¡¯s had his fair share of people attempting to get close to him because of his family name. There are many who want their moment in the spotlight, to mingle with the rich and famous. And then there are those who try to get close to the Theerapanyakuls for other reasons; traitors, infiltrators, sent by other families. Why did you do it? Are you just using me? Who sent you? Vegas heart aches. Why can¡¯t he have just one good thing in his life for once? Why did he give in and allow himself to fall for this damn liar? If it weren¡¯t for the painkillers he¡¯s still taking, he would get drunk, just to be able to forget about this unfolding nightmare for a while. Not the healthiest way to deal with a problem, he¡¯s aware of that. I hate you, he thinks but knows that it¡¯s not true. If it were so easy to just switch off his feelings, to change from love to hate, or just indifference, then he wouldn¡¯t be sitting here, feeling miserable. Who are you? Why are you doing this to me? What else are you lying about? At last he goes and opens the laptop. He does not look at that photo again. Instead, he writes an email to Arm. It¡¯s short and concise. ¡®Hi. Help me out, please, I know you have connections. I need a computer forensics specialist who takes on private customers as well. Can you recommend anyone to me? /Vegas.¡¯ Time to get to the bottom of all this. Before ¡­ if¡­ he confronts Pete, he needs to gather more facts, he needs to gain an understanding of why Pete¡ªor whatever your real name is¡ªis doing this. And I will start with Tem¡¯s computer, Vegas decides.
Vegas doesn¡¯t message Pete that day. He doesn¡¯t message him the next day either. He stays at home and rests, watching TV the whole day to distract himself. And while he¡¯s watching one mind-numbing series after another, Vegas is building a mental wall, stone by stone, row by row. A buffer to protect himself. He sleeps a lot. Porsche is true to his word and sends the most delicious food three times a day. Vegas applies ointment on his bruises and other wounds, he takes long hot showers and his wall grows taller and taller. Stone by stone. A nice, sturdy wall that will keep all the hurt away from him. On day three Arm send him the details for a forensic computer specialist. Bingo. Vegas contacts him to discuss the details. Then he gets dressed and heads out for the first time in days. Everything outside is just like he remembers it. It feels strange. His life has taken a turn for the worse and he somehow expected to see this reflected in his surroundings too, but the world doesn¡¯t really care about Vegas¡¯ life apart from himself. Vegas drives to work and heads in to the office, ignoring the curious looks he is getting. Tem¡¯s computer is still right there, untouched. Vegas unplugs all the cables and simply takes it along with him. If anybody should ask, he will say he is taking it to tech support. But no one asks. They all do their best to stay out of his way and that suits him just fine. For the briefest moment Vegas is tempted to check if Pete is in his office, but he ruthlessly squashes that thought again and builds another row on top of his mental wall instead. Not going there. Bloody liar. Once he¡¯s loaded the computer into his car, he sets out across town, heading for Tem¡¯s apartment. He has the keys, and if he is lucky, Tem¡¯s relatives won¡¯t have been able to empty the apartment just yet. And he is lucky. The apartment appears untouched. Someone¡¯s been around to open the mail and empty the fridge, but everything else is just like he remembers it. Vegas feels his throat constrict as the memories of the time he spent here with Tem come crashing down on him. He has visited the place a lot throughout the years. There are memories about his time with Tem everywhere and it¡¯s very painful to know that his friend is gone and will never be back again. And it¡¯s all his fault. Since he doesn¡¯t want to get caught here, Vegas pulls himself together and starts to systematically search the apartment. Not that he expects to find anything besides the laptop he was looking for in the first place. He takes it along and heads for the parking garage and Tem¡¯s car¡ªthe spare keys for that he found upstairs too. Thankfully the car has been released from police custody again and sits in its usual spot. With the key, it¡¯s easy to open it and extract the chip for the navigation system. And since he¡¯s already at it, Vegas takes the chip from the dash camera as well. Let¡¯s see what you were up to while you told everyone that you were on vacation. Then he makes another call and goes to meet the computer specialist. He leaves everything with him; the two computers, the navigation chip and the dash camera chip. Vegas gives him a list of the data he is interested in: all emails Tem has been writing in the last 4 weeks, all the websites he visited, what he searched for online and the places he went. I will get to the bottom of this, he vows. I will find all your damn evidence and then I will make up my mind about what to do next, but I need all the facts first. And he adds another row of stones to his protective wall.
It¡¯s late afternoon when he finally arrives at his apartment building. He¡¯s tired. It¡¯s time for more painkillers and some rest, but when he rounds the corner of the hallway there¡¯s another surprise waiting for him in front of his apartment door. Pete is sitting on the floor there, with his back against the wall, staring at his hands, seemingly lost in thoughts. He looks unhappy, Vegas notes. The sight of him is like having a car slam into Vegas¡¯ protective wall. It shudders violently. Pete¡ªor whoever this really is¡ªhas gotten under his skin badly. He doesn¡¯t like feeling so damn conflicted. Once again Vegas wishes he had never met Pete. He wishes he could just switch off every wayward emotion he is feeling right now. And he doesn¡¯t want to be attracted to Pete anymore either. Fuck off. Get out of my life. Leave me alone. Damn liar. But instead he¡¯s hit with the memories of Pete¡¯s first visit here; drunk Pete and his wandering hands grabbing his ass, and how cute Pete looked slumped against that exact wall, while Vegas was unlocking the door, fighting to regain his composure. Fuck. The wall trembles some more. Vegas swallows drily, hoping that his voice won¡¯t reveal his inner turmoil. ¡°What are you doing here on the floor?¡± Pete casts him a fleeting sideways look and then returns to staring at his hands. ¡°Oh, you¡¯re finally home again¡­¡± Yes, he definitely looks unhappy. No sunny smile in sight, even the clothes he is wearing are in muted colours. He looks depressed, Vegas notes and his heart clenches painfully. He¡¯s obviously not dealing well with having killed another human being. ¡°I¡¯m waiting for you,¡± Pete mumbles softly, still refusing to look at Vegas. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you wait inside? Did you lose your key?¡± What¡¯s going on here? Vegas is confused. And he doesn¡¯t feel ready for this meeting either. Everything still feels way too fresh and raw after Tem¡¯s bombshell. Pete looks at his hand, opens it, and there¡¯s the apartment key. ¡°I didn¡¯t dare to use it,¡± he explains quietly, twirling the key between his fingers. This is making no sense and it just adds to Vegas¡¯ confusion. ¡°Why?¡± Pete sighs, staring at the key in his hand as if were a live grenade. ¡°Because I¡¯m scared.¡± Oh fuck. Vegas¡¯ heart skips a beat, and his damn protective wall is shaking in its foundations. Not good. ¡°What on earth is there to be scared about? You think I would booby-trap the door? He expects Pete to smile about this notion but instead the other man just looks solemnly at the key in his fingers. ¡°I am scared you changed the locks,¡± he eventually explains. ¡°Idiotic, huh? I¡¯ve been sitting here for the longest time, but I can¡¯t bring myself to try and see if the key is still working. Pathetic, right?¡± And then he looks up, daring to look at Vegas for the first time, and there is so much misery in his dark eyes. All the work of the last few days goes up in smoke at that sight; Vegas¡¯ protective wall just crumbles away as if it never existed in the first place. He was a damn fool to believe that this would work at all. He can¡¯t protect himself against this man. Pete is part of him, they¡¯re intrinsically intertwined at this stage, and removing one from the other just isn¡¯t possible anymore. Fuck. ¡°Pretty pathetic, yes,¡± Vegas agrees quietly. ¡°You really are a melodramatic idiot, Sunshine.¡± With a sigh he walks up to him, leans down and plucks the key from Pete¡¯s fingers. ¡°We have an argument, I don¡¯t text you for two days, and you think I have called it quits? Let me remind you again: you are my missing puzzle piece, and I told you I would stick to you like superglue. Even if I wanted to walk away, we are kind of stuck together now, for better or worse.¡± He unlocks the door and walks into his apartment before the astonished Pete can reply in any way. Leaving the door wide open. I am so screwed, Vegas thinks. I am so damn screwed.
They end up in bed. Of course they do. Neither of them is good at talking about problems, so instead they talk with their bodies. The sex is slow and intense. Vegas makes love to Pete as if this is the last time he has the chance to worship his body. Every touch counts. He wants to memorise Pete¡¯s scent, the softness of his skin, the expressions on his face, the way he moves and sighs, the taste of him, the feeling of their skin against each other and Pete¡¯s hair running through his fingers. He wants to burn every single detail deep into his memory, just in case everything goes catastrophically downhill from now on. Afterwards, when they are curled up in bed, wrapped around each other with the sweat slowly drying on their heated skin, Vegas nuzzles the side of Pete¡¯s neck. ¡°I love you,¡± he exhales into his ear. ¡°I love you so damn much. Please don¡¯t break my heart.¡± Deep down he hopes that this confession will somehow make Pete open up to him. Talk to me. Please talk to me and explain everything. I don¡¯t want to have to find out by myself. Pete stays silent though, just sighs contently. Vegas is well aware of Pete¡¯s unwillingness to talk about love. It seems difficult for him to openly confess what he feels for Vegas. That¡¯s okay, because Vegas can sense the intensity of Pete¡¯s feelings towards him. He will come around eventually and open his heart. And maybe tell him about everything else too. Who are you? Why are you lying to me? There is a rumour that Kinn once shot one of his former boyfriends because he turned out to be a traitor. It has to be a mere rumour, no way Kinn would have been able to kill someone he loves. Vegas can¡¯t imagine shooting someone he loves as much as he loves Pete. If he turned out to be a traitor, Vegas wouldn¡¯t be able to do him in. He might as well put a bullet straight through his own heart. He spoons Pete and trails kisses along his shoulder. ¡°You really have no idea how much I love you,¡± he whispers quietly against his skin. ¡°Sometimes it feels as if I can¡¯t breathe without you, and I know this sounds cheesy as hell, but I can¡¯t help it, that¡¯s how I feel.¡± ¡°Vegas¡­¡± Pete sighs and snuggles deeper into his embrace. ¡°You really are a hopeless romantic.¡± ¡°Only with you. You waltzed into my life and stole my heart. And now you¡¯re stuck with me, because I will never let you go again.¡±¡ªno matter who you are¡ª¡°Maybe we should just leave the country. Move abroad. Somewhere far away from here.¡±¡ªmaybe running away will solve the whole issue¡ª¡°I¡¯m pretty sure I could find a job abroad and so could you. We could leave it all behind, the whole mess with my family and the killer, and have a fresh new start.¡± And maybe then you will tell me who you really are and why you are doing this. ¡°Now you¡¯re being plain silly, Vegas. This isn¡¯t a soap opera, you can¡¯t just pack up and move to another country as the mood strikes you. Just forget about it, I think we¡¯re doing pretty fine right here where we are.¡± From the tone of his voice, it¡¯s clear that Pete isn¡¯t taking him seriously. Vegas knows this is a stupid idea himself. But still¡­ ¡°We¡¯re not doing fine¡ªI recently got abducted, and I have a serial killer coming after me too, do I need to remind you about that? The more I think about it, the more going abroad sounds like an excellent idea. What do you say, run away with me?¡± Vegas buries his face in Pete¡¯s neck and inhales his scent. He smells so good, Vegas really can¡¯t get enough of it. He truly is addicted to Pete in every way. Unfortunately Pete is more down to earth about everything, and the idea of running away doesn¡¯t seem to appeal to him at all. ¡°Request denied. Now are we going to sleep or do you want to watch a movie first?¡± Vegas sighs. It was worth a try. His brain is buzzing with thousands of questions that he doesn¡¯t dare to ask. Who are you? Why are you lying to me? Why can¡¯t you just talk to me? Are you going to break my heart? If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. But instead of voicing all these questions, the only thing he says is, ¡°A movie sounds fine.¡±
Tem wanders though his dreams, sprouting endless monologues, just his half of a conversation that got lost in white noise and is now finally resurfacing. Vegas tries to weave the snippets all together and it¡¯s confusing. Pete¡¯s voice haunts his dreams as well, telling his side of the story, a side that doesn¡¯t quite add up with what Tem is talking about. Who is right and who is wrong? Who is lying? It is all so damn exhausting. I just want to sleep, Vegas thinks. Let me sleep. How am I supposed to function if I can¡¯t get a good nights sleep? Vegas¡¯ life goes back to normal, but that¡¯s just an illusion. What is normal after all? Vegas feels as if he¡¯s been dropped into an alternative reality. The man who calls himself Pete seems to think they can just ignore Tawan¡¯s death and move on as if it had never happened. He refuses to talk about it; instead he keeps himself busy by working overtime, coming home late or staying at his own place. Everything between them just seems ¡®off¡¯ somehow. Caught between his doubts, insecurities, righteous anger at being lied to, and sleep deprivation, Vegas is starting to feel increasingly anxious and frustrated, which is never a good combination. He tries to rebuild his wall but all it takes is one touch from Pete, one look, and everything comes crashing down again, leaving him vulnerable. He¡¯s grasping for life lines, in this case Pete, because he simply can¡¯t help himself. He can¡¯t stop himself from wanting Pete, from needing him. Pete seems to sense the inner urgency that has taken hold of Vegas and reacts by withdrawing further, which in turn only makes Vegas even more anxious. It¡¯s a downward spiral. Sometimes, when the nightmares awaken Vegas in the middle of the night, he finds the bed beside him cold and empty, and Pete standing in the dark living room, staring out the window. He brushes Vegas off when he asks what is going on. ¡®I don¡¯t want to talk about it¡¯ becomes a mantra. Communication is everything, but neither of them is talking, at least not about the important things. Pete is obviously having trouble processing the trauma of Tawan¡¯s death, but he¡¯s refusing to accept any help that Vegas tentatively offers. He needs counselling, but of course he can¡¯t just go to another therapist and talk about how he killed someone, and Vegas doesn¡¯t know how to help him. The only way he knows how to give comfort is with his body, but Pete has started to reject even that. No sex, no kisses, not even hugs. ¡°Don¡¯t. I¡¯m not in the mood,¡± he insists as Vegas winds his arms around Pete¡¯s neck, pulling him close into an embrace. Vegas pauses, then reluctantly ends the hug, giving Pete a helpless and frustrated look. ¡°Stop pushing me away. I know you¡¯re having problems right now, but I¡¯m trying to help, and you¡¯re shutting me out.¡± ¡°You¡¯re getting too clingy, Vegas.¡± Pete frowns at him and increases not only the emotional but also the physical distance between them by walking towards the kitchen. That comment hurts. ¡°Of course I¡¯m clingy. I love you, and you¡¯re not doing well. I want to take care of you.¡± Vegas follows him, fighting down the frustration he feels. ¡°Well, stop it. You need to dial it down, Vegas, this is starting to stress me out.¡± Vegas gives him an incredulous look. ¡°Dial it down? We¡¯re talking about my feelings for you here. Maybe you should go back to reading that clever little book of yours, because I can assure you, right now feel like I¡¯m the only one trying to make this relationship work.¡± Pete slams his psychologist mask back into place and gives him a haughty look. ¡°Life isn¡¯t just about how you feel, Vegas, so maybe you should give me the space I ask for.¡± I must not get upset with him, Vegas reminds hinself, but damn, it¡¯s increasingly difficult. He¡¯s trying, really, he is, but he¡¯s also coming to the end of his rope. ¡°Life has been all about you, ever since my abduction, which you also conveniently do not want to talk about. Would it have killed you to show just the slightest bit of concern or offer just a little bit of comfort to me? You¡¯re not the only one who has been through hell recently. Stop shutting me out and talk. Porsche says communication is really important.¡± And as soon as the words have left his mouth, he knows he¡¯s made a mistake. Pete¡¯s eyes narrow in anger as soon as he hears Porsche¡¯s name. ¡°Are you talking about me behind my back? Seriously? With Porsche?¡± ¡°Porsche is my best friend, who else am I supposed to talk about my problems with?¡± Vegas throws his hands up in exasperation. Why are they fighting again? Why can¡¯t they just talk instead? ¡°So I am a ¡®problem¡¯ now? You didn¡¯t like what you saw me do to Tawan and now I¡¯m a problem? And you go and talk about it with your best friend who you¡¯ve probably had a crush on for ages?¡± To say that Pete sounds irritated would be an understatement. ¡°Pete!¡± Vegas is struggling hard to keep his temper in check. All of this sounds so unfair, he hasn¡¯t had enough sleep, and who is Pete anyway to throw a temper tantrum like this when he¡¯s been the one lying about everything the whole time?! ¡°That is so uncalled for. Stop trying to deflect from the real issue here!¡± ¡°And you should stop trying to act as my therapist, you¡¯re unqualified!¡± Pete is fuming. He stalks past Vegas, heading for the exit. ¡°Stop running away!¡± Vegas yells after him. ¡°I am so damn tired of you walking out on me! It¡¯s the middle of the damn night, come back!¡± ¡°Go to hell, Vegas!¡± Pete slams the door shut on his way out of the apartment. Vegas finds himself alone, once again, and the frustration turns into anger. What the fuck was that about?! And before he can stop himself, he falls back into old habits and with a flick of his hand swipes everything clear off the kitchen table. Mugs, glasses, a plate¡ªeverything crashes to the floor and breaks. ¡°Fuck!¡± Vegas yells. ¡°Fuck fuck fuck!¡± And he kicks the table too. ¡°Fuck!¡±
The next day Vegas heads back to work. He goes through the database findings looking for more clues about their serial killer, but after a few unproductive hours the ever-growing uncertainty within him spurs him to make another trip across town, this time to a place he¡¯d rather not see again, ever. The door is easily broken into. He flips on the lights and sighs. God, he hates this place. Everything is spotless; Chan deserves a medal. The chain is gone, as is the couch, the coffee table and the seat that were all drenched in blood. The whole place smells of cleaning products. Gloves on, Vegas heads straight for the office area he remembers so well. He¡¯s here for Tawan¡¯s computer. Vegas can feel himself slipping into total paranoia; it feels horrible. He can¡¯t shake the feeling that things between Tawan and Pete weren¡¯t exactly as he was made to believe, and he hates himself for turning into such a jealous idiot. He wants to believe Pete, but now that the floodgates of suspicion have opened, doubt piles upon doubt and he¡¯s unable to rein in his scepticism about basically everything. If Pete¡¯s lied about his identity, what else has he been lying about? He seemed awfully familiar with Tawan. He even kissed him¡ªa fact that still irritates the hell out of Vegas. Just a one-night-stand? I think not. And that¡¯s where the computer comes into play. He needs to be able to look at all the data, the social media posts, the emails, instant messenger messages and such. To put his mind to rest. I hate this. This isn¡¯t me. I hate this version of me. Why do you have to lie to me, Pete? Look what you¡¯re making me do. Since there¡¯s nothing else here that interests him, Vegas just packs up the computer and leaves, dropping it off at the forensic specialist who is already working on the other computers. Vegas needs answers, and he is determined to get them. And amidst all of this he can¡¯t shake the feeling that he is overlooking something really important. But he just can¡¯t remember what it might be.
After two days of radio silence, Pete returns as if nothing ever happened, and they start dancing around each other on eggshells again. The uncertainty of everything is driving Vegas insane; that¡¯s the only excuse he has for going through Pete¡¯s wallet, taking photos of his ID card and all the other cards he finds in there while Pete¡¯s taking a shower. The ID looks real, it has to be an exceptional forgery. He hates himself for doing this. But he hates being lied to even more. He¡¯s finding out the hard way how it feels to be totally dependent on another person, and he doesn¡¯t even understand how he got to this point. Hell, he doesn¡¯t understand himself. Is this really how love is supposed to feel? The thing between him and Pete feels vastly different from what his cousin and Porsche have. I am so screwed.
Back at work, he locks himself into his office, calls up a private browsing session and starts googling. Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham. And doesn¡¯t find much at all. An address. It occurs to him that he¡¯s never been at Pete¡¯s place¡ªlet¡¯s just keep calling him Pete for now¡ªin fact, he knows awfully little about his boyfriend, coming to think of it. A LinkedIn page. Vegas notes down the information listed there too, but it¡¯s not very informative. No photos anywhere. He knows all this already; on the surface everything looks fine and normal. After a brief moment of hesitation, he pulls an USB stick from his pocket and inserts it into his computer. He got the stick from his father the day he graduated from the police academy, in the hopes that Vegas would use its special capabilities for the best of the family. Well, needless to say that didn¡¯t happen. The stick has been resting in the back of his gun safe, untouched for years. But this seems like the perfect time to make use of it, even if it goes against everything Vegas stands for as a cop. Logged into the police network, all it takes is one click and the nifty little program on the stick acts like a master key, giving Vegas nearly unlimited access to information he normally would be logged out of. He¡¯s a bit shocked by the sudden, limitless access. No wonder his father was so keen for Vegas to use this. It would be a disaster of unheard of proportions to give Khun Gun this kind of admittance to the police network and their affiliates. Vegas shudders when he thinks about what sort of evil his family could bring upon the city with this. Vegas types ¡®Phongsakorn Saengtham¡¯. Open sesame¡­ And the information unfurls before him. Everything there is to know about Pete in the official channels. Where he was born and when. Where he lived. The cars he owns and has owned. His tax returns. Health records. Any traffic offences. Health insurances. Entry and exit date for the country. His high school grades. Holy shit, this is unnerving. He needs to find out who wrote this program and put them behind bars. I wonder if Uncle Korn has this program too¡­ Vegas works his way to the unexpected wealth of information and soon one thing becomes clear¡ªthe records have been altered. Not all of them, just the ones at the top layer, the ones that people would look at when doing a routine check. For example, those files show Pete as being just about two months older than Vegas, but according to the photo he saw, the real Pete should be much younger. And indeed, when he looks through the insurance data history and older tax records, the real age is revealed. Twenty-two. Vegas has to admit, in his increasing paranoia he has started to wonder if all this might just be an elaborate ruse from Tem to make him mistrust Pete. He is really going insane. Buried deep in the data he comes across another photo of the real Pete. He was much younger then, and there is absolutely no resemblance to the Pete he knows. It¡¯s disheartening. Think, Vegas, think. Someone has been altering the data. Who? ¡°I¡¯m pretty good with computers, I dare say.¡± Pete gives him a dimpled smile, outing himself as a computer nerd. Shit. No way. So where is the real Pete? According to the travel data, the real Pete has been spending an extensive time abroad in the US. For studies, it¡¯s listed. He returned to the country about a year ago and hasn¡¯t travelled since. Vegas makes a note to check LinkedIn to see what universities are entered there, and to check if the real Pete is still on record as studying there. Maybe he should go talk to the parents. But a check reveals that they¡¯re both listed as deceased and there are even death certificates for them. When did they die? Also about six months ago. Six months. His Pete started working here at the police department around that time. What happened six months ago? Vegas needs answers, but instead he has to stop his research because other police work interferes.
The data from the forensics expert arrives a few days later. Vegas decides to deal with the Tawan issue first and soon wishes he hadn¡¯t done so. That man was seriously disturbed, completely obsessed with his therapist. There are photos of Pete, lots of them, taken from a distance. Tawan has also been googling Pete¡¯s address. Vegas¡¯ address too. There are photos of them together. Damn stalker. And then the e-mails. Long, winding emails full of romantic drivel that Pete patiently and professionally answers, keeping Tawan at a distance, reminding him of their doctor/patient relationship again and again. Vegas feels sick to his stomach reading them. Disgusting. Why didn¡¯t Pete stop counselling Tawan earlier? How could he endure this for so long? Then he stumbles across an email that sends a shiver of ice down his spine. ¡°I¡¯ve dealt with them. We can be together now; there is no more obstacle. I¡¯m so excited, this will be the beginning of a new life with you. Are you excited too, my love?¡± A glance at the time stamp of the e-mail, then at his notes, and Vegas swallows hard. Shit. It¡¯s the same date. The exact same date as listed on the death certificates of Pete¡¯s parents. Shit. Their cause of death is listed as traumatic brain injury and internal bleeding due to a car accident. Holy shit. Tawan killed Pete¡¯s parents? This nightmare is getting worse and worse. Right after this incident it appears that Pete transferred Tawan to another therapist and cut down any further communication between them to a bare minimum. And Tawan wasn¡¯t happy about that. His messages get increasingly desperate at the point when Vegas enters the picture. What Vegas can¡¯t find is any conclusive evidence that Pete and Tawan had more than a one-night-stand. He should feel reassured by that, but somehow the relief he hoped for isn¡¯t materialising. Something feels off, but at this point Vegas doesn¡¯t trust his own ability to draw the right conclusions anymore. As for Tem¡¯s data¡­ this is just painful. Every document investigating Pete just reveals his friend¡¯s deep desperation about the relationship between Vegas and his therapist. Bank statements. General insurance information. Credit card transactions. Medical records. Work contracts. School records. University records. Travel records. So much new information. Tem was nothing but efficient. The real Pete was a psychology student, as it turns out, studying in the US. There is a long list of classmates and teachers; Tem seems to have called or mailed each of them, gathering information. The real Pete seems like a gentle, quiet soul, well liked by everyone but sort of forgettable. Unassuming. Just average. Nothing stands out. And according to Tem¡¯s files he unexpectedly dropped out of university about a year ago to complete his studies back home in Thailand. There are photos too. All showing a Pete Vegas never met. With real Pete¡¯s return to Thailand, Tem seems to have run into a dead end information-wise. The apartment listed is that of the Pete Vegas knows. Somehow the real Pete disappears into thin air, only to be replaced by the therapist Vegas knows and loves. Tem seems to have found no record or written evidence of the real Pete since his return to the country. If he ever returned. It looks like the psychiatric office Pete worked for as a freelancer before joining the police department only knows fake Pete. That¡¯s where he ran into Tawan too. Tem seems to have been frustrated about all of this as well, Vegas can feel his growing frustration while reading through his notes. Both Tem and Vegas are baffled that the fake Pete passed the vetting for his current job as a police department counsellor. Then again, as Vegas observed, the false identity is masterfully forged, and with these credentials, of course no one expected anything. Who on earth are you, Vegas wonders at night, watching Pete sleep peacefully beside him. What are you running from that you have to take someone else¡¯s identity? Why can¡¯t you talk to me about this? The uncertainty hurts. Once again Vegas just wants to turn off his confusing feelings for this man, or get them under control somehow. He wants a buffer zone. He feels as if he¡¯s being relentlessly battered by one revelation after the other. He just wants to love and be loved without any complications, he is tired of fighting, he is tired of all the damn lies. Please trust me, he thinks and traces Pete¡¯s eyebrows with his fingertips, careful not to wake him up. Please open up. We can figure this out together.
Tem¡¯s notes end abruptly; the last thing he wrote down was an address. A quick check reveals it to be the address of the deceased parents. Vegas decides to skip work, not even bothering to call in sick. No one will dare question him about his absence anyway; they know Vegas Theerapanyakul can do whatever the hell he wants in this precinct, with no real consequences. Instead, he follows in Tem¡¯s footsteps with the help of the data from the navigational chip of his car. He ends up in the quiet, upscale neighbourhood where the parents of the real Pete used to live. Vegas wouldn¡¯t call this a rich area, but the people living here are certainly upper middle class. The streets are clean, the lawns immaculate. Most houses are behind high walls and gates. There are CCTV cameras at every corner and the cars parked in the area are also of the more expensive kind; Audis, BMWs, even a Mercedes. Once he¡¯s parked his car, Vegas walks up to a beautifully wrought iron gate. Like most of the houses in this street, the property is surrounded by a high, white-washed wall. The house itself, the part he can see, has clean lines and is relatively modest looking. It¡¯s in the middle of the day and Vegas cannot see any cars parked in the driveway. He has no idea if there is anyone living here at the moment. But the grounds and the garden seem well looked after. Hmmm¡­ After a moment of consideration, he wanders over to the neighbouring house and rings the doorbell there. After a while, an elderly lady with an abundance of laugh lines on her wrinkled face answers the door and looks Vegas over curiously. He isn¡¯t wearing his uniform today, but he¡¯s neatly dressed as usual. Boring, Pete would call his style. Vegas calls this ¡®dressing professionally¡¯. With a smile, Vegas flashes his police ID. ¡°Detective Theerapanyakul. Would you be so kind to answer a few questions about your neighbours?¡± ¡°Oh dear, is there a problem? Which neighbours? The ones with the cats?¡± The woman seems confused and slightly intimidated. Vegas is used to this reaction to his badge. ¡°Please don¡¯t be concerned. These are just routine questions about the couple who used to live in the house to the right from you.¡± ¡°Oh. The Saengthams. Are you here about the car accident? Again? One of your colleagues was here a while ago, asking questions about them too.¡± She looks adorably confused, just a sweet old lady who rarely has to interact with the police and is thereby nervous. The colleague must have been Tem, Vegas figures. ¡°Ah yes, my partner.¡± And then he takes a guess. ¡°The one you showed the photo album to.¡± ¡°No dearie, that wasn¡¯t me, that was Ploy from across the street.¡± And before Vegas can stop her, the little old Lady calls out in a surprisingly loud voice: ¡°Ploooooy! I know you¡¯re lurking, come over here and talk to this nice young man!¡± Before he can even recover from the surprise, Vegas finds himself surrounded by a small group of senior citizens, mostly women, who are all delighted to make his acquaintance. ¡°The Saengthams, such lovely couple, such a tragedy what happened back then,¡± he¡¯s told. ¡°Both of them, gone within the blink of an eye, because of a runaway driver. Have you finally found the culprit?¡± ¡°I am not at liberty to divulge this information¡­¡± Vegas gives the ladies his best professional smile. ¡°¡­ but I can tell you there has been some progress in the investigation; that¡¯s why I¡¯ve returned to go over some general facts again with all of you.¡± They must all be bored out of their minds, because Vegas has difficulties keeping up with all the information they excitedly offload on him now. What he learns is that Pete¡¯s parents were well-loved in the community. They had been living here for a long time, and their son Pete was the apple of their eye. The whole neighbourhood knows how proud they were when he went to study abroad. And that¡¯s why none of them understands why he didn¡¯t return home after the terrible accident that killed his parents. Such scandalous behaviour, they all agree on that. Not filial at all. No respect towards his deceased parents. He didn¡¯t even come home for the funeral. Once again they all agree that he must have fallen into some bad company abroad. ¡°It must be drugs,¡± Ploy insists, and the group nods vigorously in agreement. They¡¯ve all heard on TV how wild things are at those American universities. No discipline. Vegas takes notes. He shows them the photo of Tawan but none of them has ever seen him before. Then, out of curiosity, he asks about the house. The real Pete must have sold it, he learns. To fuel the supposed drug addiction. The fact that really worries Vegas is that the real Pete hasn¡¯t shown his face around here since returning from the US. Not once. Even his parents, and thereby their neighbours, were not aware that he has been in the country for a year already, way before his parents funeral; they were all under the impression that he was, and still is, studying in America. Instinct tells Vegas this doesn¡¯t bode well for the real Pete. People don¡¯t tend to go missing for a year and then pop up again all of a sudden. And that makes Vegas anxious. Damn it, Pete. How are you involved in all this? The group starts to disperse eventually, as Vegas runs out of questions to ask. He is just about to return to his car when something else occurs to him and he stops Ploy from leaving. ¡°One last question. Do you have the contact information for the new owners of the house?¡± The old lady shakes her head with a smile. ¡°Unfortunately I can¡¯t help you with that, detective. I¡¯ve seen him just a few times, such a private man. I think this is just a secondary home; he¡¯s rarely around.¡± Ploy excuses herself and heads back home. Vegas just stands there, taking an unhappy look at the Saengtham property. Fuck. He should go home. He should just drop this investigation. The man who calls himself Pete loves him, isn¡¯t that enough? Vegas should just forget about all this, pretend he never received this information from Tem, and just live his life and be happy with Pete. He should just go home. But he doesn¡¯t.
Gaining access to the property proves to be ridiculously easy. Locks were never a problem for Vegas. It seems that if he wants to find out who Pete really is, he will need to start looking right at the source. Vegas is running out of options and he would rather not start searching Pete¡¯s apartment just yet. If he even has an apartment. Doubt raises its ugly head again. He¡¯s never been to Pete¡¯s place, he just assumed¡­ Well, shit. Maybe this right here is Pete¡¯s place. Should he really do this then? The need for answers proves too strong though; it doesn¡¯t really matter if Pete lives here or not, Vegas needs to search the property. He isn¡¯t worried the slightest bit that the neighbours might see what he is doing. After all, what are they going to do? Call the police? Just as he¡¯s about to enter the house, he suddenly remembers that he forgot to do something really important: he needs to switch off his phone. Imagine Pete checking that idiotic App right now, wouldn¡¯t that be embarrassing to explain? Vegas shudders just thinking about it. He¡¯s not ready yet to confront Pete about the whole identity scam. Once he¡¯s turned off the phone, Vegas slips into the house and closes the door behind him. It¡¯s a lovely house, even inside. White walls, a mix of modern and antique furniture, not that much decoration. Vegas wonders if the interior¡¯s been changed in any way since the death of the Saengthams. It doesn¡¯t look like it. The new owner of this house really doesn¡¯t spend a lot of time here. The air inside is stuffy; it smells dusty, as if no one has opened the windows for quite a while. Some of the furniture has a light layer of dust on it. Dust motes float through the sunlight filtering through the large windows. Vegas checks out the kitchen first, but can¡¯t find any fresh food anywhere. The only thing in the fridge is bottled water. A quick check of the cupboards reveals a couple of Instant Ramen bowls. The trash is empty. This doesn¡¯t feel like a lived-in house, so Vegas relaxes slightly. The chances of being discovered will be relatively low, he figures. Vegas searches the upstairs next. There are a couple of bedrooms, bathrooms, and an office devoid of any computer or printer. The layer of dust is thick in here, it hasn¡¯t been used for a long time. Neither have the bedrooms, apart from a smaller one. This is the only bedroom with a pillow and a blanket, apparently it is used occasionally. It¡¯s warm in the house; the air conditioning has been turned off. Vegas is sweating. He searches every room not even knowing what exactly he is looking for. But there is nothing. Some old folders with unimportant papers from the couple who used to live here. Even frames with their family photos. All untouched, no one has bothered removing them. It feels a bit eerie, walking past them, always under their watchful eyes. If Vegas was hoping to find something pointing him in the direction of the real Pete, he will have to leave with empty hands. There is nothing and it¡¯s frustrating as hell. The last thing to do before leaving is checking the walled garden, because Vegas is thorough. He¡¯s getting restless, he¡¯s spent way too much time here already. As far as he is concerned, this property is a dead end. Stepping outside, he takes a deep breath of fresh air, damn that feels good. The air inside of the house was really way too stuffy. The garden is meticulously groomed; a gardener probably comes regularly to take care of the plants. Vegas makes his way around the house, but doesn¡¯t see anything of interest. That changes when he rounds the corner. There is a surprisingly large greenhouse ahead. Well, that¡¯s an unexpected find. They live in a tropical climate, why would anyone have a greenhouse here? The glass panels are foggy with condensation; it¡¯s impossible to see inside. Old people have strange hobbies, Vegas thinks. Maybe they were collecting orchids? He read a book once about an orchid collector, and just never really understood the fascination with those flowers. Or flowers and plants in general. Vegas has no green thumb; he even managed to kill a cactus through sheer neglect. Just a quick look and then he will drive home. When Vegas opens the creaky door to the greenhouse, he is hit by a wave of stifling heat that is so humid that it feels like breathing water. The heat is the first thing his mind registers but then comes the smell. Wet earth, decomposing plants and above all, a heavy, sweet fragrance, almost cloying in this intensity. Vegas¡¯ heart skips a beat. And another one. Despite the scorching heat it feels as if he¡¯s been dropped into a frozen lake. While his mind is still trying to make sense of the view in front of him, he is already moving forward, one step at a time. His legs might as well be covered with lead, they feel just as heavy. Vegas staggers into the greenhouse, straight into a hellish kaleidoscope of dark green, red, and black, with a sprinkle of bright orange. So much red. It is everywhere. So much red. In a stunned daze, Vegas stumbles haltingly through the greenhouse, skimming his fingers along the silky sea of red flowers. So much red. Red everywhere. His stomach roils, his nostrils, mouth and throat are coated with the sugary scent that permeates the air. What the hell? Vegas can¡¯t seem to think. His mind is frozen, all fluttering thoughts suspended. It¡¯s a strange feeling. He can¡¯t think, but he can still feel, in fact his mind is a huge mess of raw feelings right now. Horror first and foremost. He¡¯s standing in horrified silence, the soft texture of the silky flower petals caressing his fingertips. What a nightmare. What a fucking nightmare. What is the meaning of this? From somewhere behind him a soft voice breaks the silence. ¡°Asiatic lily hybrids. ¡®London Heart¡¯, to be exact. They¡¯re breathtaking, aren¡¯t they?¡± Surprised shock ripples through Vegas. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Amidst the sea of flowers, he finds himself turning around, towards the entrance of the greenhouse, and that voice. That very familiar voice. Should have turned off that phone sooner¡ªthe thought unfreezes and flutters through his mind. This is going to be awkward. But all it takes is one glance at the man casually leaning against the doorframe, and Vegas¡¯ danger sense emits an unearthly screeching alarm that sends shockwaves of adrenaline through his whole body and he freezes in mid-motion. Awkwardness will be the least of his problems. It is indeed Pete. But at the same time, it isn¡¯t. Changeling. Doppelg?nger. Skin walker. This is not the Pete he knows. Vegas experiences a brutal visual flashback to a stranger with a blood-smeared face and dead eyes, lost in a killing frenzy, stabbing into an already dead body. His breath hitches in panic and his heart skips another beat. Pete¡¯s lips curve into the familiar smile, but coupled with this dead, calculating look, the effect is simply bone-chilling. ¡°Do you like my flowers?¡± he asks softly. Vegas¡¯ mind, locked in its frozen state, is trying to make sense of it all, to connect all the dots. What the hell is this supposed to mean? My flowers? Pete¡¯s flowers? Oh. And standing there like a petrified statue between the blood-red lilies, Vegas world falls apart. ¡­ no¡­ ¡­ no¡­ ¡­ no¡­ All his frozen thoughts unfreeze simultaneously and flutter around in a dizzying frenzy and Vegas can hear himself whimpering in distress. ¡­ little ray of sunshine ¡­ the abdominal cavity has been opened, emptied and now gapes like a red and black maw with pale streaks of bone reaching outward like clawed hands ¡­ a pleasure to meet you. I¡¯m Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham, your therapist. Just call me Pete ¡­ an eerie blood-red meadow of flowers and as the centrepiece¡ªholy shit¡ªthis used to be a human being ¡­ the Cheshire Cat is smiling again, slow at first, but then the smile widens and there¡¯s a wicked gleam in the depth of his eyes ¡­ a bucket full of thick glistening strands of nastiness ¡­ I merely acknowledge the fact that your monster is smart as hell ¡­ fluff ball ¡­ if you sabotage this partnership one more time, I¡¯ll make you regret it ¡­ mine ¡­ from the head down towards the waist the victim has been flayed ¡­ you chose me ¡­ hey, babe, take a walk on the wild side ¡­ you know what happens when you make one-sided decisions? You get to live with the consequences of your decisions ¡­ This is so nice and normal, I never had anything like this before ¡­ he drilled through the tissue and then threaded the cable through that hole before wrapping it around the wrist a few times, fastening it with an ordinary knot ¡­ you saved me ¡­ I fear an ¡®I¡¯m sorry¡¯ simply won¡¯t cut it this time ¡­ congratulations Vegas. You got yourself a boyfriend, let¡¯s go steady ¡­ the victim has been opened up like a can of sardines, unzipped like a zipper ¡­ I love you ¡­ You are going to be the death of me, aren¡¯t you? I haven¡¯t decided yet And like a ray of sunshine piercing the darkness, Pete¡¯s familiar voice intrudes, cutting through all the messy, fluttering thoughts. ¡°Well, isn¡¯t this a rightful mess? You really shouldn¡¯t have come here, Vegas.¡± Such a pleasant voice. Vegas loves that voice so much but right now it only sends shivers of dread down his spine. So distant and cold. Wrong, this is wrong. ¡°I suppose we have Tem to thank for this mess. You must have started to remember.¡± The stranger wearing Pete¡¯s face¡ªbecause this cannot be his Pete¡ªtsks as he studies Vegas calmly. ¡°Have I lost you to white noise or can you still hear me? Nod if you can understand, please.¡± Vegas nods numbly. Skin walker. Changeling. Doppelg?nger. Not wanted here, go away. He wants Pete. He does not want this frightening stranger wearing Pete¡¯s face because the implications¡ª¡®Do you like my flowers¡¯¡ªthe implications¡­ notgoingthere¡­ notgoingthere¡­ ¡­ Tem. Always Tem¡­ Talking talking talking¡­ ¡­ You are not going to believe it¡­ ¡­ This isn¡¯t the real Pete¡­ ¡­ I swear I am not lying¡­ ¡­ Stop threatening me with the gun already, I am not the enemy here, he is¡­ ¡­ He¡¯s a monster¡­ ¡­ He is THE monster¡­ ¡­ Come to your senses, Vegas, he¡¯s killing people¡­ ¡­ I¡¯m begging you Vegas, please believe me¡­ ¡­ He¡¯s a cold-blooded killer¡­ ¡­ You can¡¯t possibly be okay with this¡­ The implications. NOTGOINGTHERE. Buckets. Flowers. Wings. Pete. No! NOTGOINGTHERE. Absolutely not going there! I. Refuse. To. Go. There!!! Vegas¡¯ mind is battening down the hatches in a desperate attempt to cope with this massive shock. Tem. Buckets. Flowers. Wings. Killer. An imaginary net catches all those wildly fluttering thoughts connected to them, tosses them into a black room, locks it and throws away the key. Much better now. One thing at a time. A lonely thought flutters by. Should have brought my gun. Another thought flutters through the darkness. But hey, that¡¯s not a problem, Pete brought a gun. And after a slightly longer pause there comes another fluttering thought. Isn¡¯t that my gun? Sure looks like my SIG P320SP. Oh. Vegas is still a shell-shocked mess, but things are starting to shift into focus again. Pete¡ªhis Pete?¡ªis not only leaning casually against the door-frame of the greenhouse, watching Vegas closely, he¡¯s also holding a gun in his right hand. How did he get that out of Vegas¡¯ gun safe? Never mind that now. Why is Pete holding a gun? And the way he is handling it shows that he is very comfortable and familiar with handguns. The cognitive dissonance this sight causes in Vegas is mind-jarring. ¡°What the fuck is all this supposed to mean?¡± Vegas almost doesn¡¯t recognise his own voice, it¡¯s brittle with distress. ¡°Oh Vegas¡­¡± The stranger sighs. ¡°Just as I expected, you are not dealing well with this at all.¡± Dealing well with what?¡ªlarge red blossom with petals that shift into solid black, with vividly orange filaments¡ªNOTGOINGTHERE! The runaway thought is caught, locked up and gone again, leaving Vegas confused. Isn¡¯t that his gun Pete is holding? Why is Pete holding a gun again? He shouldn¡¯t be holding a gun, he doesn¡¯t know how to handle it. Or does he? Hesitantly, Vegas takes a step forward. And suddenly he finds himself staring in disbelief at the barrel of his own gun, now pointed at him. Vegas¡¯ cop training kicks in and he stops moving. Everything else is shoved on the back burner; the gun is the problem he needs to deal with first. ¡°I don¡¯t understand, what is the meaning of all this?¡± he hoarsely asks again. ¡°Be a good boy and don¡¯t move.¡± Pete¡¯s voice is oh so calm and frighteningly detached. None of this is making any sense! The heat in the greenhouse is oppressive, but Vegas feels so very cold that he¡¯s shivering. ¡°What the hell are you doing, pointing a gun at me? Cut the crap, Pete.¡± Vegas¡¯ voice is actually trembling now. The gun doesn¡¯t waver, it maintains its aim right at him. Pete¡¯s hand doesn¡¯t even tremble. The level of control he has over his body is astonishing, and Vegas is caught between reluctant awe and terror. None of this is making any sense! What is going on?! ¡°Pete¡­¡± This is Pete, right? He looks like Pete. But at the same time, he doesn¡¯t. Because Vegas shouldn¡¯t feel such overwhelming bone-numbing terror when facing the person he loves, right? ¡°What are you doing? Put the gun down¡­¡± ¡°This really is an unfortunate development,¡± Pete muses cooly, giving Vegas a thoughtful look. ¡°We had such a delightful time together, what a bummer to have it end like this. A pity, really.¡± ¡°Pete¡­ please¡­ Please put the gun down.¡± None of this is making any sense, what is Pete even talking about?! Vegas wants to reach out to him but doesn¡¯t dare to move. His danger sense is still howling at full volume. This isn¡¯t a joke! His instinct tells Vegas that the man before him fully intends to use the gun, and since that man is Pete, it leaves Vegas in a state of stunned confusion. His world has truly fallen completely apart. One thing at a time, the gun needs to be dealt with first. ¡°Please¡­ I know you don¡¯t want to do this. I don¡¯t understand why you are doing this but you don¡¯t want to hurt me, you know that, right? You¡¯re not going to be able to pull that trigger, so just¡­ put the gun down, please? I¡¯m begging you¡­¡± The most heartbreaking fact about this situation is the look on Pete¡¯s face. He¡¯s so terrifyingly calm, too calm, as if he¡¯s locked away every emotion, everything that has made Vegas fall in love with him in the first place. This isn¡¯t his Pete, this is a stranger wearing his skin. All of this feels like a nightmare. ¡°You know you¡¯re not going to actually shoot me,¡± Vegas pleads with him once more, his voice breaking. He feels close to tears. Pete¡ªno, the stranger pretending to be Pete¡ªregards him motionlessly. He remains completely unreadable, which sends tremors of unease through Vegas. Especially when he speaks, at long last¡ªhis tone of voice is alarmingly detached. ¡°What makes you think I won¡¯t shoot you?¡± Vegas wants to throw up his hands in exasperation, but his survival instinct tells him very firmly that any sort of movement right now would be a very bad idea. ¡°Because you love me, you dumbass!¡± He feels his resolve starting to crumble and tears start gathering in his eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s gotten into you, but you love me¡­ you can¡¯t shoot me because you are just as crazily in love with me as I am with you!¡± Another wayward thought flutters past ¡ªkiller¡­ monster¡­ buckets¡­ flowers¡­ wings¡­ NOTGOINGTHERE¡ªbefore it¡¯s locked away again and gone. Vegas is pouring his heart out like this, and what sort of reaction does he get? A slight frown, and the flicker of an unknown emotion in the depth of those dead eyes. ¡°¡­ I¡¯m in love with you¡­¡± The toneless way Pete phrases it makes it sound more like a question than a statement. It causes Vegas¡¯ heart ache even more. ¡°You love me, so you are not going to shoot me, Pete. Just put the gun down, come over here and hold me, please.¡± At last, a tear rolls down Vegas¡¯ cheek, followed by another one. He can¡¯t help it. This is just too painful. He doesn¡¯t understand what¡¯s happening. He¡¯s falling apart. ¡°Please¡­ What on earth is happening, why are you doing this? Please stop, please. I really need you to hold me right now, can¡¯t you see?¡± It¡¯s such a surreal situation, how and when did everything go so horrifically wrong? Vegas doesn¡¯t understand, he really doesn¡¯t. The person he loves most in the world is aiming a gun at him and this really shouldn¡¯t be happening. ¡°You¡¯re not going to shoot me because you love me, Pete,¡± he repeats with a broken whisper. The sound of the gun firing registers in his brain at the same time as something kicks him in the chest hard, knocking the wind out of him. The bullet slams into him with so much force that he¡¯s knocked backward. It burns; a red-hot poker through his chest. Vegas doesn¡¯t even have time to make a sound before his body goes into instant shock and shuts down, and then he is falling, hitting the ground so hard that his head bounces off the compacted earth. There¡¯s nothing but shocked disbelief before he¡¯s swallowed by the darkness and dragged down into the abyss. Chapter 21 ¡°Sometimes death is better.¡± ¡­ ¡­ ¡­ ¡­Vegas! ¡­ ¡­ ¡­
Vegas is rising from the depth of the abyss, slowly and steadily, until he breaks the surface and slips back into consciousness. The first thing he becomes aware of is the smell; an overwhelming heady scent of flowers mixed with damp musky earth. His cheek is resting against a damp surface; it¡¯s uncomfortable. Slowly, his eyes flutter open and everything shifts into focus. There¡¯s a bug crawling over the compacted earth just a short distance from his face. The tiny legs move in an oddly coordinated fashion. It¡¯s almost hypnotising to watch. What happened? Why is he lying on the ground? His head aches, he feels utterly confused. What happened? What¡¯s going on? Where is he? Like flashes during a thunderstorm, the memories return¡ªthe sound of the gun firing ¡­ something kicks him in the chest hard¡­ a red-hot poker through his chest¡ªFUCK! I¡¯ve been shot! Vegas gasps in shock as the realisation washes over him, and the haze slowing down his thought processes disappears in an instant. He¡¯s been shot by¡ªsomewhere in a dark corner of his mind there are frantic fluttering noises behind a closed door¡ªsomeone. He¡¯s been shot! Fuck! And now he becomes aware of the pain, too. Shit, it hurts. Vegas groans in agony and struggles to pull himself up into a sitting position. His left arm isn¡¯t cooperating at all, he can¡¯t move it. It just hangs there, useless. Where am I? He¡¯s in a greenhouse it seems, must have hit his head hard because no matter how much he tries, the plants in here are just a blur, out of focus, just hazy shades of red and green¡ªand somewhere in a dark corner of his mind there is more frantic fluttering behind a closed door. Sitting on the wet earth, Vegas looks down at his chest, stunned. Hurts hurts hurts. There is blood on the left side of his shirt. With his trembling right hand, in disbelief, he touches the area where there is a hole in the shirt. Now there is blood on his fingers as well. Strange, would have expected there to be more blood, the thought flutters through his mind. Cannot be too bad then. Damn, but he¡¯s shaking really badly. Must be the adrenaline rush, his heart is racing like hell too. He¡¯s been shot! Vegas can¡¯t seem to wrap his mind around this, his thoughts are circling around and around the fact that he¡¯s been hit by a bullet. Insane. He should probably go and get help, yes¡­ Phone¡­ he should call for help¡­ but his right hand is shaking so badly he can¡¯t even hold his phone or turn it on, it keeps slipping through his bloody fingers. I¡¯m bleeding. Should probably get help. And somehow he manages to struggle to his feet. His chest aches. But Vegas is used to pain, so he just pushes the sensation aside for now¡ªfire, his back is on fire¡ªhe¡¯ll just go to the neighbours and make a phone call. It¡¯s more a stumble than a walk as he makes his way out of the blurry greenhouse. It¡¯s so hot, he¡¯s sweating all over. It¡¯s just sweat, not blood, he¡¯ll be fine. This is Vegas¡¯ first time getting shot, it¡¯s distressing to say the least. His chest feels tight, as if someone has wrapped it in steel bands. This really sucks, he notes, stumbling alongside the house, steadying himself against the wall with the right hand. Where¡¯s the gate again? He needs air, his heart is racing so fast, he needs to breathe. But when he takes a deep breath, the sudden chest pain nearly has him double over. Hurts! Shit! Vegas stumbles forward, his shoulder hitting the iron gate. More pain, and it¡¯s getting worse. Almost there¡­ he¡¯s out on the street now, such a pleasant, peaceful neighbourhood. Just a little bit further, then he can make his phone call. But first, a short rest. Vegas leans his back against the whitewashed wall, trying to catch his breath. Can¡¯t breathe, he thinks in a daze, can¡¯t breathe. Every time he tries to take a deep breath to force more oxygen into his lungs, the pain is nearly debilitating. Just a short rest. But his legs are like rubber at this point, no longer able to carry him, so he slowly sinks to the ground, leaving a nasty glistening red smear-mark on the wall. So cold. Isn¡¯t it summer? Why is it so cold? There are voices approaching him, but the words are drowned out by the thundering, frantic thumping of his heart echoing in his ears. Oh, the friendly old ladies. Vegas tries to give them a reassuring smile but must have failed, because they look scared, shocked even. ¡°I¡¯m fine, I¡¯m fine,¡± he manages to mumble between fast shallow gasps for air. He doesn¡¯t feel fine though. Every breath hurts and he feels like throwing up. Is he hyperventilating? He must be having a panic attack again. Vegas tries to remember what he was supposed to do again in that case. Inhale. Hold Breath. Exhale. Hold breath. Someone taught him this. Someone¡ªmore frantic fluttering noises from the forbidden area in his mind. The old women around him look distraught; they gesture hectically and then hurry back to their houses. ¡°I¡¯m fine, I¡¯m fine,¡± Vegas repeats in a daze, then notices they are gone already. Damn, he should have asked them for a phone. Sweat is beading on his forehead, dripping into his eyes, it burns, but this is nothing compared to the burning sensation on his back. It seems to be on fire. His chest too. ¡°¡­ I¡¯m fine¡­¡± he whispers again to reassure himself. Can¡¯t be that bad, there¡¯s only a little blood visible on his chest. Just a short rest, then he will go and ask for a phone. Just a short rest. Vegas blinks sluggishly. Is he lying on the ground again? When did that happen? There is a crack in a stone directly in his line of vision. He can see fragile, green leaves and tiny, white blossoms growing upwards from the fissure. Pretty. Flowers during the winter. It must be winter because he¡¯s so cold that his whole body is trembling uncontrollably. Can¡¯t breathe. The pain is getting worse. Can¡¯t breathe. The next thing he becomes aware of is someone touching his shoulder. ¡°¡­ phone¡­¡± he mumbles breathlessly. His eyes are burning; it takes a moment until everything shifts from blurry into focus. Oh. Help has arrived. Two paramedics are crouching next to him. At the moment they seem surprised that he is conscious. ¡°¡­ got shot¡­¡± he tries to tell them, but isn¡¯t sure if they can understand him because his teeth are chattering so much. ¡°Everything is going to be fine,¡± one of the paramedics assures him calmly. They move with quiet efficiency, unpacking their equipment. Vegas wants to believe them but his body is insisting that everything is NOT fine. ¡°¡­ can¡¯t breathe¡­¡± he wheezes and struggles to sit up because the sharp pain in his chest is making him increasingly dizzy. ¡°¡­hurts¡­¡± Even speaking hurts. He is used to pain, but this is unbearable, this is nothing he can simply shrug off and move on from. Vegas is nearly paralysed by the excruciating pain radiating through his chest. ¡°¡­ I am going to check your blood pressure and pulse now¡­¡± He feels hands touching him, so many hands, how many people are there around him? ¡°¡­ I don¡¯t feel so good¡­¡± he mumbles sluggishly. ¡°¡­ Did you fall? Your head is bleeding¡­¡± Is it? Did he fall? He hears the questions but cannot process their meaning. He blinks again, hoping to be able to see more clearly. Dizzy, so very dizzy. Someone is removing his shirt it seems, cutting it off. He¡¯s carefully turned around, and the movement just makes him nauseous. Voices come and go. Something is put on his back, right where it burns the most. ¡°¡­ We¡¯re going to put you on a long backboard now and then stabilise your neck with a cervical collar¡­¡± Whatever. He has bigger problems than his aching head. ¡°Can¡¯t breathe!¡± When the hands try to push him down, he panics and struggles, because his body is telling him that this position is making everything worse. Thump thump ¡­thump thump¡­ thump thump. Vegas can hear his racing heartbeat in his ears, it is drowning out every other sound. Agitated, he sits up and leans forward and just gasps for the air that refuses to enter his lungs. Something is really wrong! People keep talking to him, their voices soothing, and that alleviates his panic to some extend, at least until his finds himself firmly strapped down against a hard surface. ¡°¡­no¡­¡± He moans in distress. Something is very very wrong! His chest¡­ Things are not going to be fine! He cannot breathe like this! He needs to sit up! A mask is fastened over his mouth and nose, and some much needed oxygen is at last hitting his badly struggling lungs. Vegas blinks frantically because by now he¡¯s scared. He¡¯s really really scared. He¡¯s in a sea of pain, someone is attaching something to his burning chest¡­ cables¡­? There¡¯s an electronic beeping and someone is drawing his blood. There¡¯s an IV gauge attached to the bend of his arm. They must be moving; when did they load him into the ambulance? Hurts! He must have made some noise because they start talking to him again, but he only understands snippets now and then. ¡°¡­ I don¡¯t feel well¡­¡± Vegas whimpers between frantic gasps. ¡°¡­something¡¯s wrong¡­¡± His chest is on fire; it feels as if an iron fist is clenching his heart, fiery fingers digging into it, deeper and deeper. ¡°¡­something¡¯s wrong!¡± Why can¡¯t he move? Did he get tasered again? I don¡¯t want to get back on the chain! Not again! He fights against the restraints but the pain is so intense that he gives up again and just moans breathlessly. So dizzy¡­ he¡¯s diving and a wave just rolled him and now he doesn¡¯t know what¡¯s up and down. ¡°¡­help¡­¡± he wheezes, panicking, but no one hears him from so far under the surface. He¡¯s drowning. His regulator is malfunctioning. Why did he go diving again? It¡¯s so dark down here and the waves are tossing him around, making him nauseous. Are those sirens or singing whales? Vegas is drifting further and further away towards unconsciousness. ¡°Almost there, hang on,¡± someone tries to encourage him. Almost where? Is he going somewhere? Can¡¯t. Breathe. Sunshine filters through the waves. Light. Dark. Light. Dark. A long corridor with overhead lights. So loud. So much noise. So many voices. Light. Dark. Light. Dark. Can¡¯t breathe. Dark. Dark. Dark. ¡­ no need to breathe anymore¡­ Someone starts cursing, the voices are getting very hectic. ¡­ and the abyss swallows Vegas again.
¡­ ¡­ ¡­ Darkness. Vegas floats through endless darkness. It wraps around him like a soft warm blanket, keeping him safe. He just floats and exists. No thoughts. No distractions. He just exists. Darkness. ¡­ ¡­ ¡­
¡­ ¡­ ¡­ The current carrying him through the darkness shifts and changes constantly. Sometimes it carries him upwards, closer to the surface. Sometimes there are sounds reaching far down into the darkness. ¡­ beeping¡­ ¡­ hissing¡­ ¡­ thudding¡­ ¡­ murmurs¡­ ¡­ sobs ¡­ Then the current carries him down into the depth again and everything falls silent. Blissful silence. And he floats on. And on. And on. Up and down. Repeat. ¡­ ¡­ ¡­
¡­ ¡­ ¡­ Darkness. Sometimes Vegas gets caught in a sudden upwelling. Up he goes, dragged along towards the surface, out of the eternal darkness into the twilight zone where sounds become more distinct and disturb his rest. ¡°¡­ severe chest trauma¡­¡± ¡°¡­ weaning him off the ventilator¡­¡± ¡°¡­ slower than we expected¡­¡± ¡°¡­ patience¡­¡± Vegas floats past these words that drift through the darkness like beautiful, shimmering siphonophores. And then the current drags him down again. ¡­ ¡­ ¡­
¡­ ¡­ ¡­ The abyss seems to become more shallow. Absolute darkness gives way to eternal twilight. The blissful silence is now interrupted by intrusive sounds on a regular basis. There¡¯s a constant beeping in concert with other mechanical noises. Vegas floats through the twilight, searching for some serenity, but there¡¯s none to be found. ¡°¡­ why is he not waking up¡­¡± ¡°¡­ Vegas, please¡­¡± ¡°¡­ give him more time¡­¡± ¡°¡­ maybe faking it¡­¡± ¡°¡­ can you hear me, Vegas¡­¡± ¡°¡­ what do I pay you for¡­¡± ¡°¡­ cannot force these things¡­¡± ¡°¡­ I¡¯m going to brush your hair now¡­¡± ¡°¡­ fluctuating consciousness¡­¡± ¡°¡­ want a second opinion¡­¡± ¡°¡­ no cellphones allowed¡­¡± ¡°¡­ Vegas¡­¡± ¡°¡­ sorry, this might feel a bit unpleasant¡­¡± Vegas dives down down down, as far down as possible and wraps the remaining darkness around himself like a blanket, disappearing beneath it. ¡­ ¡­ ¡­
¡­ ¡­ ¡­ Someone is crying. The sound is impossible to ignore even in the abyss. Someone is crying. ¡°¡­ come back, please¡­ wake up already¡­ don¡¯t leave me¡­ Vegas, don¡¯t do this to me¡­ please wake up¡­¡± Macau! The quiet current turns into a maelstrom, whirling Vegas around, shoving him up up up, towards the surface, towards the light. Macau! And in the hospital room, Vegas¡¯ hand starts twitching. ¡­ ¡­ ¡­
The first thing that strikes Vegas as he regains consciousness is the noise level. After the relative silence in his mind, even the softest noises now sound like thunder to his overly sensitive ears. The beeping is the most irritating sound of all; there are several different beeps and none of them are synchronised. It¡¯s a cacophony of sounds, and in addition to that, the murmur of voices further away and the squeaking of rubber soles on the floor. And nearby, someone¡¯s barely stifled sobs. That sound stresses him. Vegas attempts to open his eyes, but the eyelids are like lead, so heavy that he doesn¡¯t succeed. What¡¯s going on? He¡¯s so confused. Where is he? What happened? He just wants to go back to sleep. He feels exhausted. But there is that sound¡ªsomeone sniffles softly¡­ breath hitching repeatedly¡ªand for some unknown reason, this sound stresses him immensely. More of his senses come back online, one by one. It smells like antiseptic cleaning products, he doesn¡¯t like this smell, it reminds him of¡­ something. It takes him a while to figure out that he must be lying in a bed. Soft mattress. Pressure against his back. Pressure around his chest. Pressure around his legs too. This is all very confusing, he can¡¯t make any sense of it. And there¡¯s something warm touching his left hand. It takes a while for his mind to make the connection¡ªthat¡¯s another hand, touching his hand. Vegas feels increasingly stressed. The beeping around him changes rhythm several times. Someone is holding in their sobs; he recognises those sounds. Someone nearby is very upset and he feels a rising urgency to deal with that, but he cannot move, he¡¯s so exhausted he can barely think straight. Somehow, he manages to make his fingers twitch, he wants to squeeze that other hand, but it ends up being more of a soft flutter. The sobs fall silent. Good. Maybe he can go back to sleep now. ¡°Vegas?¡± Someone asks in a very small shaky voice. Macau! The beeping around him reaches a new level of urgency, setting off some ridiculously loud alarms somewhere close by. The sounds hurt and Vegas flinches, at least he thinks he flinches. ¡°Vegas!¡± Yes, that is definitely his little brother¡¯s voice, even though it sounds strange. ¡°Vegas, can you hear me?¡± Kind of difficult not to hear you when you almost scream into my ear, Vegas thinks tiredly. He can feel himself starting to drift away again. Just forming coherent thoughts is exhausting. He uses the last of his energy to twitch his fingers again. This has to be enough. Can¡¯t talk. Must sleep. And then he passes out again just as a flurry of voices descends on him.
The next time he is more or less shocked back to consciousness by the sudden increase of pressure around his left arm, coupled with a low humming sound. He¡¯s so startled by this that he jerks. Well, he would have jerked, if his body was cooperating with him. Which it isn¡¯t. What¡¯s going on? Where is he? It seems he can¡¯t move. This is vaguely alarming. He should probably find this more concerning, but worrying costs too much energy. Vegas feels groggy. And very sleepy. Somehow he manages to open his eyes, at least he thinks he does. Everything is a blur, the light is dim. The thing around his arm is painfully tight, then amidst soft, puffing noises the pressure decreases. Beeping to the left and to the right, and further away as well. Those sounds¡­ they ring a bell but Vegas just cannot figure out what they remind him of. And he can¡¯t be bothered to figure it out either, he just wants to go back to sleep. And as soon as the pressure around his arm disappears, he does just that.
If only they would let him sleep. But they won¡¯t. He is startled awake by someone touching him and opens his eyes, blinking slowly in disorientation. What¡¯s going on? Where is he? Blurry shapes crystallise into people. A woman in a nurse uniform. Oh? Oh. He¡¯s in the hospital? Why? ¡°I am sorry for disturbing you, we need to change the dressing on your back,¡± the woman informs him gently with a friendly smile. Dressing? Vegas is completely baffled; his mind seems to be working at only 10% of its capacity. What am I doing here, he wants to ask, but when he opens his mouth the only thing that comes out is a croak. His mouth and throat are dry as a desert. But the nurse seems to read his mind, and soon he is given asingle spoonful of water. That seems way too little, but then he discovers that he gets exhausted just by wetting his mouth and swallowing. It feels as if he¡¯s run a marathon, simply performing such a minor task. He has questions to ask, he wants answers but instead he falls asleep again, utterly exhausted, right as they start rolling him to the side to change the bandages.
Every time he wakes up, he seems to become more and more alert. When he opens his eyes next, it seems to be night time, the lights are dimmed. Something woke him up¡­ yes, someone is snoring softly. Can¡¯t be him, he¡¯s pretty sure he is awake now and not dreaming. With difficulty, Vegas turns his head to the side, and the sight before him makes him tear up. His little brother¡ªnot so little anymore¡ªis sitting beside his hospital bed, his face resting on his hands, which are clutching Vegas¡¯ right hand. He¡¯s asleep, snoring softly, and Vegas¡¯ feels Macau¡¯s warm breath feathering over his skin. He wants to reach out with his other hand to ruffle his hair but discovers that he has no strength in his left arm; it won¡¯t move. Weird. Why is he in hospital again? Perhaps he had a car accident? Vegas is prone to accidents. It¡¯s too exhausting to think about this, he just gets a headache¡ªsomething flutters in the depth of his mind. Instead, he focuses on Macau. Flexing his fingers on the right hand works, he finds out. The minute movement seems to wake Macau, who opens his eyes and blinks sleepily. And finds himself looking straight into Vegas¡¯ tired eyes. ¡°You¡¯re drooling on my hand,¡± Vegas whispers, his voice so hoarse it is almost unrecognisable. Macau bursts into tears. He sobs so hard his whole body is shaking. Vegas finds this alarming, but there¡¯s nothing he can do to comfort his brother. He doesn¡¯t even have the strength to lift his hands. Some of the monitors bleep hectically and soon after a nurse enters the room to check what is going on. Vegas finds all of this overwhelming. He gives the nurse a helpless glance and instantly receives help¡ªMacau gets a much needed motherly hug. Vegas is too groggy to follow the ensuing, murmured conversation between him and the nurse. ¡°Love you,¡± he manages to tell Macau before he drifts off to sleep again.
Vegas has lost all concept of time. He has no idea how long he¡¯s been in the hospital already, and he still doesn¡¯t know why he¡¯s here. They probably told him already but he must have forgotten it again. It is very difficult to keep track of information, he feels as if he¡¯s drunk. It¡¯s extremely exhausting to concentrate or even stay awake for a longer period of time. This is because of the medication he is being given, they say. What medication, he wants to ask, but then falls asleep again, and when he wakes up he¡¯s already forgotten about the question. It becomes more and more clear to him that he¡¯s seriously hurt. He¡¯s on two different IVs, there are electrodes plastered to his skin all over his body with cables sticking out of them, so many cables, going to different monitors. There is a sleeve with a clamp around one of his fingers, something to do with oxygen, that much he has understood. He thinks he remembers having a mask covering his face at some point, but now he only has some contraption stuck into his nostrils that is fastened around his head and connected to yet another buzzing machine. It blows a constant flow of warm air into his nose. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. His legs are stuck in some weird, oversized, inflatable socks, also connected to some machine, they inflate and deflate at strange times and keep waking him up. And so does the automated blood pressure cuff around his arm. He has a catheter too, he¡¯s discovered, to his utmost horror. Then there is the shockingly large tube in his chest that drains an disgusting looking liquid into some sort of plastic bag. Speaking of his chest, the left side is covered with a frighteningly large amount of surgical dressing, and it feels as if the dressing on his back is even larger. What the hell happened to me, Vegas wonders quietly, but the medicine keeps messing with his mind. He is on strong pain killers, that much he has understood. And even with them he is still in discomfort. His chest aches, and breathing hurts; he can handle it all but wonders just how bad the pain would be without painkillers. The nurses tell him to rest and heal, and so he sleeps most of the time.
They must have changed his medicine because Vegas is more alert now. And in more pain. But at least he¡¯s awake and aware when Macau comes to visit next time. He has the feeling his brother has been here lots of times, but Vegas¡¯ mind has more holes than a Swiss cheese, he forgets nearly everything after only a short while. ¡°Oh, you¡¯re awake!¡± Macau greets him excitedly. He isn¡¯t the only visitor, Porsche is right behind him. Both of them look like hell, Vegas notes, feeling slightly guilty. They must have been so worried about him. ¡°New medicine.¡± He smiles weakly at them. ¡°They think I¡¯m sleeping too much.¡± Speaking is still exhausting; he needs to take repeated breaks to just catch his breath every few words. ¡°You¡¯re starting to look better,¡± Porsche points out. He looks subdued, he¡¯s not his bubbly self. He takes a seat next to Macau by Vegas¡¯ bedside; both his brother and his friend look at him as if they¡¯re afraid he will all of a sudden disappear in a cloud of smoke. ¡°I feel like shit.¡± Vegas wants to shrug, but remembers in time that shrugging is very painful right now. ¡°If I look better now I would rather not know how I looked a while ago.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Porsche took photos,¡± Macau informs him and Vegas rolls his eyes. Of course Porsche did. ¡°Don¡¯t even think about it,¡± he warns Porsche, and is rewarded with a ghost of a smile. Good. As long as he¡¯s awake and not too exhausted, maybe now is the right time to ask questions. ¡°I guess you¡¯ve already told me this before¡­¡± He takes a moment to catch his breath. ¡°¡­ but could you please explain what happened to me? How long have I even been here?¡± Porsche and Macau exchange a very cautious look. ¡°You don¡¯t remember anything?¡± ¡°No. Not a thing.¡± Technically, that isn¡¯t quite true. Vegas¡¯ mind is a sunny place right now. All white and bright. And in the middle of it there is a large bucket full of white and bright paint. Now and then, he can hear something¡ªflutter flutter flutter¡ªespecially when he tries to remember, and when he inspects those white and bright walls, sometimes he finds the tiniest little blemish, just a tiny crack, with sounds coming from behind it¡ªflutter flutter flutter. So he takes a large paint brush¡ªwhere did that come from¡ªdips it into the bucket, and then paints over the spot until everything is white and bright again¡ªand the fluttering has disappeared. ¡°Well¡­¡± His brother and Porsche exchange another glance before Porsche answers. ¡°You got shot, Vegas.¡± Vegas blinks in astonishment. ¡°I got shot?¡± Inconceivable. Yet it explains so much. ¡°I don¡¯t remember getting shot¡­¡±¡ªflutter flutter flutter in the forbidden place in his mind. Porsche sighs deeply. ¡°You were discovered on a street across town with a gunshot wound to your chest. You got lucky; the bullet went in through the ribs, missed the heart by a hair¡¯s breadth, nicked your lung, went straight through everything else and back out between the spine and the shoulder blade. Your back is a mess, you have back muscle and rib muscle damage. That¡¯s why you¡¯ve probably noticed you have problems with your left arm. You had extensive internal bleeding, which caused your left lung to collapse, and they had to remove part of your rib at the front. The bullet got so close to your heart that you were bleeding into the surrounding tissue, which put a lot of pressure on your heart, preventing it from working as it should¡­¡± Porsche¡¯s voice trails off, and he swallows hard. Vegas notes he has tears in his eyes. ¡°You nearly died, Vegas. You were in emergency surgery for hours, you stopped breathing in the ER. You scared the hell out of all of us.¡± Oh. Vegas swallows hard as well. Yes, that does sound pretty damn serious. Macau also has tears in his eyes. ¡°And you wouldn¡¯t wake up after surgery. You were in the ICU for days, hooked up to a ventilator, because you wouldn¡¯t start breathing on your own. I really thought you¡¯d never wake up again.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Vegas doesn¡¯t know what else to say. Apparently he¡¯s messed up again. ¡°Well, you didn¡¯t get shot on purpose, did you? No need to apologise,¡± Porsche shrugs but smiles at Vegas. Flutter flutter flutter¡ªthere is a tiny black crack in the bright white space in his mind, and Vegas takes the brush and paints it over immediately. There, all bright and white again. ¡°I wish I could remember¡­¡± But maybe remembering would be a bad idea. ¡°Now that you¡¯re more awake we won¡¯t be able to stall the police anymore.¡± Macau sighs. ¡°They¡¯ve been asking to interview you about this incident since you regained consciousness.¡± ¡°It¡¯s all right, let them come and ask their questions, they¡¯re just doing their job.¡± Vegas really doesn¡¯t care. There is nothing to tell, he can¡¯t remember. ¡°Pa isn¡¯t happy about all this,¡± Macau adds hesitantly, and Vegas instinctively tenses. To agitate their father is never a good idea. Macau notices his reaction, the monitors get a bit agitated for a moment, and he quickly tries to calm Vegas down again. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I can handle it. Things are a lot calmer at home than they used to be, everything is better, I promise. You know, Pa even dropped by here when you were in the ICU. You know he cares, he just isn¡¯t able to show it.¡± Vegas sincerely doubts that, but is too exhausted to argue. This whole conversation is making him extremely tired again and he stifles a yawn. ¡°Vegas¡­¡± Porsche lowers his voice a bit. ¡°Would you like to see P¡ª¡± White noise. Vegas blinks sluggishly. He has a headache and is suddenly really tired and he doesn¡¯t understand what Porsche is saying. Porsche¡¯s mouth is moving, he is obviously still talking, but Vegas can¡¯t hear a thing. ¡°I have a headache¡­¡± he mumbles, and closes his eyes. ¡°I need to sleep.¡± And then he simply ignores everything else around him. His mind is a bright and white and peaceful place. Flutter flutter flutter. Humming softly to himself, Vegas paints over each and every crack that appears now and then around him. Bright and white and peaceful.
The police comes; two officers Vegas has never met before. Macau and a nurse hover nearby, watching the whole procedure with Argus eyes, ready to interfere if it becomes too much for him. The interview itself is very confusing to Vegas; he tries his best to answer truthfully, but there seems to be a lot of information missing from his mind. ¡°Do you remember what you were doing at the location you were found?¡± No, Vegas doesn¡¯t even recognise the address they are mentioning, or where in the city it¡¯s located. And he doesn¡¯t remember what he was supposed to be doing there either. Seems the fluttering got louder. ¡°Do you have any recollection who shot you?¡± No, not a clue at all. Crack¡­ flutter flutter flutter¡ªVegas meticulously paints over the fissure and all is white and bright again. He was supposed to work with information from the database, that much he remembers, but he has no clue why he set out across town. ¡°We followed the blood trail from the street back onto a nearby property. Your phone was found in a greenhouse on the property premises.¡± CRACK. Vegas recalls nothing, but the beeping from the monitors around him intensifies, and the nurse starts frowning. ¡°I don¡¯t remember,¡± he says quietly. A deep dark crevice has appeared in his bright, white, safe place. Looking closer at it, Vegas sees that there is fluttering in the darkness beyond, and something has started to grow out of it, dark green leaves and what seems to be a flower with red petals shifting into bla¡ªVegas hastily dumps the whole bucket of paint over this: white white white!!! See, all gone again. White and bright and peaceful. The beeping dies down again. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I just can¡¯t remember anything.¡± It soon becomes apparent that this is the theme for this interview: I can¡¯t remember. Vegas does his utmost to help his colleagues, but the memories have disappeared into thin air, it seems. In addition to that, he is hectically painting over crack after crack that pops up in the safe place. White and bright, white and bright. So many questions, so many cracks. So much work to make them disappear again. It¡¯s exhausting. Vegas is getting stressed. At some point the nurse interrupts and resolutely ends the interrogation, forcing the officers to leave. As she accompanies them outside, Vegas is left trembling. He blindly grabs Macau¡¯s hand when it¡¯s offered and clings to it for dear life. ¡°I can¡¯t remember¡­¡± he whispers. ¡°Why can¡¯t I remember? I think I forgot something really important¡­¡± Macau notices how stressed his brother is and enfolds him in a careful hug, holding him until he drifts back into an uneasy sleep haunted by the sound of thousands of fluttering butterfly wings, straining to break free.
Vegas feels exhausted. His wounds are making progress according to the doctors, but he doesn¡¯t really feel better. They¡¯ve started to reduce his painkillers even more and the pain is on a whole new level that¡¯s difficult to cope with. He tries to escape into sleep as often as possible, but now the nightmares have come back, too. Tem is silently screaming at him, and he doesn¡¯t remember why either. He knows he shot Tem, but why? There is something really important that I forgot about. Post-concussion syndrome his doctors call it. He simply hit his head one time too many these last few months, and now his memory is really messed up. Most of the times when he wakes up, either Porsche or Macau are around. He¡¯s tried to persuade them not to come every day, without much success. Even Tankhun has been visiting; he seems terribly upset about Vegas¡¯ getting shot, and his discomfort stresses Vegas out, so Porsche convinces him not to drop by again. On top of that it seems that his father is pressuring the doctors to move Vegas to another hospital, one where the Theerapanyakul family has a private wing. So far, Vegas has resisted, and his doctors are also reluctant to move him. So no wonder he¡¯s exhausted all the time. To make things worse, word seems to have gotten around that one of the Theerapanyakul sons is in the hospital, because people he¡¯s never heard of are sending gift baskets and flowers. It¡¯s bizarre. Porsche and Macau are keeping a list¡ªthis information concerns the family business, they tell him. Who¡¯s sending gifts, who isn¡¯t. Apparently it¡¯s all very valuable to know, for business reasons. Whatever, Vegas thinks tiredly. It¡¯s all too much, he doesn¡¯t need gifts, doesn¡¯t want flowers, and so once per day they give the gift baskets and the flowers to the nurses. Vegas drifts in and out of sleep. He has the feeling he is balancing on a tightrope high above the ground, a tightrope someone is about to cut. It¡¯s perplexing, he doesn¡¯t understand why he¡¯s feeling this growing sense of urgency. ¡­ the fluttering in the forbidden part of his brain is getting so much worse¡­ When he wakes up from a late afternoon nap, for once he has the room to himself. There¡¯s a thunderstorm outside. They took out the surgical drain earlier that day and damn, that felt odd. The compression sleeves for his legs are also finally gone. Progress, they call it, and talk about physical therapy. Vegas is skeptical, he can¡¯t even sit up without help, he is weak as a baby. ¡­ and there is something nagging him since waking up, something is triggering the fluttering to a fresh frenzy¡­ A while later, a group of nurses enters for a routine checkup. Vegas wants to sleep some more; the sooner they are gone, the sooner he can get some rest again. As every afternoon, they¡¯re discussing who gets to take what gift basket before they leave his room again. ¡°Khun Vegas,¡± one of the nurses interrupts his thoughts shyly. ¡°Are you sure you don¡¯t want to keep these flowers? They seem special. I¡¯ve never seen anything like this before.¡± What can possibly be so special about flowers? Flowers are just pretty weeds. Tiredly, Vegas stops looking out of the rain covered window and turns his head towards the nurse who posed the question. In her arms she holds the flowers in question, a huge bouquet of gorgeous, large flowers on dark green stems, red petals shifting into black, with just a splash of bright orange in the centre¡­ ¡­CRACK¡­ Fissures are spreading through Vegas¡¯ safe place like wildfire. They¡¯re everywhere, multiplying, completely out of control. No more white and bright and peaceful. Black cracks everywhere, oozing red like weeping wounds, and through those cracks butterflies are crawling, black butterflies, swarming his mind¡ªflutter flutter flutter¡ªa swarm of previously forbidden thoughts and memories, they¡¯re everywhere, there¡¯s no place to hide from them, reality has caught up with Vegas at long last. ¡­ a red and black maw with pale streaks of bone reaching outward like clawed hands ¡­ just call me Pete ¡­ an eerie blood-red meadow of flowers ¡­ a bucket full of thick, glistening strands of nastiness ¡­ the victim has been flayed ¡­ drilled through the tissue and then threaded the cable through that hole ¡­ congratulation Vegas, you got yourself a boyfriend, let¡¯s go steady ¡­ the victim has been opened up like a can of sardines, unzipped like a zipper ¡­ I love you ¡­ You¡¯re going to be the death of me, aren¡¯t you ¡­ You really shouldn¡¯t have come here, Vegas ¡­ this isn¡¯t the real Pete¡­ ¡­ he is THE monster¡­ ¡­ he is a cold-blooded killer¡­ ¡­ be a good boy and don¡¯t move ¡­ please put the gun down ¡­ you can¡¯t shoot me ¡­ I¡¯m in love with you¡­ ? ¡­ you¡¯re not going to shoot me, Pete ¡­ please stop, please ¡­ you¡¯re not going to shoot me because you love me, Pete ¡­ the sound of the gun firing ¡­ a red-hot poker through his chest ¡­ Pete¡­ ¡­ monster¡­ Vegas cracks and falls apart, the puzzle he is made of breaking into a trillion fluttering black butterfly pieces, destroyed by that final piece that should have made the puzzle complete. The scent of the damn flowers is just as strong as in the greenhouse; the whole hospital room reeks of their sweet, cloying fragrance¡ªno wonder it triggered the memories, Vegas thinks dazedly. He stares at those flowers, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of memories he is bombarded with, and the corners of his mouth starts twitching. To the astonishment of the nurses, he starts to chuckle. Vegas is no longer in control: he¡¯s watching himself dissolving first into giggles and then full-hearted laughter. Those fucking lilies¡­ Pete, the monster, shot him and then sent him those fucking lilies¡­ The initial confusion amongst the nurses quickly turns into alarm. Vegas is laughing so hard his whole body is shaking with it¡ªit hurts, God, it hurts¡ªbut he can¡¯t seem to stop. One by one, the beeping of the monitors escalates, then turns into various screeching alarms as Vegas gasps for breath between fits of laughter and sobs. He¡¯s crying just as hard as he is laughing. Those fucking lilies¡­ Oh God, oh God¡­ Pete shot him¡­ Pete tried to kill him¡­ Pete is a monster¡­ Pete is the serial killer he¡¯s been hunting¡­ A sharp pain rips through his chest. Is his heart breaking? It must be. Butterfly thoughts everywhere; Vegas is overwhelmed by them, they slam into him without mercy. He laughs and cries hysterically, and then he is coughing too, he¡¯s coughing blood, spraying it all over the white sheets. RedRedRed Hands are trying to hold him down, the doctor comes running into the room, there¡¯s a flurry of activity, then someone injects something into his IV port and a few agonising heartbeats later Vegas crumbles, like a puppet whose strings have been cut. Lights out.
And he¡¯s back in the abyss, floating with the current, up and down, up and down until he finally resurfaces after what must have been an eternity for those waiting for him to wake up. Because they are waiting. When he finally opens his eyes again and groggily looks around, Macau and Porsche are hovering anxiously at the side of his bed. Surprisingly, even Kinn and Tankhun are present, pacing nervously around the room. All of them look grim and pale. White as snow. Snow White. Where are the dwarves? Vegas can¡¯t move. He¡¯s back on oxygen, it seems; all the monitors are back, the inflatable socks, the automated blood pressure cuff, he is dazed and really doesn¡¯t feel well at all. Right back where he started. He¡¯s so hot, did they drop him into lava? Spontaneous self combustion is a thing, right? He moans because that¡¯s the only thing he can do right now, and it¡¯s enough to catch their attention. Macau gives him a little bit of water. Vegas feels so dizzy; the slightest movement of his head sends the whole room spinning. ¡°Hot,¡± he complains weakly. ¡°You have a fever, Vegas, some of your inner stitches got torn during your little meltdown, and they had to open you up again to clean everything. And then you got an infection,¡± Porsche informs him quietly. ¡°Do me a favour, stop scaring us like this, okay? I don¡¯t know how much more I can take.¡± The other three men nod in agreement. Vegas looks at them and knows he¡¯s supposed to say something positive, but his mind is a dark void. He is burning up with fever. Just keeping his eyes open requires enormous effort. They want reassurance from him, but he has nothing left to give. Vegas is an empty shell, broken, nothing but a pile of ashes. ¡°Just let me die¡­¡± he whispers and closes his eyes again, a lone tear running down his cheek.
They won¡¯t allow him to die. They¡¯re doing all they can to keep him alive. Vegas has a very high fever; he¡¯s drifting in and out of consciousness, which suits him just fine. He doesn¡¯t want to be awake, doesn¡¯t want to be able to think and feel. ¡­ Pete¡­ The physical pain he is in is nothing compared to the emotional anguish. ¡­ Pete¡­ It feels as if he¡¯s been dealt a mortal wound to his innermost self. He doesn¡¯t know how anyone can expect him to go on living like this. When the fever finally recedes, and he cannot retreat into the abyss of unconsciousness anymore, he asks for sleeping pills. Being awake feels like sheer torture, there is no way to hide from the memories that haunt him. Pete shot me¡­ Pete is killing people¡­ When they deny him access to sleeping pills, he pulls out his drain in sheer desperation, making a mess, and that¡¯s when they sedate him, so he finally gets what he wants. He¡¯s drugged up to his gills, and for a while everything is put on hold as his body tries to heal from the multiple traumata it¡¯s been dealt. Vegas is drifting, no dreams, no nightmares, no thoughts, unable to communicate with anyone. After a week they wean him off the tranquillisers. Vegas is dropped back into hell, as far as he¡¯s concerned. Macau and Porsche have no idea what is happening¡ªwhy Vegas so unexpectedly seems to have lost all will to live. ¡°Listen, it¡¯s going to be really difficult with Pa¡¯s goons guarding this room 24/7 but I¡¯m sure Porsche and I could come up with a plan to smuggle in your boyfriend, if that¡¯s what it takes to make you feel better,¡± Macau suggests finally, in desperation after seeing his brother stare at the wall for days, not talking to anyone. Vegas flinches and the monitors beep a little faster. ¡°No.¡± He clears his throat because it¡¯s so dry; he hasn¡¯t spoken in days. ¡°Don¡¯t!¡± Boyfriend, what a joke¡­ It makes Vegas want to cry. ¡°We broke up,¡± he tells them quietly because how is he going to explain this nightmare to them? He can¡¯t. None of them can go anywhere near him, he needs to keep them away from him as far as possible, for their own safety. ¡°Don¡¯t mention him again, I don¡¯t want to talk about it.¡± This revelation leaves both Porsche and Macau speechless. One look at Vegas¡¯ face and they know he really doesn¡¯t want to talk about it, and so they don¡¯t even try to get him to explain. Vegas can hear them whisper though, when they think he¡¯s asleep. They worry, they worry so much. He doesn¡¯t have the energy to do anything about that. All his energy goes to holding himself together.
The nights are the worst. He has the room to himself at night. The lights are dimmed, the monitors beep, and he tries to sleep. But as soon as he falls asleep he is back at the greenhouse, staring at the barrel of the gun and the expressionless, terrifying face of the man he loves, who just shoots him without hesitation. Over and over again. Several times per night. And when he isn¡¯t revisiting the greenhouse, he walks amongst a sea of blood red flowers, past endless rows of flayed, burned and eviscerated bodies. It¡¯s pure hell. Vegas just can¡¯t get over what a true monster Pete has turned out to be. He can¡¯t wrap his mind around it. The pain and sense of ultimate betrayal is unimaginable, it¡¯s paralysing him. He can¡¯t think clearly, he can¡¯t make any decisions. Vegas just suffers and tries to endure until he has learned to cope with this earth-shattering revelation. He will be able to cope with it eventually, right? The nights really are the worst. Trembling, he wakes from yet another nightmare to the frenzied beeping of the monitors. The nurses are used to his nightmares by now, they no longer immediately storm into the room when the monitors start showing abnormal rhythms. Trying to catch his breath, Vegas stares at the ceiling above him, blinking the tears away. He cries a lot in his sleep these nights, no wonder he is so exhausted during daytime. No use trying to stay awake, that doesn¡¯t help either. The sooner he gets back to sleep, the sooner the next morning comes. One day at a time, he reminds hinself. Then he pauses. He thinks he just saw a movement out of the corner of his left eye. The nurses again¡ªis it time for their nightly round? Tiredly, he turns his head to the side to look. The room is only dimly lit, the cone of light centred around his hospital bed. There are the chairs against the wall where Porsche and Macau usually sit during daytime, now mostly shrouded in shadows. But clearly someone is sitting there right now. Before Vegas has time to wonder who his late night visitor might be, he can hear a soft sigh. ¡°You¡¯re having nightmares,¡± the monster says quietly in a voice as soft as silk, and Vegas is seized by instant terror. ¡­ no no no¡­ His breath catches in the back of his throat and the beeping of the various monitors rises to new heights. Ohgod ohgod ohgod¡­ the monster has come. He¡¯s stuck here in the hospital bed, too weak to move, and the monster has come! Where is the alarm button? Help! Someone help! The monster clicks his tongue in disapproval and leans forward, his upper body emerging from the shadows. He¡¯s wearing scrubs, to blend in. Vegas gasps in panic, his heart stutters in terror at the sight of the familiar face¡ªa face he used to love! ¡°You better calm yourself, Vegas,¡± Pete tells him in a deceptively gentle voice. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t want anyone to come in here and run into me right now, do you? That would be most unfortunate¡ªfor them. Would you be able to live with that?¡± Buckets. Flowers. Wings. Vegas is scared out of his mind. He believes every word; the monster is going to kill whichever nurse comes to check on him. He needs to calm down in order to save them! Inhale. Hold breath. Exhale. Hold breath. Repeat. Calm, I need to be calm. I can do this, he thinks and does his best to keep the frantic beeping of the monitors from turning into full-blown alarms. I can do this. I have to do this. Oh God! ¡°Such a good boy,¡± the monster croons, as the breathing exercises start showing effect and the beeping slows down to nearly normal levels. Make no mistake, Vegas is still terrified. But he¡¯d rather be the only casualty here tonight. He does not want to be responsible for someone else¡¯s death and that is a mighty good motivation to keep his panic under control. If only he could move¡­ but he¡¯s so damn weak, he can¡¯t even sit up without help. He¡¯s got no chance against the monster, no chance at all. He is doomed. ¡­Pete¡­ no, just a monster¡­ Inhale. Hold breath. Exhale. Hold breath. ¡°Are you here to finish the job?¡± Vegas wants to know and hates how thin with fear his voice is. The monster doesn¡¯t react to this question as he expects though. No, it exhales a shuddering breath and lowers its eyes before slowly shaking its head. ¡°No, of course not,¡± it mumbles and sounds¡­ unhappy? As if Vegas would believe that. No, he¡¯s expecting to die here tonight. Inhale. Hold breath. Exhale. Hold breath. ¡°Bullshit,¡± he whispers defiantly. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± the monster apologises quietly. It avoids meeting Vegas¡¯ eyes. Sorry? What the fuck? Vegas blinks in surprise, and the beeping noises speed up again. Inhale. Hold breath. Exhale. Hold breath. Where is the damn alarm button? Just looking at the monster makes his heart ache with longing, he can¡¯t help it, and he hates himself for this reaction. This isn¡¯t Pete, this is a monster! ¡°I¡¯m so damn sorry,¡± the monster repeats, and Vegas can see that it swallows hard. Just a ruse, he tells himself. Just a ruse. Don¡¯t fall for it. ¡°Just get it over with,¡± Vegas responds. He is scared to death. Who could have predicted that he would be this terrified of Pete one day? How could this happen? ¡°I¡¯m tired of your games, stop being so fucking cruel and kill me already.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not going to kill you Vegas, I promise.¡± The monster looks up and finally looks Vegas in the eyes. It looks miserable, but Vegas knows now that this monster is a damn good actor. Don¡¯t believe what you see, he tells himself, this is all an act, you need to be on guard. ¡°What a load of crap¡­¡± Vegas whispers. Inhale. Hold breath. Exhale. Hold breath. He can feel himself trembling with fear under the steady gaze of this predator. One false step and¡­ The monster smoothly gets to his feet, and despite his efforts, Vegas panics. ¡°Stay away from me!¡± The beeping steps up again as his breathing becomes irregular again, he is just so damn frightened by Pete¡ªno, the monster¡ªoh God¡­ why is this happening? The monster freezes, at a loss for words. ¡°Please¡­ don¡¯t be scared of me, all right? I promise, I won¡¯t harm you. I¡¯m so damn sorry, Vegas, I swear. You have no idea how sorry I am. Please¡­ please don¡¯t be scared of me¡­¡± It¡¯s voice is trembling with sorrow. Vegas doesn¡¯t believe a single word that comes out of the mouth of this nightmare incarnate. Liar. Killer. Monster. ¡°Get the fuck away from me, don¡¯t come closer!¡± The breathing exercises are momentarily forgotten; all he wants is to get away from this fiend. The stuff of his nightmares. He can¡¯t do this, he can¡¯t handle this. ¡­Pete¡­ Oh God¡­ Why? ¡°You shot me¡­¡± he whispers in a broken voice. ¡°You shot me¡­¡± ¡°Sorry. I¡¯m so sorry.¡± The monster is wringing his hands in distress; it stays in place and doesn¡¯t make any move to get closer to Vegas. ¡°I didn¡¯t know, Vegas¡­ I thought¡­ I didn¡¯t know¡­ But when I pulled the trigger, I knew¡­ I knew, but then it was already too late¡­¡± ¡°You¡¯re sorry?¡± Vegas shakes his head in disbelief. ¡°You¡¯re a fucking monster!¡± The monster¡­ Pete¡­ flinches hard. ¡°I love you, Vegas. I know I messed up really bad, but I genuinely love you,¡± he pleads. Vegas is struck speechless. This is the last thing he expected to hear. He¡¯s been waiting for these words for the longest time, but that was before he found out that the man standing before him is a cold-blooded serial killer. ¡°You¡¯re utterly insane,¡± he whispers, shaking his head in stunned realisation, even though that makes him dizzy. ¡°You don¡¯t love me, this isn¡¯t love¡­ you¡¯re insane.¡± ¡°No¡­ you were right all along, Vegas. You told me I was crazily in love with you, remember? And that is really true. I love you so damn much, I just realised it too late. And I¡¯m so damn sorry for shooting you.¡± And to make matters worse, the monster has the nerve to start crying. Vegas is stunned. Pete is actually crying. He can see the tears welling up in his dark eyes, the shuddering intake of breath as he¡¯s trying to keep himself from sniffling. Crocodile tears. I can¡¯t do this. I can¡¯t deal with this, he thinks desperately. This has to stop. And as the monster¡¯s words sink in, he comes to another painful realisation. ¡°Everything was fake,¡± he whispers brokenly. ¡°Everything. All these weeks¡­¡± All their precious moments. He didn¡¯t think his heart could break more than it already has, but Pete just steps on the remaining pieces of Vegas¡¯ heart and grinds them into dust. ¡°It was all a lie. You faked everything.¡± ¡°I really do love you,¡± the monster tries to convince him, sobbing quietly. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry.¡± So am I. Vegas¡¯ injuries may have nearly incapacitated him, but he can still move his hands. Under the blanket, his fingers close around the bundle of cables that are attached to the electrodes placed on his skin. ¡°I hate you,¡± Vegas tells Pete quietly, and gives the cables a sharp tug. The connection to the electrodes breaks and all the monitors in his room collectively start to sound a variety of alarms. Surprised shock written all over his tear-stained face, the monster hastily stumbles backwards and presses himself against the wall just as the door is flung wide open and the room is flooded with nurses and doctors. Vegas catches a last glimpse of him; Pete looks gutted, he thinks. He¡¯s never seen him look this devastated before, never. Very good acting. In the ensuing chaos, the monster slips out of the room, unnoticed, just another person in scrubs, and as soon as he¡¯s gone, Vegas dissolves into tears as well. How could you do this to me? I hate you. Goddamn monster!
Vegas mobilises his last energy reserves to explain to everyone that the alarms were a mistake; he must have gotten caught in the cables and pulled at them during a nightmare. He apologises tearfully, and endures another thorough check-up because they¡¯re worried he might have reopened his barely healed wounds again. His only thought during all this turmoil is that this place isn¡¯t safe anymore. He can¡¯t stay here. The monster will be back for sure, and who knows what he¡¯ll do then? Pete¡ªno¡ªthe monster does not deal well with rejection, Vegas knows this only too well. To everyone¡¯s surprise he asks the nursing staff if the bodyguards outside of his door could stay inside instead. Maybe that will help with the nightmares, he explains tiredly, and so he gets his will. They¡¯re his father¡¯s men, but right now he doesn¡¯t give a damn. If he has company, the monster won¡¯t approach him. He orders them not to leave his room under any circumstances, not even during medical procedures. And then he runs out of steam and falls into a nightmare-riddled sleep; Vegas is once again walking through a sea of blood-red flowers beneath a sky full of black butterflies, wandering past an endless line of flayed and burned corpses who are crying bloody tears, telling him that they love him and that they are so so sorry¡­ I can¡¯t take this anymore, Vegas decides during breakfast, staring down at his rice porridge. He really has reached his breaking point. Something¡¯s got to give, and it turns out that it is he who will be waving the white flag. Never thought this day would come, he thinks tiredly. How the mighty have fallen. Just like every day, Macau and Porsche arrive soon after breakfast. They must have been talking to the nurses again, because they cast him concerned looks. They probably heard about his nighttime episode. They¡¯re also surprised to see the guards inside the room, sitting respectfully on the chairs along the wall. Macau sends them outside and then turns towards his brother, giving him a questioning look. ¡°What¡¯s going on, Vegas?¡± ¡°Please give me your phone, Porsche.¡± Vegas¡¯ unexpected demand surprises both of them. Porsche hesitates for a moment, then hands over his phone to Vegas. It takes a moment for Vegas to recall the number before he dials. His stomach drops when the call connects¡ªno turning back now. ¡°Hello Uncle Korn¡­ It¡¯s Vegas¡­¡± Macau and Porsche startle and give Vegas an alarmed look. Vegas swallows hard. ¡°Uncle Korn¡­ I want to come home. Please let me come home¡­¡± ¡°Vegas!¡± Macau is shocked, and so is Porsche. They know how hard Vegas fought to get away from the family, to gain his independence and freedom. Vegas can¡¯t bear to look at them. He closes his eyes, swallowing hard. How the mighty have fallen. ¡°Please let me come home, I am begging you¡­¡± he pleads softly. ¡°I just want to come home, please.¡± He¡¯s met with a long silence, so long that he wonders if the call is still connected, before his uncle finally replies. ¡°I¡¯ll make the arrangements and send Chan to pick you up.¡± And then the call ends. Vegas swallows hard again, opens his eyes and looks at the upset faces of his best friend and little brother and shrugs helplessly. ¡°I just can¡¯t do this anymore¡­¡± Pete really has broken him. Back into the golden cage he goes. Chapter 22 ¡°Is evil something you are? Or is it something you do?¡± Home, sweet home. The Main family has a full-scale medical department in the mansion with top of the line equipment, private nurses and doctors on call 24/7. He gets his own luxury hospital room with a large comfortable bed, silk sheets, artwork on the walls and a magnificent view, but the medical equipment he is connected to is still the same. Just newer. And more expensive. Not that he cares; Vegas is so exhausted that he can barely think straight. He¡¯s back in the golden cage, but he¡¯s at least safe from the monster here. ¡­ Pete¡­ Every time he thinks about the monster his heart aches so terribly that it feels as if he¡¯s been shot all over again. So Vegas tries to steer his thoughts far away from this sore spot. When the elderly resident doctor visits for the first checkup of his new patient, his simple ¡®How are you feeling?¡¯ causes Vegas to dissolve into tears. ¡°I can¡¯t do this anymore,¡± he replies. Vegas feel like an empty husk; he¡¯s a mess, he¡¯s been broken, and it feels as if he¡¯ll never be able to put himself back together again. So why bother? Thankfully his doctor is smart enough to read the signs, even if his patient is unable to vocalise just what exactly is wrong. They have a quiet conversation, just the two of them. Vegas tells him about the nightmares¡ªnot exactly what they¡¯re about, but that they keep him awake all the time. He has to answer a lot of questions that aren¡¯t really related to his injuries, but more to his mental state of mind. In the end the doctor decides to implement a ¡®no visitors¡¯ rule, for the time being. That includes everyone in his family. No one gets to see him apart from the nurses and the doctor. He needs rest, he is told. He¡¯s been traumatised. His mind needs a break so that his body can heal without stress. He¡¯s showing signs of depression, too. Vegas will get sleeping pills for the next 10 days that will knock him out, so that he will get a full night¡¯s rest. But only on the condition that he will then see a therapist afterwards to deal with his trauma. Whatever. Vegas has no energy left to protest or even care. And he sleeps, like Sleeping Beauty. Not just during the nights, but during most of the days as well. And when he¡¯s awake, Vegas spends hours just staring at the walls or out the window. He isn¡¯t hungry. He doesn¡¯t want to talk. Having people around him is exhausting. He wants to be left alone. The safe space in his mind is gone, pulverised, obliterated. There¡¯s nowhere to hide from the terrible reality; denial is pointless. Vegas is left in a seemingly endless state of stunned shock. He simply can¡¯t process the devastating truth about Pete and move on. His body heals. Breathing doesn¡¯t hurt any more. The chest pain is nearly gone, too, but his left arm is still not cooperating and his back feels wrong. Muscle damage, they tell him. He will need extensive physical therapy. Vegas finds himself as weak as a newborn child, which is rather unsettling. He needs help with everything. He can¡¯t even walk. His body might be slowly on the mend, but his mind is an altogether different thing. ¡°You need therapy, Khun Vegas,¡± the doctor once again patiently points out during one of his daily visits. ¡°It¡¯s no use trying to hide from your trauma. Sleeping pills and antidepressants are not going to fix this, and you know it.¡± Vegas stares out of the window, simply feeling a bone-deep exhaustion. It¡¯s raining again. The sky is crying because Vegas can¡¯t even cry anymore at this point. ¡°I don¡¯t want to talk about it,¡± he says quietly. ¡°I just want to forget.¡± Forget about everything. Turn back time. Fix everything. Never fall in love with a monster. ¡°You can¡¯t hide in this room forever. I¡¯ve been giving you the privacy you so desperately need, but you and me both know this is not going to last forever. Even Khun Korn¡¯s patience will run out at some point. Your father has been very vocal in his displeasure about you being here, and not at your own family compound. I¡¯m getting a lot of pressure from all sides, Khun Vegas.¡± The doctor sighs. ¡°I want you to start with the physical therapy tomorrow. You are just wasting away in this bed; this needs to stop.¡± ¡°I¡¯m still so damn tired,¡± Vegas protests quietly. ¡°I just need more rest, I can start physical therapy when I have recovered some more.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve recovered enough,¡± the doctor decides for him, overruling his objections. ¡°And starting tomorrow, you will also see a psychotherapist for your trauma and depression.¡± Vegas cringes, just hearing the word ¡®therapist¡¯ brings back very bad memories. ¡°I¡¯m not good with therapy, I tried it before, it didn¡¯t work out.¡± He shies away from even thinking about his few therapy sessions, but now that the topic has been broached, another painful realisation crystallises in his mind. That part was fake too; he never met a real therapist, never had real therapy. The asshole faked it all, and the knowledge of that hurts incredibly. ¡°Besides, my father wouldn¡¯t want me to have therapy,¡± he adds desperately. ¡°As long as you¡¯re staying here with the Main family, Khun Korn is the one making all decisions. I have already discussed this with him and he¡¯s given the ¡®go ahead¡¯,¡± the doctor informs him calmly. ¡°You will talk to Khun Tankhun¡¯s therapist; she¡¯s been vetted and can be trusted.¡± Vegas snorts softly. ¡°And everything I say will find its way back to my loving uncle.¡± What a fucking nightmare. He knows he should be more upset about this and the fact that he doesn¡¯t care is another glaring red flag regarding his deteriorating mental state. But he doesn¡¯t have the energy to care or be upset. He¡¯s run out of fuel; there is no outrage to ignite. Everything inside him feels burned to ashes. His mind is a bleak, desolate place these days. ¡°Just give it a try, Khun Vegas. She¡¯s a good person to talk to; I believe she can really help you. Without her, your cousin wouldn¡¯t be able to function.¡± Vegas just shrugs. Fine. Whatever. He is tired again, he wants to curl up underneath his blanket and escape into sleep. This isn¡¯t going to work. This is never going to work.
The therapist is a pleasant surprise. She is an elderly woman with laughter lines around the eyes and greying hair, and strangely enough Vegas doesn¡¯t find her presence intrusive. She just shows up with her knitting kit, greets him warmly and takes a seat and then she just sits there and knits. All the apprehension Vegas was feeling about this session seeps out of him. Besides, he has no energy to be constantly on guard. They spend two hours in silence, the only sound in the room the clicking of the knitting needles. Then she bids him farewell again. Strange. True to his word, the doctor also sends two physical therapists. Twice per day, they gently but firmly talk Vegas through a multitude of exercises. If Vegas thought he was exhausted before, he now learns what true exhaustion is. For the first time he realises how utterly weak he is after spending weeks bedridden. Where have all his muscles disappeared to? And has it really been weeks? He¡¯s lost all sense of time. Lost all interest in time, too. Another week goes by and he makes progress. He can actually¡ªwith help¡ªwalk a few meters now. His sole motivation for not giving up on the training is to be able to go to the bathroom on his own. Damn, it¡¯s embarrassing to need help with that. And as for his therapy¡ªhe¡¯s knitting now. His therapist just hands him the equipment one afternoon and starts explaining how to do it. Vegas feels a bit steamrolled, but goes with the flow. This will improve his fine motor skills, he¡¯s being told. Especially in his left hand, where his fingers still feel numb most of the time. Knitting sucks. Vegas hates not being good at something right away. But he hates talking even more, so he¡¯d rather knit than do a deep-dive into the mess that is his mind. He notices that he has to concentrate so hard on what he¡¯s doing that he doesn¡¯t have time to wallow in misery. Damn that therapist, she is sneaky. They start talking too. Mostly about the knitting. Then about patience, when Vegas repeatedly throws the needles across the room in frustration. Underneath the thick layer of his exhaustion, Vegas discovers that there is a bubbling ocean of frustration, resentment, and other volatile emotions just waiting to be unleashed. Self-control seems to be non-existent these days; when the damn knitting goes wrong he finds himself suddenly slamming the knitting needles repeatedly into the mattress, just stabbing down down down, which triggers a visual flashback of broken glass turning a body into minced meat. His throat suddenly feels constricted. Vegas takes a strangled breath as the image of the body blurs and turns into the monster, looking up at him and giving him a dimpled smile, and Vegas rams the knitting needles into the monster¡¯s chest with a hiss. ¡°I hate you!¡± And then he snaps out of it again and stares in shock at his mutilated mattress. Shit. What the hell? Where did that come from? ¡°It¡¯s not just the shooting, is it?¡± his therapist asks him softly, her voice free of any judgement. She doesn¡¯t look shocked by this unexpected outburst at all. This is so embarrassing; Vegas wishes the earth would just swallow him on the spot. No such luck though. He is at a loss for how to explain this outburst, and just shrugs helplessly. ¡°Actually, I expected you to snap a lot earlier. Even in the exhausted state you¡¯re in, you still have a very strong urge to stay in control all the time. No wonder you¡¯re so stressed out, Khun Vegas. You can¡¯t keep all these emotions bottled up forever, and you know it. I¡¯m here to help you learn to find a valve, so you can release that pressure in a controlled way before you explode.¡± The woman just smiles gently at him. ¡°Let¡¯s try to find out what¡¯s stressing you most, and then brainstorm to find a way to deal with that stress in a constructive way. I¡¯ll give you a hint: talking about it helps a lot.¡± ¡°But I don¡¯t want to talk about it.¡± Vegas looks at the slightly bent knitting needles in his hands and drops them on the floor. He¡¯s disgusted with himself over this outburst. He¡¯s such a damn freak. They should have just let him die. ¡°Yes, you do. You¡¯re practically screaming to talk to someone, Khun Vegas. So talk. I¡¯ll listen. I don¡¯t think there are any listening devices in this room, and if you¡¯re worried about the journal I¡¯m keeping, the journal my employer has the tendency to read, there will be a lot of notes about your knitting progress¡­¡± She winks at Vegas. He has to smile reluctantly. Uncle Korn will not be happy to read about knitting¡ªthis therapist has guts, sticking to her work ethics like this. Which reminds him of Pete¡ªno, the monster¡ªhe swallows dryly¡­ well, all his talk about work ethics turned out to be just another lie¡­ and Vegas¡¯ heart aches again. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t even know where to start¡­¡± he admits quietly. ¡°Let¡¯s start with the most obvious part then: you do not like being here,¡± his therapist points out. Vegas swallows again, and leans back, staring at the white ceiling. ¡°I came here of my own free will,¡± he points out with a sigh. ¡°I even begged to be allowed to come here.¡± ¡°As far as I understand, you fought tooth and nails to break free from this family. If you hadn¡¯t been this seriously injured, and if you hadn¡¯t been in the fragile emotional state you¡¯re currently in, I sincerely doubt you would have ever asked to come back here, Khun Vegas. So why did you walk back into the cage?¡± ¡°¡­ Safety¡­¡± Vegas answers, without even having to think about it. He closes his eyes; it would be so nice to be able to escape into the darkness again. Unfortunately he¡¯s wide awake. ¡°Safety from what?¡± The knitting needles start clicking again. It¡¯s a comforting sound. ¡°You had a private hospital room with bodyguards stationed at the door. But that didn¡¯t make you feel safe?¡± As if that would stop Pete¡­ what a joke. ¡°No. Right here is the only place where I feel relatively safe from the monsters,¡± Vegas admits. ¡°I take it this relates to the shooting. Was your assailant ever caught?¡± Vegas curls his hands into fists. ¡°No,¡± he says quietly. ¡°The monster is still out there.¡± He doesn¡¯t want to think about him, it hurts too badly. The knitting needles fall silent. ¡°Do you know who shot you then? I was under the impression that you couldn¡¯t remember.¡± Yeah well, about that¡­ ¡°The memories have come back. I know who shot me.¡± And he will never be able to forget it. That moment has burned itself into his very soul. He is revisiting it every night in his dreams. ¡°Have you informed the police about this then? Or are you going to let your family handle the matter?¡± Vegas flinches. Surprisingly enough, everything inside of him violently opposes the thought of letting his family handle this. And that reaction confuses him. What is wrong with him? He shouldn¡¯t be feeling this way. ¡°I¡¯ll tell the police eventually. This is a police matter after all. I just haven¡¯t had the energy for it yet,¡± he explains hastily. ¡°It has to do with some of my cases.¡± ¡°Do you personally know the person who shot you?¡± Yes! Yes, he does! He wants to shout it out loud for the whole world to hear. But the words die before they even get close to being voiced and instead he says, ¡°No. I just know it¡¯s a killer I¡¯ve been investigating, that¡¯s all.¡± Damn! What¡¯s wrong with him?! He shouldn¡¯t keep this to himself, he needs to tell people. The monster needs to be dealt with before he kills again! His therapist sighs. ¡°And you think this killer will be coming after you now, since he failed at killing you on the first attempt?¡± ¡°Are you here to finish the job?¡± ¡°No, of course not.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not going to kill you Vegas, I promise.¡± Breathing becomes once again difficult as the memories hit him. The look on Pete¡¯s face¡ªNO! Notgoingthere! It hurts. His chest hurts and Vegas nearly panics. He can¡¯t answer that question. He doesn¡¯t know how to answer it, he just doesn¡¯t know! ¡°Did the killer try to contact you while you were in the hospital, by chance?¡± His therapist¡¯s voice intrudes softly, reminding Vegas that he¡¯s not alone in the room. ¡°I¡¯m not going to kill you Vegas, I promise.¡± He nods numbly. This whole conversation is so painful; he doesn¡¯t want to remember, he doesn¡¯t want to think about this! Everything coming out of the monster¡¯s mouth has been a lie. He can¡¯t be trusted. He¡¯s going to kill Vegas. Pete¡¯s going to kill him. And that knowledge is excruciating; Vegas wants to curl up and try to protect himself from this brutal truth somehow. ¡°I see.¡± The knitting needles start their rhythmic clicking again. ¡°No wonder you didn¡¯t feel safe there. In light of this, I think coming here was the most logical decision to be made. You did the right thing, Khun Vegas. You might be trapped here for the time being, but at least you are safe.¡± ¡°I¡¯m stuck in the fucking cage and they¡¯ll never let me go again,¡± Vegas points out gloomily. ¡°It¡¯s only a matter of time before the demands from all sides start; as soon as I feel a bit better they¡¯ll all descend on me like vultures.¡± This seems to amuse his therapist, because she chuckles lightly. ¡°So let them try. How old were you when you cut yourself loose the first time? 18 years? You were practically still a child, and yet you were strong-willed enough to go against not only your father but your uncle as well. Don¡¯t forget you¡¯re an adult now, Khun Vegas. They couldn¡¯t force you to stay as a teenager, why on earth do you think they¡¯ll be able to enforce their will now that you¡¯re an adult? Let them try, I say. I predict that when the time comes, no one will be able to keep you here against your will. You¡¯re just too depressed right now to see this.¡± ¡°I wish I had your confidence in myself, but right now I feel as if I¡¯ve died,¡± Vegas objects tiredly. ¡°There¡¯s nothing left, I just feel dead inside, I have no energy to rebel at all.¡± ¡°Because of the person you hate so much that you imagined stabbing them with the knitting needles?¡± Not pulling any punches I see. Vegas cringes and pulls the blanket tightly around himself, he is feeling cold all of a sudden. ¡°I don¡¯t think I want to talk about this¡­¡± ¡°Who else are you going to talk to then? Your friends? What friends?¡± the therapist points out. ¡°Khun Porsche? Who is in a relationship with the cousin you hate and cannot be trusted not to spill the beans about your private matters?¡± Vegas winces again because she has a point. He can¡¯t talk to Porsche about this. ¡°Who else are you going to talk to?¡± she asks again. ¡°You shot your only other friend, didn¡¯t you?¡± Tem¡­ Vegas heart constricts painfully and he gives his therapist a wary glance. She must have been talking to Macau, he decides. Macau and Porsche. Maybe even Tankhun. Shit. ¡°You didn¡¯t get any trauma counselling after that incident, right? It seems to be a sore spot judging from your reaction.¡± ¡°I talked to someone,¡±¡ªthe monster¡ª¡°but that didn¡¯t really help,¡± Vegas admits in a small voice. ¡°Was it the same police department counsellor that you were seeing because of your anger issues? Khun Porsche told me about this,¡± she adds, when Vegas gives her a surprised look. Of course it was Porsche. The monster¡­ ¡°Yes. Turns out that anger management training was a waste of time,¡± Vegas whispers bitterly. ¡°I guess you could say me and that therapist weren¡¯t compatible at all.¡± This time, she stays silent, just continuing to knit while watching Vegas calmly. Waiting. Waiting. What is she waiting for? He has nothing to add. He doesn¡¯t want to talk about this. He wants to go back to sleep, isn¡¯t it time for a nap? What is she waiting for? ¡°You could say we had a difference of opinion regarding work ethics,¡± Vegas eventually says, just to break the silence. But apparently it¡¯s not enough, she¡¯s still waiting for him to say something else it seems. It¡¯s grating on his nerves. If only he could ignore this. Finally, just when Vegas thinks he can¡¯t t take the silence any more, she comments, ¡°Wasn¡¯t that therapist involved in the shooting of your partner as well?¡± Vegas swallows hard. What an understatement. ¡°Yes. I shot Tem because of him.¡± Oh God, he shot Tem to protect the monster. The damn, manipulative, lying monster. This was probably all a setup as well, carefully choreographed to get rid of Tem. He used me, again. Vegas feels himself getting teary all over as that realisation hits. The woman notices how upset he is getting. ¡°Do you feel guilty for your partner¡¯s death, Khun Vegas? I heard he was threatening to shoot someone. If you hadn¡¯t intervened, that other person would have died¡ªthe other person being your therapist¡­¡± Angry at himself for not being able to suppress his runaway emotions, Vegas wipes the tears off his cheeks, but they just keep welling up, more and more. ¡°Of course I feel guilty. It¡¯s my fault, it¡¯s all my fault. If it hadn¡¯t been for me, none of this would have happened!¡± ¡°So your partner threatened to kill your therapist because of you?¡± He can¡¯t talk about this. He just can¡¯t talk about this. No one is supposed to know. And yet¡­ ¡°Tem was jealous.¡± Never before have three words been so difficult to say, but it feels as if some of the weight on his shoulders has been lifted. All those damn secrets are wearing him out, such a heavy weight to carry all the time. ¡°Were you in a romantic relationship with him?¡± His therapist just sounds curious, not judging him at all. Which is a relief. ¡°No. Not really. It was complicated¡­¡± Vegas doesn¡¯t even know where to start explaining this mess, but perhaps he doesn¡¯t need to. ¡°You¡¯re aware that workplace romances and relationships are pretty common, right?¡± the woman calmly points out to him. ¡°That goes for same-sex couples as well. This is another stress factor, isn¡¯t it? Having to hide who you really are?¡± If only the damn tears would stop welling up¡­ Vegas keeps wiping them away angrily. He hates being so emotional; this is the monster¡¯s fault as well. He used to be in control of himself, but now he¡¯s broken. Damaged. All control has disappeared. ¡°I hate this,¡± he mumbles under his breath. ¡°Desperately clinging to control is exactly why you are now having an emotional meltdown, Khun Vegas. There comes a point when your body cannot endure bottling up everything, and you have reached that point. Instead of using all your energy trying to subdue your feelings, why not open a valve, let them out and talk about it?¡± his therapist reminds him gently while continuing to knit. ¡°Were you in love with your partner?¡± Let it all out? What is she even talking about? If Vegas allows himself to let go of control, he will never be able to put himself back together again. He¡¯s barely hanging on as it is. ¡°No¡­ Yes¡­ Maybe. It was more like a crush. I had a crush on him because that was safe, I knew it was impossible, it would never go anywhere, I don¡¯t do workplace flings. It was just a crush, but for him it was so much more.¡± The words just flow out of him; she¡¯s right, he desperately wants to talk about this with someone. But he¡¯s horrified to hear himself admit all of this anyway. ¡°And it was impossible because¡­?¡± ¡°My father kills everyone I¡¯m trying to have a relationship with.¡± Despite his exhaustion, Vegas feels intense anger about this. He hates his father with a passion bordering on madness. But they¡¯re father and son, and that makes everything so much more complicated. ¡°You could say he has a slight problem with me being gay.¡± His therapist nods thoughtfully. ¡°Khun Gun doesn¡¯t come across as the most open-minded person. So as a result, you cut yourself off from anyone you are attracted to, in order to protect them from your father¡¯s wrath. But what about your needs? Don¡¯t you think you deserve a loving relationship as well? When are you going to put your own needs above those of others, Khun Vegas?¡± Vegas closes his eyes and swallows hard. It feels as if his throat is closing up again. He pulls the blanket tightly around himself because all of these questions are making him feel increasingly vulnerable. ¡°It¡¯s just not worth it. If I care, people leave or die. It¡¯s not worth it. That¡¯s why I tried to just be friends with Tem, even when he wanted more. And even then I had to be so damn careful all the time to make sure my father didn¡¯t find out about that friendship. It¡¯s better if I stay away from everyone.¡± The knitting needles come to a stop again. ¡°So what was it that made you take the risk anyway? You mentioned that Tem was jealous. This involves your police counsellor, doesn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°I think we should take a break now, I¡¯m feeling very tired¡­¡± Vegas deflects. He feels brittle, not ready to talk about him. ¡°You weren¡¯t ready to take any risks for Tem because you were¡ªwith good reason¡ªgenuinely scared that this would get him killed. So what was it about your therapist, a person who should be even more off-limits than your partner, that made you take the risk anyway? He¡¯s the one you were stabbing with the knitting needles, isn¡¯t he? The one who evokes such strong feelings in you?¡± ¡°I can¡¯t do this!¡± Vegas shakes his head repeatedly, trying to shut out those words. ¡°I don¡¯t want to talk about this.¡± ¡°What did he do to you to make you feel this strongly? Did he reject you? You said you weren¡¯t compatible.¡± The questions keep coming relentlessly. ¡°Please¡­¡± Vegas curls up on the bed. He can¡¯t even get up and walk out, because he¡¯s still too weak. There¡¯s nowhere to flee and hide. ¡°I don¡¯t want to talk about this, please¡­¡± Stolen story; please report. ¡°What happened, Khun Vegas?¡± ¡°I can¡¯t¡­ I really can¡¯t¡­¡± I found out I fell in love with a deranged killer, he wants to scream. He¡¯s a damn psychopath, that is what happened! But he can¡¯t tell anyone, he can¡¯t, he must not tell anyone, surely Pete¡¯s going to kill anyone who finds out! He can¡¯t endanger people by telling them about Pete being a serial killer, no. Then again, keeping it all to himself is so tiring, Vegas has no energy for this. The problem is that he¡¯s cracked, he is damaged, no matter how much he wants to resist answering, deep down he just wants it all to come out¡ªat least partially. ¡°He made me fall in love¡­¡± he whispers brokenly after a while. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to. I tried so hard not to be attracted to him and it was all for nothing.¡± Again, the therapist asks softly, ¡°What went wrong?¡± ¡°He lied¡­ he lied about everything¡­ everything¡­¡± And the tears are rolling again. His heart aches just as badly as when he got shot. Pete shot him. Pete is trying to kill him. It hurts. It feels as if every fibre of his being is vibrating with pain. ¡°It hurts so damn much,¡± Vegas whispers. ¡°It just won¡¯t stop hurting. I don¡¯t know how to make it stop.¡± ¡°Have you tried talking to him about how his lies made you feel?¡± Blinking away the tears, Vegas laughs weakly. As if the lies were their only problem. ¡°Hell no. I don¡¯t ever want to talk to him or see him again.¡± The woman sighs. ¡°I¡¯m sure you know very well that a therapist is not supposed to have a relationship with a patient for precisely these reasons, Khun Vegas. As a patient, you¡¯re vulnerable and you can be easily exploited. But I¡¯m not here to judge you, love is love, you can¡¯t choose whom you¡¯re attracted to. The thing you need to focus on right now is how to emotionally wrap up this situation in a way that feels satisfactory to you, so that you can move on without any regrets. You should think about this until we meet again. If you don¡¯t want to talk to him again, maybe you should write him a letter just to get it all off your chest. And I am not saying you need to mail the letter. If it makes you feel better, you can burn it. I¡¯ve had patients who thought this was a very satisfying way to move on.¡± Burn the letter? How about burning the monster instead? Burn it to ashes until there is nothing left. Burn it and hear it screaming. Make it hurt just as badly as Vegas is hurting. Now that would be a satisfactory way to end it all, as far as Vegas is concerned. His therapist has stopped knitting and is putting away everything into her large bag. She collects even the yarn and knitting needles that Vegas dropped on the floor. ¡°I¡¯ll allow you to rest now, Khun Vegas. You must be very tired. Thank you for talking to me. I will see you tomorrow.¡± And since Vegas is still lost in thoughts and not paying attention to her, she simply leaves the room. Vegas pulls the blanket over his head. Darkness. Silence. Finally. He thinks about flames and screams, and his lips curve into a dark smile. ¡°I hate you,¡± he whispers. ¡°I hate you.¡±
For yet another night Vegas walks amongst the dead, haunted by a Cheshire Cat smile. The dreams are relentless. He wants to torch everything, burn the dead, burn the Cheshire Cat. Burn it all. The next morning after breakfast, much to the surprise of everyone, he asks for his phone. This is a first; he hasn¡¯t shown any interest in the outside world in weeks. Progress, the doctor calls it cautiously, and promises to relay his request. When the therapist shows up again, Vegas takes his knitting tools and declares that he doesn¡¯t feel like talking today, he is still processing. And then he knits. If it were up to him, the yarn would be black, as black and dark as his thoughts. He didn¡¯t care what he was knitting beforehand, but now he envisions a shawl. Long and black, a shawl that he wants to wrap around the neck of the monster, wrap it really tight, cutting off its air supply. Before his inner eye he can see the surprised look on the monster¡¯s face, how very satisfying it would be to watch the life drain from his eyes, to see the smile slip from the handsome face forever. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, he thinks while knitting. His therapist comments on his aggressive knitting style today, but Vegas refuses to engage. In his mind he kills the monster over and over again. I hate you. After physical therapy, this afternoon brings another surprise. The door opens unexpectedly and in walks his brother. They stare at each other in startled silence for a few moments, then Macau hurries over to the bed Vegas is sitting on, throws his arms around him and hugs him tightly. Exhausted from his physical therapy session, Vegas exhales a shuddering breath and hugs him back. They cling to each other for the longest time. He really missed Macau, Vegas realises. He¡¯s been so caught up in his own troubles that he actually forgot about his brother, and now that he is here, Vegas is reminded once again that there are people who care about him. It feels damn nice. ¡°You look much better,¡± Macau mumbles, clearly reluctant to let Vegas go. For a moment, Vegas feels ashamed. Poor Macau must have been through hell these past weeks. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he says, and hugs his brother tightly. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry. I was so wrapped up in myself I forgot about you. I am really a shitty brother.¡± ¡°I am just glad you¡¯re alive, Vegas. Don¡¯t ever do this to me again, all right? What am I supposed to do if you die? You¡¯re basically all the family I have.¡± ¡°Well, you have your crappy cousins too, don¡¯t forget them,¡± Vegas reminds him, and Macau just groans. ¡°They don¡¯t count, those Main family freaks¡­¡± The brothers share a chuckle, then finally stop hugging. Macau sits on the bed beside Vegas. There is a moment of silence, then both of them sigh. ¡°I¡¯m glad they finally allowed me to visit,¡± Macau says softly. ¡°I got a daily update from your doctor but that really wasn¡¯t enough. Porsche has also been climbing the walls: he¡¯s driving everyone insane with his complaints about not being able to visit you.¡± ¡°Just tell him I¡¯m doing much better. Visitors are pretty exhausting, Macau. I really just needed a long break from everyone.¡± Vegas sighs again and gives his brother a faint smile. ¡°Oh, before I forget¡­¡± Macau pulls Vegas¡¯ phone and a loader from one of his pockets. ¡°I got this from Porsche; he got it from the police. We cleaned it up best we could, but you need to load it I think.¡± The last time he saw his phone was in the greenhouse¡­ Vegas swallow hard. Red flowers. Red and black. His phone slipping through his bloody fingers¡­ He swallows hard again before he pockets the phone. ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°Everything is going to be fine, right?¡± Macau asks him anxiously. ¡°This here¡¯s just temporary, correct? You are not actually going to stay here, are you? Pa¡¯s having a fit about you being with the Main family.¡± ¡°This was a necessary evil, Macau. Don¡¯t fret, you know me. I will find a way to extract myself from the family again and go back to living my own life. Have a little faith in me. I just need to recover first.¡± ¡°Are you sure Uncle Korn will let you go again?¡± His brother doesn¡¯t sound convinced. ¡°I swear I can handle it, don¡¯t worry.¡± Vegas sounds a lot more confident than he feels. This isn¡¯t going to be without complications. But he remembers the words of his therapist. He¡¯s an adult now; this is going to be much easier than the last time. Hopefully. ¡°What are you going to do about Pa?¡± ¡°I can handle Pa as well. Trust me.¡± If only Vegas had faith in himself, too, regarding this issue. Meeting his father will be interesting. He does not look forward to this at all. The visit and the physical therapy, coupled with his lack of sleep, is making him tired again. Macau stays a little bit longer and then reluctantly leaves. Vegas falls asleep the second he closes his eyes.
It¡¯s evening, and the phone is fully loaded. Vegas stares at it, somewhat reluctant to switch it back on. He¡¯s been so sheltered these past weeks, he has no clue what¡¯s been going on in the world outside, and isn¡¯t sure he is really ready to rejoin life. But he promised Macau to stay in touch, and then there is Porsche, too, who deserves some peace of mind. Not to mention work¡­ Well, better to get it over with. He can¡¯t sleep anyway, or rather, he doesn¡¯t dare to. He¡¯s not looking forward to the nightmares at all. No more sleeping pills to keep them at bay. Every night is just endless suffering, as far as Vegas is concerned. The phone powers on. The notifications start popping up. So many. Well, that was expected. His mail, too, is overflowing and it feels overwhelming. He isn¡¯t ready for any of this. Vegas decides to just sort them for now and answer them later. That needs to be enough, he¡¯s still recovering after all. So many emails. The only one that catches his interest is an email from Arm. Shit. What can this be about? More things to add to his nightmares? Vegas¡¯ stomach drops. What has the monster been up to now while he¡¯s been at the hospital? He doesn¡¯t deal well with rejection. Shouldn¡¯t have touched the phone, shouldn¡¯t have looked at the emails. Too late now, too late. Walk away, he tells himself¡ªand then clicks on the email anyway. Vegas reads. And blinks. It takes him a moment to remember what this is related to. Oh, yes. The body in the crushed car. Relief floods Vegas, no new dead bodies at least. Now what is this about again¡­? Apparently this is about Alak Sunthorn. The deceased. Arm finally managed to get the ID card out of the metal mess. The name doesn¡¯t ring a bell but according to the pattern, this must be somehow connected to Vegas. ¡­ Cheshire Cat¡­ I hate you¡­ Vegas logs in to the police server and does a search. The information appears on the screen, the ID card photo too. Fuck! He knows that face. Fuck! And suddenly the snide little comment on that card¡ª¡®You are welcome¡¯¡ª makes perfect sense too. White hot rage floods Vegas and he throws his pillow across the room. That bastard! He¡¯s going to kill him! ¡­ I met him in high school¡­ ¡­ three wonderful weeks of dating¡­ ¡­ lunch at my father¡¯s favourite restaurant¡­ ¡­ my boyfriend across the street¡­ ¡­ the moment the car hit him¡­ ¡­ like watching a puppet fall, its limbs fluttering around lifelessly and broken¡­ ¡­ I saw the driver who hit him, you know. He was my father¡¯s Main bodyguard at that time¡­ ¡­ my father¡¯s bodyguard¡­ Alak Sunthorn. His father¡¯s bodyguard that fateful day. The one who drove the car. Vegas wants to scream. You are welcome. He¡¯s so angry he¡¯s trembling. You are welcome. The nerve! I didn¡¯t ask for this, he wants to scream. It just feels like yet another betrayal. Something told in confidence, and the monster used it as an excuse to kill yet another human being. I hate you, he thinks, hitting the mattress with his fists. I hate you so damn much! As if he would condone this murder because it was a shitty person who got killed, someone who was part of hurting Vegas in the past. You bloody asshole! I¡¯m a goddamn cop, you really thought I would be okay with this?! Vegas is fuming. For the first time in weeks he¡¯s feeling something other than despair, heartache, hurt and exhaustion. He is going to kill this bloody monster, he is going to wring his neck, shoot him, throw him off a roof, burn him to a crisp. The anger feels rejuvenating. This is so much better than curling up in bed and staring at the walls. The anger blows away the brain fog, and the only thing keeping Vegas from storming out of this room to get himself a gun for dealing with this problem is the fact that his body isn¡¯t ready yet. I hate you. I fucking hate you!
Vegas drifts along a river of red and black flowers. The dead are reaching for him, clawing and screaming silently, trying to drag him down into the maelstrom of flowers and blood. This is all his fault and they know it. They want their pound of flesh, and if he won¡¯t deliver the monster to them, they will make do with Vegas¡­ With a stifled scream, Vegas jerks awake. This is the forth time already tonight. His heart is pounding hard in his chest, triggering memories of how it felt when he was bleeding out. Vegas is on the edge of another panic attack. He grabs his phone, desperately looking for something to distract him. The room is dark; the only thing lighting it up a bit is the screen of his phone. So many messages. He¡¯s just going to read a few, until his heart is back to beating normally again, and he can go back to sleep. Maybe he¡¯ll be able to catch a few more hours before the next nightmare. So many messages. ¡°Join us for a live webinar on 5/8 at 4 pm.¡± ¡°Your appointment is tomorrow at 3:00 pm.¡± ¡°Take 20% off your order with code THANKYOU.¡± ¡°Your parking is about to expire.¡± ¡°DHL: Your parcel is arriving tomorrow, track here.¡± ¡°You have 47 missed calls.¡± ¡°I am so sorry.¡± Vegas¡¯ breathing becomes ragged. An unknown number. Four words. He re-reads them, and gasps. That message dates from the day he got shot. ¡°I am so sorry.¡± Vegas feels numbness spread through his whole body. One moment his heart was racing, now it is beating sluggishly, stuttering painfully. There¡¯s more; this isn¡¯t the only message from that number. ¡°So damn sorry.¡± ¡°I messed up really badly, I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°I know you most likely cannot read this right now but I need you to know I really regret shooting you.¡± "I¡¯m so very very sorry, Vegas.¡± The messages just keep going on and on and on, sprinkled over the timeline of his hospital stay. The more Vegas reads, the colder he feels. His heart aches. No, his very soul aches. Every word hurts. Every word is a dagger to his heart, every letter a twist of that dagger. It hurts really badly. Vegas has broken into pieces and now the monster is using these words to grind the pieces together, like the fragments of a broken bone. It¡¯s excruciating. ¡°I¡¯m so damn worried about you.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t get any information about your health status, this is driving me insane.¡± ¡°Are you awake yet?¡± ¡°Sorry?¡± ¡°Can you even read this?¡± ¡°I miss you so damn much, Vegas.¡± ¡°Are you healing well?¡± ¡°Why are you not reading this? I¡¯m so worried.¡± ¡°Could you please talk to me?¡± ¡°I know I messed up badly, but could you please stop ignoring me?¡± ¡°Are you healing well? Can you not send me a life-sign, please?¡± ¡°Talk to me, Vegas. Please?¡± Vegas feels his throat constrict. He shouldn¡¯t read this. He should delete the whole thing. He should block this number right away. What is he even doing, reading all these lies? His heart is a black cloud of hatred, but occasionally, there are the tiniest sparkles of another emotion, like fireflies in the night. And those words feed the fireflies. Fireflies and sparks. Feelings. So many emotions. I don¡¯t want to feel like this. This is wrong. This cannot be happening. What¡¯s wrong with me? He shouldn¡¯t be feeling like this. This is the person who shot him. This is the person who murdered several people in the most horrific manner. This is a pathological liar. He shouldn¡¯t be feeling anything but hatred and disgust reading this. And yet¡­ ¡°I hope your nightmares will stop soon.¡± ¡°I love you. Don¡¯t give up on me, please.¡± ¡°I am so sorry. I really didn¡¯t mean to kill you, please forgive me.¡± ¡°I know I¡¯m not good at this whole relationship thing, but would you please give me another chance?¡± ¡°I¡¯m so damn in love with you, Vegas. Please talk to me, this silence is excruciating.¡± ¡°Please make sure you get plenty of rest, all right? I worry about you.¡± ¡°I miss you.¡± ¡°Can you really just turn off your feelings like this? Vegas¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯m your missing puzzle piece, remember? I need you. Please talk to me.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t like how you make me feel.¡± ¡°Please don¡¯t be afraid of me.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not going to hurt you, I genuinely love you. This was all a terrible mistake, I was such an idiot for not realising that I love you sooner.¡± ¡°Am I really that unlovable?¡± ¡°How many more times do I need to apologise?¡± ¡°For fucks sake, stop ignoring me! If you keep this up I will force you to pay attention to me, you know I have my ways!¡± ¡°I''m sorry! Sorry sorry sorry!!! Shit! I am so sorry, I didn¡¯t mean to write this! I swear, I won¡¯t hurt you again, or anyone you care about. I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m going crazy here. Sorry.¡± ¡°I feel like shit, Vegas. Is this what you wanted to achieve with your silence? Because it¡¯s working.¡± ¡°I know I deserve it but could you please stop being so cruel? Please just give me a life sign.¡± ¡°I really love you. How can I convince you of that?¡± ¡°What am I supposed to do without you? I need you, Vegas. I cannot be without you.¡± ¡°Would you please let me apologise in person?¡± ¡°I love you.¡± Vegas absorbs all the words hungrily; it¡¯s as if he¡¯s actually hearing that familiar, silky voice begging him, whispering apologies and love confessions right into his ear with increasing desperation. I can¡¯t do this, he realises numbly. I can¡¯t deal with how this makes me feel. Every word is a stab to his injured heart. I am not ready for this. Why am I still feeling this much, this is wrong! These are the words of a monster! He shouldn¡¯t be feeling even the slightest hint of conflict! He hates the monster! Hates hates hates him! Why does it hurt so much? Oh God, he must be a horrible person, he shouldn¡¯t have any feelings other than hatred for this monster! Something¡¯s wrong with him! The monster has broken him beyond repair! With shaking fingers, Vegas turns off the phone. He needs to cut himself loose, or he will be dragged right back into the abyss again. A minute later, he holds the tiny SIM card between his fingers. Time to let go. Time to snuff out the sparks. Time to let the fireflies die. He drops the card onto the bedside table and uses the corner of his phone to grind it into pieces. And ignores how his treacherous heart aches while he does so. And you loved me I could feel it Cause I loved you Can¡¯t eclipse it It goes on, it goes on Love It goes on, it goes on Still love you
Vegas asks for a new SIM card in the morning and receives it promptly. He sends his new phone number to Macau and Porsche with the strict instruction not to share this number with anyone. He¡¯s still feeling numb, as if he¡¯s once again bleeding internally. He isn¡¯t hungry; he refuses breakfast. Vegas endures his physical therapy session in a daze; he¡¯s so out of it and distracted that he keeps falling down, and he welcomes the physical pain. He deserves to be in pain. He should be punished for having no control whatsoever about his emotions. He¡¯s a terrible person because the monster made him feel impossible things again. A serial killer. Vegas shouldn¡¯t be feeling like this. It¡¯s wrong. When his therapist enters the room later that day, she takes one look at him and arches an eyebrow. ¡°I told you to think about our talk, but it seems you thought about it more than I expected, Khun Vegas.¡± She holds up the bag with the knitting equipment. ¡°You want to take it easy today or is there anything else I can help you with?¡± He can¡¯t believe he¡¯s doing this, but the words simply burst out of him. ¡°I need help.¡± The woman smiles softly at him and nods. ¡°So I figured, that¡¯s what I¡¯m here for.¡± She takes a seat and soon her knitting needles are clicking again. ¡°Is there anything specific you need help with?¡± Vegas swallows hard. ¡°Yes. I need to stop feeling like this, it¡¯s tearing me apart. It needs to stop, please tell me how to make it stop.¡± ¡°Feeling like what, Khun Vegas? You think you could be a bit more specific? I know it must be difficult for someone as private as you to vocalise your feelings, but talking about it counts as the first step.¡± It feels as if he¡¯s choking on the words, they seem to get stuck in his throat on the way out. Vegas clears his throat repeatedly. He looks down and notices with surprise that he is wringing his hands. Just say it, he thinks. Just get it over with. ¡°I¡­ I need to¡­ I need to fall out of love¡­ fast.¡± His soul weeps, every cell in his body vehemently rejects these words he is saying. But it¡¯s the right thing to do. The only possible solution to this. He cannot be in love with a serial killer. ¡°I can¡¯t go on like this, it needs to stop.¡± ¡°If it were that simple to stop yourself from feeling love, then there wouldn¡¯t be countless self-help books about it,¡± his therapist gently reminds him. ¡°I cannot be in love with this person,¡± Vegas insists quietly. ¡°I cannot ¡ªmust not¡ªeven have the slightest feelings for him. We are completely incompatible and this ¡­ relationship¡­ never should have started in the first place. Please help me; I need to make it stop, it¡¯s tearing me apart.¡± The knitting needles keep on clicking, and the silence spreads in the room. ¡°You¡¯re talking about your inappropriate relationship with your police therapist, aren¡¯t you? What was his name again?¡± Vegas opens his mouth but can¡¯t bring himself to say the name. It just won¡¯t come out. It¡¯s a fake name anyway. He gives his knitting therapist a helpless look. ¡°I can¡¯t¡­¡± ¡°What do you think will happen if you tell me his name? Saying his name out loud will make you feel exactly what, Khun Vegas?¡± ¡°I need distance.¡± Vegas is wringing his hands so hard that it starts hurting. Maybe he¡¯ll even be bruised by tomorrow. ¡°This is me keeping my distance, at least I am trying to. I can¡¯t make this real, his name is making it too real, I can¡¯t deal with it. It¡¯s just self-protection.¡± The name is a lie, just a mask for the monster underneath, but he can¡¯t tell her that. ¡°Yes, I understand that, but what will saying his name make you feel?¡± ¡­ Pete¡­ Vegas feels overwhelmed just thinking about the name and closes his eyes, his hands curling into fists. The pain of the fingernails digging into his palms grounds him slightly. When he eventually speaks, his voice is very small, barely audible. ¡°Hurt. Anger. Hatred. Pain. Confusion. Sadness. Grief.¡± He pauses briefly, and swallows hard. ¡°Longing. Lust. Love.¡± ¡°And which of these emotions scare you the most?¡± ¡°I can¡¯t have any kind of positive emotion when it comes to him. I need this to stop.¡± Vegas hates how desperate he sounds, but he feels desperate too. He shouldn¡¯t have read those messages from the monster, they seriously messed with his state of mind. ¡°I can¡¯t function like this. I need it to end, I want everything to go back to the way it was before I met him.¡± ¡°You know that these are unrealistic expectations you have,¡± she calmly points out, while continuing to knit. ¡°You can¡¯t turn back time. You can¡¯t erase what has already happened. And this goes for emotions you¡¯ve experienced, as well. You¡¯ll always have the memories of them with you. The only thing you can do is to decide how to deal with them in the present and in the future. I think you should be more kind to yourself and not beat yourself up for feeling things you tell yourself you should not be feeling. You¡¯re only human, Khun Vegas.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t understand¡­¡± How to explain this and make her understand, without telling her vital information she needs, but that he cannot talk about? What a fucking dilemma. ¡°I need this between us to stop. If I have even the slightest hint of positive feelings towards him, I¡¯ll never be able to cut myself loose. I can¡¯t go back into this relationship. I cannot. He¡¯s not good for me; going back is akin to suicide.¡± Buckets. Flowers. Wings. Bullets. Death is inevitable, he needs to stay away from the monster to stay safe. ¡°You¡¯re feeling very strongly about this whole situation, which is only natural. You have been trying to stay in control of your emotions for the longest time, Khun Vegas, and look where it got you. You¡¯re going against your own nature, you¡¯re in essence a very emotional person who experiences emotions very strongly. But by bottling them all up your whole life, you are completely taken by surprise when they all rise to the surface and overwhelm you. This is the source of your anger issues as well. You internalise your anger until you explode, instead of giving it a voice before it becomes uncontrollable.¡± The therapist gives him one of her gentle smiles. ¡°In order to get over this relationship you first need to give yourself permission to feel all the emotions you are feeling, to experience them all, and acknowledge that they exist within you. It¡¯s completely normal to still feel love in this situation. You need to feel even the emotions you want to hide away from, in order to be able to grieve and then move on.¡± ¡°But I can¡¯t do this, it¡¯s giving me anxiety!¡± Shit, his hands hurt because he¡¯s digging his fingernails so hard into the flesh of his palms. ¡°Be kind to yourself, Khun Vegas. How many people have you loved, truly loved, in your life so far? Your brother? You rarely allow yourself to see him and show him your love these days. Your mother? Has passed away and can¡¯t receive your love anymore either. You hate your father. All these years you¡¯ve avoided falling in love, even though you have so much love to give. No wonder your feelings are so intense when you finally find another person to love and open up to.¡± His therapist falls silent as she switches to another colour of yarn, and a different set of knitting needles, giving Vegas a moment to let is all sink in. ¡°Try seeing your love like a precious stone; the stone itself is beautiful and valuable and you need to cherish it; it¡¯s all right to feel this love. You just had the misfortune to hand this precious stone to the wrong person who didn¡¯t appreciate it. And that can happen to all of us. Now you can take back that precious stone and keep it safe again until you find the right person to hand it to. It¡¯s still precious and not tainted. Don¡¯t just throw the stone away now.¡± It hurts hearing all this. Sure, it makes sense, but it still hurts. ¡°Love sucks, I don¡¯t like feeling like this!¡± Vegas wants to run away from everything, but his idiotic body isn¡¯t strong enough to flee yet. He should have just stayed silent. Why did he start talking to her? This is going nowhere. ¡°I don¡¯t think anyone likes the feeling of heartache. Try being proud of how deeply you¡¯re able to love someone instead. Don¡¯t fall into a hole of negative thoughts. Focus on self-care, do things that are good for you. If you find yourself thinking about him, re-direct your thoughts, give yourself a moment to recenter and calm yourself. It¡¯s all right to still feel a certain amount of love for an ex-partner. But that doesn¡¯t mean you aren¡¯t able to move on.¡± ¡°He¡¯s not a good person though. He¡¯s a damn liar and he¡¯s manipulative as hell. It shouldn¡¯t be okay to love this kind of person at all. He¡¯s so damn toxic, he¡¯s not good for me. I shouldn¡¯t feel like this about him¡ªdoesn¡¯t it mean something¡¯s wrong with me? The love should have disappeared the moment I found out about all of his lies. I don¡¯t understand myself¡­¡± Vegas runs his fingers through his hair in frustration and winces. Ouch. His palms hurt; some of the nail impression are even seeping blood. He hides his hands under the blanket so his therapist won¡¯t see. ¡°Give yourself some credit for figuring out that he is not good for you, Khun Vegas. Most people won¡¯t realise this even after decades together with toxic partners. You noticed it, you removed yourself from this situation and now you are taking steps to move on. You¡¯re doing the right thing. There¡¯s no quick fix though; this process takes time. You are not a bad person for loving someone like this. I¡¯m sure he has some genuinely lovable traits that you fell for. But as you yourself said before, you were simply not wholly compatible, and it¡¯s all right for you to protect yourself and leave this relationship. Would you like me to report him, since he broke the ethical guidelines of our profession?¡± Vegas startles and gives her an alarmed look. ¡°No!¡± He doesn¡¯t even want to think about what the monster would do to this lovely lady. ¡°Please don¡¯t. I want to handle this myself eventually, when I¡¯m feeling better. So please don¡¯t interfere.¡± His therapists nods. ¡°As you wish. Just out of curiosity, have you two ever tried talking about your problems? I would be interested to know if he is even aware of why you¡¯re getting out of the relationship, and how he is reacting to this decision of yours.¡± ¡°He¡¯s not taking it well, that much is safe to say.¡± Vegas sighs deeply. ¡°There¡¯s nothing to talk about. Neither of us is good at talking about feelings in the first place. He fucked up big time, crossed the line and as far as I am concerned that is it.¡± Getting a bullet to your chest counts as crossing the line, right? Not that he would have ever tolerated Pete being a serial killer either. Or the lies. The false identity. The constant manipulations. The violence between them. Bloody hell, red flags everywhere, and he was too blind to see any of them. ¡°I¡¯m not planning to go back. He¡¯s sent me messages but I¡¯ve changed my phone number now. I won¡¯t be talking to him ever again. I don¡¯t trust myself if I start listening to him once more¡­¡± ¡°You worry you¡¯ll fold?¡± Vegas turns his head to look out of the large window. It seems to be a pleasant day; he hasn¡¯t been outside for weeks. ¡°I¡¯ve never before been this desperately in love with anyone,¡± he admits quietly. ¡°At times it feels that he is the air that I need to breathe. The mere thought of being without him, of him leaving me, used to give me panic attacks. I think he¡¯s manipulated me from the very first day of our acquaintance. He¡¯s been playing me like an instrument, with masterful skill. He knows exactly what buttons to push when it comes to me. You wonder if I worry about giving in?¡± Vegas sighs defeatedly. Time to face some ugly truths. ¡°If I let him anywhere near me again, he will burn me until there are only ashes left, and I will enjoy every second of it, because he¡¯s my drug and I need my fix. That¡¯s what I mean when I say that I can¡¯t do this anymore. He¡¯s the fire, and I¡¯m the oxygen he needs to burn. He needs me, I need him. He¡¯ll consume me, we¡¯ll both burn really bright, in mutual agony, until we are both gone.¡± He pauses as a stray thought flutters by. Maybe Pete really loves him? No. No way. ¡°This can¡¯t be real love. This is something twisted. That precious stone of mine is damaged¡ªthat¡¯s why I need to stop feeling like this.¡± His therapist stops knitting and gives him a worried, but compassionate look. ¡°I wish I could tell you that there is an easy way to switch off those unwanted feelings, but I would rather not lie to you. There¡¯s no easy way, this process takes time. I can only give you some suggestions right now about how to make this breakup a little bit less painful.¡± Placing her knitting kit to the side for now, she leans back in the chair, making herself more comfortable. ¡°First of all, stop isolating yourself in this room. There are people out there who care for you; let them in, be in their company. Allow yourself to feel their love. Stop rolling up like a hedgehog, showing everyone your spikes. Allow yourself to be vulnerable. If they ask you how you feel, answer them truthfully. No more bottling up your emotions. Your brother and Khun Porsche are your support system. Use them wisely.¡± ¡°Feel your feelings. I know this scares the hell out of you, so this part will be difficult for you. Anger is okay. Hatred too. And even love. Don¡¯t put a value on those emotions, none of them are all positive or negative, they all have their place. You might hate him right now, but it¡¯s all right to still feel the love you had for him. Do not try to numb your emotions¡ªthat will only backfire in the long run. So no escape into sleeping pills or alcohol, Khun Vegas.¡± The stern look following that warning makes Vegas duck his head instinctively, and nod quickly in agreement. ¡°Getting a new phone number is a step in the right direction too, especially if you worry about giving in and going back to him. If you have him on social media, block him. Block his phone numbers. Block his email addresses. Don¡¯t go places where you might run into him¡ªthat will only prolong the healing process.¡± ¡°Most importantly, give yourself time. You¡¯re safe here. He won¡¯t be able to contact you here. See this as a much needed vacation and focus on your body and on getting well again. Wounds take time to heal, both physical and emotional ones. Take care of yourself and be kind to yourself, Khun Vegas. With time, you will feel much better, I promise you.¡± Vegas listens quietly to all of this. It all makes sense, it¡¯s all very reasonable advice. Nevertheless, he is sceptical. This is not going to work, he thinks tiredly. It might have worked if this had been a mere relationship breakup issue, but it¡¯s so much more, and he can¡¯t tell her that. He can¡¯t tell anyone that he is being stalked by the ruthless serial killer that he had the misfortune to fall in love with. The monster will never let him go. Never. They¡¯re trapped in a mutual obsession, he and the monster are so intrinsically intertwined at this point that it will take extreme measures to regain his freedom. The big question is, how far is Vegas willing to go to cut himself loose? ¡°Don¡¯t overthink it,¡± his therapist tells him wryly. ¡°I can sense a certain unwillingness to take in this advice. How about you let it sink in for a few days and then revisit my suggestions when you¡¯ve had more time to process everything? We¡¯ll do some more knitting until then, to give you some peace of mind.¡± They look at each other in silence, until Vegas gives her a reluctant nod. Fine. She can have it her way. But before he can say anything else there is a knock on the door. Vegas¡¯ stomach drops when Chan enters the room. This can¡¯t be good. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to interrupt your therapy session, Khun Vegas, but Khun Korn and Khun Gun would like to have a word with you.¡± Vegas¡¯ blood turns into ice. Shit. How long has he been at the mansion? It doesn¡¯t feel long enough; Vegas thought he would have more time. Shit. Seems his family has run out of patience with him. Maybe he shouldn¡¯t have requested the phone, that was a stupid thing to do. His thoughts race, but he can¡¯t come up with a good reason to avoid this meeting. Shit. No matter what he told Macau, he sincerely doubts that he can hold his own against his uncle and his father. Especially if they team up against him. Shit, this is so bad, he is in deep trouble. Chapter 23 ¡°I almost wish I hadn¡¯t gone down the rabbit-hole¡­ and yet¡­ and yet¡­¡± They cart him to the meeting in a wheelchair. To call this humiliating would be a massive understatement; Vegas isn¡¯t even allowed to change; he¡¯s still wearing his pyjama pants and a plain white t-shirt. He hasn¡¯t brushed his hair, he hasn¡¯t even shaved; the stubble is clearly visible. He looks like hell, not at all like one of the flawless Main family Theerapanyakuls. And that is precisely why they are doing this to him. This is just another power play between his uncle and his father, and Vegas resents them both for it. The Main family mansion is an interior design masterpiece. Everything is perfect here, even the servants are immaculately dressed. Not to mention the countless bodyguards he is pushed past; everyone is pristinely groomed, wearing a suit, and Vegas is paraded in front of them, like just another Minor family thug: watch out, don¡¯t get too close, you might get lice. If only he¡¯d had more time to prepare. Vegas is at a severe disadvantage here; he¡¯s still a mental and physical wreck, hasn¡¯t eaten anything today and just went through a gruelling therapy session that still has him reeling internally. This is bad, really bad. Everyone¡¯s staring at him. With his ¡®I don¡¯t give a fuck¡¯ mask in place, Vegas leans back casually, as if the wheelchair is a royal palanquin. Let them stare. He will just pretend not to care (but he cares, oh he cares). And yes, they parade him around. Vegas knows this house and the route they¡¯re taking to the meeting room is much longer than it should be. Those bastards. But they arrive at last. One bodyguard opens the doors, and another pushes Vegas¡¯ wheelchair into the room. They¡¯ve picked the boardroom for this meeting, with the huge black table framed with gold, and the expensive leather seats grouped around it. The floor-to-ceiling windows allow the afternoon light to filter into the room, making the blue silk wallpaper on the walls shimmer. There are several body guards of course, from both families. And seated at the head of the enormous table is Korn Theerapanyakul, like the spider in the middle of his web. Vegas instinctively tenses up as his gaze falls on the person sitting to Khun Korn¡¯s left. He hasn¡¯t seen his father for years. This is the first time they¡¯ve met since he moved out. The instant their eyes meet, Vegas feels like a ten-year-old boy again, and a sliver of fear runs through him. His father has aged well. He¡¯s still wearing the beige suits he is so fond of. And of course there is the neckerchief; silky and expensive and very flamboyant. Just like his father. Vegas swallows hard. His father¡¯s icy gaze drills into him, and Vegas shrinks deeper into his wheelchair before he can stop himself. Damn. And as if this wasn¡¯t bad enough, there is Kinn, seated to Khun Korn¡¯s right. Perfect Kinn. Of course he is here, his uncle needs to rub it in¡ªhow different his son is from the Minor family failure that is Vegas. It stings. Vegas shouldn¡¯t care about this, but he does. His pufferfish spikes pop out reflexively; Kinn he can handle, and so he ignores the two older men and sneers softly at Kinn, who glares right back at him. ¡°Well if this isn¡¯t a lovely family get-together of fathers and their favourite sons. Sorry for being late to the party¡ªit seems I took the scenic route here,¡± Vegas remarks sarcastically. ¡°Watch your mouth, boy!¡± his father growls sharply at that snarky remark, and hits the table hard with the palm of his hand; Vegas jumps a bit and gasps fearfully. He can¡¯t help it, it¡¯s straight back into old behaviour patterns, it seems. I¡¯m an adult now, he tries to remind himself. These are different times. Surely his father will not hit him in front of his brother and nephew. But still¡­ Vegas shudders and glances warily at him. ¡°Vegas, so good to see you¡¯re finally doing better.¡± Uncle Korn gives him a gentle, fatherly smile but his dark eyes are hard as steel. To an outside observer his uncle must look like a mild-mannered elderly gentleman; there is always that faint, gentle smile on his face¡ªhe looks like someone¡¯s favourite grandfather. The dress pants are Armani, as is the white shirt underneath the dark grey cashmere vest. The platinum of the Main family ring on his hand shines in the sunlight. And of course there is a damn chessboard on the table. Uncle Korn love his chess games, especially when he plays with his immediate family members serving as the chess figures. He might look kind and unassuming but Vegas is scared of him, and for good reasons. ¡°Uncle Korn¡­¡± Vegas gives the older man a respectful nod in greeting, and tries not to shift nervously in his wheelchair. If he openly shows them his anxiety, they will attack relentlessly. ¡°Thank you for taking such good care of me since I arrived here. I appreciate it a lot.¡± His uncle and father exchange a look that sends a shiver of dread down Vegas¡¯ spine. Shit. What are they up to now? Something is clearly going on. His uncle smiles benevolently. ¡°Now that you¡¯re leaving your depression behind, clearly ready to rejoin life, your father and I decided that this would be a good time to have a discussion about your plans for the future, Vegas.¡± Oh shit. Vegas glances quickly over to Kinn. His cousin is pretty good at keeping an unreadable face, but Vegas is sure he is just as clueless as Vegas about where this conversation will be heading. So they didn¡¯t tell Kinn, interesting. Vegas looks pointedly down at his wheelchair before facing the two older men again. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯m anywhere close to rejoining life, and I believe my therapist would disagree that I am over my depression. Maybe we should postpone this talk until I¡¯m actually feeling a lot better than now?¡± ¡°You are not catatonic¡ªyou run your mouth just like I remember, so I do not see any reason for you to continue talking to a therapist,¡± his father rebukes him sharply ¡°You¡¯re a Theerapanyakul, just suck it up. You don¡¯t need to be pampered, you need to be kept busy, otherwise you¡¯ll never get out of this wheelchair.¡± Vegas tenses instinctively and ducks his head. There are a lot of things he¡¯d like to say, he even opens his mouth, but the words desert him as soon as his father narrows his eyes, giving him a dark look. All these years, and the all-encompassing fear of his father hasn¡¯t lessened at all. Fuck. He¡¯s so fucked. ¡°If you think sitting in a wheelchair is your safe card against disciplinary actions, I will gladly teach you otherwise,¡± Khun Gun reminds him icily, apparently having sensed the brief spark of rebellion welling up within his son, and Vegas¡¯ doesn¡¯t doubt his words. A wheelchair won¡¯t stop someone who has no problem kicking his thirteen year old son who is already curled up on the floor in a fetal position. ¡°Uncle Gun¡­¡± Kinn looks slightly disturbed by the direction this talk is going and tries to insert himself to diffuse the tension. The nerve. That it is Kinn trying to save his ass leaves a very bitter taste in Vegas¡¯ mouth. He swallows hard and someone manages to find the courage to mumble hesitatingly, ¡°I¡¯m an adult now. I¡¯m recovering from a life-threatening gunshot wound. And you want to beat me right in front of everyone here, Pa?¡± ¡°Vegas.¡± It¡¯s Khun Korn¡¯s turn to speak up it seems. Just one word, quiet and yet forceful. And Vegas clams up again. The spark of defiance snuffed out instantly. His hands tighten anxiously around the armrests of the wheelchair. That was a stupid move, he should have stayed silent, now he¡¯s upset Uncle Korn as well. Vegas is afraid of his father, but he is truly terrified of his uncle. With good reason. There are some horrific rumours making the rounds about the head of the Main family. Unable to face any of them, Vegas glances at the huge windows, wishing himself far away from here. This fucking family¡­ the resentment and bitterness bottled up inside of him are trying to choke him. The adults in his life should have protected him, but no, his uncle always turned a blind eye during his childhood. Different versions of the Theerapanyakul ¡®tough love¡¯¡ªboth cruel. When the silence stretches until it is grating on his already frayed nerves, he risks a wary glance at his uncle, and immediately wishes he hadn¡¯t. The fact that his father is staying silent, apparently biding his time, and that his uncle still has a smile plastered across his face even now scares the hell out of him. What are they up to? This is why he stayed away from this damn family. They expect total obedience from him at all times, no questions or objections allowed, and he hates it. Vegas clears his suddenly dry throat. ¡°What do you want? Can we get this over with already? I¡¯m really tired.¡± Khun Korn is still smiling at him as he pulls something out of his pocket and lays it on the table in front of him. It¡¯s a USB stick and Vegas is getting a very bad feeling about where this is going. ¡°As I mentioned before, we¡¯re here today to discuss your future, Vegas. Now that your health is improving, we need to plan ahead for when you go back to work. You¡¯ve had plenty of time to get settled in your job. The time has come for you to be an asset to this family.¡± Shit. Just as he expected. Vegas gulps, his throat suddenly dry as he eyes that USB stick as if it were a loaded gun. It might as well be one; this is a far worse weapon than a gun. ¡°Ah¡­ If this is what I think it is, I think I have to respectfully decline¡­¡± he says hoarsely. ¡°Who said you¡¯re in a position to decline, Vegas?¡± his uncle reminds him gently. ¡°Quid pro quo.¡± ¡°For what? For being nursed back to health after being shot? Isn¡¯t that something a family should do without demanding payback? Or for being born into this family? Which isn¡¯t something I had any say in either?¡± Vegas slowly shakes his head. ¡°Let¡¯s just keep things as they are: I won¡¯t go anywhere near anything family-related while working, and you just pretend I don¡¯t exist.¡± ¡°I told you he wouldn¡¯t do it.¡± His father can¡¯t help but smirk, leaning back in his chair and looking entirely too pleased for Vegas¡¯ liking. ¡°It must run in your family, you and your son clinging to the misguided belief that you actually have a say,¡± Uncle Korn admonishes his brother lightly, giving Vegas a steely look. ¡°You¡¯re a Theerapanyakul, Vegas, and you will do exactly what I want you to do. Let¡¯s get some facts straight: I allowed you to leave this family, I allowed you to become a police officer, and I allowed you to keep your job even though you at times seemed very determined to lose it by having your little violent temper tantrums. So once you¡¯re fully healed, you will go back to work and use this USB stick whenever I tell you to do so. Are we clear?¡± Vegas feels his hackles rising. Despite his weakened state, he clenches his hands into fists and narrows his eyes, as the all familiar wave of anger washes over him. A glance at Kinn, who looks pale, sitting there quietly like the perfect, obedient crown prince that he is, and Vegas remarks bitterly, ¡°Still thinking you¡¯re in charge, dear cousin? Got anything to say in the matter? Oh never mind, I don¡¯t need you to parrot your father¡¯s words.¡± Kinn huffs in outrage, but oddly enough stays silent. Vegas doesn¡¯t give a fuck. His attention goes back to his uncle. ¡°I refuse to be a dirty cop. Find someone else to do your bidding, Uncle Korn. I actually do have a moral compass; maybe I¡¯m the only one in this rotten family, now that my mother is dead. I¡¯m not perfect, but I take my job seriously. And I will not be involved in anything illegal.¡± ¡°Oh Vegas¡­¡± His uncle shakes his head, smiling, while picking up one of the chess figures from the expensive marble chessboard, eying it closely. Vegas never played chess; he has no idea if this chess piece is supposed to be a metaphor for him, and frankly, he doesn¡¯t care. ¡°I see that you still have a lot to learn when it comes to the power structure of this family. It seems we have been coddling you a bit too much all these years. A word of advice¡ªdon¡¯t fight if you cannot win.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not one of your damn pawns, Uncle Korn.¡± Vegas grits his teeth. He¡¯s so angry he¡¯s seething. But he¡¯s also scared. There¡¯s nothing he can do. He can¡¯t just get up and walk out of here. He is all on his own in enemy territory, and right now the odds are against him. His father is still silent, which also grates on Vegas¡¯ nerves. Silence is a really bad sign when it comes to his father. ¡°Yes you are, Vegas,¡± Korn once again corrects him. ¡°You will do exactly as I want. Or did you really think Chan would clean up your recent crime scene without documenting it first, and keeping some of the evidence involved?¡± His uncle clicks his tongue and slowly shakes his head. ¡°You might have gotten rid of the body, but I have more than enough circumstantial evidence to make your life extremely difficult from now on.¡± Vegas stomach drops. Oh no, he fucked up really badly! He should have known better than to trust his family. Oh no! Then another panicky thought flashes through his mind before he can stop himself. Pete! They mustn¡¯t find out about Pete! Immediately he pulls himself together again, swatting away that thought. He cannot allow himself to be distracted now. ¡°Wow¡­ So we¡¯re reverting to blackmail now, huh? I can really feel the deep love in this family, it¡¯s so heart-warming.¡± The betrayal leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He looks at his cousin but Kinn averts his eyes. Yup, he is totally on his own. Fuck. Vegas swallows hard. ¡°I think you are bluffing. Getting me into trouble with the law would mean that you wasted all these years waiting for me to get into a good position in the police department in order for you to use me as your pawn. You won¡¯t jeopardise that.¡± ¡°Perhaps. Perhaps not.¡± His uncle shrugs and plays with the chess piece in his hand, twirling it in his fingers. ¡°I guess only time will tell. So are you going to be a good pawn and take the USB stick, Vegas?¡± ¡°I refuse to be a dirty cop.¡± Vegas wants to add something rather rude about what his uncle can do with the USB stick but he holds it in. Barely. ¡°We¡¯ll see about that.¡± His uncle shrugs nonchalantly and turns his attention back to his brother. ¡°He¡¯s all yours.¡± Ice floods Vegas¡¯ veins. What is that supposed to mean? Can¡¯t be anything good. Especially not considering how his father is positively beaming with barely contained glee now. Oh no, this can¡¯t be good. ¡°Korn. Kinn.¡± Khun Gun stands up and nods respectfully at both men before focusing his attention on Vegas. The smile he gives his son is chilling. Vegas shudders, sinking deeper into his wheelchair as if it were possible to hide from this man. ¡°Time to go, boy.¡± And before Vegas can even process it, his father strides past him to the door. The bodyguard in charge of Vegas¡¯ wheelchair turns it around, and then they¡¯re following his father¡¯s retreating figure. ¡°Kinn?¡± Alarmed, Vegas tries to turn his upper body and head sideways to catch a glimpse of his cousin. He doesn¡¯t even know what he expects him to do. Something? Anything? Help? But the moment Kinn opens his mouth to perhaps argue with his father, Khun Korn narrows his eyes in such displeasure that Kinn just gives Vegas a helpless look. And that is the last glimpse he gets of his cousin, because the next moment he¡¯s already been pushed out of the meeting room. Shit. ¡°Where are we going?¡± Vegas hates how thin with fear his voice sounds. He¡¯s clutching the handrails of the wheelchair so hard his knuckles are turning white. ¡°Pa? Where are you taking me?¡± ¡°Home, son. I¡¯m taking you home.¡± And striding through the Main family mansion, wheelchair in tow, Khun Gun starts to whistle happily.
The drive home can only be described as awkward. Vegas is handled like a thing, not a human being. He is roughly pulled from the wheelchair and more or less thrown into the back of the car. Being as weak as he still is, he lands on the floor between the seats, groaning with pain. He can¡¯t tell what they do with the wheelchair; the car drives off as soon as his father is seated. It takes him several tries to pull himself back up on the seat. His father watches his struggles with a dark smirk without ever offering to give him a hand. I¡¯m an adult now, I can deal with this, Vegas keeps telling himself, but he finds himself instinctively shying away from his father, trying to keep as much distance between them as possible on the drive home. Home. What a joke, as if that place was ever a real home to him. Perhaps when his mother was still alive¡­ At least there will be Macau¡ªhe comforts himself with that knowledge. Being suddenly surrounded by people after weeks of solitude is more exhausting than he expected. He¡¯s had no food, his body is aching from the physical therapy earlier on, and his mind is a complete mess after enduring the therapy session from hell. He feels like a complete failure once again after this disastrous family conference. Turns out he¡¯s no match for his family. Leaning his aching head against the cool glass of the window, Vegas closes his eyes to focus. He needs to get his frantic breathing back under control. He¡¯s hyperventilating again. He¡¯s so damn scared and he can¡¯t turn that feeling off. The presence of his father in the car is like a dark cloud of black energy, waiting to suck the life out of him once again. Breathe in. Hold breath. Breathe out. Repeat. Everything will be fine. Macau will be there. Everything will be fine.
Change of plans: everything will not be fine. When they arrive at the Minor family mansion, Vegas is roughly dragged out of the car by two of his father¡¯s goons. He can barely keep himself on his feet. Without their support he would surely collapse, and wouldn¡¯t that be a huge embarrassment? That also answers the question about the wheelchair: It was left behind. Everything will be fine. Macau will be there. Everything will be fine. But his little brother is nowhere in sight when he is dragged into the main hall. There¡¯s just his father, giving Vegas a calculating look that only increases Vegas¡¯ anxiety. What is he up to? ¡°You and I need to have a talk, son. But not just yet. You¡¯re still entirely too sassy and stubborn right now. I don¡¯t think you¡¯re in the right frame of mind for a little chat yet.¡± Khun Gun smirks once again and Vegas shudders with fear. He can¡¯t turn the resurfacing memories off. He¡¯s a child again, and that look on his father¡¯s face means he is in deep-shit trouble. ¡°No, we need to mellow you down a bit first before our talk.¡± ¡°Pa¡­?¡± Vegas¡¯ breath hitches. ¡°I think a couple of days in solitude will do you well, to collect your thoughts.¡± His father nods to the guards holding him up. ¡°Take him downstairs,¡± he orders them softly. Downstairs. Downstairs into¡­ No. Vegas screams and struggles as he is forcefully dragged away. ¡°No! Pa! Don¡¯t! Please don¡¯t!¡± But his father just chuckles cruelly, apparently enjoying Vegas¡¯ reaction very much. And Vegas¡­ Vegas is nearly paralysed with fear as he is being dragged towards the stairs into the cellar. Down into the basement he goes, kicking and struggling weakly all the way. Doors open and close behind him, down down down, and then the all too familiar smell hits him, accelerating his fear. Damp musty darkness. It makes his stomach roil, he hates that smell. At some point his legs have must have given way underneath him; he is now being carry-dragged the whole way, the damaged muscles in his back screaming under the rough treatment. Nonono. Not the cellar. Not again. Along seemingly endless, barely lit corridors with flickering lights. Past doors that can barely hold back the stench of death hidden behind them. Vegas can taste the scent of blood in the air and moans, panicky. Not the cellar. A metal door opens, creaking harshly, making Vegas flinch. And the next moment he¡¯s tossed into the darkness beyond, hitting the concrete floor hard, scraping his palms and knees raw. He doesn¡¯t even have time to groan with pain before the door slams shut again and total darkness enfolds him. Vegas is almost instantly hit by a full-blown panic attack. It rolls over him like an unstoppable tsunami. Hot and cold tingles race through his veins, hitting his frantically pumping heart over and over again. He can¡¯t breathe, can¡¯t breathe, his throat is closing up, he¡¯s choking on the musty dampness, the darkness is strangling him. He is 6 years old again. He can hear people screaming in unspeakable agony in the other rooms. He curls up on the floor, crying while hugging his stuffed toy rabbit. He is 8 years old again. His mother is on the other side of the door; he can hear her fingernails scraping against the metal as she anxiously calls out to him, but no one opens the door to let him out. He is 10 years old again. There is someone else here in the darkness with him, but that person stopped whimpering a while ago. He can no longer hear him breathing in the darkness; the only thing he smells is the coppery stench of blood. He is 12 years old again. It¡¯s so dark and he hasn¡¯t had anything to drink in the longest time. He is so thirsty, but little Macau needs the water more, that¡¯s why he only had a sip of it before giving the bottle to him. He is 14 years old again. He thinks his arm might be broken. He can hear noises in the darkness, and doesn¡¯t dare to sleep because if he stays still, the rats lose their fear and will start crawling all over him again, biting him. He is 16 years old again. He will not give in. He has gotten a cough from the constant dampness. Someone is screaming horrifically somewhere in the distance. It makes him hyperventilate and he coughs some more. He will not give in. And he cries. He¡¯s in his 20¡¯s now. Hurt. Broken. Exhausted. He¡¯s an adult, but he is right back where he started. Everything in the darkness of the basement is still the same¡ªa coppery, musty dampness he remembers so well. The people are still screaming in the other rooms. And he is still crying, curled up on the cold floor like a child, locked up once again. What a fucking failure I am, Vegas thinks. They should have just let me die. Thankfully he still has his phone, he had put it into his pocket before they carted him off to the meeting. After coming down from that first panic attack, he remembers and switches it on, only to be bombarded by anxious messages from Porsche right away. ¡°He locked me up in the basement,¡± Vegas messages Macau and Porsche. ¡°Stay cool, I got this. Need to preserve battery, will message once per day.¡±
He keeps his word: one message per day. And according to his phone there are many days. Water bottles and protein bars is all he gets as nourishment, thrown into the cell once per day, as if it were feeding time for the zoo animals. When they finally release him from the darkness, Vegas feels just like a feral animal. This time the cellar didn¡¯t break him. What doesn¡¯t kill you, makes you harder¡ªand it turns out that being an adult and his work experience as a police officer has given Vegas a slight resilience to the horrors of the basement. Vegas¡¯ legs won¡¯t carry him, so he¡¯s once again dragged upstairs. The first thought he has when coming face to face with his father lounging in the leather seat, smoking his cigar while smirking, is how satisfying it would be to rip this man¡¯s throat out. He can vividly envision the blood spray, the frantic noises, how immensely gratifying it would feel¡ªand that actually scares him. This is his father after all. But still¡­ When the guards release their hold on him, Vegas doesn¡¯t even try to walk over to a chair, he just sinks to the floor and sits right there, dirty and trembling with resentment. Khun Gun sighs deeply. He seems to be disappointed. He¡¯s always disappointed with Vegas, nothing new there. ¡°I see the cellar didn¡¯t help, you still have that rebellious gleam in your eyes, son. Do I need to beat it out of you? I was hoping to avoid having to do that this time.¡± Vegas hisses like an angry cat. If his father dares to try and dole out punishment right now, he will not be held responsible for his reaction. He sees red red red; he can actually taste the blood in his mouth already, and his face must be mirroring these dark thoughts because his father pauses and reassesses him, the initial smugness giving way to cautiousness. ¡°Why do you have to be so damn stubborn, son? Do you know that I was actually pleased with how you stood up to Korn and the Main family? Now why do you have to ruin everything once more?¡± He crosses his legs and blows the smoke of the cigar upward, still so damn confident and superior, as he looks down at his son sitting on the floor. ¡°You were only pleased with me because you thought I would fold and do your bidding,¡± Vegas reminds him angrily. He hates himself because a part of him still yearns for his father¡¯s approval. ¡°Which is not going to happen. This whole family has gone insane. May I remind you that I¡¯m a police officer? You can¡¯t just go and lock me up as you please. I might be your son, but I¡¯m also a cop, Pa! Are you really willing to take on the police force just to get your will?¡± ¡°You are first and foremost a Theerapanyakul, Vegas,¡± his father reminds him, clearly irritated. ¡°I allowed you to be a cop because that way you¡¯d be an asset to this family, you would for once be useful. Just look at Kinn, how well he¡¯s managing the business. Look how Korn respects him, how our people respect him. And then take a good hard look at yourself. What have you accomplished meanwhile? Playing at being a cop, doing other people¡¯s bidding, being ordered around constantly, working your ass off without being appreciated and doing such a bad job that you¡¯re always short of money. You have no friends and frequent sleazy clubs to satisfy your abnormal urges.¡± Gun snorts with disgust. ¡°You even let yourself get shot. And not only that, you even had the nerve to have a full-blown mental breakdown, requiring therapy! Do you have any idea what I have to endure, how our business partners are gossiping about you behind my back? You¡¯re such a fucking disappointment, son. They should have just let you bleed out there on the street¡ªthat would have been a mercy to you and this whole family.¡± Vegas flinches hard, each harsh word hitting him like a fist. The red-hot anger bleeds away into despair because those words echo his own thoughts about himself all too well. His father has always been good at wounding him not only with his hands but with his words too. He really is a fucking failure. He¡¯s not even a good cop; what good cop would have fallen for a damn serial killer without even noticing it? He¡¯s a horrible son¡ªhe hates his father and couldn¡¯t save his mother. He is a horrible brother, walking out on the family even though he should have stayed for Macau¡¯s sake. And he is a horrible human being for failing to instantly turn off his feelings for a psychopathic killer. ¡°Since you don¡¯t want to be an asset to this family, don¡¯t be a burden. I¡¯m going to send you to the safe house and you¡¯ll stay there, invisible and not causing any trouble, until I decide on your future, Vegas,¡± his father decides. ¡°Don¡¯t even fucking think about leaving without permission, or I will beat you right back into that hospital bed of yours.¡± ¡°You can¡¯t just lock me away, I¡¯m a cop¡­¡± Vegas argues weakly, but he feels too disheartened for any real opposition. ¡°And what a sorry excuse for a cop you are.¡± Khun Gun gives his son a scornful glance. ¡°You¡¯re a broken wreck and in no condition to argue with me. You have no say in this matter, so just shut the hell up.¡± And Vegas shuts up. As always. It¡¯s as if his throat closes up and any further words get stuck, forever unspoken. His father sits on his leather chair as if it were a throne, the family ring gleaming golden on his hand. The only thing missing is a damn crown. I hate you, Vegas thinks heatedly as his father starts discussing his transport to the safe house with the staff. You¡¯re a lousy father and a despicable human being. I hate you. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
The safe house is stunning and the scenery breathtaking. It gives a new meaning to the phrase ¡®golden cage¡¯. And Vegas is the bird inside that cage, a canary with broken wings, largely cut off from the world outside of the luxury prison. For that is what it is¡ªa prison. There are guards everywhere, to ¡®protect¡¯ him. After a few days, when everyone sees just how weak he still is, he gets a housekeeper who also doubles as a physiotherapist. He gets crutches as well. Everyone is upset. Macau rages; he isn¡¯t allowed to visit Vegas, and for the first time he openly rebels against his father, which only gets him a split lip and bruises. Vegas keeps contact with him via mobile and is alarmed when he sees the injuries over FaceTime. He manages to get Macau¡¯s promise to stop antagonising their father for the time being, but it¡¯s difficult. His little brother, too, has a lot of hidden anger issues, Vegas discovers. Porsche rages too. Apparently he had a huge row with Kinn because he¡¯s blaming his boyfriend for not stopping Khun Korn from handing over Vegas to his father. He isn¡¯t allowed to visit Vegas either and that really doesn¡¯t sit well with hothead Porsche. Vegas has his hands full trying to stop him from organising a rescue mission which would just escalate things between the Minor and the Main family. Porsche rants and raves and curses, and Vegas even feels a bit sorry for Kinn, who is on the receiving end of his friend¡¯s frustration. Everybody is upset but Vegas. Vegas feels only feels numb most of the time. He spends his days on the terrace in the sun, resting between his physical therapy sessions. He sleeps a lot. He takes his medicine. He just tries to give himself a pause from the shit show that is his life, in order to heal. Soon a pattern is established. His father visits every week, apparently for the sole purpose of making Vegas feel miserable. A torrent of verbal abuse is launched at him; vicious, hurtful words that Vegas has trouble shielding against. Despite telling himself that he¡¯s an adult now, Vegas crumbles under the onslaught. Every single time. When he finally snaps and yells at his father, he is backhanded so hard that his ear is ringing for the rest of the day. Yes, just like the good old times. Time goes by, week after week after week of captivity. Vegas¡¯ physical health is slowly improving and his strength is coming back. He can walk without the crutches again. He starts working out and going for runs around the immaculately groomed property, always under the watchful eyes of his guards. He often sits down by the water, fishing. Vegas has a lot of time to himself out here. The only person he interacts with is the housekeeper, and apparently she¡¯s been told to keep her distance. The nightmares have gotten a bit better as well. Now and then he can sleep several nights in a row without being haunted by Tem, or the monster and his victims. The nightmares he can deal with. It¡¯s the other dreams he occasionally has that leave him completely unsettled. Dreams of warm lips trailing over his skin, the feeling of silky hair between his fingers, memories of an intoxicating scent, fingertips ghosting over heated skin, touches that elicit small electric shocks throughout his whole body and ignite a burning lust that cannot be sated. ¡®Vegas¡¯ moans the monster in those dreams breathlessly, and that is what wakes him up every single time. His name on Pete¡¯s lips, and the way his whole body painfully hungers for more, demanding its fix. It¡¯s slowly driving him insane. Give me the nightmares. Anything but this. He feels like a drug addict going through withdrawal, and it¡¯s excruciating. The puzzle piece that was all wrong has been ripped out, and now his traitorous body insists on missing something crucial. It¡¯s pining for the intimacy that Vegas simply wants to forget happened in the first place. He can stop himself from actively thinking about the monster, but his body remembers, oh, it remembers, every little detail, and it yearns. In order to exorcise his demons, Vegas starts writing stuff down, just like his therapist recommended. Pages upon pages of accusations, heartache and anger. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. He writes it all down, then burns the pages and tells himself that he feels better now¡ªand he does, until the monster moans his name in his dreams, and the whole cycle starts again. One month. Two months. The more Vegas¡¯ physical condition improves, the more volatile the weekly meetings with his father become. Vegas gets increasingly insistent about his freedom and independence, which in turn leads to more violent outbursts from Khun Gun. Bruises and a bloody nose become a weekly occurrence, and Vegas feels powerless to put a stop to it. He is in no position to avoid these weekly meetings. And he is in no position to unleash his violent urges, because this is his father after all. Their arguments get progressively surreal; they¡¯ve left the USB stick behind long ago. ¡°For the last time, I¡¯m not going to look at the profiles of these women. I don¡¯t care if they¡¯re the daughters of our business partners. I think you haven¡¯t gotten the memo, but I¡¯m gay, not bisexual,¡± Vegas huffs in frustration, holding a tissue to his nose to stop the blood dripping all over the expensive wooden floor while scowling at his angry father. His father glares right back at him. ¡°Well, get over it. You¡¯re the oldest son. This family needs an heir to secure our future. Do you damn duty already, Vegas. If we have a grandson before Kinn produces one, this would improve our standing a lot.¡± ¡°I think it¡¯s highly unlikely that there will be any grandchildren from Kinn anytime soon,¡± Vegas points out sarcastically. ¡°Kinn is just as gay as I am, and I doubt Porsche will have a bun in the oven unless medicine has advanced way more in the last few years than I was aware of.¡± This snarky reply just gets him another hard slap to the face. ¡°Watch your mouth, son! One way or the other you¡¯ll be an asset to this family! If you refuse to pick one, I will choose a suitable daughter-in-law myself!¡± Khun Gun readjusts his silk neckerchief, checking to see that none of Vegas¡¯ nosebleed sullied it. His cheek will most likely bruise again; the skin burns. Vegas gives his father an incredulous look. ¡°You can¡¯t marry me off against my will! We don¡¯t live in the middle ages anymore. Are you even for real?!¡± ¡­Smack¡­ here we go again.
¡°You really need to be more careful, Khun Vegas,¡± his housekeeper advises him one day as she dresses a cut in his lip that is still oozing blood. ¡°Why do you have to provoke Khun Gun so much? You¡¯ll never be able to leave here if you don¡¯t compromise¡­¡± ¡°Just dismiss the guards, give me your car keys and I¡¯ll leave,¡± Vegas mutters, rather irritated. He thinks it¡¯s unreasonable to expect him to compromise when it¡¯s his father who is being an ass. He¡¯s been tucked away in this safe house for three months soon! Three months! It¡¯s insane! Sure, it¡¯s better than the cellar, but three months! Vegas is running out of patience. Does this count as a sign that he has finished healing, that he is ready to rejoin the world outside? Perhaps. His body is working just fine now; the only physical evidence of the traumatic event he¡¯s been through are the ugly scars on his chest and back. As for his mind? Everything is fine there too, Vegas keeps telling himself. Sure, the emotional scars are much worse than the ones on his back. And yeah, there is this constant, dull ache deep within, but Vegas has turned into an expert at ignoring that. No pain, nothing to see, move on. He¡¯s used these past months to pick up the pieces of himself and painstakingly glue them back together again. Since he shattered into so many fragments, it¡¯s a slow process. Sometimes he¡¯s amazed at his ability to fake it all; no one seems to realise that this new Vegas is barely holding himself together. Something¡¯s got to give, he knows that. Sooner or later a crack will appear. And maybe that¡¯s why he¡¯s still here at the safe house. Getting harassed and beaten up by his father is an excellent diversion from his real life problems. A rather brutal way to procrastinate instead of making some tough decisions, but so far it¡¯s working well. Physical abuse like this he can handle. And of course he doesn¡¯t get any car keys from the housekeeper. Everyone is scared to death when it comes to his father; no one dares to defy him. Not even Vegas, not just yet. But perhaps soon¡­
¡°When are you going to fight back?¡± Porsche demands to know during their next Zoom meeting. He¡¯s eying Vegas¡¯ fresh bruises, visibly irritated. ¡°This really has to stop, Vegas. Why do you allow him to do this to you? One word from you, and I will break you out of there, I swear.¡± Vegas just shrugs. ¡°Chill, it looks worse than it is. You know you can¡¯t get involved in this, it¡¯s a family matter. If you take any action, this could turn into a full-scale confrontation between the Main and the Minor family, and we can¡¯t risk that.¡± ¡°I hate this!¡± Porsche growls passionately. ¡°Dammit, I hate this whole mob family!¡± ¡°Don¡¯t take it out on Kinn,¡± Vegas warns him. ¡°I don¡¯t want to be the reason for you messing up your own happiness. Trust me, I can deal with it and I will get out of here.¡± And when he sees his friend¡¯s sceptical look, he adds, ¡°Soon. I promise.¡± Porsche snorts, clearly not believing a word. They change the topic, but Vegas has the feeling something¡¯s off. They talk about nothing in particular for a while. There is a lull in the conversation and Porsche looks nervous, as if he is unsure if he should speak up or not. What the heck is going on? Finally it seems as if he has made up his mind. ¡°Vegas¡­¡± he starts cautiously. ¡°I know this is not my business and that you said you didn¡¯t want to talk about it, but are you sure everything is over and done with between you and Pete?¡± Goosebumps erupt along Vegas¡¯ spine. Why is Porsche bringing this up? And fuck, did he have to remind him about the monster? Fuck. ¡°Why is this suddenly a topic?¡± he asks warily while clenching his hands into fists. ¡°It¡¯s just that Kinn and I went to the Hum Bar recently and I saw Pete there.¡± Porsche hesitates for a moment. ¡°I don¡¯t know what went wrong between the two of you, but I can tell you that he doesn¡¯t seem to be doing very well. He was drinking pretty heavily and Yok said he¡¯s hanging out there a lot these days.¡± Porsche hesitates again and Vegas¡¯ stomach drops. Nonono. He does not want to think about the monster. He¡¯s fine, just fine, he has moved on. They are over and done with. He¡¯s not interested in what the monster is doing these days, not at all. As long as he doesn¡¯t get any emails from Arm about new bodies he can pretend that this was all a bad dream and that nothing ever happened. Vegas swallows hard, trying to look unconcerned. The Hum Bar. Drunk Pete lounging in a leather seat, holding court, while the people around him eye him hungrily. He swallows again. ¡°Really? Good for him. Not my business though, he can do whatever he wants. We broke up.¡± But Porsche doesn¡¯t seem convinced, and does is best to get a reaction from Vegas. ¡°I see. I suppose it¡¯s good that you moved on and don¡¯t care about him flirting around then.¡± ¡­Flirting¡­ Vegas shouldn¡¯t care, he really shouldn¡¯t care. This is a monster they¡¯re talking about. A psychopath. A murderer. But the way he instinctively inhales a startled breath upon hearing this, followed by a turbulent wave of conflicting emotions, is a clear indicator that he still cares very much. Damn. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s what I thought¡­¡± Porsche sighs gently, observing Vegas¡¯ reaction to that tidbit of information. ¡°Listen, Pete looks like hell. He is clearly taking this breakup really hard. And you¡¯re obviously not over the whole thing either. Maybe you should give him a chance and talk.¡± Talk? Fat chance in hell! He shot me! But of course he can¡¯t tell Porsche that. Vegas narrows his eyes. ¡°Did you talk to him? Is that what he wanted you to tell me?¡± That would be so like Pete, trying to manipulate and use his friend to do his bidding. ¡°Let me tell you something, Porsche: Stay the fuck away from Pete. Don¡¯t talk to him. Don¡¯t even look at him. I know you want to help, but this isn¡¯t helping. And if Pete finds out that you¡¯re in regular contact with me even though I¡¯ve broken off all contact with him, he will literally kill you. And I¡¯m not kidding about it. He¡¯s insanely jealous. So stay the hell away from him; the further, the better.¡± ¡°I think you¡¯re exaggerating a bit now.¡± Porsche seems a bit taken aback by Vegas¡¯ vehemence. ¡°I didn¡¯t talk to him. I just saw him and figured the two of you deserve another chance, because I remember how you completely fell apart when he got shot.¡± Vegas tenses all over. He doesn¡¯t want to remember, he must not remember because remembering will cause the glue to dissolve and he will fall into thousands of pieces again. ¡°Porsche¡­ I am warning you,¡± he growls softly. ¡°Stay the fuck away from Pete and do not mention him to me ever again. Stay out of my business. I am dead serious about this, I¡¯m going to call Kinn and tell him to make sure you stay away from Pete as well.¡± Porsche looks outraged now. ¡°Vegas! Why would you involve Kinn? That¡¯s a bit excessive!¡± ¡°Trust me, this is for your own good.¡± Because Vegas has no doubt that Pete¡ªno, the monster¡ªwill kill Porsche if he tries to insert himself into this mess. If only to get a reaction from Vegas, to force him to interact with the monster again. This simply can¡¯t be allowed to happen. Porsche needs to be protected. He will not loose another friend to the monster. ¡°I¡¯ve got to go, talk to you later.¡± And he disconnects the meeting, despite Porsche yelling angrily at him. This is bad. Vegas feels a bit dazed, it¡¯s almost like being ambushed. Once again the monster has managed to intrude and disturb his equilibrium. And what¡¯s worse, Porsche might be putting himself at risk, too. Vegas trembles with alarm. Porsche mustn¡¯t get involved with Pete, this can¡¯t be happening. He needs to pull himself together and deal with this mess, he cannot afford to run away from it anymore. Fuck. So he goes for a run until he¡¯s dripping with sweat. Then, a short cool shower and a snack before he goes down to the river. Dangling his feet in the water, he gazes at the dragonflies playing above the surface of the calm, dark stream. And for the first time in months, he shoves his feelings, the whole damn mess, aside, and just looks at the facts. He¡¯s a cop and he loves his job. He¡¯s reasonably good at what he does too, as long as he doesn¡¯t give in to his anger issues. Vegas cut ties with his mob family because their shady dealings go against his inner moral compass. And the sole reason for being stuck in this golden cage right now is his refusal to turn into a dirty cop for the family. He wants to remain a good cop. So what is a good cop supposed to do when dealing with a serial killer? He¡¯s most certainly not supposed to fall in love with the psychopath. And that is a mistake that Vegas as a private person made. But Vegas the cop messed up big time too. He saw the madman kill Tawan with his very own eyes and not only didn¡¯t tell anyone about it¡ªhe even cleaned up the crime scene and got rid of the body and all the evidence. He got shot and didn¡¯t tell anyone who shot him either¡ªhe even straight out lied to his colleagues when they came to question him about it. And he hasn¡¯t told anyone else about knowing who the serial killer is either. What a complete and utter failure he has turned out to be. His father is right; Vegas is a lousy excuse for a cop. Can I live with this, he asks himself while watching the shimmery dragonflies chase each other above the water. If he¡¯s completely honest with himself, the answer to that is ¡®No¡¯. It just feels wrong, it goes against his innate sense of what is right and what is wrong. ¡®Vegas the cop¡¯ cannot keep looking the other way, even if ¡®Vegas the boyfriend¡¯ wants to turn a blind eye. This isn¡¯t just about his feelings though¡ªthis involves other people¡¯s lives. Human beings got killed and will most likely continue to get killed if Vegas doesn¡¯t snap out of it and does something about the situation. It¡¯s as if a switch has been flipped inside of him. A great calm floods him. All right then¡­ He has four immaculately clean crime scenes and no physical evidence pointing to the man who calls himself Pete. Chances are the monster will walk free due to lack of evidence if he tries to get him indicted for those murders. What he does have though, is another dead body, Tawan. And an eyewitness, himself. The body is gone, but according to his uncle, the physical evidence still exists to some extent. Think Vegas, think. Vegas feels as if he¡¯s split in half, his boyfriend-half finally falls silent and now the cop-half is in charge, and for the time being there¡¯s no moral conflict anymore. This isn¡¯t going to be easy. They need to get their hands on the psychical evidence again. ¡®They¡¯ because he won¡¯t be able to do this without the help of Macau, Porsche, and most likely Kinn as well. And to make everything 100% foolproof, they¡¯ll need a fresh body too. Detached, Vegas analyses the possibilities and the logistical challenges lying ahead. The water feels cool around his ankles, the birds are singing, the insects humming. It¡¯s beautiful here, so very peaceful, but it seems the time has come for Vegas to emerge from the cage.
Porsche and Macau are speechless. ¡°Have you completely lost your mind, Vegas?¡± Macau asks his brother via their joined Zoom meeting. ¡°What the hell are you even thinking? This is insane!¡± Porsche just stares at Vegas, dumbstruck. ¡°You¡¯re joking right? This has to be a joke. This isn¡¯t you, the Vegas I know wouldn¡¯t do something like this.¡± ¡°Apparently you didn¡¯t know me as well as you thought,¡± Vegas replies drily. ¡°Let me assure you, this isn¡¯t a joke.¡± ¡°Vegas¡­¡± Macau just shakes his head. ¡°I know breaking up with someone sucks, but I think this is going a bit too far. This is Pete you¡¯re talking about. Your ex-boyfriend. The man you not so long ago were desperately in love with. And now you want to frame him for murder?!¡± He¡¯s told them about what happened with Tawan, but they¡¯re having a hard time wrapping their minds around this plan of his. ¡°Technically I am not framing him for murder,¡± Vegas tries to explain. ¡°He really did kill someone after all, I saw it with my own eyes. I just didn¡¯t tell anyone about it. The rest is just to ensure that he really gets convicted.¡± Both his brother and his best friend shake their heads vigorously. ¡°You can¡¯t do this, Vegas.¡± Porsche adds anxiously, ¡°I know you¡¯ll really regret this, Vegas, just forget about this plan.¡± ¡°Like hell I will.¡± No, Vegas is single-mindedly committed to seeing this through. ¡°I¡¯m a cop, he killed someone, I initially covered up for him and now I will set things right.¡± He will not tell them about Pete being a serial killer, he just can¡¯t bring himself to admit what an idiot he¡¯s been not to see the signs. ¡°But this is Pete¡­¡± Macau tries again. ¡°Please stop¡ªneither of you know Pete well. I thought I knew him well, but I was wrong. Trust me, this is the right thing to do. He killed someone, I messed up really bad, and now I have to fix it somehow. Before it drives me insane with guilt.¡± Vegas sighs, but then adds, with a hint of steel in his voice, ¡°This is really the only way to put an end to this.¡± ¡°Is this why you broke up with him?¡± Porsche demands to know. Vegas nods because in a way it is true. Cannot date a killer, that¡¯s why they had to break up. Especially since the killer tried to kill him as well. And nearly succeeded. ¡°Yes. I¡¯m a cop. He killed someone. We¡¯re not compatible. Now, are you going to help me, or do I need to do this all by myself?¡± ¡°I think you are making a huge mistake, Vegas.¡± His best friend frowns at him, and Vegas curls his hands into fists offscreen. He doesn¡¯t want to argue with them. If he wants their help, he needs to hold back the anger. ¡°Perhaps. But it¡¯s my decision to make this mistake and I will deal with the potential consequences. So let me ask you two again: Will you please help me make this right? Please?¡± Vegas looks at them beseechingly. ¡°I¡¯m your brother, of course I will help. But I still think this is the wrong way to go, just for the record.¡± Macau sighs deeply and shrugs. ¡°Count me in.¡± Porsche continues to frown, but reluctantly nods as well. ¡°Count me in, too. I¡¯m not letting you do this on your own.¡± Vegas exhales, he hadn¡¯t even noticed that he¡¯s been holding his breath. ¡°Thank you. I mean it, thank you so much.¡± He is so relieved and does his best to ignore how concerned they both look. ¡°Now, here is what I think needs to be done first¡­¡± But as he lays out his plan, a tiny part of him, hidden deep inside, weeps quietly. This is for the best, he keeps telling himself. He can¡¯t let a killer run around in this city. It¡¯s for the best. He¡¯s doing the right thing. Everything will be fine at last.
Good planning takes time. The more complex the plan is, the more time it takes, and this plan is very complex. Nothing, absolutely nothing must be allowed to go wrong. Vegas is a man on a mission. He spends his days planning and coordinating every little detail. He throws himself into this work like a drowning man clinging to a rope; as long as he constantly keeps himself busy, he has no time to stop and ponder if he really is doing the right thing. It¡¯s for the best, he reminds himself in those moments of doubt. He¡¯s a cop, Pete is a killer. It¡¯s for the best. Now that the decision has been made, he just wants to get this over and done with. He wants to pass the finish line as quickly as possible, remove this obstacle from his life once and for all. It¡¯s for the best. And so he locks away and ignores the pain this decision causes him. Time to move on. Porsche is responsible for getting his hands on the physical evidence that perfect Chan has collected, kept safe somewhere so that Vegas can be blackmailed with it if necessary. Vegas, Macau and Porsche have endless discussions about how to snatch this evidence away, but none are able to come up with a good solution. They drive each other crazy; tempers flare regularly. The whole plotting surrounding this part of the plan is so distracting that Vegas doesn¡¯t even have time to get truly upset about his father¡¯s weekly ¡®motivational¡¯ visits anymore. He just sucks it up and suffers through the abuse hurled at him, while already pondering the next hurdles in their scheme. Eventually, and to the great surprise of Vegas and Macau, Porsche succeeds in collecting the damning evidence of Tawan¡¯s murder. When Macau asks him how he managed to pull this off, Porsche stutters and stammers, then admits that he talked Kinn into helping him, only to flush bright red when Vegas asks him how on earth he managed to persuade his cousin to join this madness. Vegas wisely decides not to press him any further on this. Macau, the little brat, turns out to be not at all as innocent as Vegas always thought him to be. In fact, he finds himself slightly alarmed at his little brother¡¯s astonishing amount of criminal energy. With unearthly glee, Macau finds himself some goons to do his bidding. They need to collect trace evidence to spread at the staged scene. To be precise, they need some hair and blood from Pete. This is where it gets dicey; the collection of the specimens must look like a normal mugging and Vegas cannot stress enough that this needs to be handled by a group. He fears that should they send just one person to mug Pete, that guy will be as good as dead. Three or four people should increase the chances of them coming out of this alive. Porsche and Macau still think Pete is basically harmless, that he killed Tawan by accident, but Vegas has seen the predator in action and knows better. He doesn¡¯t sleep well the night the mugging is planned for. Eventually he ends up in the shower, sitting on the tiled floor with the cool water raining down on him as he rocks back and forth. Here, in the deep of the night, he allows himself to let go. He can pretend that the tears running down his face are just the shower water. The damn emotional conflict is eating him alive on the inside; on the one hand he wants to physically hurt the monster just as badly as he himself was hurt, but on the other hand the mere thought of Pete getting injured even the slightest bit is making him nauseous with distress. It¡¯s for the best, he tells himself, biting his lower lip to keep it from trembling. Hours later Macau sends a report. Everything went well and Vegas feels as if he can breathe again. The goons are still alive and so is the monster; Pete just got roughed up a bit. Blood, skin and hair samples have been collected. Porsche heads to Vegas¡¯ apartment; since Pete was basically living there for a while there are a lot of his personal belongs left behind. Toothbrush, hairbrush, clothing; everything basically untouched since Vegas¡¯ shooting. Vegas has given them a crash course on evidence collection so they don¡¯t mess up and contaminate the samples. Meanwhile Vegas gets in touch with work, sending in a note to tell everyone that he¡¯ll be back soon. Porsche and Macau are fretting about how to get Vegas out of the safe house, but Vegas himself isn¡¯t worried at all. Fact is, he could have left anytime really. If he puts his mind to it, who can hold him back? Those bodyguards? Dream on. His father will have to learn this the hard way, and his guards as well. But not just yet. The body is the next problem, and something both Porsche and Macau find excessive, but Vegas insists there needs to be one. They need to make sure the monster is caught in the act. Well, they need to fake it, and fake it well. Since Vegas refuses to actually kill someone just for this, they consider stealing a body but that proves to be much more complicated than they anticipated. In the end Macau comes up with the perfect solution: they will take one of the bodies from the cellar, a fresh one. Vegas makes a mental note to have a long chat with his brother when all this is over; he is handling this with way too much enthusiasm. Vegas thinks Macau should be more thrilled about school and potential love interests, and not excitedly rubbing his hands while planning how to smuggle a fresh body out of the house without his father noticing. Slowly over the weeks all the pieces come together. It¡¯s the third month of Vegas¡¯ captivity and the bird has gotten so strong that not even the golden bars of the cage can hold him back anymore. Watch out. This bird of prey is about to spread his wings and soar. I am the fire burning desperately but you¡¯re controlling me Release me Release me
Showtime. Getting out of the safe house is just as easy as Vegas expected it to be. The guards have grown complacent over the months of his stay here. They¡¯ve witnessed Khun Gun beating his son without Vegas ever lifting a hand to defend himself; neither has he ever tried to escape. So they¡¯re totally caught by surprise when Vegas knocks one of them out to get his hands on a loaded gun. And with a weapon, Vegas is unstoppable. He reminds them that he is, in fact, a police officer and that they¡¯re in deep trouble for imprisoning him here. And what are they going to do to stop him? They don¡¯t dare harm him¡ªhe is a precious Theerapanyakul, after all. Vegas has no qualms about shooting them though¡­ well, of course he wouldn¡¯t kill anyone, but he doesn¡¯t let them know that. He shoots one of them in the leg to show them just how serious he is about getting out of here. And after that they reach an agreement: he takes their weapons, keys and phones, and locks them up in one of the rooms, then takes one of their cars to get back to the city. It¡¯s a long drive. He takes a break after a while, parking on the side of the road to call Porsche and let him know he¡¯s on the way. The sun has gone down, a beautiful blood-red sunset. As red as Vegas¡¯ bleeding heart. It¡¯s for the best. After that phone call with Porsche, Vegas takes his phone, and with a heavy heart starts texting the monster. ¡®I¡¯m back. Let¡¯s meet, I think we should talk. V.¡¯ Now and then some cars drive past while Vegas sits inside the car, the window rolled down, the evening breeze ruffling his hair, eyes closed as he waits. After a while, there is a pling from the phone. ¡®Took you long enough. Yes, let¡¯s talk, I¡¯m sure you have a lot of questions.¡¯ Then, after a moment, a second message. ¡®I missed you.¡¯ Vegas swallows hard while reading this and takes a long, shuddering breath. His wound aches¡­ no, his heart. Both of them ache terribly. It¡¯s for the best, he tells himself sternly, once more. With trembling fingers, he types his reply. ¡®Are you busy or do you have time tonight? ¡¯ The reply comes immediately. ¡®I¡¯m free. Are you at home? I can drop by in a while¡¯. Home. The ache in his chest intensifies. Vegas doesn¡¯t know if he can ever go back to living in his apartment, full as it is of bittersweet memories now. He¡¯ll have to move; there is no other way. ¡®No way. You shot me, you¡¯re not getting into my apartment anytime soon. I prefer a more neutral ground for our first meeting, I¡¯m sure you understand. I¡¯ll text you the address when I have made up my mind where, okay?¡¯ And again the reply comes right away. ¡®All right. I really am sorry, Vegas. I can grovel at your feet if that will make you feel better? I know you must be so angry, but thanks for reaching out to me anyway.¡¯ Words like daggers, piercing his heart. Vegas bites his lip, fighting to regain his composure. Serves him right for allowing himself to get emotionally involved with the wrong kind of person. If he just ignores it, the pain will go away again. As soon as they have wrapped this up, maybe the pain will stop. Maybe this will turn out to be the closure his therapist was talking about. Unwilling to reply to the last message, Vegas calls Porsche instead. ¡°Is everything ready?¡± ¡°Yes, everything¡¯s in place. Did you reach out to him?¡± Porsche sounds stressed. He might be in the mob now, but at heart he is still the innocent bartender. Intrigues like this aren¡¯t to his liking. ¡°Yes, I did. I will text him the address once I¡¯m back in the city. In about 90 minutes I guess.¡± Vegas sighs deeply. ¡°Go and take a long hot bath, Porsche. Try to relax. Macau and I will handle the rest, and I will keep you up to date.¡± ¡°If you say so¡­¡± Porsche hesitates. ¡°Vegas? I know I have asked you before but are you really sure about this?¡± ¡°Yes, I am.¡± Vegas nearly convinces himself. There is no doubt in his voice at all. Just in his heart. But ¡®Vegas the cop¡¯ isn¡¯t listening to his heart right now. ¡°Talk to you later.¡± And he hangs up. 90 more minutes, then he¡¯ll be back in Bangkok. In about three hours everything will be over. It¡¯s for the best.
As soon as he¡¯s back in the city, he checks in with Macau, who has people keeping an eye on the monster. They need to time everything perfectly. He makes a quick stop at his apartment to change his clothes, slipping into his uniform and getting his gun. The plan is for Vegas to drive to Tawan¡¯s loft. He needs to be there before the monster arrives. Back in his car and well on the way, he texts Pete the address. ¡®Interesting choice of neutral ground¡¯, the monster replies to the message. ¡®Planning to chain me up?¡¯ For the briefest of seconds a vision of naked Pete in chains flickers through Vegas mind before he brutally squashes it. Notgoingthere! ¡®Don¡¯t give me any ideas¡¯, he texts back, fully aware in which direction Pete¡¯s thoughts must be going right now. ¡®See you soon. And if you try to shoot me again, I will kick your ass.¡¯ He gets a smiley emoji as a reply. Fuck! Vegas hits the steering wheel in frustration. His emotions are all over the place. He needs to get a grip on himself! It¡¯s just a damn emoji, why is he getting so upset? ¡°He¡¯s on his way,¡± he tells Porsche and Macau in a conference call. ¡°Perfect. As soon as he¡¯s close enough, I¡¯ll alert the police.¡± Macau is handling this whole dirty affair so professionally that Vegas suspects his little brother is way more involved in their father¡¯s business than he had thought. ¡°I¡¯ll send a message as soon as they¡¯re on the way. Gotta go, Pa is calling me.¡± And he hangs up. Now it¡¯s just Porsche and Vegas, both of them silent while Vegas is weaving his car through the evening traffic. ¡°Don¡¯t say it,¡± Vegas warns his friend. ¡°What kind of a friend would I be if I shut up now, Vegas?¡± Porsche objects quietly. ¡°You¡¯ll most likely loose your job over this when you testify as a witness against him. And that will be the least of your problems; unless your father has some very good lawyers, you might end up in jail too, for covering everything up. Is it really worth it?¡± Vegas stares gloomily at the cars in front of him. As if he hadn¡¯t thought about this already. ¡°I know. I¡¯m sure Pa will fix it so that it will only be a few months in jail at the most, and you know I¡¯ll get the best damn cell there is. It¡¯s okay, I messed up, I deserve the punishment. And you never know, maybe my uncle will pull some strings and I¡¯ll walk away without a scratch.¡± ¡°You really want to be even further indebted to Khun Korn?¡± Both of them sigh simultaneously at the thought of that. No, Vegas does not want that at all. ¡°Vegas¡­¡± Porsche is really insistent tonight. ¡°You know they¡¯re going to put him on death row for this, right?¡± Vegas¡¯ hands tighten painfully around the steering wheel. Yes, he knows. He has known all along, but buried that knowledge deep in the back of his mind. It¡¯s for the best. Neither Porsche nor Macau know what a true monster the man who calls himself Pete is. Four people brutally murdered as part of a game to get Vegas¡¯ attention. Five when you count in Tem, whom Vegas shot to save the monster. Six if you count in the real Pete who must surely be dead. Eight if you count in his parents too, even though Vegas is pretty sure that was Tawan¡¯s work. Nine if you count in Tawan. The monster killed at least nine people. Yes, he will be going on death row. It¡¯s for the best, Vegas tells himself. ¡°I know. That¡¯s the law,¡± he tells Porsche quietly while his traitorous heart aches. Porsche sighs heavily and gives up. ¡°I hope you won¡¯t regret this, Vegas,¡± he says softly, before hanging up. Left alone in the silence of his car, Vegas holds on to the steering wheel for dear life. He needs to hold on to something, because if not, he fears he will drift away and fall apart, and that can¡¯t happen right now. Being forced to concentrate on the traffic helps. But damn¡ªYou know they¡¯re going to put him on death row for this, right¡ªthat sentence echoes through his mind relentlessly. The monster is a murderer, he tells himself. The punishment is entirely justified. He¡¯s a cop; it¡¯s his job and duty to catch killers and ensure that justice is served. Yes, Thailand still has capital punishment but the death sentence is only carried out sporadically these days. In the last twelve years there¡¯s only been one execution. The monster will be fine, he tells himself. He¡¯ll be locked up, confined behind bars, for the rest of his life, and everyone will be safe. No more gruesome deaths. It¡¯s for the best. Somehow Vegas manages to make it across the city without totalling his car, but he has a few narrow misses because he is so distracted. It feels as if he¡¯s being torn apart. He desperately want to switch off and escape from all these conflicting emotions. Vegas parks his car in the shadow of the buildings surrounding Tawan¡¯s loft and sits there, alone in the darkness, with just his thoughts keeping him company. And those thoughts are driving him insane. ¡­ They¡¯re going to put him on death row for this¡­ Nonsense, there¡¯s no way the monster will get executed. The chances are slim, almost non-existent. There are over 500 people on death row. The monster will be safe. And he doesn¡¯t care. He really doesn¡¯t care. Not at all. ¡­ and yet¡­ Why is this taking so long? Time seems to have slowed to a crawl. Vegas just wants this to be over already. The wait is just agonising. But when the monster finally comes walking down the street, Vegas stops breathing. ¡­ Pete¡­ The mere sight of him causes the floodgates to open. It feels as if Vegas is being crushed by an unexpected torrent of hatred, anger and longing. He¡¯s out of his depth, entirely overwhelmed. It¡¯s been three months, and he seems to have totally underestimated the depth of his emotional involvement; all it takes is one look at the familiar figure wandering closer, heading for the entrance to Tawan¡¯s loft, and Vegas has an emotional meltdown. ¡­ Pete¡­ Good Lord, what is he doing?! Pete will go on death row! If they find out just how many people he has killed, and how he killed them, he will jump the execution queue and there will be a public outcry, with the crowds screaming for their pound of flesh. Oh no¡­ nonono¡­ what has he done?! Vegas gasps as the realisation hits home. Fuck! Pete¡¯s going to die, and it¡¯ll be his fault! Fuck! And then the memories come back, the sheer desperation of holding a bleeding Pete in his arms after he got shot by Tem. The all-encompassing horror when Pete jumped off that damn roof, when he thought he had lost him. This cannot be happening, Pete can¡¯t die, he cannot allow this to happen! Oh, no, what have I done?! Vegas panics. He needs to stop this. He won¡¯t be able to live if Pete dies. All the emotions he had locked away swarm over him all at once. He isn¡¯t over Pete, far from it. In fact he doubts he will ever get over him. This damn psychopath is literally the love of his life, and Vegas has been sending him straight into a trap! Oh, no, what have I done?! He need to stop this! But Pete is already inside the building. Did Vegas space out again in his panic? Because out of nowhere, and without prior warning, the police cars are pulling up already, stealthily, without the lights and sirens. Frozen in shock, Vegas watches the police officers pouring out of the vehicles in a steady stream, weapons in their hands as they cautiously enter the building. Oh, no, what have I done?! Frantically, Vegas grabs his phone, starts typing, and then hits ¡®Send¡¯: RUN! Chapter 24 It¡¯s amazing how someone can break your heart and you can still love them with all the little piece What a gigantic clusterfuck. Vegas is a bit in awe at how well he managed to fuck things up this time. Weeks of planning down the drain because his heart is staging a rebellion, overthrowing his brain. I want my fix, whispers his body and sides with the heart. Two against one. Wow. Stunned, he sits in the car watching the police swarm the building. There is nothing he can do, absolutely nothing. He managed to warn Pete, who is now stuck in the building with no way out because Macau, the evil genius, insisted on welding all the other exit points shut. Just to be on the safe side. There is just that one entrance left, and that is currently being blocked by the entering police force. Well, shit¡­ A quiet panic takes hold of Vegas. They¡¯re going to catch Pete. They¡¯ll catch him, and if they don¡¯t shoot him on the spot, they¡¯ll capture him and cart him off to jail. All the bloody secrets will come to light and then Pete will get executed. And it¡¯s all his fault. Both Porsche and Macau warned him that he would regret this, and he does. Oh, how he regrets it now. What a stupid, stupid idea! Surely there is a better way to handle this mess between them, but Vegas has been blind, stuck in denial, running away from his emotions. And now he has to face the consequences. Fuck! There¡¯s nothing he can do, he just has to sit here and wait and pray that Pete won¡¯t resist the arrest. Pray they won¡¯t shoot him. No shots being fired is a good sign, right? How long since they entered the building? Vegas wants to scream, but instead he wrings his hands. Please don¡¯t kill him. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll be able to continue living if he dies. The minutes trickle by, the officers outside are calm, there is no excitement, no hectic communication between them and their colleagues inside. This is a good sign, right? Vegas¡¯ phone plings and he nearly jumps out of his skin, hoping for a message from Pete, but it is only Porsche and Macau, checking in to see how everything is going. He can¡¯t deal with them right now, he is too damn stressed and embarrassed for folding so easily, and so he ignores their messages. He needs to stay put. If he goes in there, and encounters Pete in handcuffs, he isn¡¯t sure what he will do. As thoroughly unhinged as he¡¯s feeling right now he might try to break him free, and that would make everything so much worse. Vegas needs to stay put, and he hates it. Not to mention that he hates himself as well. I am so screwed. Seems he has been thoroughly mind-fucked. Brainwashed. Whatever you can call this. Is this Stockholm Syndrome, he wonders? Or a variety of it? It simply can¡¯t be normal that he is still so emotionally attached to this madman who shot him. Vegas checks the time. Fiddles with his phone. Checks the time again. Wrings his hands. Watches the activities of the police officers on the other side of the street. Checks the time again. When the van of the CSI team pulls up, Vegas has had enough. What the fuck is going on inside? He needs to know. He can¡¯t wait any longer, so he exists the car and crosses the street. He isn¡¯t supposed to be here; another police department handles this part of the city, so inserting himself into this investigation might be tricky. But one thing Vegas has learned over the years is that fortune favours the bold. If he acts as if it¡¯s his goddamn right to be here, then less people will question him about his presence. And that¡¯s exactly what he does. He channels his inner mob boss and stalks confidently past the other police officers standing around the building¡¯s entrance, simply waltzing past everyone into the house. Vegas gets a few curious glances, but no one stops him. This used to be some sort of industrial building that was converted into a loft; there are a lot of hallways and stairs. Vegas walks past doors leading to other parts of the building that have been welded shut, and can feel the lump of dread in his throat getting bigger. There is no way Pete could have gotten out of this trap; once he got past the entrance it¡¯s basically a one-way route to the loft, with no way to escape into other areas of the house. He swallows hard. Yup, he really fucked up this time. He ascends the last set of stairs and runs into his first real obstacle at the door to the loft¡ªa police officer standing guard, who stops Vegas. Narrowing his eyes in annoyance, Vegas flashes his ID, but the man is stubborn and demands to know what he¡¯s doing here. Since Vegas is of higher rank this doesn¡¯t sit well with him at all, and he makes that very clear. As soon as he drops his name, all opposition to his presence disappears. Every cop has heard of his family and knows not to mess with them. One step and he enters the apartment that looks just the same as when he was here the last time. Well, not exactly. For example, the bloody furniture that had been missing last time is back in place. Chan kept the furniture? Good grief, that man is a perfectionist. The place is crawling with cops, and Vegas feels yet another spike of anxiety hitting him. Where did Pete go? Was there anywhere to hide in this loft, some place they¡¯ve overlooked in their preparation? This is really stressing him out. Not to mention that this place brings back really bad memories. Vegas spies the person who appears to be in charge, and goes to introduce himself while trying not to look at the chain on the other side of the room, the chain and the body it¡¯s holding up. He really needs to have that talk with Macau. His brother has succeeded in turning this into a frighteningly real crime scene. The detective in charge isn¡¯t all too happy to have Vegas intrude upon his crime scene, but Vegas can be charming and insistent when he wants, and so eventually he gets his way. He¡¯s allowed to stay here as long as he doesn¡¯t interfere with the proceedings. Fine with him. He tells them this might be connected to a case he¡¯s working on, so they leave him alone. From the sidelines, Vegas finally allows himself to look at the dead body. A loan shark, Macau said. Someone who tried to embezzle money from their father. Should have known better, and now he¡¯s dead. His father can be quite merciless when it concerns money issues. How Macau managed to smuggle the body out of the basement is a mystery to Vegas. But he did it, and now it¡¯s hanging there, dangling on the chain. This could have been me, Vegas thinks, and feels goosebumps erupt along his spine as the memories of his time with Tawan catch up with him. The man was beaten to death. His father¡¯s men usually employ steel bars or baseball bats for this, and accordingly the corpse looks pretty bad. All visible skin and a lot of the clothes are caked with a generous amount of drying blood. The body is relatively fresh, only a day old according to his little brother. Vegas feels a hint of admiration at how perfectly they¡¯ve staged this crime scene. The only one missing here is the murderer. Where the hell did Pete go? For a brief moment, Vegas ponders what Pete must have thought, entering the loft and seeing the body hanging there. Did he even for a moment think it was Vegas? How does a serial killer feel when walking into a crime scene that isn¡¯t their own? Do they feel anything at all? Fascination, perhaps? Vegas groans softly, because if he follows this line of thinking there can only be madness ahead. He needs to stop this, stop thinking, stop trying to understand. No matter how confused he might be emotionally, he¡¯s still crystal clear about the fact that he¡¯s dealing with a killer here. Pete is a damn psychopath, with all that it entails. And where the fuck is this madman? After slowly taking a tour around the body, Vegas starts wandering through the rest of the loft, always careful to stay out of everyone¡¯s way. Some of the cops have now left and the CSI team has arrived in their stead. Not Arm this time. It shows; they¡¯re pretty sloppy when it comes to wearing PPE. The bathroom is empty. Vegas sees a toothbrush and a hairbrush there that he recognises from his apartment¡ªthey¡¯re Pete¡¯s, it must be Macau¡¯s work. No place to hide in here though, unless Pete turned into a mouse and crawled into the narrow ventilation shaft. Where the fuck did he go? Vegas catches himself wringing his hands again, he¡¯s so damn stressed. He hasn¡¯t been out and about for months, and now he¡¯s been thrown into an active crime scene with people everywhere. It feels a bit too much. He¡¯s suffering from sensory overload. Exiting the bathroom, Vegas glances around. Where could he be hiding? Under the various couches? Unlikely. The outlets for the ventilation shafts scattered around the loft aren¡¯t large enough for a fully grown man to crawl into. He puts on some gloves and wanders around, peeking into the cupboards. Clothes, just clothes, as expected. Some items he recognises. There is that damn lavender shirt; Vegas inhales sharply and his heart aches. Pete is nowhere to be found. Not under the bed. Not in the kitchen area either. Vegas feels a growing desperation. Where the hell did he go? There is no way he managed to hide anywhere other than in here. So where did he go? He¡¯s terrified that the remaining cops having a look around, or the CSI team, will stumble across Pete first. Exactly what he is planning to do should he find Pete, Vegas doesn¡¯t know. He hasn¡¯t planned ahead this far. To keep up appearances, he keeps doodling in his note-pad, as if he¡¯s taking notes about important things. To make matters worse, his phone keeps plinging. Porsche and Macau are getting worried. ¡®Change of plans¡¯, he messages them. ¡®I¡¯ll explain later.¡¯ He can already imagine their response to this fiasco, and he¡¯s not looking forward to it. Should have stayed at the safe house, he thinks gloomily. At least his life was less stressful there. He¡¯s been back out in the world for half a day and his body is already buzzing with adrenaline. This isn¡¯t healthy. Maybe he should take up mindfulness? Damn, where is Pete? And damn this hellhole here too! It¡¯s just as hot and stuffy as he remembers. Vegas can feel the sweat on his back where the uniform shirt sticks to his damp skin. This sucks. Everything sucks. His whole life is a freaking disaster. ¡°Is it okay if I open a window?¡± he asks no one is particular, and gets an absent nod of consent from one of the cops. The loft has several large, floor-to-ceiling windows, through which one can see the night sky outside. It¡¯s pretty dark already, and there are no street lamps nearby or any other light sources near the building. Vegas makes a beeline for the window by the kitchen, because he remembers Tawan opening it at some point. He picks that window because it¡¯s furthest from the working CSI team; he imagines Arm scolding him for opening a window while he was still processing a scene, but these guys don¡¯t seem to mind at all. They haven¡¯t even yelled once at the cops still walking all over their crime scene. Not that Vegas cares much; he¡¯s stressed and sweaty and wants access to fresh air. The windows of the loft all have waist-high grates installed to keep people from tumbling out accidentally. As Vegas touches the handle to open the window he notices that this one isn¡¯t closed entirely, it¡¯s just leaning against the frame, but not locked. An instinctive shiver runs through him. No way. Surely Pete wouldn¡¯t ¡­? Vegas takes a deep steadying breath because this is a hypothetical question at most¡ªof course Pete would be crazy enough to do this. He saw the man jumping off a building after all! But holy shit¡­ A cautious glance around confirms that no one is paying attention to him. Projecting a calm he doesn¡¯t feel, Vegas pulls the large window open and is immediately hit with that refreshing cool breeze he¡¯s been longing for. Fresh air at last. For a second he debates turning around and just walking away. He still has time to do this. Seeing Pete from across the street earlier on was bad enough already and shook him to his foundations. Is he really ready for this? Will he ever be? Maybe he is wrong though¡­ Vegas takes a step forward and leans casually against the grate, looking out into the night sky. The breeze ruffles his hair like a gentle touch. It¡¯s a starry night with very few clouds. A new moon, so the surrounding buildings and alleyways are cast into shadows. Don¡¯t look down. Don¡¯t look down. Accompanied by the murmur of the working police officers behind him, Vegas lowers his gaze slowly. This building is made of brick, with a rough rugged surface. The wall is uneven, bricks jutting out at a regular interval, just enough for¡­ Barely visible in the darkness, there is a shade pressed flat against the wall, just beneath the grate down to his right. Like a gecko, or a free climber, clinging to the minute protrusions provided by the bricks by the fingertips. Vegas sucks in a startled breath. The shade moves ever so slightly, reacting to the soft noise he made, black hair giving way to a pale and very familiar face as the figure clinging to the wall looks up at him. Time slows to a crawl. Vegas¡¯ heart does a happy little skip, and his body reacts with a shiver of delight. Sulking, his brain retreats into a corner, admitting defeat. Their eyes meet and once again Vegas shudders under the onslaught of conflicting emotions washing over him. It¡¯s been three months. He wants to step on those fingers clinging to the wall, grinding them against the bricks under his heel until they cannot hold on to the stones anymore, until the figure falls down down down, out of sight and to his death. He wants to reach out and grab those wrists and hurl that person inside to safety. He¡¯s so angry and so worried. It¡¯s maddening. As if he were able to read Vegas¡¯ thoughts, Pete¡¯s lips curl into a slow Cheshire smile, and the second those dimples appear, Vegas¡¯ legs turn into rubber. He tears his gaze away, suddenly feeling hot all over his body. He¡¯s so screwed. He can feel Pete¡¯s gaze on him, how it wanders over his body, and it only fans the flames within him. He¡¯s so screwed. Distance, he needs some distance to clear his mind. Blindly, Vegas turns around and walks away from the window, leaving it wide open. He heads all the way across the large room and leans against the wall there, inconspicuously doing his breathing exercises, because he¡¯s caught himself hyperventilating again. Shit shit shit. There are cops everywhere. What a fucking mess. Whenever someone walks closer to the now open window, Vegas nearly has a heart attack. The notebook in his hands becomes his lifeline. He just writes down everything he sees, playing along, treating this like just another crime scene, all the while aware of Pete clinging to the wall outside. What if he falls? Would serve him right though. No! Pete must not get hurt. Vegas is thoroughly confused. Time crawls by agonisingly. Soon there is just one more police officer left besides the CSI team. Vegas keeps himself busy by talking to his colleague, exchanging work anecdotes. The coroner comes, the body is removed from the chain, placed into a black body bag and lifted onto a stretcher. While it is being carried outside, the CSI team bags the chain. Work is slowly drawing towards an end here. His colleague seems tired, so Vegas offers to wrap things up here so that he can go home already. Of course that idiot jumps at the chance. Then it¡¯s only Vegas and the sloppy CSI team. The breeze blows into the loft through the open window and Vegas has to resist the urge to go and check if Pete is still there, or if he has climbed somewhere else. ¡°Go ahead, I¡¯ll close up here,¡± he tells the CSI team an hour later. The staged crime scene has been processed, all evidence has been labeled and bagged. Tiredly the team carts everything downstairs to their van. When the door finally closes behind them with a click, Vegas exhales and closes his eyes for a moment. This was such a close call. He has really lost his mind, coming up with an insane plan like this in the first place. Breathe in. Hold breath. Breathe out. Hold breath. He doesn¡¯t move until he hears the faint sounds of car doors closing and the van driving away. I¡¯m not ready for this, he thinks, panicky. He should simply leave, but his body refuses to cooperate. The entrance door beckons to him, but instead he heads for the window like a sailor drawn forward by the siren¡¯s song. ¡°They are all gone now.¡± Vegas is not looking down, just leaning against the ornamental grate, staring blindly into the night. ¡°About time,¡± comes the equally quiet reply from somewhere beneath him. Simply hearing Pete¡¯s voice again after all this time evokes fear and longing in equal parts in Vegas, and that only increases his confusion. Then there is quiet cursing from below. ¡°Bloody hell, my fingertips fell asleep¡­¡± No, Vegas tells himself. No. I won¡¯t do it. I won¡¯t, I really won¡¯t. And he actually manages to hold himself back as he watches how the dark figure slowly emerges from the shadows, pulling himself up, using the grate as a handhold. Vegas is feeling so damn torn it wouldn¡¯t surprise him if he actually split into two different people anytime now. I won¡¯t do it, he tells himself again and despite of it finds himself reaching downward, grasping Pete¡¯s wrists. The touch causes the all familiar electric tingles. Vegas is disgusted with himself. No willpower whatsoever, he is such a damn idiot. He pulls, and Pete pushes himself upward. Vegas¡¯ self-hatred is like the magma rising inside of a volcano. The more angry he gets at himself, the more force he channels into pulling Pete back into the safety of the room. A last hard yank and Pete more of less sails over the edge of the grate, bumping into Vegas. They stumble backwards. Immediately Vegas drops his hold on Pete¡¯s wrists like a hot potato and takes a few steps further back. Distance. He needs distance. They¡¯re finally face to face again, about the same distance apart as they were that day when Pete put a bullet into him, Vegas reckons. A fresh feeling of betrayal wells up within him as those memories resurface, and he grits his teeth. Not only that, but his danger sense is kicking in again, tell him to get ready to run run run because the monster has arrived and will pounce him anytime now. Fuck. The whole damn situation is surreal. He¡¯s face to face with Pete, and yet it feels more as if he¡¯s unexpectedly meeting the identical but minutely different twin of the man he¡¯s been dating for a while. This is Pete, but then it again it isn¡¯t, not the Pete he remembers. He¡¯s not looking good, that is Vegas¡¯ first thought. Pete¡¯s face appears sharper somehow, more drawn, more tired, as if he¡¯s been living hard these past three months. His hair is longer, too, and unexpectedly wavy at the tips. And the whole body language is different; in jarring contrast to the easy-going way his Pete used to move around. It¡¯s as if Pete has shed his mask, stepping out of the shadows of deception to finally reveal his true self¡ªthe self he¡¯s most comfortable with. There are just tiny differences in how he moves, but Vegas takes note of them all. Pete¡¯s body movements are more controlled, smoother. He carries himself with confidence, seems to be more aware of his surroundings. I thought I knew you so well, he thinks bitterly, what a fool I was. For now, his fear of the predator before him keeps his anger in check, but his self-control has worn very thin. He should probably say something. Anything. Because he has a lot to say. But words have deserted him; Vegas is temporarily struck speechless. All he can do is to stare angrily at his nemesis. Something¡¯s got to give¡ªhe feels like a pressure cooker on full heat with a blocked release valve. Pete seems entirely unconcerned. He stretches leisurely, once again reminding Vegas of a big cat. As if hanging on the side of a building while hiding from the cops is an every day activity to him. Maybe it is? Who knows. ¡°What a vicious little plan that was, Vegas¡­ I have to admit I¡¯m impressed, I really didn¡¯t see that coming.¡± He smirks at Vegas who is glowering darkly at him. ¡°Well, aren¡¯t we a bloody ray of sunshine tonight? Cheer up, your plan failed, I am fine.¡± Pete¡¯s snarky tone of voice makes Vegas¡¯ hackles rise and he makes an incoherent, furious sound, curling his hands into fists. He shouldn¡¯t have sent that damn message, warning this asshole. He should have told his colleagues where Pete was hiding. He should have stepped on those fingers. Vegas heart and body might be thrilled to be in Pete¡¯s company again, but the more rational part of him is experiencing acute anger issues. ¡°Shut the hell up, you freaking psycho, or I¡¯ll toss you straight back out of that window,¡± Vegas whispers harshly. His anger just seems to amuse Pete. The threat simply causes him to laugh. ¡°You say I¡¯m a psychopath like it¡¯s a bad thing.¡± It¡¯s really the last straw. Vegas snaps. With a snarl he launches himself at Pete and slams his fist into the man¡¯s face. He laughs?! The asshole dares to laugh?! Vegas¡¯ vision turns red, just like those damn flowers Pete loves so much. Red Red Red. Three months of resentment and anger explode, and the next moment they¡¯re engaged in a furious scuffle. Vegas rages, wildly swinging his fists, not really bothering where they hit, as long at they hit something. Preferably Pete. Everything is fair game, he sinks his fingers into Pete¡¯s hair and pulls him forward, banging his head on a conveniently nearby wall. Blood drips from Pete¡¯s nose, more red. Everything is red. He is kicking too, scratching whatever he can get a hold of, elbowing Pete¡¯s ribcage, blindly doling out violence. Pete throws up his forearms, trying to block the blows raining down on him. Red hot anger. Vegas tackles him and they go down together, rolling across the floor. Vegas receives a hit to his solar plexus that leaves him temporarily stunned, and Pete pulls free, scrambling away on his hands and knees. But Vegas catches him again and yanks him back up by the hair. Then they¡¯re wrestling each other once more, and Vegas is delivering another frenzied series of punches. He¡¯s totally lost control, he just wants to make the other man hurt. ¡°I hate you!¡± he grunts every time a blow connects, causing Pete to hiss in pain. ¡°I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!¡± It¡¯s difficult to say how long this goes on. At some point, Vegas¡¯ muscles start burning, his knuckles ache dully. He¡¯s running out of steam, the red slowly fading away, allowing reality to intrude long enough for him to realise that Pete is mainly blocking his blows, defending himself but not actually fighting back. Before Vegas has time to think some more about this and what it might mean, Pete suddenly flips them over, straddling him, and grips his wrists hard, pinning them to the floor and effectively stopping Vegas¡¯ onslaught. Both of them are panting hard, Vegas struggles briefly against the iron hold on his wrists but doesn¡¯t put a lot of energy into breaking free. Yes, he has finally run out of steam. Pete has scratch marks on one of his cheeks and is bleeding freely from both mouth and nose, the blood dripping from his face like shiny red pearls. Vegas really did a number on him. He¡¯s a mess. They stare silently at each other, their harsh breathing echoing through the loft. With a last spark of rebellion, Vegas makes an attempt to rear up and shake Pete off, but apparently Pete is done with being a punching bag. He growls in warning and slams Vegas¡¯ wrists hard against the floor. ¡°That¡¯s enough now!¡± he snaps sharply. The immediate anger might be gone, but that¡¯s far from the only emotion Vegas is feeling right now. He can¡¯t make sense of this emotional turmoil. The man currently pinning him down has manipulated him and betrayed him; they¡¯ve hurt each other emotionally and physically. He¡¯s even tried to straight out kill Vegas. He¡¯s also made Vegas feel real love for the first time in his life and has given him precious moments of blissful happiness¡ªa feeling of finally having found his soulmate. The phrase ¡®It¡¯s complicated¡¯ seems to suit their relationship perfectly. Yes, it¡¯s very complicated. ¡°Let go,¡± Vegas whispers, barely audible, as the blood continues to drip from Pete¡¯s nose down onto his chest. The thought skips through his mind that the uniform shirt is ruined. Bloodstains are a pain in the ass to get out of the fabric. Pete furrows his brows. He seems unsure how to react to this quiet demand. If anything, his hold on Vegas¡¯ wrists gets even tighter. ¡°Let go,¡± Vegas insists again, this time more forcefully. He dislikes being restrained like this; they¡¯re way too close when it¡¯s distance that Vegas needs right now. He needs physical distance to this madman because their current skin-to-skin contact is sending a flurry of electrical tingles up his arms. Why is his damn body reacting so traitorously? Vegas wants to get up and run, and never, ever look back again. This infuriating psychopath tends to have this effect on him and he resents it. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. For a while he thought he could stop running, and have his very own happily-ever-after, but now the impulse to flee is back, and stronger than ever. Pete quietly shakes his head, sending an arc of tiny scarlet droplets to the left and right. His look is so intense that Vegas wants to turn invisible and disappear. I can¡¯t do this, he thinks desperately. I¡¯m not ready for this, not now, not ever. Pete seems to be looking right into his very soul, there is nowhere to hide. Why can¡¯t he turn off all these feelings? Just looking at Pete¡¯s face makes every single shard of his shattered heart vibrate with longing. I shouldn¡¯t be feeling like this, he tells himself. This is wrong. ¡°Let go,¡± he tries again, the despair in his shaky voice noticeable. ¡°Are you going to continue beating me up?¡± Pete asks him warily. ¡°Because I really don¡¯t feel like taking any more hits.¡± Vegas shakes his head mutely. The violence has drained out of him. Pete is safe for now. ¡°Are you going to run then?¡± is the next question, and this time Vegas detects some underlying tension in Pete. He tries to sound nonchalant, but it¡¯s obvious that the answer to this question is important to him. Again, Vegas simply shakes his head. He wants to run, yes, but he won¡¯t. He can¡¯t spend his whole life on the run from this man. At some point he has to stop and face the music. No more running. Pete hesitates. He seems to be feeling just as torn as Vegas, but slowly the hold on Vegas¡¯ wrists lessens. It¡¯s clearly a struggle for Pete to give up the upper hand; he¡¯s gritting his teeth, and winces in pain from his split lip. ¡°Let go¡­¡± Vegas implores him softly one more time, and reluctantly the fingers around his wrists are removed at last. Pete places his hands right next to Vegas¡¯ arms, still leaning forward, looking intensely at the man below him. Hesitantly, as if he is unsure of what reaction this might provoke, he gives Vegas a tentative smile. Vegas heart thumps painfully as butterflies erupt in his stomach. He¡¯s so screwed. He never really had a chance. Pete is going to destroy even the few fragments of his heart that remain intact. And the worst part of it is that Vegas will allow him do it, because he finds it impossible to stop loving Pete. He¡¯s completely unable to do anything about it. He has been trying for three months to move on, and it was all to no avail. With trembling fingers, Vegas lifts his right hand. Pete tenses and narrows his eyes, coiled to defend himself if needed, but Vegas simply ignores it. With a sigh he reaches up and very gently uses his thumb to wipe at the blood still dripping from Pete¡¯s nose. It doesn¡¯t stop the bleeding. Vegas can feel a shiver passing through Pete. Why did I have to fall in love with you, he asks himself. Why you, why not someone normal? Love shouldn¡¯t hurt this much, right? They stare at each other, spellbound once again by each other¡¯s presence. At least Vegas is spellbound, he isn¡¯t so sure about Pete¡ªmaybe he is faking it again. Then Vegas¡¯ hand drifts downward, along Pete¡¯s throat to the back of his neck. He tugs gently. Pete resists for but a second, then he gives in and allows himself be pulled down towards Vegas. And after three long months Vegas finally gets the hug he so desperately pleaded for just moments before he got shot. He closes his eyes, wraps both arms around Pete¡¯s neck, and holds on for dear life. Good Lord, how he needs this! It¡¯s balm to his injured soul and heart. It isn¡¯t that he has forgotten all his grievances, or that he is turning a blind eye to the fact that he is dealing with a serial killer, but damn, he really needs this hug right now, after all he¡¯s been put through by this idiot. Pete takes a deep, shuddering breath and then goes all limp, melting against Vegas, burying his face against his neck. Vegas can feel Pete¡¯s fingers carding through his hair and it feels so damn nice. He¡¯s doing the same, running his trembling fingers through Pete¡¯s silky hair, basking in the feeling. He feels like sobbing. Hiding his face against Pete¡¯s neck, he inhales shakily, the all-familiar cinnamon and rosewood scent engulfing him. It¡¯s like coming home, at long last. ¡°I missed you so damn much,¡± Pete mumbles against his neck, his warm breath fanning over Vegas¡¯ skin. ¡°You have no idea how much I missed you.¡± Vegas can feel Pete¡¯s blood trickling down onto his neck and holds on even tighter. It¡¯s sheer madness, he knows it. But he¡¯s missed this like crazy, touching this man, holding him; yes, he¡¯s missed Pete terribly. He¡¯s been in denial about this for the longest time, but now the damn puzzle piece is back, slotted right into place, and it¡¯s as glorious as it¡¯s scary because he really cannot see a future for them. For his own sake, the time has come to make a last attempt to end this, to let go. He knows it. ¡°48 hours,¡± Vegas murmurs softly, memorising the feeling of Pete¡¯s firm body in his arms, his unique scent, as many little details as possible. Pete tenses slightly, and makes a questioning sound. Time to let go. ¡°48 hours,¡± Vegas repeats, his voice hoarse with grief. ¡°You have 48 hours to wrap everything up, pack your belongings, and leave.¡± Pete tenses even more; his fingernails are now digging into Vegas¡¯ scalp. He¡¯s not reacting well to Vegas¡¯ words, as expected, but it can¡¯t be helped. It¡¯s time to let go for both of them. ¡°48 hours to leave the country.¡± Vegas rubs his face against Pete¡¯s shoulder. He never wants to forget the feel of it. ¡°Go abroad, somewhere far, far away. Find yourself another identity, you¡¯re good at that. Leave and never ever come back to Thailand.¡± ¡°Vegas¡­¡± Pete clings to him tightly. Vegas can feel how he tenses in shocked disbelief, how Pete starts shaking his head in refusal. ¡°You have 48 hours.¡± The last fragments of Vegas¡¯ heart are shattering to dust. This is killing him. ¡°After 48 hours I will go to the police and tell them everything.¡± Pete freezes. Vegas can feel every beat of Pete¡¯s heart pounding frantically, because they¡¯re pressed so tightly against each other. No, someone isn¡¯t happy at all about these developments. Pete probably thought Vegas had capitulated unconditionally, that everything would be going his way now. This must be coming like a shock. Vegas runs his hands over Pete¡¯s back, stroking the tense muscles underneath the soft shirt gently. The thought of never again touching Pete is akin to torture. But he needs to cut himself loose from this unhealthy addiction. ¡°I¡¯ll tell them about your fake identity,¡± he whispers in Pete¡¯s ear. ¡°I¡¯ll tell them about the disappearance of the real Pete. I¡¯ll tell them about your manipulation of Tawan, how you got him to kill the real Pete¡¯s parents. I¡¯ll tell them how I saw you kill Tawan. I¡¯ll tell them about the damn lilies, about all the people you killed because of your insane fixation with me. And I¡¯ll tell them how you shot me on the property you stole from the real Pete.¡± ¡°Vegas¡­¡± Pete sounds seriously distressed now. He keeps shaking his head in denial, his breath hot against Vegas¡¯ throat. ¡°You can¡¯t do this.¡± ¡°48 hours. Just run, please¡­¡± Holding back his tears, Vegas nuzzles Pete¡¯s neck and then hugs him as tightly as possible. ¡°Please leave. Just go abroad. You are ruining my life. I¡¯m a cop, you¡¯re a serial killer. I can¡¯t bring myself to kill you, and I can¡¯t live with you being on death row, or rotting away in jail. So please let me go and leave the country, I am begging you.¡± ¡°No.¡± Pete continues to shake his head. In his misery he doesn¡¯t even notice that his fingernails are digging deeper and deeper into Vegas¡¯ scalp, drawing blood. ¡°I¡¯m not leaving. You¡¯re in love with me, and I¡¯m in love with you. We can work this out.¡± His voice breaks at that point, and a shudder runs through his whole body. He seems to be hovering on the edge of tears. ¡°I promise¡­ I promise we can make this work, Vegas.¡± Vegas swallows hard. He feels like crying himself. ¡°I don¡¯t believe a single word coming out of your mouth at this point,¡± he admits with a heavy heart. He has been lied to so many times already; at this point he thinks not even Pete himself knows what the truth is anymore. ¡°Just let me go. I swear to God I will go to the police when the time is up. You say you love me? Then leave while you still can.¡± And before Pete can stop him, Vegas pushes him off and rolls to the side to get some distance between them. Pete is so stunned that when he lands on his back he just stays in that position. He blinks repeatedly, the struggle to make sense of Vegas¡¯ threat clearly written all over his face. The blood from the nosebleed is all over his face, and probably all over Vegas shoulder and neck as well. Vegas gets on his feet, feeling drained. At least he didn¡¯t dissolve into tears, that counts as a small victory, no? He brushes the dust off his uniform, deliberately refusing to look at Pete lying there on the ground. He¡¯s said what he wanted to say; it¡¯s better not to allow this to drag on any further. Because beneath all his heartache there is still the rage, bubbling quietly, waiting for an opportunity to be unleashed again, and Vegas doesn¡¯t trust himself not to seriously hurt the man who calls himself Pete the next time he explodes. ¡°Farewell,¡± he says curtly and turns, heading towards the exit. ¡°Vegas!¡± Despite the harsh beating he took earlier on, and the pain he surely must be in, Pete is up on his feet in an instant, rushing after Vegas. He grabs his arm, yanking him to a stop. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare walk out on me. This isn¡¯t over!¡± Vegas turns halfway around and simply slaps him with his open hand full across the face. Pete is forced to release him and takes a step back, then steadies himself. He stares at Vegas, stunned. ¡°48 hours,¡± Vegas reminds him quietly. He¡¯s done, he can¡¯t take it anymore. ¡°Leave the country, take all your damn lies and stay the hell out of my life. I don¡¯t ever want to see you again.¡± He heads for the door again. ¡°But you love me¡­¡± Pete calls after him. Vegas has never heard him this upset. ¡°You said you love me¡­¡± Vegas turns his head one last time, giving the man he loves more than life itself a hard look, and snorts disdainfully. ¡°You¡¯re delusional. Me loving someone like you? Who in their right mind would ever love a psychopathic killer like you?¡± I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m so sorry. Pete flinches as if Vegas had physically hit him, his face turning deathly pale, and he looks as if he¡¯s just been dealt a death blow. I¡¯m sorry, Vegas thinks again, in quiet despair. He turns to the door one more time. He will not turn around again. He won¡¯t. Vegas takes all his unwanted feelings for this man and puts them temporarily on ice. ¡°48 hours. Don¡¯t bother trying to change my mind. I¡¯m going to stay with my family where you can¡¯t reach me, and I will turn off my phone. And after exactly 48 hours, I will go to the police. Good riddance, whoever you really are. Live your life, do whatever you want, as long as you keep a continent between us.¡± And with those words, Vegas really does leave. Unhindered, and without a single backward glance. He walks out of the loft, all the way back to his car, not giving a fuck about leaving the apartment unlocked. To be honest with himself, he expected Pete to make another try to convince him, but there¡¯s no one following him or pleading with him this time. Vegas notes with bitterness how disappointed he is about that. I¡¯m such a loser. Numbly, he starts the car and forces himself to drive off. Vegas is not going to his family, of course he isn¡¯t, that was a lie. No, he is going to a hotel, with the firm intention of staying there for the next 48 hours. Once he has checked in, he calls Porsche and Macau. ¡°Want to know what happened? Then feel free to drop by, I could use some company now. Oh, and please bring booze. Lots and lots of booze.¡± He gives them his address and hangs up without further explanation. And then he turns off his phone, just like he said he would. 48 hours. If he gets really drunk, those 48 hours will go by in a haze, and he won¡¯t be able to fold again. Please let this be the end of it.
¡°I don¡¯t think I can do this¡­¡± Vegas is lying facedown across the hotel bed, drunk and feeling sorry for himself. He¡¯s been drunk for a while, a very long while. ¡°Yes, you can,¡± his little brother insists, pulling Vegas¡¯ head up by the hair before he suffocates himself, and helping him into a more comfortable position. ¡°Just a few more hours, you got this.¡± Porsche is sitting on the floor beside the bed, humming some melodramatic love song while sloppily compiling a break-up playlist for Vegas. He¡¯s just as drunk as Vegas; Macau is the only one of the three of them who is still relatively sober. ¡°I was so mean¡­¡± Vegas sighs pitifully. ¡°I am a mean, evil person,¡± he tells his brother, blindly feeling for the bottle of liquor he knows must be somewhere nearby on the bed. Or is that already empty? He can¡¯t remember. He just feels sad. Really, really sad. He turns to his back and just keeps rolling until he rolls right off the bed, landing next to Porsche. ¡°Poor Porsche, was evil Kinn mean to you too?¡± he mumbles, the room spinning around him. ¡°Vegas!¡± Porsche exclaims happily, abandoning his task for now. ¡°Vegas, don¡¯t be sad anymore. I¡¯ll find you a much better boyfriend. You can date Tay.¡± Vegas vaguely remembers Tay being one of Kinn¡¯s friends, some sweet gentle soul. ¡°Nope, won¡¯t work,¡± he declares dejectedly. ¡°Way too nice. I like bad boys.¡± Then he remembers the ultimate bad boy he just walked out on and groans once more. No more bad boys for Vegas. ¡°Should just marry one of the girls Pa is throwing at me¡­¡± ¡°Since when are you bisexual?¡± Macau asks him curiously while pouring Vegas yet another drink. ¡°He¡¯s not!¡± Porsche informs him, momentarily distracted from his matchmaking attempts. ¡°And that¡¯s why this is a stupid idea.¡± ¡°Fine, I could become a monk instead¡­¡± Vegas suggests, taking the glass from Macau and downing it in one go. The liquor burns all the way down. His brother and Porsche chortle as they envision Vegas as a monk. Vegas thoughts drift again. ¡°I should just call him and apologise for being so mean¡­¡± he mutters once again, and rests his aching head on the carpet. ¡°No!¡± Both Porsche and Macau seem to think this is a bad idea. Not that Vegas could really make a phone call even if he wanted to. Macau has confiscated his phone and locked it up in the little hotel-provided safe. Apparently he suspected that at some point Vegas would fold¡ªagain. ¡°No phone calls,¡± Macau reminds Vegas sternly. ¡°None of us is leaving this room or calling anyone until that plane leaves.¡± And he hands Vegas more liquor. ¡­ Plane¡­ Another wave of despair washes over Vegas. Porsche has found out that Pete¡¯s booked a plane ticket, all the way to the USA. He really is leaving the country. Vegas is never going to see him again. Never going to kiss him again. Never going to touch him again. Pete is leaving, just as Vegas told him to. ¡°¡­ I never want to love anyone ever again¡­¡± he sniffles, curling up on the floor, resting his head in Porsche¡¯s lap. Porsche smiles drunkenly and ruffles his friend¡¯s hair. ¡°Love sucks!¡± he declares in solidarity, because look at what it¡¯s doing to his best friend. Macau just rolls his eyes at both of them. ¡°You two are pathetic.¡± As the only sensible person left in the room, he keeps supplying everyone with alcohol, and occasionally with food as well, while making sure his people keep a close eye on the man his brother so desperately wants to get rid off. Vegas knows in the back of his fuzzy mind that Macau has promised to have people at the airport to ensure that Pete really does board the plane and stays on it until it lifts off. Macau is a great little brother. But shouldn¡¯t he be in school? Or university? He really should ask him about that someday when the room isn¡¯t spinning around him. ¡°You think he¡¯s really leaving?¡± he asks no one in particular. ¡°Cause then it was just another lie¡­ he wouldn¡¯t leave if he really loves me¡­¡± ¡°I thought you want him to leave,¡± Macau reminds him gently. ¡°I don¡¯t know what I want,¡± Vegas answers truthfully. Trying to think is difficult when his mind is a drunken mess. ¡°I don¡¯t want to be lied to,¡± he decides then. ¡°He lies all the time. He said he loves me. And then he leaves me. So he lied.¡± Macau sighs deeply. ¡°Just go to sleep, Vegas. Everything will be fine when you wake up again.¡± ¡°Promise me?¡± Vegas mumbles, closing his eyes while Porsche continues to ruffle his hair. ¡°I promise you,¡± his brother tells him softly, and Vegas nods off. ¡°We¡¯ll fix this,¡± Porsche promises, and promptly falls asleep as well.
Vegas is sober again, the 48 hours are up, and Pete is gone. He¡¯s left the country, just as Vegas begged him to do. Or rather, as he threatened him into doing. Whatever¡ªthe only thing that counts right now is that Pete is gone. He is really gone. It¡¯s finally over. Vegas can¡¯t wrap his mind around it, part of him experiences an enormous relief, while another part of him just feels betrayed all over again. You said you love me and you left anyway. Yes, Vegas knows this makes no sense. After all, he wanted him to leave. Pete is gone, and Vegas is grieving. He pulls a lot of connections to have someone keep an eye on Pete in the other country, like an early warning system, just in case he should decide to chance it and return. This is a necessary precaution. Vegas hasn¡¯t forgotten he is dealing with a serial killer who cannot be trusted. The 48 hours are up, and Vegas finds himself standing before the police station, unable to step inside. He simply cannot go through with it. There will be no report filed. They¡¯ll never catch their serial killer. He just cannot bring himself to sic the whole Thai police force on Pete. With a sigh, he turns around and heads over to have some coffee in a nearby caf¨¦ instead. Loser. He is such a loser. And a lousy cop too. Instead of filing a report, he puts Pete¡¯s name on a traffic alert list, red-listing him for entry. Just in case¡­ Pete is gone, and strangely enough the weather is fine, people are smiling and laughing around him, and life goes on. Numbly, Vegas returns home. Even the hallway outside of his apartment holds so many memories of Pete that Vegas nearly turns around to return to the hotel. But he has to stop running away. Life goes on after all. The atmosphere inside the apartment feels oppressive. Everywhere he looks, some small detail reminds him of Pete. Vegas gets a large black plastic sack from the kitchen and starts to go through ever single room systematically, collecting all of Pete¡¯s property. It seems to be all over the place. It¡¯s surprising how many things he finds; and they didn¡¯t even live together officially. Toothbrush, hairbrush, beauty products, shower gel, razor, shoes, Pete¡¯s favourite mug, the tea he used to drink, his collection of various dried chillis, all the extremely spicy frozen food, the self-help books about relationships, and all the little gifts they brought home during the museum sightseeing spree. The colourful blankets and pillowcases. And Pete¡¯s clothes. Everything needs to go. The clothes are the hardest to dispose of. All the atrocious shirts. The leather pants. The black see-through shirt. Vegas dies a little bit while folding them and putting them in yet another plastic bag. Those damn atrocious shirts. It hurts. Everything goes into the trash. An hour later Vegas goes down and collects all the plastic bags once more from the trash cans, putting them into storage instead. He changes the sheets, the pillows and the blankets. Everything gets washed at least twice. He airs all rooms and deliberately lights some incense. And when the night comes, he goes to sleep on the couch. Pete is gone, life goes on, but Vegas doesn¡¯t know how he is supposed to live without a heart. Pete is gone, and apparently is making no attempt to return to Thailand. Vegas has outsourced keeping an eye on him to Porsche, because he can¡¯t deal with this himself without falling apart. Pete is gone, and Vegas goes to work again. The only people glad to see him back are Arm and Pol. Everyone else keeps a wary distance from him. Vegas spends his days in solitude in their little X-Files office, with the Swiss flag on the wall and the huge murder board showing him Pete¡¯s victims in all their gory detail. Who could have predicted everything ending like this? A few months ago he had a team; now one of them is dead, and the other one has fled the country. The victims stare accusingly down from the whiteboard because instead of being their voice of justice Vegas has let their killer escape. And that¡¯s why Vegas keeps the murder board. This is his punishment. Besides, no one else knows that there will be no other murders, that this case is effectively closed. Now Vegas is the one faking it all; he dutifully writes his reports and meets with Arm to discuss the physical evidence of the cases, pretending to look for more clues that Vegas suspects are non-existent. He briefly plays with the notion that he might perhaps come across hitherto unperceived clues that could lead to another murderer, that this was all a huge misunderstanding, but deep down he knows better. Pete is gone and Vegas dives once more into the depth of the database, looking for more victims. Because there must be more, so many more. Vegas also does a bit of online research and downloads a variety of studies on serial killers. He finds FBI publications about profiling and downloads them too. And since he has nothing else to do, he spends a lot of his time at the quiet office reading them. Pete is gone and Vegas discovers that he¡¯s faked it all. The whole damn profiling bit. Complete and utter rubbish. He must have had a blast, pretending to profile his own crimes. A part of Vegas wants to crawl into Pete¡¯s mind and look for his motivation for everything. The rest of him shies away from this task. He¡¯s afraid what he might find there. Pete is gone, and Vegas doesn¡¯t know what to do with himself now that he is coming to terms with the fact that he¡¯s been dating a serial killer. How does one move on from such a shocking discovery? He¡¯s looked into the abyss, and the abyss stared right back at him, gave him a dimpled smile and kissed him until he was breathless. Vegas looked into the abyss and thought it was just a momentary darkness, a vague shadow, nothing to worry about. Vegas looked into the abyss and refused to recognise it for what it truly was. How does one move on from something like this? Pete is gone, and there is an ominous silence from the Theerapanyakul elders. Vegas has escaped their clutches once again and surely they can¡¯t be happy about it. Porsche deflects any questions about how Khun Korn reacted to the news that the blackmail evidence is gone. That alone is worrisome. Macau sports a black eye during one of their Zoom meetings. Vegas clenches his hands into fists, and later that same day logs into an online account, retrieving a file from an archive he stored there. Using yet another anonymous email account with a VPN, he sends a copy of that file to the Thai revenue department and takes a screenshot of the ¡®Sent¡¯ notification. That screenshot he emails to his father, but with a six hours delay. And just like that one of Khun Gun¡¯s money laundering accounts is gone, just as Vegas threatened all these years ago before leaving the family, and Macau is safe once again. As for what they have in store for Vegas himself, who knows? Only time will tell. Pete is gone, and Vegas is pretending to be fine. He¡¯s faking it well, so well that he almost believes himself that he¡¯s doing perfectly fine. He¡¯s fine, nothing to see here, move on. Everything¡¯s all right until he cleans the apartment and finds one of Pete¡¯s atrocious shirts underneath the bed; the one with the Care Bears on it. He¡¯s doing fine, until he isn¡¯t. That night Vegas curls up in his large bed, clutching that damn shirt, burying his face in it, searching for the last faint remnants of Pete¡¯s scent. Pete is gone, and Vegas is not doing well at all.
The days drag by, each one unbearably long. Vegas shouldn¡¯t feel stressed because there¡¯s not much for him to do at home or at work, and yet, he is stressed. So much so that he takes up knitting again. He also sets up a rigorous exercise regime for himself as a much needed stress release valve. Spare time becomes his enemy; as soon as he has nothing to do, his thoughts drift and the heartache returns. Is this how break-ups are supposed to feel? Vegas wouldn¡¯t know. This is his first break-up. And so Vegas pretends that the last few months never happened. He goes right back to the schedule he had when his world was still whole. Too little sleep, long working hours, and lots of exercise. And when he starts waking up in the middle of the night, breathless and unable to recall anything about the dreams that make him so horny that he nearly comes in his sleep, he takes the rational decision to do something about this. Just as he used to do before.
It¡¯s Saturday night and Vegas finds himself at the Hum Bar, his old hunting grounds. The dance floor beyond the bar area is packed with beautiful people; like a swarm of colourful, exotic fish they undulate in perfectly synchronised motions along with the flow of the pounding electronic dance music. Vegas drifts through the crowds like a shark gliding through an underwater coral garden. The hundreds of glasses hanging from the ceiling reflect the lights just like sun rays hitting the surface of the ocean. The bar is very crowded tonight, a motley of colours and scents and sound. Personal space becomes non-existent; something that always bothers Vegas. He doesn¡¯t like it when strangers constantly rub against him in the crowd. Behind the bar he spies Yok but he stays clear of her; Yok has no filter, if he goes to say hello she might bring up topics he would rather not talk about. Besides, Vegas isn¡¯t here to have fun. Well, not strictly speaking. He¡¯s looking for someone to help him take the edge off things, a quick hook-up, no strings attached. Just like he used to do for years before the world came crashing down around him. It doesn¡¯t take long until he attracts potential prey. He always does; he¡¯s like a sea anemone without its clownfish, potential candidates showing up instantly. All these handsome young men, and yet Vegas finds fault with every single one of them. He¡¯s about to give up and call it a night when one of the candidates smiles at him. Dimples. Vegas¡¯ heart constricts painfully. Bloody hell, what is he doing? This is about sex, nothing else. Anyone will do as long as he has a cock and is healthy. He looks at those dimples, longing for a dimpled Cheshire Cat smile, then takes the hand of the young man and pulls him along as he makes a beeline through the crowd towards the seating area at the back of the bar and the door to the alleyway beyond. This is just about sex, nothing else, he reminds himself. No need to feel guilty, life goes on and sex is part of life. No one expects him to be celibate after a break up, he can fuck whoever he wants. The damn storage area behind the Hum Bar is brimming with memories of making love to Pete here. Vegas brutally pushes those thoughts aside. I can do this, he tells himself as he gently pushes the other man against the wall. He leans in and then they¡¯re kissing. Vegas doesn¡¯t know what exactly he expected to feel¡ªas kisses go this is a nice, normal kiss. The problem is that it feels wrong. He didn¡¯t expect tingles, he didn¡¯t hope for sparks, but this absolute feeling of wrongness catches him by surprise. Seems as if he isn¡¯t ready for kissing just yet. Fine, he can do without the kisses, they¡¯re not required for this, after all. Vegas moves his mouth lower, trailing his lips along the cheek and then down to the throat, licking and kissing the skin there. Wrong taste. Wrong smell too, like cedars when it should be rosewood. Vegas shoulders through, because the other man apparently likes what he¡¯s doing very much. No bite scar either. The man moans softly. Their hands are all over each other, pulling at clothes, trailing over bare skin, pushing clothing items out of the way. Vegas goes through the motions, doing what¡¯s expected of him in this situation, feeling increasingly numb. They¡¯re standing in the shadows, the muted sounds of the music beyond the walls drifting through the area. Vegas is horny, he closes his eyes and jerks off the other man, listening to the sounds he makes in the throes of passion. Even those sounds are wrong. Too high, too low, too breathless. He shudders as the man touches him. He¡¯s hard and horny, but the hand wrapping around his cock, stroking him, feels wrong too. Whatever! Vegas came here to have sex and damn, he will have sex! He¡¯s tired of jerking off in the shower. He is allowed to fuck whoever he wants. He¡¯s no longer in a relationship. Wrong wrong wrong, screams his heart. But Vegas has gotten very good at ignoring his heart lately. He has a condom, he has lube and is in the presence of a consenting adult who is willing to be fucked. That¡¯s all he needs. Feelings are unwanted at this point, so he shuts them off. All¡¯s going well, he¡¯s able to compartmentalise, pushing the increasing sense of wrongness aside; all¡¯s going well until he has the other man bend over one of the crates and is about to push himself inside; his body decides right then and there that it won¡¯t go through with something that feels so very wrong. Vegas¡¯ erection wilts, and is gone. Bloody hell! This has never ever happened to him before. Never. Vegas flushes in embarrassment but no matter what he does, he isn¡¯t getting hard again. (And deep down he breathes a sigh of relief.) Well, so much for that. Vegas mumbles an apology and is met with nothing but kind understanding. ¡°Happens to all of us at some point,¡± the man consoles him. No, not to me, he wants to scream. Never to me. He¡¯s stunned; Pete has succeeded in ruining even his future sex life. They put their clothes back in order and then head back inside the bar, where they split company. Vegas still can¡¯t get over the fact that he couldn¡¯t get it up. He never expected anything like this to happen. He wants the earth to swallow him; he¡¯s embarrassed down to his very bones. ¡°I need something to drink,¡± he tells Yok as he takes a seat at the bar. ¡°Whiskey. Just bring me a glass and a bottle.¡± Yok seems to sense that right now isn¡¯t a good time for a conversation, and just nods. ¡°Sure honey. As you wish.¡± Vegas looks at his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. He almost doesn¡¯t recognise his own face. He looks wrong too. Everything looks and feels and smells and tastes wrong. When Yok places a glass and a bottle with amber liquid in front of him, Vegas ignores the glass and drinks straight from the bottle. Everything is wrong and he really needs to escape this wrongness for a while. Chapter 25 ¡°The more there is of mine, the less there is of yours.¡± Seconds, minutes, hours. Time becomes fluid, difficult to grasp, just flowing on like the tides. Despite being surrounded by a sea of noisy party goers, Vegas and the bottle of whiskey in front of him seemingly exist in their own bubble of quiet, the amber liquid getting less and less. Vegas knows he¡¯s well on his way to being drunk, but he¡¯s not there quite yet. His therapist, his real one that is, told him to feel his feelings, and not to try to numb them with alcohol. Oops. He¡¯s been drinking too much lately, bingeing too often, so he can forget everything for a while. Oh look, another shining red flag. He should probably call her and make an appointment to continue his therapy. And because he¡¯s been drinking too much, his alcohol tolerance is regrettably high, and even a few glasses of whiskey are just giving him a pleasant buzz, calming his mind but not knocking him out. The memories of the embarrassing incident from earlier on are turning fuzzy; Vegas is getting mellow around the edges, not giving a fuck about anything anymore. The amber liquid in the liquor bottle gradually decreases. Vegas sees his surroundings as if he were looking through the blur filter of a photo editing app. Everything has turned soft and smooth, the dizzying array of colours around him have lost their brilliance, and the thumping music seems muted as well. Even the liquor tastes like water at this point. Vegas can¡¯t even feel the burn in his throat anymore. He knows that Yok is worried about him, he can see her repeated, concerned glances in his direction, but thankfully she has so far left him alone. Everyone leaves him alone. Even the clownfish candidates seem to sense that this sea anemone isn¡¯t taking any new tenants, that it¡¯s still pining for the fish that swam away to explore the rest of the ocean. Vegas wants to detach himself from the reef, he wants to drift with the currents on the off chance that they¡¯ll take him to the same coral sea that his clownfish now calls home. He should probably go home soon, but he doesn¡¯t feel drunk enough yet. A few more glasses will do the trick. He¡¯s looking forward to oblivion. Vegas¡¯ motor skills are giving him trouble; he needs to concentrate hard to make his hand move exactly the way he wants. The bottle feels too large and too heavy. His vision goes in and out of fuzziness, but he manages to pour himself another drink without spilling too much. Is the bottle empty? Vegas holds it against the light, squinting his eyes. No, there¡¯s still enough for one more glass. Talking about glasses, where did his glass go? Vegas blinks. He could have sworn it was right before him, but that space is empty now. Puzzled, Vegas leans back and almost loses his balance; for a few seconds it looks as if he¡¯ll tumble off the chair, but then someone behind him steadies him just in time. Right, where was he? The glass is gone, guess he¡¯ll just have to drink directly from the bottle then. But when he reaches for the flask, someone is faster, moving it away and out of his reach. ¡°That¡¯s enough now,¡± the person behind him says softly. Soft and smooth as silk. Vegas wants to wrap that voice around him like a blanket, bury his face into it like he did with the Care Bear shirt, and inhale deeply. Click. The puzzle piece snaps back into place. A shiver runs down Vegas¡¯ spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. His heart is singing. The clownfish has returned to its sea anemone. It¡¯s his brain that has trouble catching up and connecting the dots, since it¡¯s lost in a booze-induced haze. Vegas stares stupidly at the hand holding his liquor bottle, a hand that isn¡¯t his, and his brows furrow in confusion. And then suddenly it all makes sense. He knows that hand, knows it very well, would recognise it anywhere because of the small crescent scar at the base of the thumb. No need to turn around for confirmation. Well fuck. The first thing he feels is betrayal. His eyes find Yok, who is watching him warily from a distance, and he glares accusingly at her. ¡°I can¡¯t believe you called my ex¡­¡± Yok¡¯s eyes widen in surprise. Her gaze flicks back and forth between Vegas and the person behind him, and then she apparently decides it might be better to put some distance between her and them. With a last, apologetic smile, she turns around and hurries away towards other customers. Vegas glares at her retreating back. Traitor. Then another thought skips through his muddled brain. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be here,¡± he mumbles in confusion. He didn¡¯t get any alerts. No advanced warning. Impossible. He must be hallucinating. ¡°Where else should I be?¡± Pete¡¯s silky voice asks him, curiously. ¡°Across the ocean, at another reef,¡± Vegas answers truthfully, and can hear a chuckle behind him. His heart constricts painfully. ¡°You¡¯re here, so of course I¡¯m here as well,¡± Pete corrects him gently, with a hint of laughter in his voice. ¡°That¡¯s the thing about superglue, Vegas. It¡¯s nearly impossible to undo.¡± Bloody hell. Vegas really wants another drink while trying to wrap his befuddled mind around these fresh developments. He needs to have a word with Porsche. He needs to have a word with Macau. The whole world is conspiring against him. ¡°I haven¡¯t finished drinking,¡± he angrily informs the clownfish holding his liquor hostage, and reaches for the bottle again. But the bottle is moved even further out of his reach. ¡°You¡¯ve had more than enough to drink. Let me keep you safe. I¡¯ll take you home.¡± A hand comes to rest on his shoulder, and Vegas can feel the heat seeping through the fabric of his shirt. The cocoon of mellow softness around him begins to thaw. Angrily, he shakes the heat source off. He likes the mellowness; it keeps him safe and disconnected from his feelings. ¡°Fuck off, don¡¯t touch me!¡± ¡°Vegas¡­¡± Pete sounds resigned, but the hand doesn¡¯t return. ¡°You really had too much to drink. Please, let me take care of you.¡± ¡°Fuck off,¡± Vegas repeats forcefully. Cut off from his booze, he sees no point in staying at the busy nightclub; he might as well leave, but most certainly not with the clownfish, who isn¡¯t even supposed to be here! If only he could think straight! Vegas feels suddenly very crowded and manages to get off the chair without losing his balance, but it¡¯s a close call. He can feel him hovering close by, why does he always feel him and just him, even if he¡¯s surrounded by a huge crowd? It¡¯s maddening. Vegas is more drunk than he thought, his motor skills are pretty messed up. He feels himself swaying, bumping against him because he is too damn close. He jerks away angrily. ¡°Don¡¯t touch me!¡± he hisses, and starts weaving his way through the noisy crowd towards the exit. So many people. So much noise. Every sensation is flooding his struggling brain unfiltered, the floor feels uneven beneath his feet and Vegas finds himself stumbling repeatedly. The only reason he doesn¡¯t fall flat is that he is pushing people out of Vegas¡¯ way, repeatedly grabbing and steadying Vegas when he sways uncontrollably. He always releases his hold on Vegas immediately, as soon as Vegas hisses angrily. And so they slowly make their way out of the club. The fresh air hits Vegas like a cold washcloth in the face. He groans softly and pauses, taking a deep breath. Everything is spinning around him, his whole life is taking one wild spin after another, it seems. ¡°¡­Vegas¡­¡± the traitorous clownfish behind him says, a whole world of subtext in that single word, waiting to be uncovered. Danger, Will Robinson, danger. Vegas wants to keep spinning, spin around, straight into the arms waiting to catch him, and listen to another round of sweet whispered lies. So tempting. Fuck. No, Vegas isn¡¯t interested in what the clownfish has to say, he just wants to flee, find a cab and go home¡ªwithout the damn fish. ¡°Fuck off,¡± he slurs rebelliously and staggers past the late night crowd of partygoers hanging out around the Hum Bar entrance. Surely there must be a taxi somewhere. Out of the corner of his eye he catches a glance of the clownfish. Not so white and orange tonight. Shockingly enough, the jerk is wearing plain dark trousers and a white t-shirt. Oh, right, Vegas threw away all his clothes, that¡¯s why there are no abominable shirts. And damn, how did he even get here? Wasn¡¯t he supposed to be far, far away? He needs to have a talk with Porsche, their early warning system failed miserably. Swaying uncontrollably to the side, Vegas¡¯ shoulder bumps hard against the side of a building and he winces. If only the world would stop spinning for a moment. ¡°Oh, for heaven¡¯s sake, stop being so damn stubborn.¡± Pete¡¯s had enough and firmly takes hold of Vegas¡¯ upper arm, dragging him away from the street and into the alleyway leading to the staff parking area. ¡°Let go!¡± Vegas protests, outraged. But Pete has an iron hold on Vegas. He keeps him from tripping over his own feet, mercilessly pulling him along towards the parked cars. And he definitely doesn¡¯t let go. ¡°I refuse to allow you to hurt yourself,¡± Pete informs him grimly. ¡°Shelve you anger. I¡¯m just trying to keep you safe.¡± They¡¯ve reached the cars, one of them a rental that Vegas assumes must belong to Pete. ¡°Safe? My ass¡­ you¡¯re the last person qualified to talk about my safety!¡± Vegas finally manages to shrug free of the hold and glares defiantly at Pete while trying not to sway too much. ¡°I know!¡± At first it looks as if Pete is about to throw a temper tantrum. His dark eyes sparkle with ire, but then he makes an effort to hold it all in. ¡°Vegas¡­¡± he starts again, his voice so beseeching that Vegas doesn¡¯t know how to protect himself against it. ¡°You have every right to be angry with me. I get it, all right? Just let me take you home first, you¡¯re so drunk I can¡¯t leave you on your own here, it¡¯s not safe. Please¡­ please allow me take care of you right now.¡± That¡¯s rich, coming from the man who shot him. Vegas can¡¯t help but snort with contempt. ¡°No. Go away. I didn¡¯t ask you to come back. Fuck off, we broke up. I¡¯ve moved on, so leave me the hell alone.¡± Pete seems to be struggling with some anger issues of his own right now, the way he¡¯s turning pale and narrowing his eyes while he listens to Vegas¡¯ reply. ¡°I am not leaving again,¡± he insists heatedly. ¡°I left when you told me to leave, and I hated every second of it. I¡¯ve had enough of it, being away from you is driving me insane. So get your shit together, and accept the fact that I¡¯m here to stay!¡± Vegas staggers a few steps forward and shoves Pete hard against the car behind him. ¡°The hell I will! I¡¯m no longer interested in you and your damn mind games. Read my lips: Not interested! No longer attracted to you! Just leave me alone!¡± Pete opens his mouth. Vegas expects him to yell, but instead he has the nerve to actually count audibly to ten to calm himself before he replies tensely, ¡°We both know that¡¯s bullshit, but I didn¡¯t come here to argue with you. You¡¯re drunk and need to go home. We can talk about this tomorrow.¡± Vegas shoves him again. He hates how reasonable Pete sounds and acts. He hates it. He doesn¡¯t want reasonable Pete because it is difficult staying angry with him this way. He wants angry Pete, snarky and infuriating Pete. And so he shoves him one more time, hard, trying to trigger an explosion. But Pete grits his teeth and endures silently. ¡°Are you done yet? Can you please get in the car now so I can drive you home?¡± Vegas looks at him. He can feel himself coming apart at the seams. He shoves Pete one more time, because violence is so much better than confronting all the other emotions bubbling up within him. Pete winces when his back hits the car, but instead of lashing out he continues to face Vegas calmly. ¡°Do you feel better now? Can we go home?¡± Home. His apartment hasn¡¯t felt like home since Pete left. ¡°I threw away every single item of your clothing,¡± Vegas informs him desperately. ¡°Everything that belonged to you I threw away, because I moved on.¡± And since Pete is merely arching an eyebrow at him, Vegas continues on his quest to antagonise him. ¡°Earlier this evening I had a guy jerking me off in the storage area behind the bar where I fucked you. Felt really good. I am so damn over you, you have no idea, so fuck off.¡± Pete¡¯s eyelid twitches upon hearing that, Vegas can see how he clenches his jaw and curls his hands into fists. Yes! Yell at me! Hit me! Vegas needs violence, because the hurt on Pete¡¯s face makes his stomach drop. And it gets worse, because not even that confession triggers a violent outburst. ¡°I suppose I deserved that¡­¡± Pete says quietly in a pained voice. ¡°I may not like it, but I deserved it. Can we please go home now?¡± Bloody hell! The world keeps spinning madly, Vegas shakes his head to clear it, then grabs Pete¡¯s boring white t-shirt, digs his fingers into the fabric, and shakes him. Get angry, please get angry. Anything is better than this pain in Pete¡¯s eyes. ¡°You¡¯re not listening! I don¡¯t want you anymore! Whatever there was between us is over and done with!¡± Pete sighs as he¡¯s being manhandled, and the gentleness filling his eyes is killing Vegas. ¡°You may not want me anymore, but I want you very much. I¡¯m so damn in love with you, I will just make you fall in love with me again.¡± Nonono. Everything is derailing fast. Vegas is floundering. He stares at Pete and feels a towering wave of complicated emotions building up within him. It scares him. If only he¡¯d had less to drink, then he¡¯d be able to think of a way to gain the upper hand. Right now he seems to be on the losing side of this argument. Can this even be called an argument? ¡°I¡¯m no longer attracted to you,¡± he insists forcefully. ¡°The spark¡¯s gone, snuffed out. Want me to prove it to you?¡± And not waiting for an answer, he yanks Pete in, pressing his closed lips to his mouth. See? Nothing there. All dead. Might as well be kissing a fish¡­ ¡­ Whoosh¡­ ¡­ Ignition¡­ Well, so much for that. Kissing a fish? How about an electric eel? The static shock of the lip contact makes Vegas¡¯ toes curl, and seems to fry every single of his remaining braincells. All coherent thoughts disappear. Vegas.exe is temporarily offline, sorry. Pete gasps, pleasantly surprised, but Vegas is already pressing him against the car, grabbing him by the hair, desperately deepening the kiss. More more more! It¡¯s been months, he needs his fix badly. He¡¯s already drunk, but kissing Pete is increasing his intoxication tenfold. More more more! Can¡¯t get enough of this, need more! He sucks, licks and bites, giving Pete and himself hardly a chance to breathe between the frantic kissing. Performance issues? Think again. That must have been a bad dream, because Vegas is instantly hard. Good Lord, Pete smells so good, he¡¯s missed this so much, he is vibrating out of his skin with need. A few valiant brain cells come back online and stage an intervention. Nonono. What is he doing? He really has no self-control, it¡¯s disgusting. This is the guy who shot him after all. Whatever! Objection overruled! Vegas¡¯ hands are already under Pete¡¯s t-shit, he¡¯s getting high on skin contact. Vegas is high as a kite, high on Pete, he wants him so damn much, body and soul. Pete shudders and gasps breathlessly, and for a moment Vegas has the feeling that something is amiss. Whatever! They have a car, they have a backseat, he wants Pete right here and now. ¡°Vegas¡­¡± Pete is panting, trying to catch his breath while keeping Vegas from opening the car door. ¡°Stop it. You¡¯ve got to stop.¡± Stop? No, he doesn¡¯t want to stop, he hasn¡¯t even started yet. Vegas breath catches and he just shuts Pete up by french-kissing him wildly. The kiss is glorious, mind-blowing¡ªand he really shouldn¡¯t be doing this because Pete is a serial killer¡ªbut he tastes so damn good. Pete shivers violently when Vegas pinches his nipples and yet he once again tries to disengage, grabbing hold of Vegas¡¯ hands. ¡°Don¡¯t. You need to stop, you don¡¯t really want to do this.¡± What is Pete even talking about? Vegas very much wants to do this, and a lot more¡ªno self-control at all, throwing all his grievances aside just to get laid, he is such a pathetic looser¡ªhe wants Pete naked in the car underneath him. ¡°What¡¯s you problem?¡± He takes a forced break from kissing, trying to catch his breath, he¡¯s feeling dizzy. ¡°Is it because I¡¯m drunk? Never mind that, it¡¯s okay, I¡¯m not that drunk, I know what I am doing.¡± Pete¡¯s lower lip is bleeding, Vegas must have bitten it too hard. But before Vegas can lean in to lick the wound, Pete shakes his head and presses his hand against Vegas¡¯ chest, keeping him at a distance. ¡°You don¡¯t want this, just stop.¡± Vegas takes a shuddering breath. His body is buzzing with desire, this must be what it¡¯s like to be under the influence of an aphrodisiac. Pete tends to have that effect on him. He can feel his breathing turning more erratic. He really wants Pete badly. Vegas swallows convulsively and inhales sharply again. ¡°What do you want? Consent? Is this enthusiastic enough consent to you?¡± Vegas grabs Pete¡¯s hand and presses it against his raging erection. With a startled hiss, Pete yanks his hand back. His eyes are impossibly dark. He looks truly tormented, and Vegas can¡¯t understand what his problem is. ¡°Damn it, please stop Vegas. I know you think you want this, but you¡¯re not in the right frame of mind for taking it any further. Let¡¯s just stop and go home, okay?¡± ¡°What are you even talking about?! I want to fuck you, why are you making this so complicated! I really want this!¡± Vegas shouts in Pete¡¯s face amidst short gasping breaths, surprising himself with that outburst. ¡°If you want this so much, then why are you crying?¡± Pete counters quietly, shocking Vegas into silence. Crying? Who is crying? His breath hitches again. What is Pete talking about? Vegas is fine, just fine. He¡¯s a bit dizzy because he¡¯s drunk, that¡¯s all. His vision blurs for a moment. Confused, he rubs his eyes, finding them wet. His cheeks are wet too. Crying? Really? He gasps convulsively again, no wait, he¡¯s sniffling¡­? And then Vegas unravels¡­ He tries to take a deep breath to hold it all in, but instead a choked sob escapes, the first of many. Everything wells all up all at once. Vegas scrunches up his face, but no matter how many times he wipes them away, the tears are flowing freely now. He hiccups between sobs, his nose is running too, it¡¯s disgusting, but stopping it is beyond his control. Vegas looks at the blurred image of Pete before him and it all bursts out. ¡°¡­ You shot me¡­¡± And now that he has started, he can¡¯t seem to stop. ¡°¡­ You shot me¡­¡± Pete¡¯s eyes widen in alarm, this sudden meltdown is taking him by surprise. ¡°You shot me¡­¡± Vegas hiccups. ¡°I told you that I love you, and you just looked at me and shot me¡­¡± So many tears. He thought he had processed the trauma, but it seems he was wrong. ¡°Why?¡­ Why did you shoot me? I love you so much and you shot me¡­ Why? How could you do this to me?¡­¡± He pauses to wipe his nose on his sleeve¡ªnot that it helps much. ¡°Why me?¡­ What have I done to deserve this? Why are you doing all this to me?¡­ I don¡¯t understand¡­ How could you do this to me?¡­ What did I do to you to deserve this?¡­ I love you and you tried to kill me¡­¡± Blindly, he hits his chest because his heart aches so badly. ¡°Why me?¡­ You knew¡­ You knew exactly why I didn¡¯t want to fall for you¡­ and you pursued me anyway. And then you shot me¡­ Oh God¡­ I just don¡¯t understand¡­¡± Arms wrap around him tightly; Pete has stepped forward and is now hugging the sobbing Vegas hard. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m so damn sorry,¡± he mumbles into Vegas¡¯ ear, over and over again. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry for everything.¡± ¡°¡­Is this revenge for something?¡­ Did I arrest someone you know?¡­ Is this because of my family?¡­ What did I do to deserve to be treated like this?¡­¡± The hug is nice, but can¡¯t console Vegas right now. He rests his head against Pete¡¯s shoulder, his tears and snot soaking into Pete¡¯s t-shirt. ¡°I was so damn happy¡­ and it was all a lie¡­ You lied about everything¡­ even about falling in love with me¡­ it was all a damn lie and it hurts so much¡­¡± ¡°Tell me how to fix this, Vegas.¡± Holding him tightly, Pete sounds desperate, totally out of his depth. ¡°I don¡¯t know what to do. I just want to make your pain stop. Seeing you like this makes me upset. I don¡¯t understand what you want me to do! Tell me how to fix it, I can¡¯t stand seeing you fall apart like this.¡± But Vegas has no clue how to fix this situation. He is drunk and unbelievably sad because falling in love with the wrong person has turned his life into a total mess. ¡°¡­ And why does it have to be you?¡­ Why do you have to be the killer?¡­ All these people¡­ you killed all these people¡­ and I¡¯m a cop¡­ you kill people and I shouldn¡¯t love you¡­ but I still do¡­¡± ¡°Don¡¯t cry, Vegas, please don¡¯t cry,¡± Pete murmurs, and awkwardly rubs Vegas¡¯ back. ¡°I love you too. If you tell me how, I will make things right again. You just need to teach me. All of this is so new to me, I don¡¯t know what I am supposed to do to help you deal with everything.¡± ¡°¡­How am I supposed to ever trust you again?¡­¡± Vegas asks him between hiccups and sniffles. ¡°¡­You keep lying to me¡­ I don¡¯t know what the truth is anymore¡­ You¡¯re just as bad as my family¡­ everyone is using me as a pawn¡­¡± Pete is nuzzling his hair. Vegas can sense how anxious he is. Like a coiled spring, all his muscles are tense and hard, and at the same time he¡¯s still desperately trying to soothe Vegas. ¡°I swear, no more games. You¡¯re too important to me. Just give me another chance, Vegas. Trust me just a tiny little bit, I beg you.¡± Vegas slips his arms around Pete¡¯s waist and sobs quietly against his shoulder. Of course he will give him another chance¡ªVegas is so self-destructive that he would cheerfully run into a burning building together with this man. Trust is another matter though; he doesn¡¯t know when or if he will ever trust Pete again. But love is love, he might as well break the norm some more by loving a serial killer. God knows he tried not to, but he has failed miserably. Thankfully the staff parking area is deserted; people are not venturing back here. They use the front of the alleyway on their way back and forth to the Hum Bar. Pete and Vegas have the privacy they need back here, which is good because it takes a while before Vegas begins to calm down again. ¡°Do you feel a bit better now?¡± Pete asks him softly, wiping the tear stains and snot away from Vegas¡¯ face with a tissue. ¡°Let me take you home, you must be exhausted.¡± Yes, Vegas feels exhausted. But at the same time, this outburst was long overdue, and with it, a great heavy load seems to have disappeared from his shoulders. He sways slightly while Pete cleans him up and gives him a nod. ¡°Home sounds good.¡± And then he has to ask again, just to reassure himself. ¡°Like superglue?¡± The psychopathic killer he¡¯s so desperately in love with gives him a charming, dimpled smile and nods. ¡°Like superglue, I promise.¡±
Home is where the heart is. Vegas wakes up and it¡¯s still dark outside. For a moment, he feels disoriented. Still stuck in the safe house? Was everything a dream? He¡¯s lying on his side, snuggled against a source of heat he seems to be entangled with, and it¡¯s so cozy that he doesn¡¯t want to move. Vegas has a strong sense of deja v¨². He has a flashback to another night, of Pete sitting here in bed with him in the dark, reading quietly while keeping an eye on him. Or was that a dream too? Well, this right here is definitely not a dream, he can feel someone stroking his hair gently¡­ Pete¡­ Pete is back. Everything is once again how it is supposed to be, and Vegas feels at peace for the first time in a very long time. ¡°Have we done this before?¡± he asks, his voice heavy with sleep. ¡°Did I wake you? I¡¯m sorry. Go back to sleep, Vegas.¡± The man he is curled up against stops stroking his hair and Vegas can hear the smile in his voice. How did he get here again? Oh, yes, now he remembers. Pete brought him home, helped him change, and then put him to bed. He must have fallen asleep instantly. Vegas yawns and stretches, briefly contemplates going back to sleep and decides against it. ¡°I don¡¯t think I can fall asleep again. Why don¡¯t you get me some coffee? And then we should talk.¡± Pete tenses, Vegas can feel his muscles going taunt. ¡°I think we should wait with that. You still have a lot of alcohol in your bloodstream, we should wait until you are entirely sober.¡± So reasonable and casual, but Vegas hears the alarm in his voice. ¡°Let¡¯s just get this over with.¡± Reluctantly, Vegas disentangles his arms and legs. He really doesn¡¯t want to let go but he doesn¡¯t just need coffee, he needs a bathroom visit as well. Now that his eyes have adjusted to the darkness, he can vaguely see Pete¡¯s worried face. ¡°Cheer up, Sunshine, I¡¯m not going to kick you out again.¡± But that doesn¡¯t seem to reassure Pete at all. ¡°No, you will probably throw me out of the window this time¡­¡± he mutters gloomily. ¡°Seriously¡­ do we need to do this now?¡± He pauses and gives Vegas a hesitant glance. ¡°I don¡¯t know how to feel about this, I think I¡¯m worried. And I don¡¯t like feeling like this.¡± ¡°One more reason to have this talk now. Then we can both stop worrying about unpleasant emotions. Now go and get me a large cup of coffee.¡± Trying to sound upbeat and encouraging, Vegas rolls to the side and gets up, heading for the bathroom. They really need to talk, but Vegas is nearly as unenthusiastic as Pete about it. They need to talk, and yet he dreads it. So many questions that need answers, and so many answers he¡¯s going to hate. This is going to be difficult. And damn, he has a headache. Before leaving the bathroom again Vegas swallows some painkillers and drinks water, taking the opportunity to splash his face with cold water. True, he isn¡¯t entirely sober. Hopefully the coffee will keep him alert. And so he goes back to the bedroom, and after a brief moment of hesitation, goes to sit on the floor, waiting for Pete. The bed is too soft. Also, he doesn¡¯t want to get distracted, and Pete in a bed is always very distracting. ¡°Not the bed?¡± Pete looks surprised when he enters the bedroom with two large, steaming coffee mugs in his hands. The night is slowly giving way to dawn. In the twilight Vegas gets a better look at him and once again his heart happily skips a beat. Honestly, no one should be allowed to look this good so early in the morning. Pete with his hair all ruffled, and that inexplicable air of danger surrounding him despite his innocent demeanour, is enough to make Vegas want to eat him alive. Vegas has to clear his throat, which has suddenly gone dry. ¡°The floor is better for this.¡± He pats the space beside him. ¡°Sit down.¡± Soon they are both seated, quietly sipping their coffee. Vegas sneaks a peek at Pete who is managing pretty well to hide his nervousness, but he can see how white Pete¡¯s knuckles are holding on to the coffee mug. Okay, this isn¡¯t going to work if he has to look at Pete, and so Vegas shuffles around until he is back to back with him. Much better. He leans against Pete, spine against spine, and sighs. ¡°Why did you do that?¡± Pete wonders quietly, and adds, with a hint of insecurity, ¡°You can¡¯t stand looking at me?¡± ¡°I need to be able to think, and looking at you when you¡¯re a delightful mess is interfering with that ability to think,¡± Vegas replies drily and takes a sip of his coffee. He falls silent because he doesn¡¯t know where and how to start. Hopefully he won¡¯t have another meltdown. This is not going to be an easy talk. ¡°No more lies, all right?¡± ¡°¡­ Vegas¡­?¡± Pete asks him hesitantly in a small voice. And just like that, Vegas knows where to start. ¡°I don¡¯t even know your real name,¡± he points out quietly. ¡°I think I have a right to know that, don¡¯t you?¡± Again, he feels Pete¡¯s muscles tense up all over. He can sense even his most minute movement, every single breath, since they are leaning against each other. The silence stretches and Vegas is starting to think that getting answers out of this man will be nearly impossible, but then Pete speaks up. ¡°I wish I could tell you, but I don¡¯t know my birth name either,¡± he elaborates further, sensing Vegas¡¯ startled surprise. ¡°I¡¯ve had so many names, I simply don¡¯t remember. Every time I was handed off to another adult I got a new name, depending on what con they were running. Sometimes I changed names a few times per week. I¡¯ve tried to remember, but every time I think that this is it, this must be my real name, I eventually discover an even earlier memory, and yet another name.¡± ¡°Oh¡­¡± Vegas is slightly stunned hearing this. And truth to be told, he¡¯s also surprised that Pete is actually telling him all this. Doubt raises its ugly head. Maybe this is just another one of his lies. ¡°I think I must have been very young when I was separated from my parents,¡± Pete continues thoughtfully. ¡°I have no memories of calling anyone ¡®Mom¡¯ or ¡®Dad¡¯. I had a lot of ¡®Uncles¡¯ and ¡®Aunties¡¯, but I doubt we were actually related. It¡¯s a mess of different faces and voices, I can¡¯t make sense of it. So if you don¡¯t mind too much, I would like to keep my current name since I¡¯ve gotten very attached to the way you call me ¡®Pete¡¯.¡± Vegas can¡¯t imagine calling him by any other name either. He nods. ¡°Fine with me.¡± They¡¯ve barely started scraping on the surface of Pete¡¯s background, and already Vegas feels shocked. His own family is far from perfect, but at least he has a family. To be constantly moved around like this as a small child¡­ no wonder Pete is all messed up. ¡°Since you want to keep this name, I assume the real owner of the name is¡­ deceased?¡± This is a more neutral way to phrase it than outright accusing Pete of killing him. Stolen story; please report. Vegas can feel how Pete takes a deep breath. It doesn¡¯t escape him that this whole situation is absurd; he is a cop and here he is chatting amiably with his serial killer boyfriend. ¡°I promised you no more lies. Do you really want me to answer this question truthfully, Vegas?¡± Pete asks him warily. ¡°Yes please.¡± He needs to know what he is getting into, now that he has decided that he can¡¯t live without this madman. The whole, damn ugly truth. Vegas wants it all. ¡°All right. Yes, I killed him back in the USA, when he was still studying there. It was a clean shot to the head, he didn¡¯t have to suffer.¡± He might as well be discussing the weather; Pete¡¯s voice is entirely emotionless and unconcerned. Vegas can¡¯t help it¡ªhe shudders slightly and immediately notices how Pete reacts with even more tension. They¡¯re so damn attuned to each other that Vegas knows in which direction Pete¡¯s thoughts must be going. ¡°Listen up, Sunshine, it¡¯s not that this is news to me, so stop fretting. The second I found out about your stolen identity, I knew deep down that the real Pete must be dead. It¡¯s just difficult to hear it out loud. I¡¯m still a cop, I need a moment to take it in. But I¡¯m not about to run out of this room and out of your life. Superglue, remember?¡± ¡°Superglue,¡± Pete repeats quietly, but still appears very unsettled about this conversation. ¡°So you killed him. Why?¡± Vegas is genuinely curious about that. He¡¯s trying to understand Pete¡¯s motivation, the way he thinks. Pete clears his throat. ¡°Vegas¡­ Do you really want to know all this? I find it very difficult, talking to you about everything so openly. You won¡¯t like what I have to say, and then you¡¯ll get upset with me all over again. I feel¡­ I don¡¯t know, I can¡¯t explain it¡­ this is making me anxious¡­ I don¡¯t like this.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not going to run away,¡± Vegas insists. ¡°But I don¡¯t think you can deal with the whole truth, Vegas. You think you¡¯ll be fine, but you feel way too strongly about being a cop. Hearing everything will put a lot of emotional pressure on you. Don¡¯t you think it would be better if you just continue pretending that I¡¯m a harmless psychologist?¡± God knows Vegas would like to do that very much. But just as his therapist said, he can¡¯t run away from this his whole life. Being in denial hasn¡¯t worked so well for him in the past. ¡°Why did you kill the real Pete?¡± he asks again. Pete swallows hard. ¡°Very well. I killed him because he was at the wrong place at the wrong time. I ran into him at the university cafeteria, we made small talk and he was enthusiastically talking about going home to Thailand for a visit, and how happy he was about almost done with his psychology degree. It made me want to go back to Thailand too. I suddenly felt homesick. For that I would need a new identity, and that new identity was sitting right in front of me. Besides, being a psychologist sounded like fun. A challenge. I remember being very bored at that time. And so I killed him.¡± Pete shrugs, as if this isn¡¯t a huge matter at all. Holy shit. ¡°I see.¡± Vegas thinks he manages to sound normal, even though he¡¯s feeling very cold inside. He automatically takes a sip of his coffee and notices that it¡¯s only lukewarm. ¡°Was that the first time you killed and stole someones identity?¡± Then he immediately stops and corrects himself. ¡°Don¡¯t answer that, I¡¯m not ready for a deep dive into that rabbit hole yet. Let¡¯s stick to the stuff I know for now. So you returned to Thailand and went into private practice. Why on earth would you then change jobs and start working for the police?¡± Again, Pete shrugs. ¡°I get bored easily. Working as a therapist was fun, you wouldn¡¯t believe the sort of people you get to meet. All of them are incredibly easy to manipulate. I read a few books until I got reasonably good at faking it. It was enjoyable for a while. If I hadn¡¯t met Tawan I would probably have changed jobs sooner. He provided some much needed entertainment and helped me tie up some loose ends for this identity. But then it got boring again, he was so damn clingy.¡± Vegas listens silently, feeling all cold and numb. He has trouble wrapping his mind around it; this is the love of his life talking casually about killing and manipulating people. Pete, his little ray of sunshine. Well, he¡¯s more like a ray of death it seems. Crap. Pete was right, he¡¯s finding this very difficult to listen to. ¡°Go on¡­¡± ¡°I needed a challenge. It was either changing identities again or upping the ante. When I saw that the police was hiring, I jumped at the chance. I think I pulled it off pretty well, didn¡¯t I? No one suspected a thing. Once I faked the credentials and changed the entries in the databases, it was stupidly easy.¡± Pete cannot help but chuckle softly; Vegas feels his shoulders shaking with mirth. ¡°Bloody hell,¡± Vegas says quietly, and Pete immediately goes still again, on guard. ¡°Let me remind you that these are real people you are ¡®playing¡¯ with. My colleagues to be exact. Who have often been through a shitload of trauma before they are sent to the department¡¯s psychologist. You really think being their fake therapist is funny?!¡± There is a moment of silence. Pete¡¯s subsequent answer sends a chill down Vegas¡¯ spine. ¡°Honestly? All that trauma, all these emotions¡­ Funny? No¡­ It¡¯s thrilling. With just a few, well-chosen words I can either relieve their pain, or I can break them. The power I¡¯m wielding¡­ It¡¯s such a fucking thrill.¡± Vegas has to swallow hard. He¡¯s looking into the Abyss, and he doesn¡¯t like what he sees. ¡°Do I even want to know why you decided to be my therapist?¡± he asks hoarsely. He already knows the answer is going to hurt like hell. ¡°I saw your file, and I knew you would break beautifully,¡± Pete whispers quietly, almost reverently. Damn, yes that hurts. ¡°You bastard,¡± Vegas mumbles under his breath. The betrayal is like a dagger to his barely healed heart; this is exactly why he didn¡¯t want to look at Pete while talking. This is the man he loves, and he has a very ugly, cruel side. ¡°Turns out you were right, you really broke me. At times I thought I would never be able to pick up all the pieces again.¡± ¡°And yet here you are. You¡¯re a lot more resilient than you think you are. Besides, the rules changed mid-game, Vegas. You changed the game and made everything complicated. You made me feel so many things I never felt before, and as a result everything that should have been easy and smooth turned into a chaotic mess,¡± Pete explains. Not for the first time Vegas laments his boyfriend¡¯s lack of empathy in certain matters. ¡°Seriously, are you even listening to what you¡¯re saying, Pete? You¡¯re blaming me for messing up your plan because of your unexpected feelings for me? Look in the mirror, you were the one who started everything. You went after me, not the other way around. None of this is my fault.¡± The nerve¡­ Vegas needs to calm down; getting angry right now will not get them anywhere. ¡°So once I was assigned to you for my therapy sessions, you looked at my file and decided to have a bit of fun?¡± Damn, it¡¯s difficult to keep the bitterness from his voice. ¡°Actually, I read through all the personal files in my first week on the job. Incidentally, yours is quite large. I had a feeling you would be perfect entertainment, especially when I saw your family name. So I did a bit of research into your background, followed you around for a while. And that was all long before you had that little violent outburst that nearly killed your victim. Beautifully done, by the way. I saw the photos of the guy you beat to a pulp, and I knew you would be special.¡± ¡°Christ¡­¡± Vegas takes a deep breath, because turning around to smash his fists into Pete¡¯s face would be detrimental to their conversation. ¡°So you stalked me even before our first meeting. Fucking great¡­¡± ¡°Vegas Theerapanyakul. Mafia heir turned cop, the black sheep of his family, with a whole bag of issues. You were practically begging to unravel.¡± He can feel Pete shrug again. ¡°You know it¡¯s true, don¡¯t blame me for saying it. I just wasn¡¯t prepared to be so attracted to you. That really threw me off, but I figured it was just a temporary glitch.¡± Vegas remembers that meeting very well. So he was a glitch, huh? Must not hit him, really must not hit him¡­ ¡°Your buttons are very easy to identify and push, Vegas. It was such a delight triggering you again and again. Why do you think I was wearing all these hideous shirts? Or decorating the office? You should have seen your face, it was really priceless¡­¡± And again, these memories make Pete chuckle softly. ¡°What a damn shame I wasn¡¯t around to see your reaction to that first crime scene I gifted you. I should have installed a webcam to stream it all.¡± A gifted crime scene¡­ a webcam¡­ Good grief. The asshole is totally unapologetic. Vegas blames himself for getting Pete started. Now he has to listen to all of this in horrified silence. Then something else occurs to him. ¡°You murdered him exactly as you played it out during that little role playing session of ours, didn¡¯t you? You stalked me, saw me talking to Beam and then you decided to kill him¡­¡± ¡°I don¡¯t like you having one-night-stands. I think that¡¯s when everything really started to glitch. You went and fucked him and I shouldn¡¯t have cared, but I did. I don¡¯t like other people playing with my toys.¡± Vegas slams his palm on the floor. ¡°I¡¯m not a damn toy!¡± Pete tsks. ¡°Back then you were one, Vegas. And yes, I killed him just like we role played it. That session only made the glitch worse by the way¡­ When you stormed out of the room I nearly went after you. You have no idea how confusing this was¡ªI really didn¡¯t understand why I had to be so attracted to you, since it was messing with the game.¡± The game¡­ It had all just been a fucking game to Pete¡ªVegas is fuming, but then again, he suspected this already. ¡°It was you who picked me up when I was high, wasn¡¯t it? After that bar fight? I vaguely seem to remember you being there, but I always thought that was just a dream.¡± That damn bar fight¡­ and also¡­ Vegas groans. ¡°The nail gun incident was you as well.¡± ¡°Of course. It¡¯s one thing for you to go on an idiotic, drug-induced self-harming spree, but no one else has the right to damage what is mine. Those fucking idiots deserved what they got,¡± Pete tells him sharply. ¡°And I was so pissed off with you as well. You made everything go wrong. It got progressively worse and worse after you carted me home from the Hum Bar that night.¡± No way¡­ ¡°You were faking being drunk?!¡± Okay, this really pisses Vegas off. ¡°Do you even know what you put me through that evening?! And you weren¡¯t even really drunk?!¡± ¡°I was drunk enough, just not as much as I made you believe. It was all part of the game, Vegas, but I underestimated your effect on me. You think if I had let you fuck me back then everything would have turned out differently?¡± Pete muses thoughtfully, seemingly completely unaware of how angry Vegas is right now. Vegas wants to wring his neck. That night¡­ good grief¡­ the willpower it took not to give in and have his way with drunken Pete¡­ He was already falling for Pete that night, and to hear him talk so casually and totally unaffected about it truly hurts. ¡°You¡¯re such an asshole,¡± Vegas says quietly. ¡°Are you even aware of what you are doing right now? You¡¯re telling me that while I was falling in love with you, everything that happened back then was just a fucking game to you, and that you were faking it all, just playing the role of the sweet little psychologist. I think you should stop for a moment and consider how this is making me feel.¡± Pete takes a little startled breath and goes very still. ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­?¡± he says hesitantly, sounding very unsure of himself for once. ¡°I messed up again, didn¡¯t I?¡± ¡°You sure did, Sunshine,¡± Vegas informs him grimly. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Pete repeats hastily, and Vegas can feel the nervous tension in his body. ¡°I¡¯ll try to do better. This isn¡¯t exactly easy for me, I¡¯m still learning how you want me to react.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want you to fake it, I want you to experience genuine compassion; I want real empathy from you for what I have been going through.¡± This is probably too much to ask for, but Vegas needs to voice this request nevertheless. ¡°¡­ I¡­¡± Pete swallows hard. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you mean¡­ What I¡¯m trying to say is that of course I know what you want from me¡­ it¡¯s simply that there¡¯s such a mess inside me, I¡¯m having trouble identifying all these emotions, I¡¯m just not accustomed to this. I never used to feel anything like this before I met you, it¡¯s confusing as hell.¡± Vegas¡¯ heart aches for both of them. Yes, just as he expected, this relationship is not going to be a walk in the park. ¡°I¡¯ll give you a brownie point for trying to make me understand, Pete. We¡¯ll figure this out together, okay?¡± All of this is giving him a fresh headache, but he has so many more questions that need answers. ¡°Why on earth did you kill that Main family bodyguard?¡± ¡°Oh, him?¡± Once again, Pete shrugs his shoulders. ¡°I was curious about your extended family and then got sloppy. He wasn¡¯t even supposed to be there. He was supposed to be on vacation, but that idiot was hanging around your younger cousin anyway. I swear, your family and their bodyguards¡­ are they all romantically involved or pining after one another? It¡¯s worse than a soap opera! Anyway¡­ He caught me snooping around, so I improvised and snatched him.¡± Alarm echoes through Vegas. He does not want Pete anywhere near his family. He makes a mental note to set up some rules regarding this later. ¡°He was a hard nut to crack,¡± Pete informs him cheerfully, talking with more enthusiasm now. ¡°In the end I was glad I picked him; he was a challenge but so worth it. Acting all tough in the beginning but that changed pretty quickly once I started peeling the skin off. Must be a bodyguard thing, this resilience to pain. He suffered beautifully, hanging on far longer than I anticipated¡­¡± Vegas is hit by a visual flashback to the sea of red flowers, the flayed remains tied to the concrete pillar and the smell of burned meat heavy in the air, and suddenly he can¡¯t breathe. His heart starts beating frantically. ¡­Oh God¡­ Oh God¡­ ¡°Vegas?¡± Pete stops talking. He seems to sense that something is wrong. Breathe in. Hold breath. Breathe out. Hold breath. Vegas is trying his best to get himself back under control before this turns into a fully fledged panic attack. Oh God¡­ Oh God¡­ That horrible crime scene¡­ and it was Pete who did all that¡­ Oh God¡­ Oh God¡­ ¡°¡­Stop¡­¡± Vegas wheezes, every breath is an effort right now, but he¡¯s making progress, he will not be falling apart. ¡°Stop¡­ you¡¯re freaking me out¡­¡± Now it¡¯s Pete¡¯s turn to be alarmed. ¡°Vegas? Are you okay?¡± He reaches behind him, gets hold of Vegas¡¯ hand, and squeezes it tightly. ¡°Should we stop this talk? Do you need help?¡± Vegas shakes his head and concentrates on his breathing exercises. Holding Pete¡¯s hand helps, it grounds him. Absurd really, after all it was Pete who triggered this anxiety attack. Those damn flowers. Vegas is never going to get over that crime scene, never. He inhales and exhales, just concentrating on that for a while, pushing everything else aside until the panic has died down again. ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­¡± Pete sounds equally confused and upset. ¡°You said I should be honest, but look what me talking about all this is doing to you¡­ You should have just told me to shut up earlier if you can¡¯t handle it.¡± ¡°But we need to talk about this,¡± Vegas insists tiredly. Having an almost-panic-attack is exhausting, he feels like shit now. ¡°And you get upset when I react in a negative way. I don¡¯t know how to communicate my distress without freaking you out. You make me feel as if you¡¯re taking it way too personal, as if I¡¯m not allowed to react negatively.¡± Before his inner eye, Vegas can almost see his therapist looking up from her knitting and nodding approvingly. See, he actually learned something useful during his therapy sessions. Pete withdraws his hand, and Vegas feels as if there¡¯s an insurmountable chasm between them. Okay, so maybe he isn¡¯t channeling his inner therapist correctly yet. ¡°I don¡¯t know what parts you expect me to censor, Vegas. If I don¡¯t tell you everything, you¡¯ll accuse me of withholding information. If I tell you everything, you freak out. I don¡¯t understand the signals you¡¯re sending. This right here is exactly what I mean when I talk about glitches. Well, amongst other things. It¡¯s so damn confusing, I¡¯m feeling¡­ something¡­ I just don¡¯t know what it is¡­ all I know is that it¡¯s stressing me out.¡± ¡°Well shit, maybe we both need to go to therapy together.¡± Vegas sighs, because right now he doesn¡¯t have a solution for this specific problem. It was a joke of course, he can hardly introduce Pete to his therapist; that would be the death of her. ¡°How about we try and find a way to let me know when I need to dial it down? We could implement a traffic light system perhaps?¡± Pete suggests tentatively. ¡°Huh?¡± Vegas is confused. ¡°I have no idea what you¡¯re talking about right now.¡± The concept sounds vaguely familiar but he cannot recall where he heard about it before. Pete tries to explain his idea. ¡°Simple colour-coding, Vegas. If I¡¯m unsure about how you¡¯re handling things, I ask you for a colour. ¡®Green¡¯ means everything¡¯s fine. ¡®Yellow¡¯ means that you are starting to feel uncomfortable, that we¡¯re getting into territory you¡¯re unsure you can handle. And ¡®Red¡¯ means ¡®Stop, back off immediately!¡¯ This might make communication between us much easier. You won¡¯t have to fumble for words, worrying that you¡¯ll offend me, and I can easily check if you¡¯re okay just by asking for a colour.¡± And since Vegas is still silent, Pete adds another explanation. ¡°I read about this in one of my psychology books I think, so this is a legit way to handle problems like this. How about we give it a try?¡± Sounds perfectly reasonable. And then it suddenly clicks; Vegas remembers where he heard about this before and turns his head, giving Pete an incredulous look. ¡°Psychology books, my ass. That¡¯s a BDSM safe word system.¡± Pete tenses up immediately and Vegas sighs. ¡°Don¡¯t fret, it doesn¡¯t matter. Fine, I am willing to try anything at this point. I¡¯m all green, and I have another question. Are you ready for it?¡± It takes a moment before Vegas feels the tension draining out of Pete again. They¡¯re still sitting back to back. The early morning light filtering into the room through the window is turning everything grey, just as morally grey as Vegas is feeling right now. ¡°Sure, go ahead.¡± Pete sighs too. He must be tired, since he¡¯s kept an eye on Vegas the whole night. ¡°You purposefully antagonised the guy who saw you kill the bodyguard, didn¡¯t you? Freaking him out on purpose and then cornering him until he was so stressed that he accidentally fell off the roof?¡± ¡°If you¡¯ve figured it out already, why do you ask me?¡± Pete replies with no emotion whatsoever in his voice. ¡°Actually, this is a perfect example of what you can achieve by simply pressing the right buttons at the right time. It was so damn easy to make him freak out completely.¡± ¡°You¡¯re insane, he nearly shot you!¡± Vegas can¡¯t help pointing out. ¡°It¡¯s a miracle that none of those bullets hit you!¡± ¡°His hands were shaking so badly, I figured that risk was worth taking.¡± Pete shrugs dismissively. ¡°Everything went according to plan, but then you completely freaked out, overwhelming me with your worry. I really thought I had it all under control, but the way you looked at me in that moment¡­ I don¡¯t know¡­ no one has ever been so worried about me. I think my brain must have stopped functioning for a moment, and then you were already kissing me.¡± Their first kiss. Vegas sighs deeply. ¡°You¡¯re ruining all my precious memories, Pete. I really wish you could have figured out your feelings a bit earlier. That kiss was really special to me, and to you it was just a glitch in your masterplan? Man, this really sucks¡­¡± ¡°Sorry¡­?¡± Pete at least has the grace to sound genuinely apologetic. ¡°I don¡¯t know, maybe I was falling for you even back then, but I just can¡¯t be sure. You have a tendency to confuse me and make me act totally out of character. Is that part of falling in love? Acting all irrationally? I don¡¯t normally jump off a roof just to prove my point, you know?¡± The roof. The roof reminds him of Tem. Another change of topic, this one straight into dangerous territory. Vegas tenses up all over. Looks like they are going to talk about Tem now, and he knows he¡¯ll get upset. ¡°Speaking of which¡­ What actually happened that night when Tem kidnapped you? I¡¯m pretty sure you manipulated him in some way, but I would like to hear the whole truth for once. And Pete¡­ This is a bright yellow question, so you better choose your words wisely.¡± Vegas can feel Pete fidget, shifting his sitting position a little. ¡°Ah yes¡­ Tem¡­¡± He hesitates, and when he continues his voice is carefully controlled, not giving away any emotions. ¡°Tem signed his death warrant the second he kissed you on that roof. The pining I was willing to tolerate¡ªhim making a move on you crossed the line. But since you were so attached to him, I figured it wouldn¡¯t be a good idea for me to outright kill him. Then you would surely never forgive me.¡± Again he pauses, then asks cautiously ¡°Give me a colour?¡± Vegas grits his teeth. ¡°Green,¡± he whispers, and crosses his arms, as if that helps protect him from what he¡¯s hearing. ¡°Go on. And don¡¯t lie this time.¡± Pete is leaning slightly away from him. ¡°I knew something was off when he took a leave of absence. I was aware he¡¯d been shadowing me a few times already, right after the incident in the office. But when he disappeared, I was instantly on guard. Then he triggered the alerts I set on various sites when he started to look into my background.¡± Pete can¡¯t help but snort softly with disdain. ¡°Bloody amateur. He should have known better as a police officer; come to think of it he was a really lousy cop¡­¡± ¡°Yellow,¡± Vegas warns him sharply, and he can hear Pete¡¯s breath quicken. When he resumes, Pete sounds subdued, but Vegas thinks he can detect an edge of resentment in his voice. ¡°Anyway, he triggered the alerts so I was aware that he had found out about my fake identity. I figured he would make a move sooner or later, so I picked an appropriate time and then led him to Pete¡¯s former home. You should have seen his face when he walked into the greenhouse and saw the flowers¡­ wow¡­ he really freaked out. I could follow it all on a webcam, I think I even have it on tape somewhere¡­¡± Then he catches himself again, before getting too enthusiastic once more. Why am I doing this to myself? Vegas doesn¡¯t understand himself. He also tries to see Pete¡¯s side but it¡¯s so totally alien to him, it¡¯s impossible. Setting up cameras to capture someone¡¯s reaction to them finding out that the person they know is a serial killer? Not to mention taking great joy in coming up with truly nightmarish scenarios to kill people? No, he just cannot understand it. Fuck. ¡°He went straight to my place, calling me down to the parking garage under the pretext that there was a fresh crime scene and that both of you were waiting to take me there by car. I knew it was a lie, so I made sure to have the phone in my pocket, ready to call you, before I went down.¡± Pete hesitates again. ¡°Truth to be told, it was rather exciting. I was wondering how far he would take it. So when I came down to the car, you were of course nowhere in sight, instead it was just Tem, and boy, he was upset big time. He threw my fake identity in my face right away, accusing me of lying about everything. I knew the connection in the garage is horrible, and that you would only be able to hear parts of the conversation. Of course I didn¡¯t know what parts you would hear, which made it pretty thrilling. When I saw that he was about to pull a gun on me, I took the phone out of my pocket so that you would be able to hear everything better, and then I disconnected the call.¡± ¡°¡­ Bloody hell¡­¡± Vegas rubs the back of his neck in distress, then runs his hands through his hair. This really is a lot to take in. It hurts. It hurts pretty badly. Everything was planned, with no consideration for his feelings whatsoever. ¡°I nearly lost my mind, I was so damn worried,¡± he whispers, completely bewildered. ¡°It didn¡¯t cross your mind at all that I would be beside myself with worry after this phone call? Not even once?¡± ¡°¡­ I¡¯m sorry¡­¡± Pete is apologising a lot today. ¡°You want the whole truth, so no¡­ I didn¡¯t think about that at all. No one has ever worried about me, you see.¡± ¡°Fuck you.¡± Vegas lets out a harsh breath. Pete¡¯s lack of empathy is starting to turn into a real problem. Can that even be fixed? Can someone learn to be more empathic? Is this how it is, being in a relationship with a psychopath? He needs to make an appointment with his therapist as soon as possible, so they can mull over the hardships of dating a serial killer. Yeah, right, not going to happen. ¡°So Tem abducted you at gunpoint? Why did he take you to that specific location then?¡± ¡°He wanted to know what I had done with the evidence missing from all the other crime scenes, and I told him I had it hidden away somewhere in that building. We had a delightful little conversation during our drive there. Tem had so many triggers it was like a minefield. He would probably also have benefitted from some therapy,¡± Pete mumbles, and Vegas can¡¯t hold back a mirthless laugh. Of course¡­ ¡°What about those damn flowers? I nearly had a heart attack when I came across them on the stairs,¡± he asks bitterly. Pete at least sounds contrite while answering that question. ¡°Tem had them in the car, I think he picked them up at the greenhouse. I took them along when he dragged me into the office building and dropped them on the way up for you to find.¡± ¡°You left them there specifically for me to find¡­?¡± Vegas flinches, shrinking away from Pete. How much more of this is he expected to take? ¡°Good grief, how could you do this to me? Pete¡­ seriously¡­¡± He is at a loss for words. Such a cruel bastard. A bright red flag. He¡¯s so freaking in love with this asshole, but still has to wonder if there¡¯s a limit to that love as well. Just how much is too much? Just how much will he allow Pete to be able to get away with? Is there a point where all this love will disappear? Where his heart will no longer be able to overrule his reason? ¡°¡­ Uhm¡­¡± Sensing that he needs to tread carefully, Pete hesitates before continuing his story. ¡°Anyway, I knew you¡¯d show up sooner or later. I knew how long it would take to drive from your apartment to that part of the city, after all I had made that trip several times before. All I had to do was to wait and push these buttons, putting him on edge. It was a calculated gamble really, he knew I had called someone, I think he was waiting for an accomplice to show up. He certainly didn¡¯t expect you.¡± ¡°It threw me off how worried you were about me when you arrived. I honestly didn¡¯t think you would get this upset, Vegas. I think I had a moment of regret right there, but I really didn¡¯t like how you kept causing me to glitch, and so I just continued with the plan.¡± Pete pauses again; Vegas can hear him swallow hard. ¡°Uhm¡­ Vegas¡­ are you sure I should continue? Because I¡¯m pretty sure you¡¯re not going to like hearing the rest of this.¡± ¡°Fucking emerald green, Sunshine,¡± Vegas whispers hoarsely. ¡°Let¡¯s hear it all. Don¡¯t hold back, I deserve to know the truth.¡± ¡°As you wish¡­¡± Pete takes a deep breath and shoulders on. ¡°Back then I didn¡¯t want you to connect all the dots just yet, and after the scene in the office where you put yourself between me and the gun, I was fairly sure how you¡¯d react in a similar situation. I had already put Tem on edge while we were waiting for your arrival¡ªI knew his biggest trigger was your relationship with me, and so I took a calculated risk and pushed that trigger, knowing that he would lash out and probably shoot me, but not fatally. Which he did.¡± Pete clears his throat nervously. ¡°I also knew that would cause your stress induced white-noise to kick in, preventing you from hearing Tem spilling the beans. And I was also reasonably sure you¡¯d rather shoot Tem than risk him killing me. And it all played out beautifully, exactly as planned¡­¡± Vegas wants to say something, but no words emerge. He suspected something like this, but hearing Pete calmly narrate his whole plan is breaking Vegas¡¯ heart all over again. ¡°You monster¡­ The moment you decided that Tem needed to die you also took the decision not to kill him yourself, but to force me do it?¡± Vegas¡¯ voice breaks at that point. He lowers his head, fighting not to dissolve into tears. ¡°I thought you loved me¡­ How could you do something so cruel to me? You made me kill my best friend!¡± Pete has gone very still. And while Vegas is still struggling to regain his composure, Pete tentatively leans back until their spines are touching again, and they can feel each other. ¡°¡­ I told you¡­¡± Pete voice is barely audible. ¡°I knew you would break beautifully¡ªand you did.¡± Son of a bitch. ¡°Red!¡± Vegas more or less shouts. ¡°Goddamn fucking red!¡± Pete freezes in place. Vegas can feel his shallow, rapid breathing; he knows Pete is stressed by his outburst, but so is he. ¡°I didn¡¯t know¡­¡± Pete scrambles, panicky, to explain everything. ¡°I didn¡¯t know I was in love with you, otherwise I would have never done this to you, I swear!¡± ¡°Bullshit!¡± Vegas starts rocking back and forth. He so deeply upset right now he has to keep himself from getting up and walking out on Pete again. ¡°You would have done the exact same thing, because you get off on breaking people. You find it thrilling!¡± ¡°Vegas¡­¡± Pete¡¯s voice is starting to tremble. ¡°Could you calm down again, please? I don¡¯t understand what you want to hear from me right now¡­ I¡¯m just following your wishes, you said I should be honest about it all¡­ and now it¡¯s all wrong again¡­ I don¡¯t understand what this is that I¡¯m feeling right now, but it is stressing me out¡­¡± He gets it, Vegas really gets it, but right now, this very moment, the only thing that counts it how he feels. He can¡¯t comfort and reassure Pete right now, he just can¡¯t. This is never going to work¡ªthat is all he can think about. This is never going to work, they¡¯re too damn different, he was an idiot to believe they would be able to find a common ground. Common ground with a serial killer? Good Lord, he must have been insane. They¡¯re not compatible! And yet¡­ His heart constricts painfully because he can feel Pete¡¯s growing distress as if it were his own. Vegas wants to run, wants to flee; he wants to protect himself from this insanity but he still feels he can¡¯t be without Pete. At this point they¡¯re so damn entangled with one another that leaving Pete amounts to suicide. It makes no sense, it¡¯s illogical, it¡¯s self-destructive. Despite all the glaring red flags, Vegas doesn¡¯t want to give up on their love, he finds himself reluctant to cut himself loose just yet. For the time being, they¡¯re in it together, for better or worse. ¡°Sometimes I really don¡¯t understand why I fell in love with someone like you,¡± he mumbles, feeling miserable. ¡°You really do believe I¡¯m a monster now, don¡¯t you?¡± Pete asks him in a small voice, and Vegas can feel how he is withdrawing again, both mentally and physically. Tiredly, Vegas reaches behind himself, taking hold of Pete¡¯s shirt, keeping him in place. ¡°We¡¯re not done yet. Fuck! You can¡¯t tell me you planned to break me for thrills, and then expect me to be all cheerful about it, Pete! Objectively speaking, you have to be aware that people will be appalled by this kind of behaviour. It is a lot to take in and come to terms with, even with me trying to be very open-minded about it.¡± ¡°I am who I am. Can¡¯t you just allow yourself to love me the way I am? Even a monster like me deserves to be loved, right?¡± Pete asks him imploringly. ¡°That¡¯s why we are here, having this conversation. I need to get to know the real you.¡± Vegas grits his teeth, because the real Pete is turning out to be truly terrifying. He stretches out his legs, and accidentally knocks over the coffee mug he¡¯d long forgotten about. Just great, another mess to deal with later on. ¡°I¡¯m still here. I¡¯ve tried not being in love with you, and it¡¯s not working. I am still here even though I know you¡¯ve killed all these people. I¡¯m still here, despite you manipulating me so cruelly. I¡¯m still here even though you shot me. I¡¯m trying, all right? I¡¯m trying not to see you as a monster, but as a human being I love.¡± Pete shrugs his shoulders with growing frustration. His muscles are so tense that it feels as if Vegas is leaning against a hot steel surface. ¡°And I am trying, too. I never talked about all of this to anyone. Ever. You¡¯re the first person to try and get to know me, the real me. This is so damn difficult for me, you have no idea¡­ No one likes the real me¡­ Why the hell do you think I¡¯m hiding my inner self away like this? None of you can cope. You won¡¯t be able to cope either, I can already see the signs.¡± There is so much desperation and frustration hidden in these words. Pete sounds increasingly upset. ¡°This whole talk was a bad idea. A really bad idea.¡± ¡°Then make me understand! Why all these games? Why on earth are you killing all these people? How many are there even? Make me understand, explain it to me.¡± Vegas can sense that Pete is shaking his head and it irritates him. ¡°No more lies, remember? Explain it to me, give me a reason for all this madness.¡± ¡°Drop it, Vegas. You¡¯re truly going to hate me. Let¡¯s just stop and postpone this talk indefinitely.¡± ¡°I want a goddamn answer, Pete!¡± In his frustration, Vegas picks up the coffee mug and hurls it against the wall where it shatters with a loud crack. Just like a gunshot, he thinks, and feels Pete flinch. ¡°Fine!¡± Pete hisses, he sounds incredibly stressed, just as stressed as Vegas is feeling right now. They¡¯re both such a mess. ¡°I kill them because I like it! I like killing them! There is nothing quite like it, nothing! It feels incredible, the rush is better than any drug, I fucking love it!¡± What is he even supposed to say in answer to this? Vegas is once again at a loss for words. He expected some sad background story, maybe physical and mental abuse, Pete lashing out because of all of his childhood trauma. He expected perhaps some sort of revenge motive, Pete killing people that serve as a placeholder for the person he is really holding a grudge against. He has read so many profiling studies lately, but none of them quite prepared him for this answer. ¡°It¡¯s like art.¡± Pete¡¯s voice has dropped to a whisper. ¡°You create something and it¡¯s so beautiful you want to weep. And you know that you are the artist, that you have created this masterpiece and you are in awe of yourself. And it feels so damn good, so intense. It takes your breath away, makes you feel alive¡­ I love it. I love this feeling. Sometimes it¡¯s all I can think about¡­¡± ¡°You really are a psychopath.¡± Vegas has found his voice again, unable to keep his shocked disbelief to himself. And of course Pete notices his shock and reacts with disappointment. ¡°I don¡¯t think I am. I¡¯m more of a high-functioning sociopath,¡± he corrects Vegas in a small voice, with a hint of rebellion. ¡°Besides, I think nowadays it¡¯s called ¡®antisocial personality disorder¡¯.¡± Vegas groans and buries his face in his hands. ¡°Whatever!¡± Word, words, these are just words. His boyfriend is killing people because he likes it, and it¡¯s freaking ¡®Vegas the Boyfriend¡¯ out. ¡®Vegas the Cop¡¯ is howling in outrage. Somehow, he needs to get these two versions of himself on the same page, and he has no idea how to do this. ¡°Please don¡¯t hate me, Vegas?¡± Pete leans back against him, his voice sounding very brittle. ¡°Please don¡¯t hate me¡­ You wanted to know, so I told you¡­ You can¡¯t blame me for this, right? I¡¯m so scared that you won¡¯t be able to handle my dark side, and walk out on me.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t hate you. I wish I could because it would make everything so much easier, but I don¡¯t.¡± Vegas sighs deeply. He feels resigned. ¡°I¡¯m so fucking in love with you that I don¡¯t give a fuck at this point. You kill people? Fine, because I still can¡¯t live without you. You actually like killing people? Whatever. I¡¯ll learn how to deal with that somehow.¡± Then something else occurs to him. ¡°You think you could perhaps stop killing people?¡± Pete draws in a sharp breath. ¡°You want me to stop killing?¡± The sheer terror in his voice sends a chill through Vegas entire body. ¡°I take that as a resounding ¡®No¡¯.¡± Think, Vegas think. How can you fix this situation? The mere thought of having to process more crime scenes with Pete¡¯s ¡®art¡¯ is scaring the hell out of him. ¡°Please don¡¯t ask me to stop, Vegas.¡± And before Vegas knows what is happening, Pete has turned around. He slings his arms around Vegas, the embrace so tight that it¡¯s right on the edge of being painful. ¡°I¡¯m begging you, don¡¯t ask me to stop. If you really need me to stop in order for us to be together, I¡¯m willing to give it a try. But honestly, I don¡¯t think I can. I¡¯ll go insane, I really think I¡¯ll go insane.¡± ¡°Therapy then.¡± Vegas is grasping at straws. ¡°Have you tried therapy? Maybe that will help with the urges? It¡¯s like an addiction, right? So maybe we can deal with this just like with an addiction?¡± ¡°Why do we even have to deal with this?¡± Pete dares to object, pressing his face against Vegas¡¯ shoulder. ¡°Why do I need to be fixed? I don¡¯t feel broken. There¡¯s nothing wrong with me, I¡¯m just wired differently.¡± The heat of their bodies merges. Vegas relishes the feeling while at the same time despairing quietly. ¡°I think a lot of people would disagree with you on that. I don¡¯t think your affinity for killing is exactly normal, Pete. I knew you had a dark side, I just didn¡¯t know it was more like a bottomless black hole. Not that that changes how I feel about you. It¡¯s just difficult to adapt to that knowledge, okay?¡± ¡°I love you, Vegas. I love you just the way you are, violent outbursts and anger issues and all. Why can¡¯t you do the same with me? Love me, love this monster, love even my dark side? Stop trying to change me, just accept me.¡± Pete is nuzzling his neck, and it¡¯s very distracting. ¡°I could go and do it in another city,¡± he whispers in Vegas¡¯ ear. ¡°Or travel abroad now and then, and do it there. Wouldn¡¯t that make it so much easier for you? It wouldn¡¯t interfere with your job here either.¡± Gah! The hug is sending tiny shockwaves through his body; how is he supposed to concentrate like this? Vegas is sure Pete is doing this on purpose. Using his body as a distraction, knowing fully well how Vegas reacts to him. Such a damn manipulator. Don¡¯t do it, don¡¯t give in. But Vegas has been longing for their physical contact, the hugs and embraces, and this is like offering someone lost in the desert a glass of water. Maybe such a compromise wouldn¡¯t be so bad after all? Then he could just pretend that Pete has stopped killing¡­ Vegas leans into Pete and sighs. ¡°Fine, another city then, no more murders in Bangkok.¡± Vegas folds¡ªagain. He needs to find a way for them to make this relationship work, and since Pete seems unwilling ¡­ or unable¡­ to give in, it has to be Vegas who yields once again. The tension seeps out of Pete, and he softly kisses the side of Vegas¡¯ neck. ¡°Thank you. I know this isn¡¯t easy for you.¡± Vegas shudders and closes his eyes. No, this really isn¡¯t easy for him. ¡°We need some rules. You will not go anywhere near my family, promise me. Macau is absolutely taboo. And so is Porsche. Forget your irrational jealousy of him, I can assure you that I have no romantic feelings for Porsche whatsoever. But he is my best friend and I won¡¯t have you dispose of him as you got rid of Tem.¡± Pete snorts softly, snuggling as close as possible to Vegas. They are more or less spooning at this point. ¡°Fine. Since you seem to be so attached to him, he can stay. Of course I would like to meet your brother and the rest of your family at some point, but I guess that can wait.¡± No way in hell Vegas is letting Pete anywhere near Macau. Not now, not ever. Does he have trust issues when it comes to Pete? Hell yes. ¡°Don¡¯t chance it, Pete. I will say this only once, so listen carefully: My family will always come first. Always. If you ever make me choose between you and my family, I will pick them. In order to protect my family I will put a bullet in you, even if it kills me.¡± ¡°I got the memo, I won¡¯t go anywhere near them.¡± Irked, Pete draws his teeth along the side of Vegas¡¯ throat, causing Vegas to shiver with pleasure. Heat is slowly unfurling in his stomach, but this is not the right time and place to indulge themselves; they¡¯re in the middle of an important conversation. ¡°You need to quit your job too,¡± Vegas insists. It would be irresponsible of him to let this madman anywhere near his colleagues. ¡°But I like my job!¡± Pete protests, ceasing his attempts to distract Vegas with seduction. ¡°Newsflash Sunshine, you¡¯re not actually a psychologist, this is just a role you¡¯re playing, and you¡¯re probably doing more harm than good. Besides, what if anyone finds out you¡¯re faking it? That you stole someone else identity? You¡¯re absolutely insane to risk that in the first place¡ªit needs to stop right away. Find something else to do. A hobby perhaps. Take up painting? Or pottery?¡± ¡°Are you trying to turn me into a stay-at-home housewife, Vegas? Despite what you may think, I did really well as a psychologist whenever I wanted to. Your anger management therapy would have been a smashing success, had I not gotten distracted. No, I think I¡¯m not ready yet to give up working as a psychologist.¡± Seems someone is digging in his heels, feeling very stubborn. ¡°Then go back to university and study psychology and get a real degree! If you¡¯re really as smart as you claim to be it won¡¯t take you such a long time.¡± Besides, doesn¡¯t that involve mandatory therapy sessions? Vegas still thinks therapy might do Pete good. ¡°I¡¯ll think about it,¡± Pete reluctantly agrees after a little while. Then his stomach growls and both of them have to chuckle. ¡°I think it¡¯s time for breakfast.¡± So true, the sun is up and Vegas notices that he is hungry, too. ¡°Fine. I need something to eat too, and then I am going back to bed for another nap.¡± Pete still has his arms wrapped around Vegas. He rests his head against Vegas¡¯ shoulder and sighs softly. ¡°Are we good?¡± he asks tentatively. ¡°Am I still your puzzle piece and will you still stick to me like superglue?¡± Vegas smiles reluctantly. ¡°Yes, you¡¯re still my missing puzzle piece. You have the right shape, just the wrong colour, but I am willing to overlook that.¡± Somehow he manages to turn around without breaking free from Pete¡¯s hug. Their eyes meet, and once again the butterflies erupt in Vegas¡¯ stomach. ¡°I love you,¡± he admits quietly. ¡°I love you so damn much, even after hearing everything.¡± Gently, he tucks a wayward lock of hair behind Pete¡¯s ear and both of them smile at each other. ¡°I¡¯ll stick to you like superglue, until the end of your days, Sunshine.¡± Pete looks very relieved. The dimples make an appearance, and his shoulders sag as the remaining tension drains out of his body. ¡°I love you too, Vegas. You are the only person I¡¯ve ever loved, and I don¡¯t think I will ever love anyone else. Forever, all right?¡± ¡°Forever,¡± Vegas nods, resting his forehead against Pete¡¯s. As far as he¡¯s concerned, only death will separate them again. The Abyss has a lovely dimpled smile, and he is head over heels in love with it. Chapter 26 ¡°Some say, to survive it, you need to be as mad as a hatter. Which, luckily, I am.¡± They¡¯re officially living together. Vegas finds himself in a state of stunned delight; he can¡¯t believe he isn¡¯t dreaming. It takes less than 12 hours, then Pete shows up with a pile of boxes and moves in. Just like that. And now that they¡¯re living together, the apartment has turned into a real home, and Pete will no longer be leaving in the evenings to head to wherever he lives. ¡°Cancelled the lease,¡± he informs Vegas cheerfully. ¡°Now you¡¯re stuck with me.¡± Pete is so damn happy he¡¯s beaming the whole time, skipping around in the apartment, humming to himself. They unpack the boxes together and Vegas discovers yet another side of his boyfriend. No cheesy shirts. No, the clothes that Pete sorts into the cupboard are all expensive designer pieces, simple and elegant, not flashy at all. ¡°I hope you don¡¯t expect me to be your sugar daddy,¡± Vegas remarks wryly, eyeing the pricy wardrobe with concern. ¡°Just one of those pairs of pants would probably cost more than my monthly salary¡ªI don¡¯t think I can afford to keep you in style.¡± No wonder Pete was always so frustrated with Vegas¡¯ simple t-shirts and jeans. ¡°Don¡¯t expect me to wear my old clothes, Vegas. Those were just my ¡®work¡¯ outfits, for the role I was playing. Antagonising you with them was fun, but in all honesty I prefer to wear something a little more sophisticated.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t wait to see you in a suit¡­¡± Vegas mumbles under his breath, knowing already that Pete will look stunning. ¡°Are you by any chance rich? Heaven knows this household could use a bit more income, so we can buy some decent food more often. I¡¯m tired of Ramen or take away four times per week.¡± ¡°I have a reasonable amount of money, yes. And no, don¡¯t ask me where the money comes from, please.¡± Pete smiles at Vegas and winks. ¡°How come you¡¯re so short of money? Of the two of us, you should be the rich guy, no? Or did your dad take away your credit cards when you moved out?¡± ¡°I have some savings from my mother, but yeah, my father cut me off financially when I left the family against his will. It¡¯s okay though, my income is enough for the basics. I don¡¯t need anything extravagant.¡± Vegas hesitates, then asks the question that has been on his mind despite Pete¡¯s objection. ¡°That¡¯s the real Pete¡¯s money, right?¡± ¡°I told you not to ask, I don¡¯t want to talk about it.¡± Pete¡¯s happy smile turns into a frown. It¡¯s like a cloud moving before the sun. Vegas is cold all of a sudden, and barely suppresses a shudder. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Should have kept his mouth shut. ¡°Nevermind,¡± he mutters hastily and starts to stack some of the empty boxes. There are so many questions he wants¡ªneeds¡ªanswers to, but it¡¯s like crossing a minefield. One misstep, and he¡¯s going to ruin this newfound happiness. Fuck. They¡¯ve retrieved from storage all the plastic bags with Pete¡¯s belongings that Vegas almost threw away, and are unpacking those too. ¡°Would you like me to throw away these old shirts then, Pete? If you don¡¯t mind I would like to keep one or two, for sentimental reasons.¡± There are too many memories intertwined with these hideous shirts, Vegas is very reluctant to dispose of them. ¡°Suit yourself.¡± Pete shrugs. He really doesn¡¯t seem to care. It¡¯s almost as if he¡¯s an entirely new person; his whole body language has changed, and Vegas is equally fascinated and unnerved by all the subtle differences. Pete moves differently. He seems more aware of his body, more confident, every movement is fluid and perfectly controlled. It brings to mind martial artists, or some lethal big cat. And take the shirts for example, they were such an integral part of Pete¡¯s psychologist persona, much beloved and hated by Vegas, and now he finds out that they were just part of a role Pete played. It¡¯s baffling, and Vegas can¡¯t help experiencing a slight sense of betrayal with each new discovery. He thought he knew Pete so well¡­ In just under an hour everything is back in place, the apartment is once again frighteningly colourful and Vegas is stupidly happy that he¡¯s getting irritated while arguing with Pete about the possibility of curtains once again. Life is back to being normal, and he loves it. ¡°How did you even sneak back into the country?¡± he asks later that day during dinner. They¡¯ve treated themselves to some fancy take-away food. ¡°I put a travel warning on you, in addition to an early warning system. How on earth did you circumvent that?¡± Pete laughs, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief. ¡°You know I was aware of the people keeping an eye on me, right? Well, imagine my surprise when one day one of them approached me and gruffly handed me a note. Want to take a guess at who wrote that note?¡± Vegas takes another bite of his steak, chews thoughtfully and swallows. ¡°Porsche. It must have been Porsche, that idiot. Sticking his nose into other peoples business is what he does best.¡± ¡°Hate to disappoint you, Vegas, but it wasn¡¯t Porsche. The note was in fact from your brother.¡± Pete grins. Vegas nearly chokes on his food. Fuck! No way! Damn, he still doesn¡¯t want Pete anywhere near Macau. ¡°That little piece of shit, I am so going to kick his ass¡­¡± he growls, and Pete laughs out loud. ¡°Not funny, Pete! I really trusted him and he still pulled such a stunt on me. Damn¡­¡± ¡°I thought it was quite cute. I never had a brother, I imagine he must love you a lot, otherwise he wouldn¡¯t have ignored your orders and taken things into his own hands. He wrote that you weren¡¯t doing well at all, and that I should get my head straight and get the hell back home to take care of you. Even sent me the company jet. I never travelled so luxuriously.¡± Vegas should just stop trying to eat while listening to this, he nearly chokes again. The company jet? Oh no, Macau, you idiot, what have you been thinking? ¡°Bloody hell¡­¡± He coughs and drinks some water. ¡°No wonder you sneaked past immigration so easily.¡± Macau, you fucking idiot. Not only did you send my little psychopathic stalker right back to me, you also used the damn jet, leaving a trail that might draw the attention of the wrong people. He really needs to talk to his brother about this. Pete tries to reason with him. ¡°Don¡¯t yell at him, Vegas. He only wanted to make you feel better. Be glad he interfered, otherwise we would both still be miserable.¡± ¡°I know.¡± Vegas sighs. ¡°It¡¯s just¡­ the jet was a stupid move. He¡¯ll get into trouble for doing this, it¡¯s best I have a chat with him soon.¡± He is going to wring Macau¡¯s neck. ¡°He¡¯ll be fine. Now stop fretting and eat, the food is getting cold.¡± Pete hands him the bowl with steaming rice and they both fall silent again as they eat. Everything is back to how it used to be. All the emotional turmoil of the last weeks and months is gone. Vegas feels as if he finally can breathe again. Whenever a spark of doubt about this relationship resurfaces, Vegas tells himself that whatever it is, they¡¯ll figure it out. So what if Pete shot him? So what if Pete¡¯s murdering people? Love will conquer all, Vegas will get him to stop killing. He just needs to turn a blind eye to the murderous side of Pete for a while until he figures out how to fix him without having to arrest him. This is Vegas¡¯ happily ever after, and he won¡¯t allow anyone to ruin it. Not even himself.
They¡¯re also back at work, both of them. Pete has explained to Vegas that he can¡¯t quit his job from one day to the next. Apparently he took some vacation days during his recent absence, fully intending to return. Asshole. There are procedures one has to follow, Pete explains; he¡¯ll be working at the police station for at least another month. Vegas grits his teeth. He doesn¡¯t like this situation at all. He¡¯s terrified that someone might discover the fake identity, but Pete only laughs at his distress. ¡°Damn exciting, isn¡¯t it? Chill, Vegas. I have everything under control, don¡¯t worry.¡± And this is just one of their many problems. He doesn¡¯t want a fake therapist anywhere near his vulnerable colleagues, so Vegas tries to keep Pete busy in their shared office, but that backfires spectacularly because he forgot about the murder board; a glaring reminder of his boyfriend¡¯s true nature, all in glossy gory detail spread out in front of him, rubbing in the ugly truth every second he is at work. And he underestimated Pete¡¯s need to comment on all the gruesome photos, now that Vegas knows the truth. Vegas is forced to cut him off repeatedly. ¡°Red!¡± Finally he kicks Pete out of the office in pure self-preservation. Sorry colleagues, truly sorry. But he cannot stomach listening to Pete trying to explain the difficulties of unhooking ribs from the vertebrae. Can¡¯t do that, sorry. Pete takes it in stride, but Vegas suspects he might be feeling a wee bit hurt about Vegas¡¯ refusal to listen to him. The whole situation is incredibly stressful. Sometimes Vegas looks in the mirror and doesn¡¯t recognise himself. What is he even doing? He¡¯s a police officer, what on earth is he doing, protecting a murderer like this, even being in a relationship with him? When did he stop giving a fuck about his oath of office? It¡¯s embarrassing how quickly he¡¯s willing to bend his moral guidelines for the sake of love. Also, Pete shot him. Who¡¯s to say he won¡¯t do it again if something triggers him? Even if Vegas tries to bury that thought deep in his mind, it makes him skittish around Pete, who of course notices it, and it is straining their interaction. Everything is back to normal, and yet it isn¡¯t. It¡¯s as if he is dating an entirely new person, and Vegas finds it confusing at times. There is a certain caution in their interactions now; both of them are afraid of overstepping each others boundaries. And since Vegas had that little drunken meltdown, they haven¡¯t done anything other than some tame kissing either. It¡¯s not that he doesn¡¯t desire Pete, he wants him very much. It¡¯s just¡­ complicated. For both of them. Vegas steps out of the shower and sighs. If only he could make sense of his own confused feelings. Pete has told him repeatedly not to make things complicated, but how does one do that? ¡®Vegas the Cop¡¯ keeps rebelling¡ª he¡¯s unhappy that he got overruled by the heart, he isn¡¯t happy with this relationship. Whatever happened to ¡®justice for the victims¡¯? But Vegas doesn¡¯t want to listen to his cop side, he doesn¡¯t want to live his life without Pete. It¡¯s a complicated mess. Drying his hair, Vegas slings the towel around his waist. Lost in thought, he exits the bathroom to get some fresh clothes from the cupboard in the bedroom. There¡¯s a gasp from somewhere behind him and Vegas freezes, turns around and there is Pete, staring at him, shock written all over his face. What the heck? Pete¡¯s face has lost all colour. He stares at Vegas with wide eyes. What the heck is going on? Vegas is confused. But that confusion disappears in an instant when Pete walks up to him and with trembling fingers reaches out, touching the ugly scar tissue on the left side of Vegas¡¯ chest. Oh. Those scars are very prominent, yes. It will take at least a year until the swelling goes down and the skin turns pale again; right now the scars are raised, lumpy, reddish and very ugly. Vegas has gotten used to them; he hardly even notices them when he looks in the bathroom mirror, but this is the first time Pete sees them, and apparently he¡¯s taking it hard. ¡°Sorry¡­¡± Vegas mumbles and then realises that he shouldn¡¯t be apologising for being scarred; after all it was Pete¡ªno, the monster¡ªwho shot him and put those scars there. ¡°They don¡¯t hurt,¡± he adds when Pete¡¯s fingertips skim very lightly over the jagged, knotty surface of the scar on Vegas¡¯ chest. He is struggling to say something, it is obvious that Pete¡¯s incredibly upset right now. ¡°It¡¯s okay, I survived.¡± If only he had taken a shirt along to the bathroom¡­ Vegas wants to hide the scars from Pete¡¯s view. And then he winces when Pete turns him around to take a closer look at his back, because the scars from the exit hole there are so much worse. Pete inhales sharply upon seeing those. ¡°I¡¯m so damn sorry, Vegas.¡± On the verge of tears, Pete leans in and places a light kiss on the mangled skin. ¡°I¡¯m so incredibly sorry for doing this to you. Are you ever going to be able to forgive me for this? I called the ambulance, you know? Right after the shot, when I realised how much you really mean to me, I called the ambulance¡­¡± ¡°Pete¡­¡± Vegas feels conflicted but turns around and pulls him in for a hug. ¡°I¡¯m sure in time I will be able to forgive you, but not just yet, okay? I don¡¯t want to lie to you, this is something I¡¯m having a really hard time coming to terms with. I know you¡¯re sorry, but I won¡¯t give you an easy way out. Even if you get a brownie point for calling the ambulance, I wasn¡¯t aware you did that.¡± ¡°The first few days after I shot you were terrible,¡± Pete admits, and hugs Vegas back. ¡°I was so scared,¡± he whispers softly. ¡°I didn¡¯t manage to get any medical update about you from the hospital. No one would tell me anything. It was terrifying. When I eventually managed to sneak in and catch a glimpse of you, you were hooked up to all these machines, I couldn¡¯t even get near you.¡± ¡°I was so out of it, I wouldn¡¯t even have noticed your presence. Which reminds me, sending me those flowers was the single most idiotic thing you ever did. Why on earth did you do that? I don¡¯t ever want to see these flowers again, do you hear me? Never ever.¡± Vegas shudders. He¡¯s truly traumatised when it comes to those damn lilies. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Pete apologises again. ¡°I just wanted to get your attention in whatever way possible, I heard that you couldn¡¯t remember what happened. It was a stupid move, I know. Even if it worked.¡± With a sigh, he pulls back slightly, and then surprises Vegas by leaning down to softly kiss the scar on his chest. Vegas draws a startled breath, and Pete looks up, insecurity written all over his face. He is probably expecting Vegas to withdraw again. ¡°Give me a colour, Vegas.¡± His voice wraps itself around Vegas like a caress. As he didn¡¯t dislike the kiss, but was just surprised, Vegas replies confidently with, ¡°Green.¡± Pete kisses the scars again, then moves his lips tentatively upward, over the collarbone and further up to the throat, leaving a trail of goosebumps on Vegas¡¯ skin. When he finally reaches Vegas¡¯ mouth, Vegas is more than ready, he cradles Pete¡¯s face in his hand, his thumb sweeping along Pete¡¯s cheek, and sighs into the kiss. It never ceases to amaze him how strongly he reacts to Pete kissing him. Vegas was never really that much into kissing but now? Wow¡­ he could kiss Pete for hours on end. What starts as a gentle, slow kiss is gathering steam. Vegas sinks his fingers into Pete¡¯s hair, his heart rate speeding up. More. Need more. Pete¡¯s tongue is hot in his mouth, teasing him relentlessly, Vegas¡¯ whole body is on fire; he worries he will spontaneously combust. While Vegas is frantically trying to remove Pete¡¯s shirt without breaking the kiss, Pete is walking him backwards. They bump into furniture, the walls, and the doorframe on their way to the bedroom, leaving a trail of discarded clothes in their wake. Vegas towel has disappeared somewhere along the way. He is fully naked and aroused when they fall onto the bed together. Pete¡¯s hands are roaming freely over his body. Vegas shudders with desire as they roll back and forth on the bed, and disposes of the rest of Pete¡¯s clothes until he finally is naked as well. Yes, finally. Vegas moans into Pete¡¯s mouth, relishing the skin-to-skin contact. Then he suddenly finds himself flipped onto the stomach, with Pete straddling him, trailing wet hot kisses along his spine upwards. Seems the kitten¡¯s feeling a wee bit aggressive today. Vegas chuckles breathlessly when Pete grabs hold of his wrists, slamming them into the mattress. Wave after wave of goosebumps erupt down his back, especially when Pete¡¯s mouth reaches the gnarled scar tissue of the exit wound and starts kissing and licking it. Holy shit. Vegas hisses with delight, arching his back, and Pete growls against his skin, pressing Vegas¡¯ hands even harder against the mattress. Vegas close his eyes. He loves this, damn, he loves this so much. Aggressive Pete is thrilling; he had no idea what he was missing out on until now. For the time being, he allows Pete to hold the reins, and eagerly awaits where this might be going. When Pete scrapes his teeth along his back up to his neck, Vegas gasps and shudders hard. So damn nice. ¡°Vegas¡­¡± Pete whispers. He is also deliciously out of breath at this point. ¡°Let¡¯s use the handcuffs again.¡± Oh, hell yes, baby. Vegas has very fond memories of these handcuffs, very fond memories indeed. This is an excellent suggestion; no shower this time, so the bed will have to do¡­ maybe they should also get a new bed soon, something with metal rails. Pete nips at the sensitive skin on the back of his neck and Vegas can¡¯t hold back a moan. With Pete¡¯s body weight pressing him into the mattress, Vegas tilts his head to the side so that his boyfriend¡¯s hot mouth has better access to his neck. And Pete immediately takes advantage of this, nibbling his way up and down, teeth brushing against skin, digging into the flesh just short of it becoming painful. It¡¯s titillating. ¡°I want to handcuff you so badly,¡± Pete mumbles, scraping his teeth over Vegas¡¯ Adam¡¯s apple, biting down with a little bit more force this time, and this comment is like a bucket of ice water being emptied over Vegas. He misunderstood, Pete wants to handcuff him. Within the blink of an eye, his memories take him back to an unbearably hot room, the stench of decay and blood heavy in the air, and the image of a disembowelled corpse with a gaping throat wound. Vegas gasps and freezes, the sudden terror flooding him so unexpected that he doesn¡¯t know how to deal with it. The teeth against his throat are no longer sexy; now he perceives them as a threat. Pete wants him handcuffed, helpless just like the drugged Beam, right before Pete killed him by tearing his throat out. Oh God! Vegas freaks; he bucks and throws off Pete, rolls to the side until he falls off the bed and then crawls backwards until his back hits the wall. Cold, so cold, he feels as if he¡¯s been dipped into ice. Vegas is hyperventilating, he can¡¯t get these images out of his head. He wrings his clammy hands, staring wide-eyed at Pete, who looks completely stunned by this turn of events. ¡°¡­ Vegas¡­?¡± Pete asks tentatively. He has somehow managed to stay on the bed after all that. But as soon as he moves in Vegas¡¯ direction, Vegas defensively throws his arms out with the palms forward, and Pete doesn¡¯t dare any further approach. ¡°¡­ Vegas¡­?¡± he asks again, confusion written all over his face. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ sorry? Were the handcuffs too much? I thought¡­ I was under the impression you liked them¡­?¡± Yes, Pete is utterly perplexed. Vegas swallows hard. Inhale. Hold breath. Exhale. Hold breath. He doesn¡¯t know how to answer these questions. Right now he¡¯s just trying to get his breathing back under control, and for that to happen he needs some distance from Pete. Damn, his body is still telling him very firmly that Pete is a threat right now. Fuck! The muscles in Pete¡¯s face tighten, and his lips are setting in a grim line as he silently watches Vegas struggle for control. Deliberately slow, he inches towards Vegas, but when that causes Vegas to gasp fearfully, and his eyes start filling with barely suppressed panic, Pete withdraws. And then he curses viciously. Vegas would like nothing more than try to explain himself, but he¡¯s still out of breath and, besides, Pete looks rather unapproachable now, his face turning as dark as a thundercloud. With stiff, jerky movements, he crawls away from Vegas to the other side of the bed, gets off it and picks up his discarded clothes. He is projecting a very tangible anger, and doesn¡¯t exactly help Vegas relax again. Still cursing, and with his clothes in hand, naked Pete storms out of the bedroom and slams the door shut. Vegas flinches hard, but Pete being out of his sight makes breathing easier. Fuck! What the hell just happened? Fuck!
Pete is gone when Vegas emerges from the bedroom. Bloody hell, what a disaster. Wearily, Vegas takes a very long hot shower¡ªagain. Okay, so he obviously has some unresolved issues when it comes to dealing with the fact that his boyfriend has killed someone during sex. What does that make Pete, a rare, male praying mantis? Gah! Vegas feels like a complete idiot for freaking out the way he did. It¡¯s understandable that he panicked, but damn¡­ one step forward and three steps back. The way things are going, they¡¯re never going to have sex again, Vegas ponders gloomily. Therapy for both of them sounds more and more appealing. They¡¯re both so incredibly broken, it¡¯s heartbreaking. There must be a solution to their current problems, Vegas just isn¡¯t sure where to look for it. Man, this sucks. Pete has turned off his phone and remains incommunicado for the rest of the day, which doesn¡¯t improve Vegas¡¯ mood. He watches some tv, cooks dinner, and watches more tv. Pete is a no-show and eventually, Vegas gives up and goes to bed. He wants to sulk? Fine. Sometime during the night Vegas awakens, disorientated. Something has woken him, a sound¡­ and then he hears it again. Something that sounds suspiciously like a choked sob. He is suddenly wide awake. Vegas turns around; the room is dark but he can still make out the outline of the person curled up in a fetal position on the far side of the bed. Another choked sob reaches his ears. Pete is home again, he¡¯s huddled up like a ball of misery, crying quietly. Vegas is speechless and can feel his throat getting tight. Pete is crying. Oh no. His face twists in sadness, then he discards his blanket and moves over to Pete¡¯s side of the bed. Vegas folds himself around his crying boyfriend, spooning him and enfolding him in his arms. Pete reeks of alcohol, he must have been out drinking. But beneath the stench of liquor there is still the familiar scent of his aftershave, which Vegas loves so much. The sobs are getting harder now that Vegas is holding him tightly; Pete is no longer trying to stifle them. His whole body shudders with the force of them. Vegas has never seen Pete fall apart like this before, and he feels very helpless all of a sudden. The only thing he can think of is to hold Pete, nuzzling his hair, comforting him quietly. Feel your feelings, his therapist said. Poor Pete, Vegas knows how much that sucks. It¡¯s really heart-wrenching to witness Pete¡¯s misery. He cries for the longest time, and when the sobs finally slow down enough that he can say something between the hiccups and hitching breath, it just makes Vegas feel even worse. ¡°¡­ I don¡¯t know what to do to make you love me¡­ I love you so much and it hurts¡­ why do you have to be so scared of me¡­ why can¡¯t you love me too¡­ please just love me the way I am¡­ I¡¯m not a monster¡­ please love me too¡­ I don¡¯t know what to do anymore¡­ everything is wrong¡­ I mess up all the time¡­ I don¡¯t know what to do or say¡­ you get upset all the time¡­ you don¡¯t want me touching you¡­ and I love you so much¡­ please love me, Vegas¡­ please¡­ just love me a little bit¡­ don¡¯t leave me¡­ I won¡¯t know what to do if you leave me¡­ please don¡¯t be afraid¡­ I don¡¯t know how to fix this¡­ please¡­ love me¡­ please¡­¡± Aww, hell. Vegas rests his head against Pete¡¯s, swallowing hard, tears gathering in his eyes. ¡°I do love you, Sunshine,¡± he tells him softly. ¡°I¡¯ve never loved anyone as much as I love you. Please believe me, I¡¯ve not once stopped loving you. Even when you occasionally scare the hell out of me, I still love you to distraction. I love you, Pete. You hear me? I love you. Please don¡¯t cry.¡± Vegas hugs him tightly. They may have their differences, but every word he just said is true. ¡°Please listen to me: I love you, Pete. Even when you kill people. I love you and I will not stop loving you anytime soon. We will figure it out together, okay? I¡¯m truly sorry for what happened earlier today, please don¡¯t hold it against me. I love you. You love me. We¡¯ll make it work somehow.¡± And Vegas keeps murmuring reassurances into Pete¡¯s ear, telling him how much he loves him until Pete¡¯s sniffles and hiccups eventually die down, and he falls asleep in Vegas¡¯ arms.
¡°This is not going to work.¡± Vegas and Pete are in the kitchen, having an argument. About banana muffins. Or rather, about the correct way to bake muffins. Just like with the IKEA furniture, Pete is displaying a lack of interest in following instructions, or in this case, the recipe. ¡°Nonsense, you¡¯ll see, these muffins will be super tasty.¡± Pete simply dumps more flour into a large bowl without even measuring or weighing it. It¡¯s giving Vegas anxiety. ¡°Stop. Just stop.¡± Vegas intervenes, taking the bowl away from Pete. ¡°Someone spent a lot of time perfecting this recipe to ensure that the resulting muffins will not only be edible but even delicious. You can¡¯t just change the ingredients or the amount of ingredients, it simply isn¡¯t done, Pete. You need to have just the right amount of baking powder in relation to the amount of flour, otherwise the muffins won¡¯t rise, or they¡¯ll fall apart.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t make it so complicated, Vegas,¡± Pete complains, and simply takes out a fresh bowl. ¡°Trust me, I have a feeling for how much flour we need. Why bother with the scale, it¡¯s just a waste of time.¡± ¡°Refill this bowl again and I will smack you. Go and squash the bananas while I do the correct measuring. Only two bananas. Not one and a half, not two and a half, just two. Squash them into goo, that should keep you busy and out of my hair for a while.¡± Vegas glares at his boyfriend and threatens him with a large cooking spoon. ¡°You need to try to lighten up and not be so rigid in your thinking, Vegas.¡± Pete wiggles his eyebrows, the devil in his eyes. He dips his fingers into the container with the flour, and then flings the powder playfully at Vegas. Vegas sneezes. ¡°Are you a toddler, or what? We¡¯re not in kindergarden. Don¡¯t mess with my kitchen.¡± ¡°Our kitchen, honey. I am paying part of the rent,¡± Pete informs him cheerfully, and flings more flour at him, before deciding to make a dash for the bowl Vegas is holding, but Vegas holds it high up over his head and out of reach. Cackling gleefully, Pete deftly dodges the spoon of doom that Vegas is swinging playfully at him, and jumps up to grab the bowl. Vegas can¡¯t help it, he laughs while keeping it out of Pete¡¯s reach. Chaos ensues. Five minutes later the kitchen is a mess and so are they. Both of them are liberally coated with flour, caught between sneezing, coughing and laughing. Vegas is so damn happy; he hasn¡¯t been this carefree in the longest time. Smiling broadly, he helps Pete brush the flour off their clothes. Yes, the kitchen is a mess, but who gives a damn? The only thing that counts right now is Pete¡¯s dazzling smile as he looks at Vegas. Mine, Vegas¡¯ heart sings. My soulmate. All mine. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it ¡°Uhm¡­ Vegas¡­ If you keep looking at me like this, we won¡¯t get any baking done today, because I won¡¯t be able to keep my hands off you,¡± Pete warns him, which only makes Vegas smile even wider. ¡°Is that a promise?¡± he asks teasingly. ¡°Muffins are overrated anyway. How about you show me where exactly you want to put those hands of yours? I have a few suggestions¡­ ¡± Up to that challenge, Pete licks his lips, and walks straight into Vegas¡¯ open arms. ¡°How about we start with taking off all these dirty clothes¡ªwe wouldn¡¯t want to spread flour all over the apartment, right?¡± he murmurs, tugging at Vegas¡¯ sweater. ¡°Sounds like a perfectly reasonable plan to me.¡± Vegas leans in to nuzzle Pete¡¯s neck. God, he smells good. He smells good, he looks good and Vegas loves him to distraction. Mine mine mine. Pete¡¯s hands are under his sweater now, roaming over the skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Vegas sighs happily, resting his hands on Pete¡¯s hips. And then the doorbell rings. Damn. Couldn¡¯t come at a worse time. Both Vegas and Pete do a startled little jump, then laugh at the same time. ¡°Unbelievably bad timing,¡± Vegas complaints, reluctantly letting go of Pete, who withdraws his hands with a sigh. Grumbling, Vegas heads for the door, dusting himself off best he can. When he opens the door to find himself face-to-face with his little brother, Vegas is surprised. Well, damn. He totally forgot about Macau; since Pete¡¯s return, Vegas has been completely wrapped up in his boyfriend. In fact, he¡¯s totally forgotten that he needs to have a talk with Macau. Then another thought skips through his mind. Shit. Macau is here and he still doesn¡¯t want him to meet Pete. Those two need to be kept apart. Shit. Vegas automatically smiles while continuing to wipe the flour stains off his face and clothes, frantically trying to find a reason not to invite Macau in. Then something else occurs to him. His little brother looks miserable, truly miserable. Alarm echoes through Vegas. Macau gives him a weak smile and silently mouths ¡®I am sorry¡¯, which only increases Vegas¡¯ alarm. ¡°Well, well, well¡­¡± From the side, Vegas¡¯ father steps into view, and Vegas¡¯ initial alarm turns into complete terror. Pursing his lips, Khun Gun gives him a disdainful sneer while looking him over. ¡°Once again a total mess. Will you never learn to dress properly? Don¡¯t forget you¡¯re a Theerapanyakul, son, you have a reputation to uphold.¡± Nonono. This cannot be happening! Terror blends with panic. Vegas freezes and stares wide-eyed at his father. Why is he here? In all the years he¡¯s been living on his own, his father never visited him. Never. Why now? This can¡¯t be happening! He¡¯s at a loss for words; his mind is trapped in a never-ending loop¡ªPa cannot find out about Pete. Pa cannot find out about Pete¡ªthis is his worst nightmare! Khun Gun tilts his head and presses his lips together. Vegas knows he¡¯s a never-ending source of disappointment to his father. No matter what he does, he¡¯s never good enough. ¡°Snap out of it and clean yourself up!¡± his father barks sharply at him. Both Vegas and Macau flinch at that tone of voice, and instinctively, Vegas hastily starts brushing himself off. Oh God. Pa cannot find out about Pete. Pa cannot find out about Pete. ¡°Pa¡­¡± Feeling completely helpless, Vegas gives his father a beseeching look while blocking the entrance to his apartment with his body. ¡°Can we do this somewhere else? Please?¡± Anywhere is better than here. And poor Macau¡­ this is all Vegas¡¯ fault. Macau only misappropriated the company jet because of Vegas. And now both of them are in deep shit trouble from the looks of it. ¡°Shut up,¡± his father commands him firmly, narrowing his eyes. ¡°I should have known that you¡¯re the one trying to corrupt your brother. We had a deal¡ªyou¡¯re to stay the fuck away from your brother. What part of staying away is it that you don¡¯t comprehend, boy?¡± He takes a threatening step forward and again, both Macau and Vegas duck their heads and retreat ¡ªMacau to the side and Vegas back into the apartment. He¡¯s falling right back into old behaviour patterns, the son cowering before his raging father. He shouldn¡¯t do this, but his mind is still frozen in terror. Pa cannot find out about Pete.¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­¡± he rambles hastily. ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­ You want to punish me? Fine, lock me up again, just let me put on my shoes, then you can take me away.¡± ¡°Vegas!¡± His brother forgets for a moment that in a situation like this, it¡¯s better to stay silent and unnoticed. Khun Gun shoves him hard against the wall for opening his mouth, and Macau ducks, making himself very small. Vegas¡¯ heart aches. Both of them learned the hard way how to shield themselves the best way. ¡°Leave him alone. It was all my idea.¡± A glance at his father¡¯s dark face and Vegas adds hastily, ¡°Please.¡± He is so stressed he grabs the wrong shoes in his haste, and then is confused that they don¡¯t fit him. Oh, Pete¡¯s shoes. Pa cannot find out about Pete. He needs to get his father away from here quickly. ¡°Going somewhere, Vegas?¡± an all too familiar voice asks from somewhere behind him, and Vegas heart nearly jumps out of his chest. Nonono! Oh God, no! Panic-stricken, he glances back over his shoulder and sees Pete slowly walking out of the living room. No, go away! Vegas shakes his head, gesturing for him to leave, but Pete is no longer paying attention to him. His lips curl into a friendly smile as he looks past Vegas, towards the people standing by the door. ¡°Do we have visitors?¡± Macau¡¯s eyes widen as soon as he spies Pete, then he turns as pale as Vegas, his eyes darting over to his father, to check his reaction to this unexpected newcomer. Narrowing his eyes, the head of the Minor family scrutinises Pete, taking in his ruffled and dirty appearance. Just like Vegas, he¡¯s still covered with patches of flour. Khun Gun doesn¡¯t seem overly impressed by this young man at all. He snorts disdainfully and turns his attention back to Vegas. ¡°Oh, son¡­¡± His deceptively soft tone of voice is sending waves of dread through Vegas. ¡°You really didn¡¯t learn your lesson, did you? You thought you could hide this from me?¡± Nonono! Vegas breath catches, he jolts upright and instinctively moves to place himself directly between Pete and his father. Nonono. He¡¯s going to loose another person he loves; this is history repeating itself. ¡°¡­ Pa¡­¡± he croaks, his voice sounding strangled. ¡°Don¡¯t even think about it. Leave him alone.¡± He can feel movement behind him, then Pete is by his side, casually slipping an arm around Vegas¡¯ waist, leaning against him reassuringly. ¡°Oh, so this is your father and your brother, Vegas? Am I finally meeting my in-laws?¡± Pete sounds completely calm, curious even, and Vegas wants to scream. Of course Pete wouldn¡¯t take this situation seriously. Shit shit shit! Khun Gun scoffs at Pete¡¯s words, glancing at him with scorn. ¡°In-laws? Oh please, don¡¯t flatter yourself. I can still smell the stench of the brothel my son must have picked you up from. You want to join the Theerapanyakul family? Then grow some tits and a cunt first!¡± Both Vegas and Macau flinch ever so slightly, and Vegas grits his teeth, struggling with the hatred and fear bubbling up inside of him. He can feel Pete¡¯s fingers digging deeply into his waist and even though he still seems relaxed outwardly, Vegas can feel the tension in his boyfriend¡¯s body. ¡°I see,¡± Pete says softly, way too softly for Vegas¡¯ liking. ¡°It¡¯s unfortunate that you feel this way, but I guess we all have prejudices that we can¡¯t move past.¡± ¡°Pa!¡± Vegas intervenes sharply. ¡°Could we please try and stay civil with each other? Do you want the whole damn floor of this building to know about our private business?¡± He turns towards Pete. ¡°And will you please go back to the living room and let me handle my family?¡± He¡¯s still scared out of his mind. The calculating way his father is looking at Pete does not bode well. ¡°Are you going to dispose of your little boy toy yourself, son, or will you wait for me to handle it?¡± Khun Gun narrows his eyes. Vegas can see the veins throbbing in his neck, and he gulps. Not good, not good at all. Then his father¡¯s attention turns back to Pete. ¡°You better run, you little tramp, and leave my son alone; run as far as possible and pray I won¡¯t find you, because when I do, you¡¯ll regret it.¡± Alarmed, Vegas once again shoves Pete behind him. ¡°Stay the fuck away from him, Pa! And stay out of my damn life too!¡± He should have expected it. After all his father¡¯s pattern of behaviour never changes. But when Khun Gun darts forward and backhands him viciously, Vegas is still stunned. The force of the blow makes him stagger backwards against Pete. Pete¡¯s hands automatically reach out to steady him. The familiar pain explodes in his cheek and he blinks wide-eyed at his father. Vegas can feel that Pete has gone awfully still, and the hairs on the back of his neck rise as his danger sense starts to screech. Suddenly Vegas finds himself stuck between two madmen. ¡°Shut your mouth, boy! How dare you talk back to me? Show me some filial respect, you little piece of shit! I won¡¯t have you make a laughingstock out of this family because you can¡¯t keep it in your pants, giving in to your abnormal desires! I won¡¯t have it, you hear me!¡± ¡°Are you okay?¡± Pete mumbles, barely audible, and the total lack of emotion in his voice increases Vegas¡¯ alarm tenfold. Not good, not good at all! Cautiously, Pete pulls Vegas a few steps backward, away from the furious older man who continues to shout at them. Vegas doesn¡¯t know what¡¯s worse; his father showering him and Pete with verbal abuse, so angry that he is nearly frothing at the mouth, or the way Pete maintains an iron grip on his arm, immobilised by quiet fury. Meanwhile Macau watches everything unfold, fearfully huddled against the wall across the hallway. Just one look at his pale face and Vegas wants to hug him really badly, but for that he would need to walk past his incensed father. Khun Gun is stark raving mad. The whole episode with the airplane must have triggered him badly, finding out that Macau colluded with Vegas made it worse, and now discovering that his son has a lover hidden away is apparently the last straw. He¡¯s on a roll, the hatred spewing forth, battering Vegas relentlessly. ¡°You dumb fool, I can always count on you to ruin everything. If our new business partners find out about your little lover boy, the deal with the southern casinos will fall through! Bloody faggot, lusting after other men, why can¡¯t I have a normal son?! You are such an embarrassment, so fucking incompetent and useless, just like your mother! No wonder you¡¯re inferior to Kinn, you¡¯re even a complete failure as a cop, you fail at everything you try¡ªeven that! I¡¯m ashamed of being your father! Just look how angry you have made me, you idiot!¡± With every outburst, his father advances threateningly, shaking his fist and pointing his finger accusingly at Vegas, who flinches under the onslaught. His cheek hurts from the blow, and his heart hurts from the cruel, poisonous words thrown at him. Grimly, Pete pulls Vegas further back into the apartment, determined not to allow Khun Gun to get within reach of his son again. Vegas is so stunned and disheartened by the sheer amount of hatred thrown at him by his father that his reaction time is regrettably slow. So when Khun Gun lashes out again, all he sees is the shimmer of the family ring in the light. His body is too slow to move out of the way. Vegas might be slow, but Pete isn¡¯t. One moment Vegas is about to be hit again, the next second he finds himself being yanked out of the way, and his father¡¯s hand collides with Pete¡¯s face instead. The sound of the hard slap echoes through the hallway. Pete¡¯s head jerks to the side with the force of the blow, and blood blossoms on his lip. Pete growls deep in his throat. ¡°Look what you made me do now!¡± his father yells at Vegas, who snaps out of his temporary daze, and throws his arms around Pete, holding on for dear life to the bloodthirsty predator that his boyfriend has suddenly morphed into. ¡°Pete! Don¡¯t!¡± he shouts desperately, because he knows what his little psychopath is capable of doing when he is angry, and damn, Pete is trembling with rage. ¡°Don¡¯t do it, it¡¯s not worth it!¡± And turning to his father, he snarls: ¡°Get the fuck out of here before I call the cops and report you for assaulting two police officers!¡± His father¡¯s face is flushed red with fury. ¡°You dare to threaten me?! Me?! I¡¯d like to see you try, you pathetic little wimp!¡± ¡°Pa!¡± Macau¡¯s alarmed shout interrupts the unfolding drama. ¡°Pa, I think the neighbours have called the police!¡± That¡¯s enough to stop Khun Gun from launching himself at his son again. It¡¯s probably for the best; Vegas can barely maintain his hold on the bloodthirsty bundle of rage Pete has turned into. If this continues, there¡¯ll be dead bodies littering the floor soon. ¡°We¡¯re not done yet!¡± his father threatens as he retreats back into the hallway. ¡°Mark my words Vegas, your lover boy is a dead man walking, you hear me, son?! And then I¡¯ll deal with you and beat that rebellious spirit out of you once and for all!¡± With a last shake of his fist, Khun Gun marches off, grabbing Macau by the arm and dragging him along. The sudden silence is deafening. Vegas feels rather stunned, but he has no time to process what just happened, because Pete is still struggling against his hold. Is it safe to release him now? Will it ever be safe? Oh, fuck¡­ Reluctantly, Vegas sets his furious boyfriend free. Pete snarls and rams his fist into the wall. Once, twice. Vegas cringes, but maybe it¡¯s best to let Pete vent a bit right now. Meanwhile, Vegas closes the apartment door. When he turns around, he sees Pete putting on his shoes. ¡°Where do you think you are going?¡± he asks with alarm. ¡°Out!¡± Pete hisses through clenched teeth. Oh no. Vegas has a sense of impending doom. ¡°You¡¯re not going after my father, are you?¡± Pete strides past Vegas towards the exit, without answering. ¡°Promise me!¡± Vegas grabs Pete hard, turning him around so that they face each other. Pete is white as a sheet, trembling with fury, Vegas has never seen him this angry before, and it¡¯s damn scary. ¡°Promise me!¡± He shakes Pete once, hard, to get his attention. ¡°Promise me you won¡¯t kill him!¡± Pete hisses angrily, glaring at Vegas. The look on his face reminds Vegas too much of how Pete looked while stabbing Tawan, and he swallows dryly. Can¡¯t let that happen. ¡°Promise me!¡± Vegas insists forcefully once more. ¡°Let go of me, Vegas¡­¡± Pete growls in a low voice that sends a shiver of fear through Vegas. His hold on Pete tightens. ¡°Promise me you won¡¯t kill him!¡± He hates this side of Pete, hates it. Vegas makes eye contact because this is the only way to ensure that Pete really listens to him. ¡°I know you¡¯re pissed off and I¡¯m aware that he¡¯s a shitty human being, but you cannot kill him, you hear me?! Despite everything, he¡¯s my father, and you must not kill him! Are you listening to me? Promise me you won¡¯t kill my father!¡± ¡°Vegas!¡± Pete tears himself free. For a moment it looks as if he is about to lash out again, but then he has himself back under control. Vegas steps forward to block Pete¡¯s path. ¡°Promise me! Swear to me that you¡¯re not going to kill my father, Pete!¡± ¡°Damn it, Vegas!¡± In sheer frustration, Pete kicks the wall. ¡°I love you, Pete. Please don¡¯t kill my father, I¡¯m begging you.¡± Vegas can play dirty too when he needs to. ¡°Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!¡± Again, Pete kicks the wall in ever-growing frustration. Then he takes a deep, shuddering breath, staring tensely at Vegas. ¡°Fine. I promise I will not kill your father. Happy now?¡± Vegas breathes a sigh of relief, steps forward and enfolds Pete in his arms. ¡°Thank you. Thank you so much. I love you,¡± he whispers as he buries his face into Pete¡¯s hair. Pete is still stiff with anger, but after a while Vegas feels the tension slowly leaving his body, and his breathing calms down as well. And when Pete finally slips his arms around Vegas¡¯ waist, and fully leans into the embrace, Vegas knows he has won this fight. Thank God!
Vegas carefully cleans Pete¡¯s split lip, then hands him an ice pack to keep the swelling down. He holds an icepack to his own cheek, where the bruise has already started to bloom in dark purple underneath the skin. What a pair they are. The day started so well, and look how it all went downhill. Fuck. Pete finally speaks up. ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡± He¡¯s been awfully quiet since Vegas more or less forced that concession not to kill his father out of him, and his silence has been grating on Vegas¡¯ nerves. ¡°That man is a menace. I don¡¯t understand how you can be so attached to him.¡± ¡°Of course you don¡¯t understand, you never had a family.¡± With a sigh, Vegas leans back, sinking into the soft, colourful pillows on the couch. ¡°It¡¯s complicated, all right? My father is a horrible human being, I agree, but whatever he does, he is still my father. I can¡¯t just have him killed because I hate him, that¡¯s not how society and families work. I think if you asked around, a lot of people will tell you that they hate their parents. But none of them would actually want them killed.¡± ¡°He hit you, though. And from the looks of it, it wasn¡¯t the first time either.¡± Pete¡¯s voice sounds very strained. ¡°He really shouldn¡¯t have hit you. It made me very angry. I think the world would be a better place without him.¡± Holding the ice pack against his swollen lip, Pete watches Vegas closely, carefully choosing his words. ¡°Make me understand, please? Do you love him? Is that why you didn¡¯t defend yourself?¡± ¡°Believe it or not, my father wasn¡¯t always like this. I do have some very early memories of him being a great father. He often took me and my mother on weekend trips out into the country side. He taught me fishing and how to skip flat pebbles over the surface of a lake. I don¡¯t know why, but at some point it all started to fall apart. It probably has to do with Uncle Korn and the family business. The division of the family into a main and a minor branch was strategically planned to increase the competition and make us all more ruthless.¡± Pete is listening attentively, and Vegas nearly catches himself smiling. Pete is so earnestly trying to understand. ¡°I remember that at some point Uncle Korn started to compare me to Kinn whenever the family met, and somehow I never quite measured up in the eyes of the adults. I think in the beginning my father tried to ignore it, but as time went by, it just got too much. Those two made my life into a competition I never had a chance to win. My mother tried to protect me for a while but our lives turned more and more violent, and my father more and more unpredictable. He must have been under enormous pressure.¡± This is the first time Vegas has talked about his father with anyone, and he is surprised at the emotions welling up. ¡°I¡¯m not excusing his behaviour towards the rest of the family. No one should put a gun in the hand of their 6-year-old son, and force him to pull the trigger and execute someone. It¡¯s inexcusable. I¡¯m just saying that there is no easy explanation for his behaviour. I heard my grandfather was even worse than my father and my uncle combined. Like father, like sons, I suppose. And just look at my own anger issues¡ªmy outbursts put people in the hospital too.¡± ¡°When you disappeared from the hospital, did you go home to him?¡± Pete asks him quietly. ¡°I asked to be moved to the Main family mansion first because I knew you couldn¡¯t get in there,¡± Vegas admits. ¡°But after a while my uncle and my father decided to gang up on me. They wanted to turn me into a dirty cop. They tried to blackmail me and when I still refused, my uncle handed me over to my father, who took me home and locked me up in the cellar.¡± Vegas stops, because Pete has gone all still again upon hearing this, and there¡¯s a frightful darkness growing in his eyes. ¡°It¡¯s in the past, Sunshine. No need to get upset about that anymore. I¡¯ve been locked up in that cellar so often, it¡¯s not a big deal.¡± That¡¯s a plain lie, but thankfully Pete doesn¡¯t know how much that cellar terrifies Vegas. ¡°You were hurt. He shouldn¡¯t have done this to you,¡± Pete mutters quietly. ¡°I didn¡¯t stay in there for long. They soon moved me to the safe house outside the city for a few months. It¡¯s really quite pleasant there, beautiful scenery. A lovely golden cage.¡± ¡°But you were still locked up¡­ and since you refused to be blackmailed I can imagine that your father wasn¡¯t happy with you at all.¡± Pete isn¡¯t an idiot, he knows Vegas is trying to make the situation sound nicer than it actually was. ¡°How often did he come to visit you there?¡± Vegas looks away, shifting the position of the ice pack against his cheek. ¡°A few times.¡± ¡°And how many of those times did he yell at you and hit you, Vegas?¡± No, Pete hasn¡¯t given up on finding out the truth. Seeing how Vegas is reluctant to answer, he sighs. ¡°Come on, out with the truth. I¡¯ve seen your father in action now. That man is unhinged. Just admit it, he abused you every single time, isn¡¯t that right?¡± What is there to say? Vegas just nods hesitantly. ¡°I know this sounds bad, but I¡¯m used to it, Pete. I can take a few punches, it¡¯s no big deal. And I try to block out the verbal abuse as best I can. Usually it doesn¡¯t last long; he runs out of steam quickly. And he hasn¡¯t put me in the hospital since I moved out. I can handle it, okay? Don¡¯t worry.¡± ¡°You should hit back, you should defend yourself.¡± Frowning, Pete tilts his head to the side. He still seems to have trouble comprehending why Vegas is acting so irrationally. ¡°He¡¯s my father, Pete. I can¡¯t just hit my father, that¡¯s wrong.¡± ¡°You are not making any sense to me,¡± Pete admits. ¡°That man deserves to have his ass kicked, maybe then he¡¯ll think twice about hitting other people.¡± ¡°I just can¡¯t, okay? He¡¯s my father. No matter what he does to me, I could never return his violence with violence. It would be wrong. I don¡¯t know how to explain this to you; I think you can only understand it if you have a family of your own.¡± Rolling his eyes, Pete decides to drop the matter. But Vegas knows they need to talk about something else as well. ¡°You¡¯re aware that you¡¯re in trouble now, right? You¡¯ve seen how my father reacted to your presence, and our relationship, and you know what he did to my first boyfriend. He¡¯s going to come after you, Pete.¡± And that thought terrifies Vegas. Totally unconcerned, Pete just shrugs. ¡°Let him try. Seriously Vegas¡­ it¡¯s adorable that you are worried about me, but you seem to be forgetting that I am not as innocent and meek as I look. If your father comes for me, he¡¯ll get a nasty surprise.¡± ¡°Remember, you promised not to kill him,¡± Vegas reminds him quickly, and receives an exasperated glare from Pete. ¡°Anyway, I wish you would take this a bit more seriously. I¡¯m really worried, Pete. You have to be extremely careful, all right? Don¡¯t you dare get yourself killed and ruin my happily ever after.¡± That statement manages to make Pete smile¡ªthe dimples make an appearance and Vegas sighs happily, momentarily distracted from his worries. Pete¡¯s smile deepens, he shuffles closer to Vegas and leans against him, resting his head on Vegas¡¯ shoulder. ¡°I promised you ¡®forever¡¯, so yes, I¡¯ll be careful. Chill Vegas, everything will be fine.¡± Vegas exhales slowly, trying to shove his worries aside, but he is only partially successful. His father can¡¯t be trusted to keep away now that he knows Vegas is in a relationship. Kissing the top of Pete¡¯s head, he takes Pete¡¯s hand into his own, lacing their fingers together. ¡°Forever. Don¡¯t mess it up, Pete. I have a bad feeling about this.¡± ¡°You¡¯re always such a pessimist, Vegas.¡± Pete squeezes his hand gently and then changes the topic. ¡°We still need to clean the kitchen.¡± Both of them glance in the direction of the mess they made earlier on, and they groan simultaneously. ¡°Later?¡± Pete suggests, because neither of them likes cleaning. ¡°Later,¡± Vegas agrees, and then they just sit on the couch for a while, leaning against each other.
As far as Vegas is concerned, these next few days are pure torture. Pete behaves as if nothing ever happened. He¡¯s cheerful as always, and affectionate, but Vegas can¡¯t shake the feeling that something is wrong. With each passing day, Vegas gets more and more nervous. He knows he¡¯s behaving irrationally, but as soon as Pete is out of his sight, he get so anxious that concentrating on his work is increasingly difficult. Macau isn¡¯t answering his phone, which is yet another stress factor, but Vegas tells himself that his father can¡¯t afford to lose yet another company bank account to the IRS, and so Khun Gun will go relatively easy on him. The worst part of the waiting game is when Pete repeatedly disappears, leaving work without telling Vegas where he is heading, his phone switched off. It drives Vegas insane with worry. He¡¯s always a nervous wreck by the time Pete eventually shows up at home again. Finally, he can¡¯t take it anymore. ¡°You need to stop,¡± he tells Pete when his little ray of death comes home late in the evening after being off the grid for hours. ¡°I don¡¯t want to come across as the controlling boyfriend, but could you please try to think about how I¡¯m feeling when you disappear from the face of the earth and I can¡¯t reach you? Especially knowing that my father is out there, plotting how to kill you?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡± Pete seems genuinely puzzled by Vegas¡¯ concern. ¡°It didn¡¯t occur to me that you would be worried. I told you I can take care of myself.¡± Vegas wants to tear out his hair in frustration. ¡°Your confidence in yourself in nice, but I feel you¡¯re underestimating how determined my father can get when he¡¯s pissed off, and I¡¯m fairly sure we managed to piss him off pretty badly. I don¡¯t want to get a call from the police, telling me to come and identify your body¡ªis that so hard to understand, Pete?¡± ¡°I messed up again, didn¡¯t I? I¡¯m sorry Vegas.¡± Pete walks over to his side and kisses his cheek. ¡°I¡¯ll let you know when I am going to be late from now on, all right?¡± Somewhat mollified, Vegas nods. ¡°Okay.¡± But then something else occurs to him and his stomach drops. Alarmed, he gives Pete a sharp look. ¡°What exactly are you doing when you disappear? You¡¯re not planning to kill someone again, are you?¡± Has it been that long since the last kill already? The murders he knows of were relatively close together, so the next one must be long overdue. If that¡¯s how Pete rolls, that is. ¡°Vegas¡­¡± Taking a step backward, Pete sighs, lowering his head as he walks away towards the bathroom. Let it go, is what that means. Vegas is well aware of it, but he simply can¡¯t do that this time, so he follows Pete anxiously. ¡°How often do you even need to kill? Is there a set interval you operate on? And does that mean you killed while I was in hospital? No! Don¡¯t answer that last part, I don¡¯t want to know.¡± Pete clearly does not like these questions; Vegas can see how he is curling his hands into fists. ¡°I told you I would no longer kill in this city, did you forget?¡± Pete turns around, giving Vegas an icy look. ¡°What, you don¡¯t trust me?¡± ¡°How am I supposed to trust you when you¡¯ve been a habitual liar in the past?¡± Walking right up to him, Vegas faces Pete calmly. ¡°Everything in the past has been a lie! Of course I have trust issues when it comes to you. Stop making me feel bad about having doubts. You¡¯re sliding right back into familiar manipulation territory, Sunshine.¡± Pete stiffens and narrows his eyes. ¡°Are you ever going to stop holding this against me, Vegas? How many more times do I need to apologise? This is getting tedious.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want your apologies. I want the whole, damn, ugly truth, all the time.¡± Reaching out, Vegas cradles Pete¡¯s face in his hands, the thumbs brushing softly along his cheekbones. ¡°I love you, you damn idiot. And I¡¯m scared out of my mind that you will drop one of your nightmarish crime scenes on me all of a sudden. Please don¡¯t do this to me, okay? I don¡¯t need even more nightmares. You go do your thing if you can¡¯t hold it in anymore, but don¡¯t forcefully expose me to it. And for heavens sake, talk to me. All I want is a simple message. ¡®I¡¯ll be off the grid, doing my thing for a few hours. Expect me to be home at around 9 am.¡¯ That is all I need, so that I don¡¯t lose my mind worrying about you.¡± Pete¡¯s dark eyes once again remind Vegas of a bottomless abyss. The way he scrutenises Vegas is so intense that Vegas feels as if he is caressing a leopard coiled to pounce and attack him any second. It¡¯s scary. It¡¯s exciting. ¡°I love you,¡± he repeats quietly, knowing that this usually calms Pete down again. ¡°I really love you. Please don¡¯t get bored with me, or lose your patience with me.¡± Slowly, Pete inclines his head, then leans into Vegas¡¯ touch, closing his eyes. Vegas breathes a sigh of relief. Catastrophe averted for now. And when he starts kissing Pete and the flames of desire between them flare to life, he tells himself that it doesn¡¯t matter if Pete is killing again. He will not let go of this puzzle piece, even if it¡¯s drenched in blood, and slowly soiling the rest of the puzzle that comprises Vegas.
Pete keeps disappearing, but now Vegas receives a message every time he goes off the grid. Does that make it easier? Just slightly. Okay, so now Vegas knows that his father hasn¡¯t snatched his boyfriend, but the fact still remains that Pete is out of his sight, doing something he is unwilling to share, and it stresses Vegas out. He doesn¡¯t know how much more of this he can take before he cracks and causes another scene. If only he had something real, something different to do at work, but everyone there expects him to be busy catching the infamous serial killer who also happens to be his boyfriend. So Vegas has to fake an investigation he isn¡¯t actually working on, and it¡¯s frustrating as hell. Everything sucks big time. Vegas lives for the hours when Pete is at home, when they pretend everything in their lives is normal. He is aware that this can¡¯t continue indefinitely, and when everything starts to unravel, it comes almost as a relief. The sun is setting and Pete has been out of touch the whole day, so Vegas has skipped preparing dinner for two in favour of a sandwich. When he hears the key in the lock, he inwardly breathes a sigh of relief. But that turns into alarm the moment Pete enters the living room. ¡°What the fuck happened?!¡± Vegas exclaims, dropping the book he¡¯s been reading and hurriedly getting up from the couch. Pete has been roughed up. His hair is ruffled, there are signs of a recent nosebleed and his clothes have some fresh tears as well. And is that blood on his arm? Vegas gasps and hurries to his side, inspecting his boyfriend¡¯s upper arm anxiously. Yes, Pete has a cut there that is still trickling blood. A cut. From a knife. Vegas gasps with shock. Pete himself is remarkably calm through all of this. He¡¯s stayed silent until now, allowing Vegas to fuss over him. But seeing Vegas¡¯ growing distress, he sighs and smiles tiredly. ¡°I¡¯m okay, I just had a little run-in with your father¡¯s bodyguards. Don¡¯t worry, it¡¯s just a shallow cut.¡± Fuck! Vegas¡¯ anxiety spikes instantly. His dad finally made his move, it seems. ¡°We need to clean this,¡± he mumbles, staring at the cut. Red. He doesn¡¯t like red. Red doesn¡¯t suit Pete. ¡°Trust me, I¡¯m okay, Vegas.¡± Pete inhales a deep breath, blowing it out slowly. ¡°I want you to come with me. I think it would be better for us if we left here for a while.¡± Vegas blinks, listening but not quite comprehending. Red. He does not like it when Pete bleeds. It stresses him out, reminds him of white flowers turning red. He does not like this. ¡°Vegas.¡± Pete lightly touches his cheek, bringing Vegas back to reality. ¡°I¡¯m fine, don¡¯t fret. You can patch me up if that will make you feel better, but then we have to leave.¡± Yes. He needs to get that blood off Pete. Vegas nods numbly and heads to the bathroom for the first aid kit. His father has hurt Pete. He knew this would happen. He knew it. His father has hurt Pete, and he won¡¯t stop at merely hurting him. His father is going to kill his boyfriend, he¡¯s going to take Pete away from him. History is repeating itself. He should have known it would end like this. He¡¯s such an idiot, hoping for a happily ever after. His father is going to kill Pete, and then Vegas will be all alone again. ¡°Vegas.¡± Once again, Pete brings him back to the real world. He sounds concerned. Vegas blinks again, he must have spaced out while cleaning the injury on Pete¡¯s arm. Swallowing hard, he tapes the cut and places a sterile gauze pad over it, taping that in place too. Pete leans in and gently kisses Vegas¡¯ forehead. ¡°Thank you. Now please stop worrying. Grab your phone, I¡¯m going to take you somewhere safe to regroup.¡± ¡°We¡¯re leaving?¡± Damn, he needs to snap out of his daze and start paying attention to what Pete is telling him. ¡°Where exactly are we going and for how long?¡± ¡°We¡¯re going someplace safe. I¡¯m a sitting duck here; let¡¯s try to avoid collateral damage. I wouldn¡¯t put it past your father to blow up this entire building¡ªhe seemed angry enough. Let¡¯s go, Vegas,¡± Pete tells him grimly. And so they leave. Pete drives. Vegas is in the passenger seat, trying not to spiral into despair. ¡°What on earth happened?¡± he asks quietly after a while. They¡¯re heading for the outskirts of the city from the looks of it. ¡°I told you, I had a run-in with your father¡¯s bodyguards. Nasty bunch, all of them. But objectively speaking, they¡¯re not as well-trained as your uncle¡¯s bodyguards. Bay was giving me a lot more problems back then.¡± Pete casts Vegas a quick look before concentrating on the traffic again. ¡°Chill Vegas, I got rid of them. It just took me a bit longer than expected because there were so many of them. That¡¯s why I got a bit roughed up. But I¡¯m safe now, that¡¯s all that counts, right?¡± ¡°Did you kill them?¡± Vegas can¡¯t help asking, even though he knows the answer already. ¡°They¡¯re pretty dead, yes.¡± Pete shrugs. ¡°The ¡®no kill¡¯ order didn¡¯t extend to them right? I just promised I wouldn¡¯t kill your father.¡± What a fucking mess. Vegas forks his fingers through his hair. He can already imagine how his father will react to the death of his guards. ¡°At least the bodies won¡¯t be connected to you.¡± His cop part kicks in, looking at the practical side of everything. ¡°The police will assume this is related to power struggles amongst the ruling families.¡± ¡°Perfect,¡± Pete mutters, weaving the car through the traffic. Yes, they¡¯re definitely on their way out of the city. ¡°Where are we going?¡± Vegas asks again. ¡°Somewhere safe,¡± Pete says, and Vegas believes him. Being a killer, he probably planned ahead for something like this. A guy like him most likely has a lot of safe places scattered across the country. ¡°Get some rest, Vegas. We¡¯ll be on the road for a while, I¡¯ll wake you when we arrive.¡± ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you be the one taking a rest? You¡¯re the one who got hurt, after all. I can drive if you want¡­¡± Vegas offers instantly, but Pete just shakes his head. ¡°I¡¯m fine, really. That little cut isn¡¯t slowing me down, or hindering me the slightest bit. Go rest. I think this must have been quite a shock to you.¡± Again, Pete casts him a small, dimpled smile to reassure him, and Vegas gives in. He leans back in the seat, resting his head against the window, watching the scenery race past; everything is dipped into shades of red by the setting sun. Too much red. I don¡¯t like red. Vegas sighs and closes his eyes. ¡°I love you,¡± he hears Pete whisper quietly, and that makes him smile. It feels good to be loved. He will follow Pete to the end of the earth if need be. And then Vegas falls asleep. Chapter 27 ¡°Everybody is a book of blood; wherever we are opened, we are red.¡± When Pete wakes him with a kiss, the car is parked, and when Vegas opens his eyes sleepily, the first thing he sees is Pete¡¯s smiling face in the darkness. Dimple alert. He can¡¯t help himself, he reaches out, slips his hand around Pete¡¯s neck and pulls him in for another kiss. Mmmm¡­ nice. Their lips brush against each other, causing the familiar electric tingle that is so addictive. ¡°Time to wake up, sleepyhead,¡± Pete murmurs against his lips. ¡°Mmmm¡­¡± Vegas hums happily. He wants to be woken up like this every morning. Then he notices that it¡¯s dark outside. And that they¡¯re in a car. And he remembers everything else, and his good mood disappears. ¡°Are we there yet?¡± Wherever ¡®there¡¯ is. ¡°Yeah, we have arrived.¡± Reluctantly, Pete withdraws and prepares to get out of the car. A glance at the clock confirms that they¡¯ve been driving for nearly 2 hours. Wow, where are they? Vegas stretches and then pays more attention to their surroundings. Somehow he expected another city, maybe a small town, but this place looks like the deepest countryside. ¡°No spa?¡± he jokes half-heartedly. ¡°And here I was hoping you would be keeping me in style during this little outing.¡± His fingers resting on the door-handle, Pete glances back at Vegas. The joke doesn¡¯t make him smile. He just gives Vegas one of his intense looks, and Vegas feels a sliver of unease slide through him. ¡°I love you,¡± Pete tells him quietly, his voice heavy with a lot of unspoken emotions. Vegas meets his eyes and forces himself to smile despite a growing disquiet. Then Pete exits the car abruptly and there is nothing left for Vegas to do but to follow his lead. They¡¯re indeed somewhere in the countryside; the property they are currently on appears to be far from any larger road. It¡¯s very quiet here, no sound of cars, just a light breeze rustling through the leaves of the nearby trees, and the crickets chirping in the darkness. Thankfully the full moon is providing enough light for Vegas to get a better look at the building ahead. Well, this is definitely not someone¡¯s residence. It looks more like an abandoned barn, or a warehouse. Pete is a few steps ahead, waiting; one look at him and Vegas¡¯ stomach drops. The vibe, the body language¡­ it seems the predator has come out to play. Pete rocks back and forth on his heels, watching him quizzically, and finally arching an eyebrow at Vegas. ¡°Coming?¡± he asks in that silky voice of his, and Vegas gulps. Every step he takes towards Pete is taking a lot of effort all of a sudden. Don¡¯t do this to me, please don¡¯t do this to me. Vegas thought they were trying to work things out between them, but perhaps he was wrong, perhaps Pete has grown bored with him already. Warily, he glances at the looming building ahead, swallows hard and gives Pete a weak smile. Vegas wasn¡¯t kidding when he said he would walk into a burning building with this man. And he¡¯s going to follow the predator into this warehouse, even if his heart is breaking, and his danger sense is screeching at full volume. But a short distance from the door his body goes on strike, and he comes to an abrupt stop. His legs just won¡¯t move forward. He feels frozen in place. Vegas clears his throat. ¡°I don¡¯t think I want to go in there,¡± he says quietly, with an audible tremor in his voice. Pete huffs softly with disappointment and impatiently taps his fingers against his leg. ¡°Nonsense. Just come along, Vegas. It¡¯s been a long day and a long drive, let¡¯s go inside. I¡¯m tired.¡± But he doesn¡¯t look or sound exhausted. Vegas could swear Pete is brimming with barely contained nervous energy. He¡¯s excited, that¡¯s what it is. ¡°Pete?¡± Vegas swallows hard. ¡°Did you lie to me again?¡± Pete becomes still, slowly raising his dark, burning eyes until he¡¯s looking straight at Vegas. Oh shit. Yes, it¡¯s definitely Pete¡¯s dark side that is firmly in charge right now. ¡°Yes, I did,¡± Pete admits softly, and something inside of Vegas breaks when he hears those words. The disappointment is crushing. Why is this happening to me? Goddammit, why? ¡°I love you, Pete.¡± Vegas just needs to say it out loud one more time, because nothing has changed, he still loves this man. And then he can¡¯t keep himself from asking something else, his voice heavy with apprehension: ¡°Are there going to be any flowers inside?¡± Vegas doesn¡¯t think he can handle those flowers; whatever Pete is up to, even if he is to die here tonight, he would rather not relive that particular horror too. ¡°No flowers,¡± Pete reassures him calmly. ¡°It would have been a nice touch, but you were very clear about not liking them.¡± The Abyss gives Vegas a charming, dimpled smile, holding out its hand invitingly. ¡°Let¡¯s go inside, shall we?¡± Resigned to his fate, Vegas takes Pete¡¯s warm hand, lacing their fingers together. Mine. My soulmate. Love of my life. ¡°Sure, let¡¯s go,¡± he tells the monster, squeezing its hand before following it into the darkness.
The inside of the warehouse is shrouded in murky shadows. Vegas can¡¯t see anything. He follows Pete blindly, holding on to his hand, trying not to trip over his own feet as they navigate the sweltering darkness. I need a hug, is all he can think about at this moment. I really need a hug right now. He is so damn scared he hardly dares to breathe. He wants the monster to stop leading him further into the unknown; he wants to be hugged instead. I love you but I really want to kick your insensitive ass right now. Judging from the echoing sounds of their steps, it¡¯s a sizeable area. From the outside, the warehouse looked spacious enough to park several cars inside. It seems to be largely empty, at least Vegas thinks so, but it¡¯s so dark he has trouble seeing further than Pete¡¯s figure, leading him through the gloom. What did I do to deserve this? Underneath all the fear, Vegas feels heartbroken. He is so damn tired of it all. All these lies. All these killings. His serial killer boyfriend. His life has never been easy, then Pete showed up and everything went to hell big time. He¡¯s so damn tired of it, Vegas just wants it all to end. I can¡¯t do this anymore, I really cannot do this anymore. When Pete¡ªno, the monster¡­ the Abyss¡­ whatever¡ªwhen he stops, Vegas just walks on, closing the distance between them. He releases his hold on Pete¡¯s hand and instead slips his arms around the other man¡¯s waist. Even as he feels thoroughly demoralised, he rests his head on Pete¡¯s shoulder. Pete smells so good, as always. Vegas is so insanely in love with him, even with this dark version of Pete, and it is tearing him apart. He doesn¡¯t want to face whatever Pete has in store for him, not just yet. He just wants this hug. ¡°I don¡¯t know why you are doing this to me,¡± Vegas mumbles. He¡¯s so pathetic, he¡¯s practically begging to be comforted by the person responsible for putting him through all this. After a brief moment of hesitation, he can feel Pete hugging him back. He is on edge; Vegas can feel the tension in his body as he nuzzles Vegas¡¯ hair. ¡°I¡¯m doing this because I love you,¡± the monster explains, as if that is a valid reason. Vegas just sighs, too depressed and scared to start an argument. ¡°Vegas¡­¡± Running out of patience, Pete slowly pulls away, but at least he is kind enough to gently kiss Vegas¡¯ cheek one more time. ¡°I have a surprise for you, are you ready?¡± If only he wouldn¡¯t sound so cheerful. Talk about reading the room. Pete really needs to work on his empathy. No! Vegas wants to shout at him. No! Fucking red! No! But instead he hears himself sighing his agreement. ¡°Sure, bring it on, Sunshine.¡± ¡°Stay here. I¡¯ll turn on the light,¡± the monster tells him enthusiastically before disappearing into the darkness. Vegas swallows hard. He¡¯s not ready for this. There¡¯s this huge lump in his throat; he feels as if he¡¯s being strangled by it. No, he isn¡¯t ready. From a distance, he hears Pete moving around, then there¡¯s a ¡®click¡¯, and suddenly light floods the area. Vegas is blinded, closing his eyes against the abrupt brightness. No, he¡¯s not ready for this. ¡°You can open your eyes now,¡± Pete giddily calls out to him, but Vegas doesn¡¯t want to open his eyes. Not now, not ever. ¡°Seriously Vegas¡­¡± It sounds as if Pete is coming closer again, and there¡¯s that growing edge of impatience and irritation in his voice once again. ¡°Just open your fucking eyes already.¡± I hate you. Gritting his teeth, Vegas cautiously opens his eyes, blinking several times, as everything shifts into focus. He doesn¡¯t know what exactly he expected to see, but it certainly wasn¡¯t this. It¡¯s an anticlimax of sorts, all of Pete¡¯s other murder scenes have so far been outrageously bloody and over the top. This one here is not like them at all, perhaps because it isn¡¯t a crime scene¡ªyet. The cop part of Vegas takes over, mentally noting all the details of his surroundings. A warehouse. Stone walls. Windowless. Bad ventilation. Hot inside. High ceiling, enough to park a truck in here, perhaps even two. Metal roofing. Large doors on the other side of the building, for easier vehicular access. Concrete floor. Large steel-plated area right in the centre of the room. A drain in the middle of it. And by that drain¡­ Vegas makes a strangled sound at the back of his throat. A metal chair with armrests, connected to the steel flooring. And that chair is occupied; someone is sitting on it. The ankles of the person are handcuffed to the front legs of the chair. The wrists are handcuffed to the armrests. His father! No. Oh no. Not this. Oh no. Vegas can feel his legs getting all wobbly, and for a fleeting second he wonders if he¡¯s about to faint. Then the gagged figure on the chair slowly lifts his head and glares in their direction. ¡°Pa¡­¡± Vegas¡¯ knees hit the floor hard, as his legs finally give in. It hurts, but the pain hardly registers. He¡¯s in complete shock. He expected a lot of things, but not this. He lied. It hurts so much. Pete promised him, and it was all a lie. Once a liar, always a liar. Vegas should have known better. He should have specified the no-kill promise he extracted from Pete, made his father totally off-limits. He should have known better! Pete doesn¡¯t even spare Vegas a glance as he leisurely strolls past him towards Khun Gun. He seems positively giddy with excitement about this surprise. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for lying to you, Vegas. Well, technically speaking, it wasn¡¯t a real lie, it was more an omission of certain facts.¡± Then he turns his attention towards his captive. ¡°How are we doing, did we have a nice little nap?¡± Pete seems to enjoy this greatly, smirking down at the furious, immobilised man. ¡°Excuse me for not removing the gag just yet, you would just ruin the mood with all your foul words.¡± Chuckling, Pete condescendingly pats the man¡¯s head. The head of the Minor family growls. There¡¯s not much else he can do to voice his displeasure at this point. He bucks against the handcuffs, but they don¡¯t give even an inch. His father definitely drew the short straw in whatever fight brought him here. Pete was just a bit roughed up, but there is a lot more bruising and blood on his father. Khun Gun¡¯s customary beige suit is stained dark in many places, with cuts and tears all over it. Even the flamboyant neckerchief is torn. ¡­ his father¡­ ¡­ Pa¡­ Vegas finally finds his voice again. ¡°What the hell do you think you¡¯re doing?! Pete! Have you lost your mind?!¡± He doesn¡¯t even bother to get up; he simply crawls, frantically, across the floor towards the chair holding his father. Oh God. This cannot be happening, he needs to do something! ¡°Actually, I¡¯m remarkably clear-headed for once.¡± Pete steps aside so as not to block Vegas¡¯ path. ¡°I¡¯ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, and I¡¯ve finally come to the conclusion that this man here is the source of all our problems.¡± ¡°This man is my father!¡± Vegas shouts at Pete. He has finally reached the chair and starts to examine it. Fuck! It¡¯s solid metal and has been welded to the floor expertly. Now he knows what Pete has been doing all these times when he disappeared. His father shouts something inarticulate from behind the gag, and Vegas flinches at the tone of voice. He recognises the anger. Oh yes, his father is very angry. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m sorry,¡± he mumbles, trying to push and pull the chair, but it doesn¡¯t move at all. Fuck! Clasping his arms behind his back, Pete watches all this curiously, making no attempt to stop Vegas. Or rather, it¡¯s the monster watching everything. ¡°Yes, he¡¯s your father, but he¡¯s also a truly despicable human being. Let¡¯s face it, Vegas, your father has been abusing you physically and mentally since your early childhood.¡± He sneers at Gun. ¡°Karma¡¯s a bitch, eh? Guess you didn¡¯t expect someone to finally stand up to you, and especially not your son¡¯s boyfriend.¡± In his quest to free his father, Vegas is now fumbling with the handcuffs holding the ankles in place. Fuck, those are the same kind of high-security handcuffs Tawan used on him. Fuck! Pete has fastened them really tightly too; his father must be in pain. ¡°Give me the damn keys, Pete!¡± Vegas snarls at him, trying not to listen to what he is saying, because it¡¯s just making him even more upset. And then he apologises again to his father, ¡°I¡¯m so sorry Pa, I¡¯ll fix this, just a moment.¡± With a bemused expression on his face, Pete watches him struggle with the handcuffs, totally ignoring Vegas¡¯ request for the keys. ¡°You¡¯re not getting them off this way, Vegas. You really should know better. You tried to get out of them for days during your captivity.¡± On the verge of tears, Vegas stops his frantic rescue attempts and turns to fully face Pete. ¡°The keys! Now!¡± he demands forcefully. ¡°This madness stops right here and now! You really went too far this time!¡± ¡°I haven¡¯t even started yet,¡± the Abyss points out mildly. ¡°And you can forget about me giving you those keys, this asshole isn¡¯t going anywhere. We¡¯re all gathered here to fix the problem he poses, so start paying attention, Vegas. I know you¡¯re regrettably upset about your father¡¯s predicament, but it really can¡¯t be helped.¡± ¡°Pete¡­¡± Dismayed, Vegas stares at his boyfriend, but doesn¡¯t really recognise him. This is the monster in its full glory. He¡¯s caught a glimpse of it before, just moments before it shot him. It¡¯s terrifying. Should have shot him when I had the chance¡ªthe thought flutters briefly through his mind. Too late now. Didn¡¯t even bring a weapon here. You¡¯re such a fool, Vegas, such a damn fool. Vegas is at a loss for words. ¡°Now, where was I¡­?¡± And then Pete surprises Vegas by removing his father¡¯s gag. ¡°Be nice now, will you? You should be part of this discussion, that¡¯s only fair, since it concerns you.¡± Still kneeling at his father¡¯s feet, Vegas watches wide-eyed, cringing when his dad instantly starts to curse. Yup, that was to be expected. And while Khun Gun is spewing forth obscenities, Vegas warily sneaks a peek at Pete again. What will be his next move? For now the monster is just listening to the truly vile words thrown in his direction. ¡°You¡¯re dead, you¡¯re so fucking dead!¡± Khun Gun shouts at the top of his lungs, glowering at Pete. ¡°I¡¯m going to fucking kill you!¡± ¡°Not if I kill you first,¡± Pete points out with amusement. ¡°Tsk. Didn¡¯t I tell you to be nice?¡± And before Vegas can stop him, Pete slaps his captive so hard that the man¡¯s lip instantly splits. ¡°That¡¯s payback for hitting me, you asshole. Now shut the hell up.¡± Then he turns towards Vegas and gives him an apologetic smile. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I know he¡¯s my father-in-law, but he really makes me angry.¡± Vegas blinks. His brain has trouble keeping up with what is going on here. Everything is moving too fast; he¡¯s still too shocked to keep up with the developments. ¡°¡­ Pa¡­¡± Helplessly, he looks at both men, and then struggles back to his feet. Continuing to kneel seems like a bad choice; he is at a disadvantage in that position. But maybe standing up was a bad idea. He discovers that his legs are still awfully wobbly. Since he can¡¯t come up with anything else to do, he awkwardly tries to use the cloth of his shirt to dab at his father¡¯s bleeding mouth, but that only makes Gun focus his anger on his son instead. ¡°You useless piece of shit, you call yourself my son?! You allow your little boy toy to do this to me?! What the fuck is wrong with you?! Get me the hell out of these handcuffs, boy! What are you even waiting for?! I thought you were a cop? Arrest this madman! I¡¯m you damn father, Vegas, do something!¡± Vegas flinches again, ducking his head. Old habits die hard. Pete sees that and frowns. ¡°See, this is exactly what I was talking about. This man is pure poison. Don¡¯t forget he repeatedly locked you in the cellar, Vegas. He hit you. He is constantly throwing abuse at you. I know you tried to explain it to me, but seriously¡­ Can¡¯t you see that he is messing with your head?¡± His voice is turning cold now. ¡°He¡¯s messing with you, and it needs to stop.¡± There is no weapon, and nothing that can be used as a weapon either. Vegas despairs. What is he supposed to do? He needs to save his dad, but how? And even if he had a weapon, would he be able to threaten and potentially injure Pete? He doesn¡¯t want to find out. ¡°Give me the damn keys, please,¡± Vegas begs Pete. ¡°This is not the right way to handle my father and the complications he causes in my life. Let¡¯s just go and live abroad, Pete. We can leave everything behind and have a fresh start somewhere else, okay? But please leave my father alone.¡± ¡°No.¡± There is not an ounce of understanding in Pete¡¯s voice. He looks entirely detached and distant now, and Vegas¡¯ heart sinks. ¡°Your father has systematically broken you, Vegas. He broke you into pieces and then you put yourself back together best you could. But he broke you again. And again. I know you did your best, but it¡¯s like with broken bones: you need expert help to make them heal correctly, otherwise they grow back together all crooked. And that is what happened to you, you put yourself back together the wrong way, Vegas. I thought about this for quite a while, and I¡¯m reasonably sure I came to the right conclusion.¡± Khun Gun has fallen silent as well. Maybe the seriousness of his situation is finally starting to sink in. He appears to re-evaluate the threat level Pete poses, and for the first time in his life, Vegas sees his father looking scared. Vegas is afraid too. Afraid and utterly torn, because how the fuck is he supposed to choose between his soulmate and his father? His father¡¯s life is at stake, and he is failing all over again. Such a loser. ¡°You promised,¡± Vegas accuses Pete tremulously. ¡°You promised me you wouldn¡¯t kill him, Pete¡­¡± Pete wrinkles his nose and sighs deeply. ¡°I know. You need to understand that I love you very much, Vegas. I promised I wouldn¡¯t kill him, and I didn¡¯t lie about that.¡± With just one step, Pete is standing before Vegas and gently cups his cheek with his hand while looking him straight into the eyes. Dark, so dark. A bottomless Abyss. Vegas can¡¯t help but shudder as he leans into the touch. ¡°I did not lie. I¡¯m not going to kill your father, Vegas,¡± the monster tells him with its silky voice. ¡°You are.¡± Two words. Just two words. His world falls apart with two words. Khun Gun gasps, but Vegas can¡¯t even do that anymore. Is he even still breathing? Two words. Cruel, so unimaginably cruel. He glaringly miscalculated the depth of Pete¡¯s dark side, it seems. Should have known better, how could he have been so naive? Fuck. Pete¡¯s hand feels so warm against his cheek. And the way he looks at him, as if Vegas is the centre of his world. It¡¯s too much, Vegas cannot wrap his mind around it. So he withdraws, taking a step backward while shaking his head in denial. ¡°No.¡± Because really, what else is there to say? ¡®No¡¯ should be sufficient: he is not going to kill his father. No way. Absolutely not going to happen. And since Pete simply gives him a Cheshire Cat smile, seemingly refusing to listen, Vegas repeats himself. ¡°No. No, I won¡¯t.¡± And then the dam breaks and anger surfaces, red hot anger. ¡°What the hell do you think you¡¯re doing?!¡± Clenching his jaw, he accusingly points a finger at Pete. ¡°Have you completely lost your freaking mind?!¡± Vegas is very angry. Mind games again, he fucking hates these mind games, he is so done with this. But the Abyss simply ignores his outburst. ¡°I¡¯m going to fix everything, Vegas, I have it all figured out.¡± Still smiling eerily, the monster takes a step towards him, and Vegas automatically retreats, his fear once again overwhelming the anger. ¡°He broke you, and you put yourself back together all wrong. That¡¯s why you can¡¯t truly accept and love the real me. You said yourself that you will always pick your family, that you¡¯ll pick him over me. And he¡¯ll make you leave me. You¡¯re already thinking about it, don¡¯t deny it. I can feel that you regret giving me another chance. You think I¡¯m all wrong, and it¡¯s all due to this man over there. So I¡¯m going to fix it.¡± Vegas¡¯ breath gets increasingly uneven as he listens to Pete. His anxiety spikes to never before seen levels. Insane, this is insane. ¡°Just like with bones that grew back together the wrong way, to fix them you need to break them all over again, so that they can heal properly,¡± Pete explains with a chilling softness. ¡°So that¡¯s what I¡¯m going to do. I¡¯m going to fucking break you, Vegas. I¡¯m going to make you fall apart, and then I am going to put you back together the correct way, so that you can love me without being troubled by your damn conscience.¡± ¡°He¡¯s completely insane¡­¡± Khun Gun whispers fearfully, breaking the silence. ¡°Vegas¡­ son¡­ do something¡­ save me¡­¡± But Vegas can¡¯t move; he is frozen in place. His anger has completely vanished and left is only terror. Yes, Pete must be insane. No normal person would come to these kinds of conclusions. Vegas is stuck here in the middle of nowhere with an insane killer, and no way to defend himself, or his father. What a fucking nightmare. Oh God, why is this happening to me? ¡°Don¡¯t do this to me,¡± he pleads. He is back to wringing his hands. ¡°This is Red, you hear me? Red. I am not going to kill him, you can¡¯t make me do it. He¡¯s my father, Pete. You cannot make me kill my father. Besides, you got it all wrong, I already love you, I really do.¡± But Pete snorts dismissively at that, ignoring their colour-coded warning system completely. ¡°You freak out when I touch you. You¡¯re a nervous wreck when you don¡¯t know what I¡¯m doing at all times, because you suspect me of being out there, killing people. You won¡¯t let me meet your family because you¡¯re afraid of me. You don¡¯t want me to keep my job because you don¡¯t think I am qualified to help others because I kill people. You have nightmares about my murder scenes, you can¡¯t even look at the crime scene photos or hear me talk about my kills without freaking out!¡± His voice gets louder and louder, ending in a desperate shout. Oh shit, Pete¡¯s upset. Still¡­ Even in the face of that, Vegas musters all the courage he has left, and resolutely faces the monster. ¡°I refuse. I will not kill my father. You can¡¯t make me do it, I would rather die than kill him.¡± Instead of the expected, frustrated outburst, the monster smiles at him, and Vegas¡¯ stomach drops. He must have overlooked something. Why would Pete smile? Why¡­? ¡°Oh Vegas¡­¡± Pete tsks softly. ¡°I knew you would say that. That¡¯s what I love about you. You have so much integrity.¡± He turns towards Khun Gun and the smile he gives him is so thoroughly wicked that Vegas feels the first signs of an approaching panic attack. ¡°Would you like me to tell you why your son is going to kill you?¡± Both Vegas and his father swallow hard, united in their trepidation. ¡°You see¡ª¡± The Abyss breaks into a wide, dimpled smile. ¡°¡ªI have Macau.¡± The distress slamming into Vegas is so intense that it knocks him off his feet again, and he finds himself sitting on the floor. Macau. Vegas¡¯ stomach heaves, and the next moment he is retching all over the floor. There is a dull buzzing in his ears. He¡¯s feeling very faint all of a sudden. Macau. Oh God. He throws up until there is only bile left. Oh God. Nonono. Macau. This cannot be happening. Pete wants to utterly break him? Remake him? Congratulation, it works. Crack. The glue that holds the pieces of Vegas together is weakening. His father is making some anxious sounds, perhaps he is talking, but Vegas shuts everything out. Macau. The one person in his life he must protect at all costs. Oh God. He feels cold all of a sudden, then hot again. He knows he is sweating and gasping for air, his heart is racing and everything in his body is going haywire. Macau. At some point he becomes aware that someone is tenderly wiping his face with a cool washcloth, stroking his hair. ¡°It¡¯s all right¡­¡± the silky voice murmurs lovingly. ¡°Take it easy, just breathe. I got you, Vegas. Everything will be all right.¡± No, everything will not be all right. When he finally catches his breath, Vegas shrugs off Pete¡¯s hand. He can¡¯t stand being touched by him right now. He wants to get up and walk out of this warehouse, away from this madness, right into the ocean, never to surface again. But he can¡¯t, because Pete has Macau. Just thinking about it causes a fresh spike of anxiety. Macau is supposed to be off-limits! The overall sense of betrayal about this is crushing. And another crack appears. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. Slowly, Vegas raises his head until he is looking Pete straight in the eyes. ¡°I¡¯m never going to forgive you for this,¡± he states quietly. ¡°Never.¡± Pete shrugs his shoulders, and there is sadness in his dark eyes. ¡°I know. But I love you anyway, Vegas.¡± Then both of them simultaneously turn towards the man cuffed to the chair. The moment his father sees the expression on Vegas¡¯ face, his features twist into naked fear, and he starts shaking his head frantically. ¡°No! Vegas! You¡¯re my son! I¡¯m your father! You can¡¯t!¡± With a fluid motion, Pete jumps up and stretches, just like a cat. His lips curl into a cruel smile as he looks down on the distraught head of the Minor family. ¡°I bet you regret treating your son like shit now. Did you see? He didn¡¯t even hesitate for a second, he picked his brother over you in an instant. Not a moment of doubt. Sucks to be you right now, eh?¡± Then he turns and offers Vegas a hand to help him up, but Vegas ignores it, struggling to his feet without accepting any help. Crack. He can feel himself coming apart at the edges just listening to his father¡¯s frantic efforts to dislodge the chains holding him in place. Pete is right of course; he knows Vegas too well. The second Macau was dragged into this mess, Pete won. And it¡¯s written plainly all over Vegas¡¯ face for everyone to see. Vegas drags his feet, every step is agonising, until he¡¯s standing before his hyperventilating father. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, Pa,¡± he whispers in a broken voice. ¡°I¡¯m so damn sorry, but I don¡¯t have a choice¡­¡± Crack. ¡°Vegas!¡± His father starts crying now, big, ugly sobs. This proud, strong man has been reduced to begging for his life. He pleads and whimpers; the whole spectacle is just horrifying. Vegas gulps. He wants to look away but can¡¯t, because if he is about to kill his father, he should have the guts to at least look him in the eyes while doing it. ¡°Give me a gun already,¡± he whispers hoarsely, glancing at Pete. ¡°Or do you want me to strangle him?¡± The stench of fear rising from his father is making him nauseous. Crack. The monster positively purrs with delight, but something about all of this makes Vegas wary. What else does Pete have in mind? ¡°No gun,¡± the monster announces gleefully. ¡°It would be over too quickly. Your father has put you through hell, so his final send-off should put him through hell as well, don¡¯t you agree?¡± Oh God. Vegas¡¯ can feel himself starting to hyperventilate as well, just like his panic-stricken, mewling father. He wants this to be over with. No more cat and mouse games. Oh God. ¡°Don¡¯t do this to me, please. I¡¯m not like you. I don¡¯t want him to suffer. I just want a quick death for him.¡± Crack. ¡°You are forgetting the whole purpose behind all of this, Vegas.¡± Pete saunters over to his side and affectionately ruffles Vegas¡¯ sweat-drenched hair. ¡°You need to break. So here¡¯s how we are going to do it¡­¡± Completely ignoring the ever-increasing, terrified pleas of the man on the chair, he guides Vegas closer to their victim. Vegas is growing all numb; Pete is the puppet master at this point. Vegas allows himself to be guided. Run run run. He wants to hide, but there is nowhere he can escape to. Macau, he reminds himself. Macau is all that counts. Crack. He must have been spacing out, because suddenly there is a knife. As far as knives go, it¡¯s a beautiful one. A thin, dark blade with an intricately carved wooden handle. Pretty. Pete is showing it to him. In the background he can hear his father terrified whimpering, but Vegas is trying to filter that disturbing sound out. ¡°This is a handcrafted, Japanese boning knife, Vegas. The handle is oak wood, with a special kind of lacquer that is said to exude a warm sense of intimacy when in contact with the skin. It can almost be likened to the touch of an infant¡¯s skin. Can you feel it?¡± The knife is placed in his hand, and since Vegas is so unresponsive, Pete helps him close his fingers around the handle. Yes, it feels good. Heavier than Vegas thought, too. ¡°The blade is white Shirogami steel with a black mirror finish.¡± Pete places his hand over Vegas¡¯, guiding him through a few motions, all the while patiently explaining more facts about this knife and Japanese knives in general. He would make a good teacher, Vegas notes, dazed. ¡°Now be careful, Vegas, this knife is exceptionally sharp.¡± ¡°¡­ don¡¯t make me do this¡­¡± Vegas doesn¡¯t even recognise his voice anymore, it sounds so very faint and thin with fear. Crack. ¡°This is all for your own good, Vegas,¡± Pete reminds him softly, guiding his hand until the blade comes to rest lightly against a thigh clad in expensive beige cloth. His father¡¯s thigh! ¡°It will be like a rebirth. You¡¯re like a beautiful butterfly with crippled wings, and I¡¯m going to stuff you right back into your cocoon so that you can regenerate and start all over again.¡± ¡°Oh God¡­¡± Vegas is staring at that twitching thigh, the edge of the blade gleaming lethally in the light. Crack. Crack Crack Crack. ¡°Please¡­ I love you¡­ please¡­¡± ¡°I love you too, Vegas,¡± Pete murmurs in his ear. The pressure around his hand increases, and Vegas is forced to watch with morbid fascination as the edge of the blade disappears slowly downward into the cloth and what lies beneath. There is next to no resistance, Pete wasn¡¯t kidding. This knife is extremely sharp. His father lets out a bloodcurdling scream and Vegas flinches hard, nearly dislodging the blade. Blood is welling up from the wound, red, hot blood, the metallic scent of it hitting Vegas hard in the face. Red. Red again. He hates red. Why is there so much red in his life? His stomach roils again. ¡­Ohgodohgodohgod¡­ ¡­CRACK CRACK CRACK¡­ There is nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Nowhere but¡­ Out of sheer desperation Vegas tries to retreat into his mind, battening the hatches. He locks himself into the darkness and the silence, shutting everything and everyone out. Safe. Finally safe. Right? Right¡­??? But to his horror he discovers that there¡¯s no stopping the process now, even here he¡¯s continuing to unravel. Cracks everywhere. So many cracks. And then he finally breaks, just as Pete predicted, the flawed glue holding him together disintegrating. He¡¯s coming apart, bit by bit. Fragmenting. Splintering. Vegas can feel himself shattering into a million pieces, like an exploding firework, the broken fragments of him burning up as they descend, so pretty. And then¡ªfinally¡ªthere is just darkness, and he is back in his cocoon¡ªjust as promised¡ªimmaterial, simply floating. Time has no meaning here. The butterfly is regenerating. Chrysalis. The darkness coalesces, forming new ink-black puzzle pieces that lazily float through the void. And when there are so many that the void gets crowded, they start drifting towards another, snapping into place. Click. Click. Click. A new Vegas is taking shape, he is transforming, transitioning towards perfection. Everything snaps into place until there is just one last piece missing, a piece that cannot be found here. Darkness. Silence. And then his consciousness returns, and with it thoughts and also¡­ Drip. Drip. Drip. There should have been silence. There should have been darkness. There is neither. Drip. Drip. Drip. The reborn butterfly shudders in its cocoon, overwhelmed by sensations and thoughts as reality starts to intrude into its safe space. Even with his eyes tightly closed, blissful darkness evades Vegas. There is no escape, the lights shining through the thin skin of his eyelids paint his inner sanctuary with a rose-red tinge. Red. Fucking red everywhere. I see a red door. And I want it painted black. No colours anymore. I want them to turn black. Black. Black. BLACK! Thoughts are going wild, skipping uncontrollably through his mind. So many thoughts. Nothing is making sense. Vegas needs his mind to be comfortably black. Like the untouched surface of a lake during a warm summer day without even the slightest breeze. Tranquil. Yet his runaway thoughts skip over its surface like the flat river pebbles he used to collect with¡ªnotgoingtherenotgoingthere¡­ skip¡­ skip¡­ skip¡­ leaving disruptive ripples in their wake. When the cocoon finally cracks and sets him free, it is jarring. Drip. Drip. Drip. There should be silence, blissful white noise, yet there are sounds. Something is dripping, a never ending monotonous sound that feels like a fingernail slowly being drawn over a chalkboard, the chalkboard being his raw exposed nerves. And in between drips¡­ frantic panting? ¡­definitelynotgoingthere¡­ moving on¡­ Drip. Drip. Drip. The dripping is eventually drowned out by a rhythmic thudding. Thud¡­ Thud¡­ Thud¡­ ThudThud¡­ ThudThud¡­ ThudThud¡­ ThudThudThud¡­ ThudThudThud¡­ ThudThudThud¡­ Faster and faster it goes. Like rotor blades slashing through a blood-red evening sky. Vegas can feel the sound with his whole body, with his chest. Within his chest. Vibrating. Thudding. Pumping. And it takes him way too long to realise that it¡¯s his own racing heartbeat he is hearing. He doesn¡¯t know where he gets the energy from, but somehow he floods his brain with soothing white noise that drowns out every other sound. Shutting out everything else. Blissful silence once more. Vegas tries to inhale but the air is hot and moist and it feels as thick as molasses, which makes breathing a constant battle. Every cell in his body is screaming. He desperately needs air. Oxygen, he needs oxygen! Skip¡­ more random thoughts and ripples. He watched a movie once, something about deep sea diving using oxygenated perfluorocarbon, and this must be how it feels like, to inhale a breathing fluid, he is choking, like that lab rat in the movie and¡­ Skip¡­ more ripples. ¡°Breathe. Just breathe,¡± the calming voice of Luke Skywalker echoes though his mind. Great. Now he is channeling his own inner Jedi? What a damn joke. Skip¡­ even more ripples. ¡°Come to the Dark Side. We have cookies.¡± Vegas. Cannot. Breathe. He is going to pass out. Yes please. He is going to die. Please, just let me die already. He is going to die in this silent sea of endless rolling crimson madness, going under, drowning in liquid iron that leaves such a metallic taste in his mouth that it makes him nauseous. Is he standing? Sitting? He feels so lost, he has no body awareness at all. Instead it feels as if he¡¯s just drifting in space. A universe drenched in vermillion, intruding even through his tightly closed eyelids. Floating. Floating in the soothing white noise that is supposed to keep him safely isolated from the harsh reality he¡¯s so desperately trying to escape. Skip¡­ skip¡­ skip¡­ ¡­Free Fall¡­ No safety nets, no regrets, no hesitation¡­ Tap. There is a shadow of a touch, right between his shoulder blades, anchoring him. Light. Cool. Tiny. The size of the tip of a finger perhaps. It barely touches his bare skin. For a moment he wonders if he is just imagining it, a last hallucination while his brain is dying from lack of oxygen. Hyperventilating sucks. Tap. Goosebumps spread like an avalanche down his back, leaving icy numbness in their wake. Vegas waits¡­ and there it comes again. Tap. He exhales painfully. There is something he is supposed to remember but he draws a blank. Something important. Something he is not supposed to forget and yet here he is, scrambling after his skipping thoughts, chasing through the white noise after the ripples to remember. Tap. This time the finger comes to rest against his skin and stays in place. Vegas shivers. Breathing once again becomes secondary. The pressure between his shoulder blades increases ever so slightly, bringing a hint of pain with it. Like a sharp fingernail digging steadily into his already overly sensitive skin. Pressing down down down only to withdraw without breaking contact. Resting in place, unmoving, a blunt icicle poised to stab him, impaling him like a butterfly pinned to a board in the natural history museum. He remebers what his mother said¡­ ¡°It¡¯s called a Papilio memnon, Vegas. Lovely, isn¡¯t it? Only the males are ink black like this. You can look, but don¡¯t touch, all right? Never touch a butterfly¡¯s wings. They are very fragile.¡± This time the pressure is more pronounced when the fingernail once again digs into his back. Right between his black wings. Black wings that are black no more, they are drenched in blood, so very red¡­ ¡°Cymothoe sangaris, Vegas. They are not native. They do not belong here.¡± Just like me. ¡­and the pressure becomes so unpleasant that it snaps him right back into his oxygen-deprived nightmare. He tenses automatically, instinctively leaning forward and away from the contact, only to freeze just a second later as he remembers that he mustn¡¯t move. He cannot remember why, but a growing sense of distress brings with it the realisation that he messed up. He should not have moved. And so he leans back until he once again feels the fingertip making contact with his sweat-drenched skin¡ªand then some more, impaling himself on that fingernail until he can feel it slicing through his skin, sinking into his flesh. Making up for his mistake. ¡°Are you listening?! Are. You. Listening?! Such a fucking disappointment, just like your mother!¡± Vegas¡¯ breath hitches. His heart stutters and then picks up at an even faster pace. It shouldn¡¯t be humanly possible¡ªsurely sooner rather than later something has got to give, and everything¡ªhis heart¡ªwill come to a screeching halt. The pressure withdraws, the fingertip coming to rest gently against his skin. Something trickles down his spine. Sweat? Blood? He is starting to feel seriously dizzy, the sound of his racing heartbeat even invading the safety of the white noise with its persistent frantic throbbing. And then the pressure increases once more, the edge of the fingernail finding the open wound it previously left behind without fail, and then it¡¯s grinding into his flesh, deeper this time, and the pain it brings cuts through the dizziness and carries him straight into another memory, another voice¡­ ¡°Begin by slowly exhaling all of your air out. Then, gently inhale through your nose to a slow count of 4. Hold at the top of the breath for a count of 4. Then gently exhale through your mouth for a count of 4. At the bottom of the breath, pause and hold for a count of 4. You can do that, right? Detective, I know you think this is ridiculous but please, let¡¯s give it a try. Just once, okay?¡± He remembers! The relief is so immense that he almost accidentally sways forward again, but he catches himself at the last second and just freezes in place. Like the pinned, bloody butterfly he is. He remembers. And despite his racing heart, despite being on the very edge of passing out because he is hyperventilating like hell, some of the tension drains from his body. It must have been noticeable because the fingernail stops drilling into his muscles and retreats to its resting position. A familiar voice like liquid silk intrudes into the white noise. ¡°Use your words, Vegas. What colour?¡± Garnet. Maroon. Burgundy. And the pressure increases again, but this time it¡¯s not only expected; he is welcoming it. With it comes the pain, and on its wings it carries a growing sense of calm. Thankfully the fingernail isn¡¯t especially long or it would be scraping along the bones of his spine by now. Vegas is breathing deeply right through the pain. This is nothing. He can do this. When the pressure lessens he is ready, clinging to the last shreds of his sanity. It¡¯s difficult to think when he is drowning on dry land, his body in full survival mode. But he forces himself to exhale sharply. He can do this. There is a soundless tap on his back. He inhales through his nose as slowly as he is able to right now. It isn¡¯t perfect. It¡¯s far from gentle. It¡¯s far from slow. It sounds plain wrong, more as if he is being strangled. His nose seems to be partially clogged, but he just snorts it in and swallows convulsively as the taste of iron spreads in his mouth. The urge to move is nearly impossible to resist. But he can do this. He does not move. He continues to inhale. Tap. Tap. Tap. After the last tap, as expected, the finger rests between his shoulder blades. Vegas cannot run, but he can control his breathing, he can hold his breath while his heart feels as if it¡¯s going to explode any second now and there are small explosions of lights on the inside of his closed eyelids. He is going to die. This is it. He holds his breath in defiance. As big fat FUCK YOU to the world while the nail digs into his back once, twice, thrice and a forth time. Fuck everything. Tap. His breath explodes outward, he is wheezing and coughing at the same time, he is not doing well, he is messing this up again, of course he is messing this up, he is such a loser¡­ ¡°You stupid boy! You only cause disaster! You aren¡¯t even worthy of being my son.¡± His eyes burning from withheld tears, Vegas coughs his way through the remaining three taps but somehow manages to hold his breath again as the relentless fingernail rams the needle straight back into the butterfly, four fucking times. And it hurts. And the urge to cough sits at the back of his throat but he holds it in. And then it starts all over again. And again. And again. And again. A seemingly endless cycle. And somewhere amidst it, Vegas¡¯ heart does slow down. His erratic breathing stabilises. His world constricts until there is only the white noise, and his mind filled with the endless sea of blood and the ripples that his thoughts leave behind as they skip on and on and on over its mirror-like surface. ¡°Give me a colour, Vegas.¡± The voice wraps itself around him like a caress. Mahogany. Cadmium Red. Carmine. Cinnabar. The heat is stifling in the room, or whatever the hell this place is, and yet, Vegas still feels a slight increase of bodyheat approaching his bare back and it makes the hairs on his nape stand up. Then he smells it. He is so attuned to this particular smell that he can even make it out over the cloying stench of blood that permeates the air around him. Rosewood. Cinnamon. Vanilla. Amber. He waits. Soon enough, hot breath is feathering along the damp back of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. The heat intensifies and a whiff of air tickles his left ear. Close, so close. Vegas imagines himself as a glorious statue of blood marble. Just breathing slowly and biding his time. The white noise fades into the background as a single, soft-spoken word slides to the forefront of his consciousness. ¡°Vegas¡­?¡± There is an unspoken question in this word. A question he cannot pretend not to understand. A question he cannot ignore. Must not ignore. God. Damn. Fucking. Scarlet. ¡°Green.¡± Vegas exhales his reply with a shudder, he does not even recognise his own voice. It¡¯s his own voice, isn¡¯t it? It sounds so unfamiliar, so ¡­ raw? As if he¡¯s been crying? Reluctantly, Vegas opens his eyes and is blinded for a moment, blinking. The colours and shapes before him make no sense, weaving and blending into each other. That is fine though. This is good. Better this than¡­ clarity. His mind instinctively shies away from following this line of thought any further as the cacophony of colours bleed away to settle into the inevitable more vivid shades of red once again as well as the shape of¡ªnotgoingtherenotgoingthere¡­ yet ¡­ sonotgoingthereyet¡ªso he simply blocks out reality, refuses to make sense of what¡ªwho¡ªhe is seeing before him¡­ unspeakable horror¡­ as his vision becomes crystal clear. ¡°Such a good boy,¡± the silky, disembodied voice behind him croons into his ear. And it makes his heart expand, filling him with such overwhelming gratitude that he aches with it. Vegas sucks in a deep shuddering breath that sounds more like a sob. He is good. He can do this. As his awareness of his surroundings further sharpens, everything slowly starts to make sense again. His knees hurt from kneeling on the hard concrete floor of the abandoned warehouse. Vegas¡¯ whole body is an aching, tense mess. Rebirth hurts. Hurts hurts hurts. He¡¯s stiff and sore all over, and his fingers are cramping because¡­ oh¡­ he¡¯s clutching something heavy in his right hand. Long. Hard. The metal already warmed to match his body temperature. Warm, so warm, and he is so hot. Perhaps, when he eventually combusts, the metal will melt, burning through skin and flesh, encasing his very bones. Like the Terminator¡­ or Wolverine¡­ Vegas¡¯ grip tightens. He is fine. Everything is fine. He is enveloped in a cloud of rosewood, cinnamon, vanilla and amber. It soothes his frayed nerves, filling him with serenity. It smells familiar, like home. It smells like safety. It smells like Pete. Heat meets heat, warm lips graze his neck playfully with the slightest scrape of teeth. ¡°Well, what are you waiting for? A written invitation?¡± Pete teases him mischievously. Indeed, what is he waiting for? Vegas¡¯ dried lips crack and start oozing blood as they curve into a genuinely happy smile. Everything suddenly makes sense, becomes natural once again; he does not even have to think as he reverently, and with just the right amount of pressure, drives the knife into the flesh before him as if it were butter. Beautiful. It feels amazing. A bit more and the knife hits the bone, and he just slides it right along the curve of the rib, like a dance, a waltz of blood and death, accompanied by a symphony of hair-raising screams. Notgoingthereyet ¡­ notgoingthereyet ¡­ except¡­ perhaps it¡¯s time to stop being a chicken, and face reality, shall we? Pete is hugging him from behind, their body heat mingles, and the familiar smell of rosewood and cinnamon gives Vegas a sense of security. The reborn butterfly crawls out of its cocoon amidst softly spoken words of encouragement. The stench of blood and other body fluids lays heavy in the air as death sweeps into the abandoned warehouse. One cut for his mother. One cut for Macau. One cut for every day locked up in the cellar. One cut for every hateful comment, for all the violence he had to endure all these years. It is slightly surprising what sounds a human being¡ªhis father¡ªcan make while being slaughtered slowly. And strangely enough, Vegas feels no regret whatsoever. Finally unleashed, all his bottled up hatred simply pours out of him like a flash flood. Every time the knife sinks into the quivering flesh of the pathetically wailing man before him, Vegas is cutting himself loose from his past. As the reborn butterfly unfolds its wings, it gets easier to breathe. It gets easier to maim. Every cut to the flesh severs a dark memory weighing him down. Free. Free at last. Eventually, Vegas carelessly drops the knife. He is done here. He has closed this chapter of his life, permanently. In a daze, he turns towards the door to walk away from everything and nearly falls; his bare feet slip on the metal floor that is now coated with blood, but then he regains his balance. When did he take off his shoes? Out, he needs to get out and get some fresh air. Beyond the door, morning has broken, night is turning into day. Vegas walks past the parked car and out into a little meadow. The cool morning breeze feels wonderful. The grass brushes softly against his bare feet. He can hear the birds singing, calling out to each other. What a magnificent morning. Vegas stretches his imaginary wings, preparing to fly, but there is still something missing it seems, he can¡¯t lift off. He closes his eyes and simply stands there, until he can feel the first rays of dawn warming the skin on his face. When he opens his eyes again, the world is red, and so is he. Vegas is covered with drying blood and strangely enough, he doesn¡¯t care. Red is just another colour now, nothing special, nothing to be afraid of. There is this great calm in his mind where there used to be only skipping fluttering chaos, it¡¯s so damn refreshing. Taking a deep breath, he sighs. Yes, it is a wonderful morning. There are footsteps behind him, approaching slowly. Vegas just basks in the sun and waits patiently. Closer, closer¡­ soon the small hairs on the back of his neck rise, and he can sense the body heat of the person coming to stand right behind him. He still doesn¡¯t move. His patience is endless. Eventually, the person behind him tentatively leans his head against the space between Vegas¡¯ shoulder blades and exhales a shuddering breath. ¡°You never took Macau, right?¡± This question is merely a formality, he has already figured out everything, but Vegas asks anyway. He can feel Pete shaking his head without breaking their body contact. ¡°Of course not,¡± Pete mumbles against his back. ¡°I promised I would never touch him; he is your brother after all. I know how much you love him.¡± ¡°You¡¯re such an asshole,¡± Vegas scolds him, but without any heat. Thing is, he gets it, he finally understands why Pete has been doing all this. Getting angry about it now serves no purpose. It would be a waste of energy. They stand there for a while, Vegas enjoying the dawn and the incredible peace that has descended on him. ¡°There is a water hose beside the warehouse¡ªwe should probably clean up. Dried blood is a pain in the ass to scrub off,¡± Pete informs him quietly after a while. He¡¯s very subdued, almost as if he is waiting for something. Is he worried that Vegas will lash out at him now, to make him pay for this? After pondering for a minute, Vegas decides he doesn¡¯t feel like punishing Pete. Surprisingly enough, there¡¯s no anger within him. Just this great, glorious calm. ¡°Yes, we should probably do that. Lead the way?¡± Vegas turns around and looks at Pete. It knocks the breath out of him. The warm rays of the morning light bathe Pete in golden hues; wherever the light touches him, his skin seems to be glowing. His hair and eyes are still impossibly dark, and there is blood splatter all over his face, but Vegas sees past that, it is merely an unimportant detail right now. Pete is so beautiful, a breathtaking golden deity of Death turned into mortal flesh, awarding him with a hint of a dimpled smile. Just¡­ wow. Vegas swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. Click¡ªthe last puzzle piece slots into place. Vegas¡¯ metamorphosis is complete, the puzzle pieces are fusing together, never to be separated again. Their eyes meet, and goosebumps erupt all over Vegas¡¯ body. He feels like a cat in a sea of catnip, getting high simply by looking his fill. And while he¡¯s still staring, dumbstruck like a smitten teenager, the object of his infatuation gives him a bemused look. Then Pete turns around and walks away, back towards the warehouse. Wait a second. Vegas needs a moment to catch his breath. This was a bit unexpected; somehow it feels like falling in love all over again, and that is damn confusing. His heart is singing, completely off key, but whatever¡­ Vegas is having a moment here, and it¡¯s mind-boggling. He just killed his father, for heavens sake! And holy shit, how come he is so utterly calm about that? Shouldn¡¯t he be feeling differently? Shouldn¡¯t he be a ball of misery, hating himself, with guilt eating away at him? Stunned, Vegas closes his eyes, sorting through his feelings at this very moment. Nothing? Really? How is this even possible? He brutally murdered his own father and he has no regrets? No wait, there is an emotion and it¡¯s¡­ grim satisfaction? All those horrible days locked up in the cellar. The vicious beatings he took. Being forcefully separated from his little brother. Oh, yes¡­ as far as he¡¯s concerned, his father had it coming. And just like that, Vegas shrugs that line of thought off, and opens his eyes again. Now where did his little golden sunflower go? Vegas ambles towards the warehouse again, whistling softly to himself. They really are in the middle of nowhere, no neighbours or streets in sight. What a lovely part of the countryside. He follows the sound of splashing water, rounds the corner of the building and stops to take a moment. Well, hello there¡­ he¡¯s found his sunflower. Pete is washing the blood from his hair with a water hose. The shirt he was wearing before now lies discarded on the ground, his bare upper body glistening in shimmering golden hues that the sun paints on his skin. Vegas mouth goes dry. Perfection. So damn beautiful. Mesmerised, he strolls closer. Pete is humming to himself, eyes closed as he shampoos his hair and then uses the hose to rinse it. When he opens his eyes again, Vegas is standing just a short distance away from him, just out of the spray. Again, Pete teases him with a dimpled smile that makes the butterflies in his stomach go wild. Yes, Vegas is definitely having a moment here. He is hopelessly besotted. It¡¯s absurd, he has fallen in love all over again with this man before him, but this time there are no doubts, no reservations. There is just total acceptance. Down to earth as usual, and entirely unaware of Vegas¡¯ ongoing emotional epiphany, Pete points to the plastic bottle on the grass beside him. ¡°Here is shampoo, you can use it as body wash as well. I brought a fresh change of clothes for both of us too, they are in th¡­¡± Vegas pounces and the hose goes flying, spraying them both with water. Pete yelps, but is immediately silenced by Vegas kissing him hungrily as the usual sparks between them ignite, setting them both on fire. They probably shouldn¡¯t be doing this right now, but neither of them gives a damn. Pete more or less rips Vegas¡¯ shirt off; the buttons go flying in all directions, causing Vegas to laugh breathlessly. The water makes the grass slippery¡ªone false step, and they both go down in a heap of legs and arms as they lose their balance. But not even that can stop them. They continue to kiss eagerly while peeling each other out of their remaining clothes. Pete¡¯s hands and mouth are seemingly everywhere; they¡¯re rolling across the grass. Vegas grips the curve of Pete¡¯s ass, digging his fingernails into the flesh, and hears Pete¡¯s low moan, which is music to his ears. Too quiet though, he wages he can get a louder reaction out of Pete, and so he gives that ass a brisk slap. Surprised, Pete cries out and then immediately bites his lower lip. The expression on his flushed face is priceless. Vegas grins, finds Pete¡¯s nipple and twists. His boyfriend gives a sharp groan, a hard shudder running through his entire body. ¡°You like that?¡± Vegas asks him softly. Pete answers by grabbing the back of his head, sinking his fingers into Vegas¡¯ hair, and yanking him in for an open-mouthed kiss with a lot of tongue. Vegas approves. And the madness continues. Vegas needs this so badly, he needs a clean cut from all the pain and hurt they¡¯ve caused each other in the past. This is a fresh start for both of them, their new beginning. Every touch, every kiss is his promise to Pete to love him, always and unconditionally. His own pleasure becomes secondary; this is about pleasing Pete, making Pete feel desired and most important of all, loved. Because he loves this man from the bottom of his heart, with his whole soul, and he needs Pete to understand this. I love you. Vegas reverently kisses and licks the faded bite scar on Pete¡¯s neck. I cherish you. Crawling on top of Pete, his mouth latches onto one of his nipples. He knows how sensitive they are, and soon Pete is a moaning, shuddering mess as Vegas lavishes those nipples with attention, sucking and biting them. You complete me. Vegas¡¯ mouth starts travelling down Pete¡¯s chest, scraping his teeth over the muscles of the abdomen, stopping to give a little nip now and then because that causes Pete to buck against him with a strangled hiss, which is delightful. You are the most important person in my life. Pete is starting to breathe faster. Vegas can feel his hard muscles tensing under Vegas¡¯ tongue as he licks his way further downward, marking him with a hickey now and then. You are my soulmate. Pete groans loudly and writhes, his fingers digging aimlessly into the grass when Vegas closes his fist around Pete¡¯s cock and strokes him, moving roughly up and down. I love you so much. Pete¡¯s eyes slide closed with bliss and he cries out hoarsely when at last Vegas wraps his lips around Pete¡¯s cock, taking him into his mouth. Vegas is teasing him expertly, mixing pleasure with the pain Pete is craving, until Pete throws his head back, his neck corded with strain, shouting so loudly that all the birds in the surrounding trees take flight as he comes. In the aftermath of it all, when Pete starts crying because all this love he is showered with feels too overwhelming, Vegas lovingly kisses those tears from his face as well. And only then does Vegas take care of his own needs. He pushes Pete¡¯s legs wide, spreading him, and then wedges his own aching erection inside of him. Tight, so damn tight, but the pressure is still bearable. Pete exhales a hissing breath, involuntarily tensing up, Vegas knows this must be painful, and so he gives him some time to adjust. They are staring at each other wordlessly. Bathed in the morning sun, Vegas can see Pete¡¯s eyes aren¡¯t as black as he always thought; there are tiny specks of brown and gold dancing around his dilated pupils. Beautiful. So beautiful. Vegas tentatively starts to rock against Pete, who shivers and responds by wrapping his legs around Vegas¡¯ waist. After all this foreplay and teasing, holding back is proving more and more difficult. Vegas¡¯ body constricts with need. He shudders breathlessly and arches a questioning eyebrow at Pete, who simply nods. With a sigh of relief, Vegas withdraws almost completely, then rams his throbbing cock back into Pete. Yes! Both of them groan. Vegas is no longer holding back at all, he is thrusting hard and fast. Pete¡¯s fingernails must be leaving deep scratch marks on Vegas¡¯ back; to protect himself Vegas grabs his wrists and presses them into the grass and then they¡¯re kissing once more, deep, frantic kisses that stifle the increasingly loud noises Pete is making. Vegas breathing is getting shallower in between grunts, his thrusts more erratic. He comes with a broken yell, collapsing all his weight on Pete, and then just shivers and shudders until the quivering tension in his muscles finally eases. ¡°I love you,¡± Pete mumbles tiredly, and Vegas¡¯ mouth curves into an exhausted smile. ¡°I love you too.¡± Vegas buries his face against Pete¡¯s neck, breathing in the scent of his skin. Too worn out to move, they rest in each other¡¯s arms on the soft damp grass. The air smells of warm earth and sex. Vegas can hear the leaves rustling in the nearby trees and the water that is still trickling from the hose. Occasionally a butterfly flutters past them, and a lone shimmering dragonfly zips through their field of vision. ¡°Before I forget¡­¡± Pete stretches and reaches out to his discarded clothes to fish something out of the pocket of his pants, handing it to Vegas. ¡°What do you want to do with this? Shall I dispose of it?¡± It is a ring; solid gold and quite valuable, or so Vegas has been told all his life. Blood has seeped into the engraved Theerapanyakul coat of arms and dried there. ¡°The King is dead¡­¡± Pete remarks quietly, resting his head against Vegas¡¯ shoulder. Both of them look thoughtfully at the golden signet ring that Vegas is holding up, shimmering and glittering in the sunshine, marred by the darkish blood specks. Vegas remembers his humiliating wheelchair journey through the Main family mansion. The way everyone looked at him as if he were the scum of the earth, just because he belonged to the Minor family. Main family. Minor family. What a load of bullshit. Time for a change. ¡°Long live the King¡­¡± Vegas says softly, slowly slipping the golden ring onto the index finger of his left hand. It¡¯s a perfect fit, as if made for him. And it¡¯s not nearly as heavy as he always imagined it to be. ¡°¡­ and Sunshine, you should see me in a crown.¡± Chapter 28 ¡°Every adventure requires a first step.¡± Exhaustion is hitting Vegas hard. He¡¯s been to hell and back in the last 12 hours; rebirth is taxing. Strangely enough, Pete shows no signs of tiredness. Without being asked, he showers Vegas off with the water hose, meticulously washing all traces of blood, earth and sex from his skin and hair. Vegas just stands there, eyes closed, relishing in the feeling of being taken care of. ¡°Aren¡¯t you tired at all?¡± he mumbles, stifling a yawn. ¡°I¡¯m running on adrenaline, that will keep me going for a while.¡± Pete even thought of bringing along towels. He dries Vegas off. All of this feels so damn nice that Vegas doesn¡¯t want this moment to end. ¡°I¡¯ll do the cleanup,¡± he offers. Handing Vegas a change of fresh clothes, Pete stuffs their old clothes into a black plastic sack. ¡°You¡¯ve done enough, I¡¯ll deal with the rest. Go take a nap in the car, Vegas. You must be really tired.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± Vegas says quietly because he really doesn¡¯t want to go back into the warehouse. That chapter of his life is closed and over. ¡°Oh, and Pete? I don¡¯t know what you usually do with remains that need to disappear, but he needs to be properly cremated.¡± A huff of irritation shows clearly what Pete thinks about this. ¡°You¡¯ve got to be kidding me¡­ Why bother with it? We can just drop the pieces all over the countryside on our way back to the city.¡± Vegas is slightly surprised that the suggestion doesn¡¯t upset him as much as it probably should. ¡°A real cremation,¡± he insists, nevertheless. ¡°He might have been a horrible person, but he was a Theerapanyakul after all, with all that it entails. I need the ashes, and I need a proper urn. Can you get this done?¡± Pete snorts softly. He obviously isn¡¯t pleased with the decision. ¡°Of course I can. This won¡¯t be the first time I need to dispose of a body this way. Just leave it to me, I have connections. I will get it done. Now go take a nap.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± Vegas mumbles, vaguely intrigued. One of these days he needs to ask Pete a lot of questions about everything, just not today. Pete is right, he¡¯s damn tired. It has been a long and eventful 12 hours. He needs to crash. ¡°Are you sure you won¡¯t need my help with anything?¡± ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure I have more experience with this than you do, Vegas,¡± Pete reminds him with a soft smile, and gives him a quick kiss. ¡°Go sleep. I don¡¯t think this should take very long. I promise to wake you up if I need assistance.¡± And since there is nothing else to add, Vegas takes Pete¡¯s advice, crawls into the backseat of the car, and curls up there. Within minutes he is asleep. There are no dreams, just blissful silence. When Pete wakes him with a kiss, the warehouse is on fire. ¡°Rise and shine, Vegas. We need to get going.¡± Vegas yawns and smiles tiredly, climbing out of the car. How much time has passed? A glance at his watch; it¡¯s been roughly 2 hours. He could use some more sleep, but Pete is right, they should probably leave before people come to check what is burning. The flames are licking at the roof structure, it¡¯s almost hypnotic to watch. Yes, they really need to leave. Vegas casts a glance at Pete, who looks surprisingly tidy after his cleanup operation, and questioningly arches an eyebrow. ¡°Did you wear a coverall?¡± ¡°Of course.¡± Pete motions to the car. ¡°Come on, let¡¯s go.¡± Vegas¡¯ gaze drifts over the car, coming to rest on the trunk. Then the corners of his lips start twitching and he can¡¯t hold back a chuckle. Pete obviously finds this sudden change of mood alarming. ¡°Vegas¡­? You¡¯re not about to have another meltdown, are you?¡± If only he could stop it! But Vegas can¡¯t hold back the laughter bubbling up in him. With a few steps he¡¯s by Pete¡¯s side, grabbing his shirt and yanking him in for a quick, hard kiss that surprises both of them. Sparks, wonderful sparks, almost as fiery as the glowing sparks the wind is blowing off the burning roof. Vegas wants to keep going, but now is not the time, and besides, he has to break the kiss because he still can¡¯t hold back his chuckles. Burying his face against Pete¡¯s neck, he inhales deeply, trying to get himself back under control, to stop his shoulders from shaking with barely suppressed laughter. Pete hugs him awkwardly, and Vegas can feel the nervous tension in him. ¡°I¡¯m okay¡­¡± he manages to chuckle. ¡°I¡¯m okay, I swear¡­ just give me a moment.¡± ¡°Your timing sucks, Vegas,¡± Pete points out with a stoic sigh. ¡°What on earth set you off now?¡± Just thinking about it induces more hilarity. ¡°I¡­ it just occurred to me¡­ who would have thought that one day I¡¯d be taking a trip to the countryside¡­ with my serial killer boyfriend¡­ and my dad chopped up in plastic sacks in the trunk¡­ I¡¯m sorry¡­ I just find it hilarious how my life has turned out to be¡­¡± ¡°Vegas¡­¡± Pete¡¯s alarm is getting more pronounced. He obviously has no clue how to interpret Vegas¡¯ unexpected mood swings. ¡°You like my new wings, Pete?¡± Vegas whispers against the skin of Pete¡¯s throat. ¡°Am I good enough for you now?¡± ¡°Oh, bloody hell¡­ you¡¯re the most beautiful butterfly I have ever seen.¡± Pete tightens the hug, and being held so tightly is just what Vegas needs right now. It grounds him. ¡°You¡¯re perfect, you hear me?¡± Pete mumbles softly. ¡°We¡¯re perfect together. Soulmates forever. Now could you please get the fuck into the car before we also end up as cellmates on death row?¡± Vegas chortles and reluctantly disentangles himself from Pete. ¡°All right, let¡¯s get out of here then.¡± He casts a last look at the fiery inferno and the dark smoke rising up into the sky, and finally gets into the car. He¡¯s so done with this place. Vegas doesn¡¯t look back even once as they drive away.
It is a long drive back to Bangkok. At first they¡¯re silent, each of them lost in thoughts. Vegas is still tired, but at the same time wide awake. Absently, he rubs the golden ring on his finger, staring out of the window, watching the landscape rush past them. ¡°I don¡¯t have to go through with it, you know?¡± he remarks eventually. ¡°Taking over the family business just seemed the logical next step to me. But there is still time. Instead we could just head home, pack up everything and then move abroad and start a new life there. What I¡¯m trying to say is that I should probably have asked you about your opinion before making such a momentous decision about our future all by myself.¡± Pete shrugs, keeping his gaze focused on the road ahead. ¡°Well, thank you for being so considerate, but I think we both know that you wouldn¡¯t be able to leave everything behind, not even to please me. You have your family here, and your friends. Who am I to stop you if you want to dive head first into the mess that is your family business? In all honesty, I even think it could potentially get very interesting. I¡¯ve never before been involved with organised crime. You know how I love a good challenge.¡± ¡°It might get really bloody, Sunshine,¡± Vegas warns him. ¡°If I do this¡­ and if you decide to stay by my side¡­ then we¡¯re in it till the bitter end. This isn¡¯t something we can just walk away from if it gets difficult, or if you get bored. Are you really up to this? Because I don¡¯t think I can do it on my own.¡± ¡°Superglue, Vegas. Where you go, I go. Do you want me to swear fealty to you and kiss the ring?¡± Pete grins and gives Vegas a quick glance, wiggling his eyebrows. ¡°I can do that. I think that could be pretty hot.¡± Oh, yes, Vegas has to agree, this has potential. ¡°I¡¯ll get back to you about that.¡± Damn, and now he can¡¯t get that mental image out of his head. Pete kneeling before him, kissing the damn ring¡­ but he doesn¡¯t have time to be distracted. ¡°Uh¡­ anyway¡­ what day is it even? I kind of lost track.¡± ¡°It¡¯s Friday. Why do you ask?¡± ¡°Friday¡­¡± Has his father been following the old schedule? Most likely. ¡°Okay, that means we have three days.¡± When Pete looks confused, Vegas explains. ¡°Mondays at 10am are the weekly business meetings with the subordinates. No one is going to miss my father until then; he has the tendency to disappear now and then to spend time with his various mistresses. So him being out of touch for a few days will not cause any alarm. But he always shows up at those meetings. Always.¡± ¡°Are you planning to go to that meeting?¡± Instead of being alarmed, Pete sounds delighted. ¡°I need to be there and take over the reins, yes. Don¡¯t look so excited; we have a lot of work to do this weekend. I can¡¯t just show up at that meeting, wave the ring and expect everyone to fall in line. It¡¯s not going to be that easy.¡± In fact, the more he thinks about it, the more daunting this whole operation seems. ¡°I wasn¡¯t kidding when I said I need you for this, Pete. Do you really want to come and work with me?¡± Pete has to concentrate on the traffic, so he can only look at Vegas now and then, but he¡¯s happily drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. ¡°I¡¯m at your command, my liege. How can I help you?¡± Vegas rolls his eyes. This is such a Pete thing to say. ¡°A couple of things come to my mind, but here are the most important ones: we need to snatch my dad¡¯s old accountant, Uncle Mek. He used to do the whole unofficial bookkeeping for our family, but he has a heart condition and had to semi-retire three years ago. My father is¡­ was¡­ really suspicious of the new accountant, and Macau told me that he still has Uncle Mek double-checking the accounts once in a while. Which means Mek has access to the bookkeeping files that are stored online in the Cloud somewhere.¡± Vegas opens the window slightly to get more oxygen and a bit of a breeze going in the hot car. ¡°I need access to those books to see where all the family money is parked, and to get a feeling of the whole scale of the business operation we¡¯re running. So we need to get our hands on Uncle Mek without alerting anyone, and we need to do this today. It can¡¯t wait.¡± ¡°I work amazingly well under pressure.¡± Oh yes, Pete really appears to find all of this very exciting; Vegas isn¡¯t sure if he should be delighted or alarmed. ¡°If possible,¡± Pete goes on, ¡°I would like to have a short nap at some point¡ªa couple of hours would be great¡ªand then I¡¯m good to go. I¡¯ll bring him to you in no time. What else do you need?¡± Vegas ponders the question for a moment. ¡°Once I have a list of the various bank accounts, I need you to help me check who has access to them. And then we need to make sure to lock the Main family out of the accounts just before the meeting takes place.¡± ¡°They¡¯re not going to be happy about that,¡± Pete points out, but Vegas shrugs. ¡°Can¡¯t be helped. I need time to go over all accounts without their interference. And the best way to keep them playing nice is holding their finances hostage, at least temporarily.¡± This is going to be a pain in the ass. Vegas hates accounting. ¡°Your uncle is going to be pissed.¡± ¡°My uncle can go fuck himself.¡± There is a hint of steel in Vegas¡¯ voice. ¡°Which reminds me, I need temporary guards. No amateurs, I want professionals who have no qualms about killing if they need to. Money is not a problem, I will pay them well. Is that something you can also help with?¡± ¡°My, oh my, Vegas¡­ spoken like a true King. You¡¯re starting to impress me.¡± Pete gives him a quick grin. ¡°I think I know where to look for people like this. I can make a few phone calls once we¡¯re home. How many were you thinking about?¡± ¡°Enough to effectively lock down the Minor family compound. In short, a small army would be appreciated.¡± The more, the better. Vegas has a feeling he will need them to keep his uncle in check. ¡°What else?¡± ¡°You need to do a lot of hacking. I need background information about all the subordinates. I can¡¯t let anyone on Uncle Korn¡¯s payroll stay alive. And I need to find suitable replacements, and we need to discreetly dispose of all the bodies without catching the attention of the police.¡± The longer he thinks about it, the more details that need to be handled come to Vegas¡¯ attention. So much to do, so little time. ¡°Aren¡¯t you lucky, I¡¯ve got nothing planned this weekend,¡± Pete informs him cheerfully. ¡°So I¡¯m fully at your disposal.¡± ¡°Do you have to be so damn excited about it?¡± Vegas frowns. ¡°I fear you¡¯re not taking this seriously enough. If we do this the wrong way, we could die.¡± ¡°The story of my life¡­¡± Pete is really totally unconcerned. ¡°Tell me something new¡­ or maybe, don¡¯t. You¡¯re just going to overthink everything. One thing at a time, all right? How about you start telling me about those subordinates you mentioned?¡± As far as distractions go, this is a good one. Vegas leans back into his seat, closes his eyes and starts explaining the complicated structure of the Theerapanyakul family business to Pete.
It¡¯s early afternoon when they arrive at the outskirts of the city. Pete is starting to look tired. Vegas would offer to do the driving, but he has no idea where they¡¯re going. It seems they¡¯re staying on the outskirts of Bangkok, weaving their way through a maze of streets in the suburbs and past sprawling industrial areas. Eventually Pete pulls up beside a fenced-in, nondescript building adjacent to a temple complex. Oh, of course. A crematory. What a perfect solution. Pete tells Vegas to wait, and then disappears through a side-door into the property, only to return shortly afterwards, just in time for the automated metallic gates currently blocking their car to open, allowing them entry. They drive into the compound and around another set of buildings until Pete parks the car close to a set of large, metal double doors. A frail, bespectacled man is waiting for them there. Intrigued, Vegas exits the car and watches Pete have a hushed conversation with the man. Money is exchanged, and then the doors open; a stainless steel cart is already parked there, waiting for them. Pete collects the cart and opens the trunk of their car. He casts Vegas a hesitant look, but before he can say anything, Vegas is already by his side. ¡°I¡¯ll help,¡± he offers grimly. ¡°You don¡¯t have to, you can wait in the car,¡± Pete tries to convince him, but Vegas simply ignores it, grits his teeth and starts hauling the black plastic sacks from the trunk and onto the cart. There are many. And they¡¯re heavy. He¡¯s trying not to think about what¡¯s inside these plastic sacks, but the simple act of handling them, feeling the spongy wetness and harder chunks underneath the thick layer of plastic, makes his stomach roil. Not going there. Pete sighs deeply. Working together they soon have the cart fully loaded. Vegas notes that everything is at least double-bagged. Maybe even triple-bagged. They wouldn¡¯t want any leaks after all. Not going there, moving on. Following the elderly man into the building, Vegas and Pete silently push the cart. Its wheels squeak, the sound echoing eerily through the concrete hallway. Soon they enter a large hall. This area is almost warehouse size, big enough to hold the enormous machines it houses. It¡¯s unexpectedly loud in here; there¡¯s a constant, dull, rumbling roar, and the hiss of industrial fans. The man leads them to the far side of the hall, past a long row of towering blocks of metal, all painted in neutral grey, each of them with large shiny steel doors at about waist height. It¡¯s an eerie place, Vegas isn¡¯t quite sure what he¡¯s feeling. Pete looks totally unconcerned, but then again, this is probably not his first time here. Bloody hell, how bizarre. Vegas has a bit of a problem processing everything right now, but then they¡¯ve already arrived at their destination. The elderly man presses a couple of buttons on a control board, and the steel door opens automatically with a soft hiss, releasing a wave of heat. Well, wow¡­ Vegas isn¡¯t quite sure what he expected. To be honest he¡¯s a bit disappointed. There¡¯s just this long concrete chamber, all darkish grey with a bit of black soot. Out of the ceiling of the cremation chamber, a stream of pale purple-blue flames blasts downward with a low hum. Without hesitation, Pete grabs the first plastic sack and tosses it deep into the furnace. All right then. Vegas takes a deep, steadying breath and follows suit. As soon as the cart is empty, the man presses a few more buttons, and a second burst of flames roars to life. ¡°Any last words?¡± he asks dryly. Vegas looks at the plastic bags already melting in the heat, crumbling and igniting with a crackle. What is there to say? He thought he would feel the need to perhaps pray, or say something deep and meaningful, but his mind is empty. There¡¯s nothing left. He has truly closed this chapter of his life. ¡°Rot in hell,¡± he mutters, and then nods at the man, who wisely chooses not to comment but just presses even more buttons. The roar of the flames intensifies as the steel door closes automatically. ¡°Seventy minutes,¡± is the last thing the old man says before shuffling away again. Vegas stares blankly at the furnace that is now reducing his father¡¯s remains to ashes and feels¡ªnothing? Well, that¡¯s not true. ¡®Good riddance¡¯ comes to mind. ¡°Vegas?¡± Pete asks tentatively from somewhere behind him. Oh. Pete. He forgot about Pete for a moment. ¡°Are you all right?¡± Slowly, Vegas turns around and as soon as he sees Pete¡¯s concerned face, his heart does a happy little skip. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Sunshine. This is Vegas 2.0, I¡¯m not going to have a meltdown, if that¡¯s why you are fretting.¡± It¡¯s adorable how anxious Pete looks. ¡°How much time did he say this is going to take?¡± Vegas asks. Judging from the skeptical expression on Pete¡¯s face, he¡¯s not entirely convinced that Vegas isn¡¯t about to have a breakdown. ¡°Seventy minutes. Then another thirty minutes to collect the remains, grind them to powder and put them into an urn.¡± ¡°Seventy minutes, huh¡­?¡± The dull roar of the furnace behind him, Vegas strolls casually towards Pete, who watches him warily at first, and then swallows hard, seeing the slow smile spreading on Vegas¡¯ face. Pete takes a step backward, and Vegas¡¯ smile deepens. ¡°Where do you think you¡¯re going, Sunshine?¡± ¡°Stop looking at me as if you want to eat me alive.¡± Taking another step backwards, Pete frowns at Vegas. ¡°This is neither the time nor the place. You¡¯re behaving irrationally.¡± That statement only causes Vegas to grin wickedly. ¡°Sunshine¡­?¡± ¡°Yeah?¡± Pete eyes him cautiously. He seems a bit confused, unsure how to react. ¡°Shut up,¡± Vegas tells him softly, inching closer. ¡°I don¡¯t want to think about dead people. I want to celebrate being alive.¡± He reaches out and tugs lightly at Pete¡¯s shirt, reeling the other man in like a fish on a line. ¡°We have seventy minutes, Pete. Are you really going to refuse?¡± ¡°Uhm¡­¡± Pete blinks as he is reluctantly pulled towards Vegas. ¡°I don¡¯t think you¡¯re in the right frame of mind right now, Vegas. This isn¡¯t like you at all. Normally you would freak out by now. The more I think about it, the more I believe you have to be in a state of delayed shock after all that has happened recently.¡± He looks Vegas over, and there¡¯s something in the depth of his eyes that snuffs out all the thoughts about kissing that Vegas has entertained up to this moment. ¡°But that¡¯s fine,¡± Pete adds. ¡°I can fix that, I can fix you.¡± Vegas goes still upon hearing that. Oh no, not again. He¡¯s so done with ¡®getting fixed¡¯ by this madman. Pete once again has that determined expression on his face, an expression that Vegas has come to dread. But instead of fear, this reborn version of Vegas only feels irritation. ¡°I don¡¯t need fixing. I¡¯m perfectly fine. Stop trying to counsel me. May I remind you that you¡¯re not an actual therapist?¡± But Pete doesn¡¯t appear to listen. He simply brushes Vegas¡¯ objections aside. ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure all of this must have been immensely traumatic for you. You being so calm about everything is not natural at all. Leave it to me, I¡¯ll help you reconnect with your feelings¡­¡± ¡°You¡¯re starting to piss me off, Sunshine,¡± Vegas warns him quietly. ¡°I¡¯m very much in touch with my feelings, and let me tell you, right now I am feeling increasingly irritated. Are you actually paying attention to what I am saying, Pete? All I wanted was a kiss, and you are blowing everything out of proportion. What the heck?!¡± Yes, Vegas is so done with all this pseudo therapy bullshit. It¡¯s so fucking infuriating that Pete continues to treat him as if he¡¯s got no say in the matter. ¡°Don¡¯t use that tone of voice with me, Vegas,¡± Pete admonishes him automatically. He has slapped the therapist mask into place, and it is pissing Vegas off. ¡°Then stop telling me what to do and how to feel,¡± Vegas growls, his fingers digging into the fabric of Pete¡¯s shirt. ¡°I think you need a timeout, Vegas,¡± Pete informs him cooly. ¡°Why don¡¯t you go back to the car, rest and let me handle everything? I can make all the arrangements for Monday while you take it easy and focus on coming to terms with killing your father.¡± What the hell?! Vegas is astonished by the bullshit Pete is sprouting. He¡¯s being treated like a rebellious child. The nerve! And then he suddenly has another epiphany. If he doesn¡¯t put a stop to this right now, Pete will continue to walk all over him, and do whatever he pleases to Vegas, all in the name of love. No, this has to stop. ¡°On your knees.¡± His voice is soft but there is a hard edge to it all of a sudden. Pete¡¯s eyes widen in stunned surprise. He didn¡¯t expect Vegas to put up any sort of resistance. ¡°Huh?¡± Vegas leans in; they¡¯re so close that Vegas could count Pete¡¯s eyelashes if he wanted to. ¡°On. Your. Knees,¡± he repeats sharply, his tone of voice making it very clear that he isn¡¯t joking. ¡°It has just occurred to me that we need to decide once and for all who is in charge in this relationship. If you think you can continue to steamroll, control and manipulate me as you have done before, think again. Those days are over. Now get down on your fucking knees, Pete.¡± Pete inhales sharply, and his eyes go very dark as his pupils dilate. Oh look, his little feral psychopath doesn¡¯t like being ordered around? Cute. His reaction only makes Vegas even more determined to assert himself, especially when Pete stubbornly shakes his head while glowering at Vegas. ¡°Bend the knee, Sunshine,¡± Vegas once more orders him icily, the low roar of the cremation furnaces providing a chilling backdrop to the showdown. ¡°You forced me to be reborn, now deal with the consequences. There can only be one king here, and that¡¯s me. I¡¯ve got the ring to prove it.¡± ¡°Oh, you¡¯ve got to be kidding me¡­ Who do you think you are, ordering me around like this? Go to hell.¡± Defiantly, Pete raises his chin, his hands tightening into fists. He is brimming with barely contained hostility and it¡¯s delicious to see. It sends a spike of excitement through Vegas that makes him shiver in anticipation. Oh, what a turn on. Perhaps Pete is right; perhaps Vegas¡¯ reaction in the aftermath of his father¡¯s death isn¡¯t natural, but to be honest, it¡¯s such a relief not to feel conflicted for once. His mind is calm, no ripples, not fluttering butterfly thoughts. It¡¯s wonderful. He¡¯s finally in charge of himself and his own destiny, and this little ray of death better be falling in line and submitting. Smirking, Vegas leans sideways to be able to whisper into Pete¡¯s ear. ¡°Come on, get down on your knees, Sunshine, you know you want to. Just acknowledge that I am in charge here, and I¡¯ll make it worth your while.¡± Those lovely electric tingles are back, they are so close, and damn, Pete smells so good, Vegas simply cannot help himself, he nips at Pete¡¯s earlobe. A shocked little hiss escapes Pete¡¯s mouth, and Vegas bites down again, this time harder. That seems to have the desired effect. Pete gasps and a moment later he is kneeling on the dirty concrete floor before Vegas, looking up at him in a daze. Pleased with himself, Vegas bends forward, running a knuckle down Pete¡¯s flushed cheek. ¡°Such a good boy,¡± he croons with a dark smile, then ruffles Pete¡¯s hair roughly. ¡°You know what you have to do now, right?¡± Another spark of rebellion flares up in Pete¡¯s eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t want to¡­¡± he mumbles resentfully, biting his lower lip in an altogether delightful way, while glaring up at Vegas. But in this battle of wills, Vegas is determined to win. He simply arches an eyebrow while staring down at Pete. A hard tug on Pete¡¯s hair to remind him that Vegas is dead serious. And Pete caves. His shoulders slump down, he takes hold of Vegas¡¯ left hand and slowly lifts it. The golden family ring on Vegas¡¯ index finger shimmers warmly in the cold neon light. Pete brings the hand to his mouth, kissing the ring. Vegas can feel Pete¡¯s lips brushing against his fingers, his warm breath feathering over Vegas¡¯ skin. It¡¯s immensely satisfactory. Pete bows his forehead against the ring. ¡°Long live the King,¡± he mumbles softly. Vegas smiles fondly. ¡°That¡¯s right, Sunshine. And just to make it perfectly clear, who is the Boss?¡± ¡°You are,¡± Pete admits reluctantly, then kisses the ring again, his lips lingering on the metal for much longer than necessary. Vegas feels a flick of tongue against his skin; what a cheeky bastard. Damn, he¡¯s so in love. Bemused, Vegas once again digs his fingers into Pete¡¯s hair and hauls his little psychopath back to his feet. The pain from that is very much appreciated it seems; Pete shivers with pleasure and goes cross-eyed for a moment. ¡°See that wasn¡¯t so difficult, was it?¡± Keeping a firm grip on Pete¡¯s hair, Vegas walks to the wall directly opposite of the furnace currently reducing his father¡¯s remains to ashes, dragging Pete along with him. They end up on the floor, Vegas sitting against the wall with Pete straddling and kissing him feverishly. Vegas can feel Pete¡¯s running on fumes, so he does his best to slow things down again. ¡°Not now¡­¡± he mumbles against Pete¡¯s lips. ¡°We¡¯ve got a little bit over an hour. I want you to rest. Come on, lean your head on my shoulder, I¡¯ll hold you.¡± Pete huffs in protest, but has no energy to argue. Vegas is right, he¡¯s been awake for ages and by now even the adrenaline isn¡¯t enough to keep him going anymore. Reluctantly, he stops his attempts to seduce Vegas and snuggles into his arms instead. ¡°You¡¯re not playing fair, Vegas,¡± he complains tiredly, his eyes fluttering shut as he nuzzles his face against Vegas¡¯ neck. ¡°Fairness is overrated.¡± Fondly, Vegas kisses the top of his head. ¡°Rest. We have so much to do until Monday. I need you sharp and alert.¡± ¡°Mmmm¡­¡± Pete sighs, all the tension draining out of him. Soon he¡¯s limp and heavy in Vegas¡¯ arms. ¡°¡­ I love you¡­¡± he mumbles under his breath before falling silent. The feeling is mutual, Vegas thinks. And for the next hour he just sits there, holding his dozing boyfriend in his arms while staring blindly at the row of furnaces before him, lost in thoughts. So much to do. So little time. Can they pull it off?
On the way home they pick up something to eat. They are both famished. The urn holding the ashes of his father stays in the car; Vegas refuses to have that thing in his apartment. They eat while Pete does a quick search on the internet and then starts calling people. Vegas can¡¯t help being impressed; so much criminal energy is quite remarkable. No wonder they never got anywhere with their investigation into his kills. Pete is just too damn thorough. After a bit of negotiation, Vegas has his temporary army. They¡¯ll be arriving within the next 24 hours, fully equipped. Sweet. Part of him still can¡¯t believe that he is actually about to stage this palace revolt. He¡¯s a cop after all, and now he wants to be a mob boss too? And not only is he doing a hostile takeover, he¡¯s going up against his own family. Temporary insanity is the only explanation for this mad idea. Both he and Pete are dead tired, and so they retire to the bedroom. They curl up, arms and legs intertwined, neither of them willing to be parted from the other even in sleep. Six hours should do the trick, they decide. As soon as the lights are out, both of them more or less pass out immediately.
Night has fallen, they have moved to a new temporary headquarter, and all Vegas can make out as he gazes out of the large window of Pete¡¯s house are dark shapes and shadows, and the moonlight reflecting on the glass panes of the greenhouse further away in the garden. It is strange really, even reborn Vegas has a bone-deep aversion to this place, just looking at the location he was shot at makes his skin crawl. He doesn¡¯t want to be here, but this property was the logical place to come to, the only safe place to stash away Uncle Mek for the time being. Lost in thoughts, he¡¯s unaware he has company until Pete leans his forehead against his back, right between Vegas¡¯ shoulder blades. ¡°Tell me how to fix it,¡± he asks Vegas quietly, with so much insecurity in his voice that Vegas has to sigh. ¡°I don¡¯t know how to fix it, Vegas. Tell me what to do?¡± ¡°What is done, is done.¡± Staring at the greenhouse, Vegas absently rubs the left side of his chest where he can feel the scar tissue underneath his shirt. ¡°I¡¯m not going to forgive you for shooting me, but I¡¯m not constantly going to hold it against you either. You¡¯ll have to live with the fact that you fucked up big time, and there¡¯s nothing you can do to change it.¡± ¡°I hate this. Seeing you upset and not being able to do anything about it makes me antsy,¡± Pete mumbles against his back. ¡°I don¡¯t like feeling like this¡­ I don¡¯t understand myself.¡± ¡°Maybe you should see a therapist about that then.¡± No, Vegas has no comfort to give, not when it comes to the shooting. But since he can hear Pete sigh dejectedly, Vegas grudgingly offers him an olive branch. ¡°You could get rid of the flowers. That would please me.¡± He never wants to see those flowers again. He wants to burn down this greenhouse, erase it from the face of the earth. Vegas¡¯ scars ache with an irritating phantom pain. He abruptly changes the topic. ¡°How is Mek doing?¡± The tension immediately drains out of Pete. He¡¯s back on familiar territory. ¡°Well, he¡¯s not happy. I locked him up in the spare bedroom for the time being. You should probably go see him, he is quite agitated.¡± Vegas sighs. Pete is frighteningly efficient; it only took him two hours to snatch Uncle Mek and bring him here to their temporary headquarters. The house still smells of dust and stale air. Vegas would like to open the windows, but he¡¯s afraid to catch even the slightest whiff of the greenhouse flowers. Talk about trauma. When all this is over, he will definitely book more counselling sessions for himself. ¡°Let¡¯s get this over with then.¡± With Pete in tow, Vegas heads to the guest room. A deep, steadying breath, then he unlocks the door and enters. Their captive must have been pacing; when Vegas enters he stops and glares. His eyes widen in confusion as recognition hits. ¡°Vegas?¡± Uncle Mek looks older and has put on some weight, but he is still very much the man who used to bounce little Vegas on his knees whenever his father wasn¡¯t around. Vegas has fond memories of this man, and abducting him doesn¡¯t sit well, but it couldn¡¯t be helped. Before he can say anything, Pete clicks his tongue and corrects the accountant gently. ¡°That¡¯s ¡®Khun Vegas¡¯ for you.¡± He¡¯s right of course, it¡¯s best to set the record straight at once to avoid any misunderstandings. ¡°Uncle Mek.¡± Vegas bow his head respectfully. ¡°Please accept my apologies for this enforced late night meeting.¡± Uncle Mek casts a quick look at Pete and then turns back to Vegas, trying to figure out what is going on. ¡°Vegas¡­¡± And then he corrects himself quickly, ¡°Khun Vegas¡­ couldn¡¯t you have called instead? Why did you have this man kidnap me from my home in the middle of the night? Was this really necessary? I would have expected better of you.¡± ¡°I suppose you don¡¯t know me as well as you thought,¡± Vegas mumbles with a sigh. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but this can¡¯t wait. I¡¯m on a tight schedule. I would appreciate your cooperation and will in turn make sure you have a comfortable stay.¡± Mek narrows his eyes. He is clever old man, he can sense that something is up. ¡°Why did you bring me here? Is your father aware of this?¡± ¡°There has been a change in management,¡± Vegas tells him calmly. He lifts his left hand to show off the family ring glittering in the light. The accountant¡¯s eyes widen with shock, and his face turns almost grey. Vegas nods at Pete, who quietly helps the older man sit down on one of the chairs and hands him a glass of water. ¡°What happened?¡± The glass shakes in the bookkeeper¡¯s trembling hand. ¡°Did Khun Korn force Khun Gun to retire?¡± ¡°Not exactly; the truth is that I got tired of my father,¡± Vegas informs him coolly. ¡°From now on, I¡¯m in charge of the family business, and I need you to help me sort out the accounts before the weekly meeting on Monday.¡± The old accountant is so stunned he blinks repeatedly, he cannot make sense of it all. ¡°You? In charge? You weren¡¯t supposed to take over. Macau is the designated heir. Did you overthrow your father with the help of Khun Korn?¡± ¡°The King is dead, long live the King.¡± Vegas shrugs, he is growing tired of explaining himself. ¡°I don¡¯t give a fuck about my father grooming Macau to take over, and I don¡¯t give a fuck about Uncle Korn and the Main family either. Now I know this must come as a shock to you, but my father is dead, and like it or not, I¡¯m in charge now.¡± Vegas casts a quick look at Pete. ¡°Did you bring his laptop?¡± When Pete nods silently, Vegas turns his attention back to the shell-shocked accountant. ¡°I¡¯ll give you half an hour to process everything, then we get to work.¡± Since there¡¯s nothing else to do right now, Vegas leaves the room again, Pete following him like a shadow. ¡°When are the new guards arriving?¡± he asks Pete while heading to the kitchen. He needs something to drink, water will be fine if there is nothing else. ¡°Saturday afternoon, fully equipped with communication devices, body armour and of course weapons and ammunition.¡± ¡°Excellent. While I¡¯m working with Mek, I need you to use your hacking skills to get a copy of the building plans for my family compound.¡± Vegas pulls the infamous USB stick from his pocket and tosses it to Pete, who catches it deftly. ¡°Here¡¯s a little present for you, I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll love it. Once you have the floor plans, see if you can hack into their current security system, or at least find its weaknesses. When the guards arrive, we need to figure out how to secure and lock down the compound quickly and efficiently on Monday. Make sure the Main family has no access to any cameras, change all code for the doors, and so forth¡­ the whole damn drill. I know this isn¡¯t your specialty, but the company we hired will know what needs to be done, and you can assist them.¡± From the fridge, Vegas gets himself a bottle of mineral water and drinks, pondering what else he needs to organise. Then he becomes aware of Pete staring intensely at him, and he can actually feel himself blush. Now it¡¯s Pete¡¯s turn to look at him as if he wants to eat Vegas alive. ¡°Do you know how sexy you are?¡± Pete asks after clearing his throat. ¡°Shit, I think I am developing a competence kink. Being a mob boss suits you, Vegas. You¡¯re so damn hot, ordering me around like that.¡± They stare at each other for a long moment. Vegas takes another slow sip of water, heat unfurling in the depth of his stomach. ¡°Is that so?¡± Placing the nearly empty bottle on top of the fridge he is leaning against, Vegas crooks his finger at Pete. ¡°Come here, kitten.¡± ¡°Your wish is my command, boss,¡± Pete murmurs and saunters closer. Once again, Vegas¡¯ heart does a happy little skip. He will never tire of looking at Pete, especially when that dimpled Cheshire Cat smile makes an appearance. ¡°What can I help you with?¡± Pete purrs, coming to a stop before him, the playful glint in his dark eyes signalling that he¡¯s well aware of the effect he is having on Vegas. ¡°A few things come to mind, but unfortunately we don¡¯t have time for those right now.¡± Vegas sighs. It¡¯s such a damn shame that they¡¯ll be busy these next few days. ¡°I can do a lot of things in 30 minutes.¡± Pete gives him a cheeky smile while reaching out to rub his thumb over Vegas¡¯ lower lip. Their eyes meet, and once again Vegas feels as if he is falling head first into a black hole. He bites down on that thumb, and Pete shudders visibly. ¡°How about you show me exactly what you can do in the limited time we have?¡± They probably shouldn¡¯t play around like this, but Vegas is tired of behaving reasonably. ¡°Oh, and Pete? You¡¯re not allowed to touch yourself unless I give you permission.¡± Pete inhales sharply. The air between them seems to crackle with electricity all of a sudden. Vegas arches an eyebrow, looks pointedly at his watch and Pete swallows dryly, leaning in. Close, so close, they¡¯re almost kissing, but neither of them takes that last step. ¡°Try not to shout,¡± Pete whispers hoarsely, and then Vegas can feel Pete¡¯s nimble fingers fiddling with his belt, unbuckling it. ¡°I think between the two of us, you¡¯re the one who tends to be unable to control his noise level,¡± Vegas murmurs, his breathing speeding up. Pete is working fast. The belt proves to be no obstacle, and soon he is already undoing the buttons on Vegas¡¯ pants, all the while staring deeply into Vegas¡¯ eyes. ¡°I won¡¯t be able to beg or shout when my mouth is occupied with other things,¡± he points out with a wink. Vegas groans helplessly at that, and then immediately bites his lip, determined to hold back any further sounds. Bloody tease! Chuckling breathlessly, Pete undoes the last button and then wiggles his eyebrows at Vegas. ¡°What do you want me to do now, boss?¡± His fingers brush teasingly over the edge of Vegas¡¯ underwear, skimming over the sensitive skin there. Vegas sucks in a startled breath before he can stop himself. He wants to kiss Pete. Oh, how he wants to kiss him. But knowing them, kissing will make everything go wildly out of control again, and they really don¡¯t have time for that right now. Vegas lifts his hands and places them on Pete¡¯s shoulders. ¡°Take a guess,¡± he whispers, and presses downward. The grin Pete gives him as he is pushed downwards is deliciously wicked. Vegas leans back against the sideboard and digs his nails into Pete¡¯s shoulder muscles, which elicits a shudder and a soft moan. Pete¡¯s hot breath heats the fabric of his shirt on the way down, and now it¡¯s Vegas turn to shudder as he closes his eyes. Pete pushes the shirt up. His wet, hot lips graze Vegas¡¯ abs, and then travel down down down. Vegas burns, Pete is setting him on fire, this is so damn arousing that his toes are curling. The cheeky bastard is taking his time, pausing for a lick now and then, and Vegas can feel himself getting painfully hard. Bloody hell, Vegas doesn¡¯t want a slow seduction, he wants Pete to get down to business. ¡°Kitten¡­¡± he warns, his voice sounding a bit ragged. ¡°We don¡¯t have all the time in the world here. Mek can come out of that room any second, so you better hurry up.¡± He peeks downward. Pete is kneeling in front of him now, a devilish smile on his flushed face. Their eyes meet for a second. Then, without breaking eye contact, Pete leans in and takes the edge of Vegas¡¯ boxers between his teeth, pulling them down slowly. The sight is so incredibly hot that it knocks the breath out of Vegas. Released from its constraints, his erection bobs up, and Vegas groans softly. Yes¡­ finally they are getting somewhere! ¡°You¡¯re so fucking sexy.¡± Pete¡¯s husky voice is barely audible, and Vegas is too scatterbrained to come up with a suitable reply. Before he can collect his thoughts, Pete is taking his cock in his mouth, and Vegas¡¯ mind goes blank. He must have been making some sort of incoherent sound that causes Pete to chuckle, and the vibration from it around his cock drives Vegas insane. With a gasp, he grabs the back of Pete¡¯s head, sinking his fingers into Pete¡¯s silky hair, pulling it really hard. He knows that Pete likes that¡ªthere is a stifled moan as Pete works his mouth up and down his cock. It feels incredible. Pete is doing something with his tongue, he¡¯s twirling, flicking and sucking, and it is such an erotic display that Vegas can barely stand it. ¡°No touching!¡± he reminds Pete sharply when he sees him sneaking his hands towards his own bulging erection. ¡°Hands up on my ass, and keep them there.¡± Frustrated, Pete makes a needy sound but obediently clutches Vegas¡¯ ass with both of his hands. Vegas yanks on Pete¡¯s hair, grinding himself into that hot mouth, and he has to bite his lips to keep himself from making any sounds. His legs are starting to tremble, he so damn turned on. Their harsh breathing is echoing through the kitchen, coupled with the wet sounds of Pete¡¯s mouth at work, and his muffled moans. ¡°Vegas¡­¡± Pete hums breathlessly around Vegas¡¯ cock, reduced to begging. ¡°Please¡­¡± But Vegas is chasing after his own pleasure. Pete is sucking him so well, he is starting to curl in on himself. His hips are flexing forward, he can hear the blood pounding in his head. Pete¡¯s hands are squeezing his ass, and he can feel himself tensing. ¡°I¡¯m going to come,¡± he hisses though gritted teeth, and Pete whines, bobbing a little faster. Then the world goes white, and Vegas shudders violently as he comes in Pete¡¯s mouth. The orgasm is so intense that black spots appear in his field of vision. Vegas shivers and quivers, his fingernails digging deeply into Pete¡¯s scalp. ¡°Oh God, stop¡­ stop stop stop¡­¡± he gasps as Pete laps it all up, swallowing and licking him clean. He¡¯s just too sensitive right now, even the slightest touch feels like too much. It¡¯s a miracle he is still standing. His legs feel like rubber. When he has finally caught his breath again, Vegas meets Pete¡¯s feverish, dark eyes. Pete¡¯s face is all flushed, he¡¯s breathing hard, and looking further down, Vegas can see a very conspicuous tent in his pants. That must be uncomfortable. He arches an amused eyebrow at Pete, who seems on the verge of losing his mind. ¡°You did very well, kitten. If you ask me really nicely, I¡¯ll give you permission to touch yourself now,¡± Vegas tells him graciously. Pete flexes his fingers in clear exasperation; he hasn¡¯t dared to go against Vegas¡¯ last order, so his hands are still firmly placed on Vegas¡¯ ass. Visibly fighting for composure, Pete clears his throat several times before asking in a strangled voice: ¡°Vegas¡­ would you please allow me to jerk off now, before I pass out?¡± The corners of Vegas¡¯ mouth twitch with fond amusement. He knows how much it must have cost Pete not to yell at him right now. ¡°Go ahead, Sunshine.¡± This was a much needed physical interlude, Vegas is riding an endorphin high and feeling splendid. Grinning, he puts his clothes back in order and then ruffles Pete¡¯s hair affectionately. ¡°I¡¯ll see you later then,¡± he tells him with a wink, and strolls out of the kitchen. Behind him, still kneeling on the floor, Pete huffs in total outrage and Vegas laughs. Life is good, now back to business.
Sorting through the family finances is a nightmare, as far as Vegas is concerned. Thankfully he is not totally new to this; until he left the family, his father tried to ram all the myriad details down his throat at every opportunity. Back then Vegas hated every second of it. Now he is immensely grateful for everything he learned. Whereas the Main family tries to maintain an immaculate public image by officially sticking to real estate deals, hotels, spas and resorts. With a little bit of luxury car imports sprinkled in, the Minor family has always dealt with the murky side of the Theerapanyakul business empire. TK Group, TK Leasing, TK Sky Bird¡¯s Nest Export¡ªthe list of companies is seemingly endless. Uncle Mek patiently explains it all to Vegas, who takes notes while drinking ungodly amounts of coffee to stay awake and alert. There are the casinos of course, generating staggeringly huge profits, which makes them perfect for money laundering operations. In addition to these, the Minor family runs numerous illegal, online gambling sites, call-centre type operations running online scams, and illegals gambling dens all over the country. In every single province, they have money lending networks charging exorbitant interest rates¡ªnot to mention the unauthorised gold mines in this country and several others. Lastly, there are the drugs and the black-market weapons. The sheer amount of money generated by all of this is enormous. Vegas feels a bit overwhelmed for a moment. He¡¯s supposed to run a part of this business empire now? Can he really do this without messing up monumentally? Later, when he does a deep-dive into the accounts with Mek, the anger slowly starts to well up within him. All this work his branch of the family is doing, and yet most of the money flows into the coffers of the Main family. The Minor Theerapanyakuls are not poor, far from it, but they are living off the breadcrumbs Uncle Korn is leaving for them. It¡¯s so bloody unfair. Their people¡­ no, his people¡­ they are the ones risking their lives out there on the streets every day. They¡¯re not getting their fair share of the money; instead they¡¯re looked down upon by the Main family. Minor family scum. Good for nothing trash. Vegas is fuming quietly. Time for a change.
So little time, so much to do, and then it¡¯s Sunday already. Now and then, Vegas thinks his head is about to explode with all the information he is cramming into it. Thankfully, Pete sees to it that he eats regularly and even forces him to take naps in between. It is a strange feeling, having someone taking care of him this way, strange and wonderful, but Vegas doesn¡¯t even have time to enjoy it because there are so many decisions to make. His temporary guards have arrived, the house is crowded, and people are everywhere. They¡¯re professionals, they¡¯re excellently trained and their superiors are a pleasure to work with. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Vegas briefs everyone about the family compound with the help of the floor plans that Pete has managed to hack his way into. Doors, communication centres, access codes¡­ there are so many details to take into consideration. With the help of Pete, the USB stick and some freshly hired IT specialists, they hack their way into the internal surveillance system, and even though this is useful, Vegas despairs over his family¡¯s lack of decent security. He ends up hiring those IT guys to do an emergency upgrade of everything, scheduled for Monday afternoon, when he will hopefully be in charge. Damn, this is getting expensive. Thankfully he has full access to his father¡¯s bank accounts now. Then there are some uncertainties regarding the current guards. How many are there, what weapons do they have access to, how will they react to Vegas taking over? All in all they should not pose a big problem¡ªhe is a Theerapanyakul after all¡ªand it¡¯s not as if his father is able to come back from the dead and retake his throne. Once again roping in Uncle Mek for a much needed inside perspective, Vegas makes a list of guards and personnel who are on the Main family payroll. Uncle Korn placed his men everywhere. As did Vegas¡¯ father in the Main family. At this point it has become some sort of weird family tradition. But those men are the ones that could cause real trouble, and the ones he needs to neutralise first. Jai, the commanding officer of Vegas¡¯ private army, gets together with Pete, and a short time later all the men have a laminated card with the names and photos of the known Main family spies. This is starting to look more and more like a military operation rather than a hostile takeover. There are weapons everywhere; everyone has body armour. Even Vegas gets a body armour set assigned to him; Pete insists on it. Speaking of Pete, he¡¯s having way too much fun with that USB stick. Perhaps it would be a good idea to confiscate that again when all this is over. Vegas worries what mischief his little murderer will cook up otherwise. Pete¡¯s in his element. He merges seamlessly with the guards, charming everyone with his ready smile and helpfulness¡ªit¡¯s pretty impressive. His boyfriend is the perfect con man, it¡¯s a bit unsettling. So little time, so much to do. Vegas is stressing. He has a tension headache, his shoulder muscles are so knotted they are killing him. What is he even doing? In all truth, after all the chaos in his life these past months he should be going on vacation, not staging a coup. What the fuck is he doing? Whenever he is not being pestered with questions for a moment, Vegas paces through the house to walk off the nervous energy buzzing through his veins. Eventually Pete grabs him. ¡°That¡¯s enough now, Vegas. Just look at the time, you need to get some hours of rest so that you¡¯re clear-headed tomorrow. Come along, leave the rest of the planning to everyone else. You¡¯ve done more than well, you¡¯ve thought of every possible complication. Just let it go and get some sleep.¡± ¡°I just have the feeling I maybe forgot something important,¡± Vegas protests as he is dragged towards the little bedroom that is theirs. Every other space in the house is occupied by their guards. ¡°I don¡¯t want anyone to get hurt. I need to make this plan as perfect as possible.¡± ¡°The plan hinges on you taking over the family business, something that will not be happening if you are too tired to stand, or talk.¡± No, Pete isn¡¯t about to let him get back to planning. He pulls Vegas into the bedroom and closes the door behind them, locking it. Vegas sighs deeply, glancing at the simple, single bed. He¡¯s not feeling tired at all because of all the adrenaline, but Pete has a point¡ªhe needs to rest. It¡¯s soon midnight, he really needs to wind down. Reluctantly, he goes to sit on the side of the bed, kicking off his shoes and then rolling his shoulders, trying to get the circulation going in his tense muscles. Meanwhile, Pete heads for the cupboard. ¡°As promised, I picked up something for you to wear tomorrow. I think we both agree that jeans and a t-shirt won¡¯t do.¡± Pete pulls a set of clothes from the cupboard, and holds them out for Vegas to see. The cheeky gleam in his eyes, coupled with Pete¡¯s mischievous smile should have been a clear warning sign, but Vegas had been too lost in thoughts to notice until now. Sleek black suit pants that must have cost a fortune. The pants are all right, it¡¯s the shirt he has issues with; it¡¯s very red, a deep, dark crimson red. It reminds him of blood and the sea of red flowers in the greenhouse outside. Wrong colour, this is so the wrong colour. And it¡¯s velvet! Everything is wrong with this shirt, this is summertime, does Pete want him to die of a heat stroke?! ¡°I¡¯m not wearing that!¡± Vegas exclaims in consternation. When he told Pete to get him something decent to wear, he had a suit in mind. Something nice and professional, something Kinn would wear. But this¡­ Kinn would drop dead before wearing this abomination. ¡°I¡¯ll look like a pimp!¡± Pete laughs heartily, enjoying Vegas¡¯ horrified reaction way too much. ¡°Nonsense. These are the perfect clothes for this occasion. Think about it, Vegas, you can¡¯t go there looking like a Minor family clone of your perfect cousin. They¡¯re never going to accept you then.¡± Pete has a point, but still¡­ Vegas does not want to wear this outfit. He doesn¡¯t even know where to start, it¡¯s just wrong. ¡°It¡¯s red!¡± he complains heatedly. ¡°You¡¯re going to look stunning, Vegas.¡± Totally unimpressed by his outrage, Pete hangs the clothes back in the cupboard. Then he wanders over to the bed, steps between Vegas¡¯ legs and smiles down at him while running his hands through Vegas¡¯ hair. ¡°You¡¯re going to look like Vegas Theerapanyakul, eldest son of Gun Theerapanyakul, the heir apparent of the largest organised crime clan in this country. You¡¯re going to match all their expectations about how someone in your position should look like. They¡¯re going to lap it all up, and bend their knees.¡± ¡°Of all the fucking colours, did it need to be red?¡± Stressed, Vegas massages the back of his neck. He¡¯s not a happy camper at all, and not even Pete¡¯s caress is enough to mollify him right now. ¡°You¡¯re turning me into a live version of one of your goddamn flowers, you asshole.¡± A hint of unease flickers over Pete¡¯s face. ¡°That wasn¡¯t my intention, I swear. I¡¯m just trying to give you the very best odds of surviving tomorrow, that¡¯s why I picked these clothes. You can even wear the body armour underneath with no problem. And I am truly sorry it is red, I totally forgot that you aren¡¯t very fond of that colour. Please don¡¯t get upset with me because of this?¡± Vegas irritation flickers and snuffs out. He can see that Pete is truly regretful, and an argument between them is a complication he doesn¡¯t need right now. With a deep sigh, his shoulders slump as he reaches out and slips his arms around Pete¡¯s waist, drawing him closer until he can rest his head against Pete¡¯s stomach. ¡°Just forget about it, okay? I¡¯ll wear the damn clothes. And I¡¯m not angry with you either. Can you just hold me for a while?¡± He buries his face into the folds of Pete¡¯s shirt and sighs deeply. ¡°Just hold me, please.¡± Keeping up with Vegas¡¯ mood swings is a challenge for Pete. He hesitates for a moment until he awkwardly hugs Vegas, but he still seems to be on his guard, unsure what Vegas will do next. Vegas really just wants to soak up Pete¡¯s warmth and scent, he wants to drown himself in it so that for a short time he can forget about the harsh reality they¡¯re going to face tomorrow. ¡°Can you promise me something?¡± Vegas¡¯ voice is muffled when he eventually breaks the silence. ¡°Sure. What do you need?¡± Pete is stroking Vegas¡¯ hair slowly. It¡¯s a repetitive motion, almost hypnotic, and Vegas marvels once again that someone so inherently violent can be so gentle. Swallowing dryly, Vegas clears his throat. ¡°If I die tomorrow, please don¡¯t kill my whole family¡­¡± Every muscle in Pete¡¯s body stiffens; suddenly Vegas is holding a block of ice. ¡°Shut up, don¡¯t jinx it.¡± Even Pete¡¯s voice is icy now, and there is that lethal edge to it that Vegas has come to dread. ¡°You¡¯re not going to die tomorrow, not on my watch. Forever, remember?¡± Vegas inhales slowly. As far as he is concerned, he isn¡¯t jinxing anything, he¡¯s simply being realistic. There¡¯s always a chance that their plan will go terribly wrong somehow, and that he¡¯ll get killed. Being in denial about that won¡¯t change their odds. ¡°Promise me,¡± he repeats quietly. ¡°Vegas!¡± Fear is leaking into Pete¡¯s voice, and the next moment he flips straight into despair. He tightens his arms around Vegas as if he¡¯s afraid his boyfriend will drop dead right here and then. ¡°You can¡¯t die on me, you hear me? You mustn¡¯t! I can¡¯t live without you anymore. Damn it, stop freaking me out¡­¡± he whispers harshly. ¡°I love you too.¡± Because that¡¯s what it¡¯s all about. They¡¯re so damn in love with each other, they¡¯ve finally gotten rid of most of the misunderstandings and obstacles between them, and now they¡¯re both scared that their happy ending will get ruined. Vegas wants to hold on to Pete and never let go, and he¡¯s pretty sure Pete feels the same way about him. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. You¡¯re right, no one is going to die tomorrow,¡± Vegas mumbles. He sighs while stroking Pete¡¯s back to get him to relax again. ¡°Can I ask for something else, then?¡± Pete huffs, refusing to answer. He¡¯s still clutching Vegas against his chest, refusing to loosen his hold. He must be feeling very spooked. Great, once again Vegas has ruined the mood. Shit. ¡°Please help me keep my brother safe.¡± There are two people in his life that Vegas cares about; the one he is hugging right now, and the one who is about to be dropped right in the middle of a violent power struggle. ¡°I don¡¯t know if he¡¯ll be home tomorrow, but he can¡¯t become part of this conflict. Please help me keep him safe. He mustn¡¯t get hurt, and you¡¯re the only one I trust to ensure that.¡± Vegas can feel how this request startles Pete. He pulls back a bit in order to be able to look up at his face. A myriad emotions are flickering across it; surprise, confusion and elation. Then Pete¡¯s expression settles into grim determination as he nods. ¡°Of course I will do my utmost to keep him safe. Thank you for trusting me.¡± Yes, strangely enough he now trusts Pete with Macau¡¯s safety. A smile flickers across his face as Vegas studies Pete. All mine. This man might be a psychopathic serial killer, but he belongs to Vegas now, and Vegas has faith in him. Their eyes meet, and then Pete¡¯s expression softens and he returns the smile. ¡°There is more,¡± Vegas warns him. ¡°Seriously, there is more? You¡¯re getting very demanding, boss.¡± Fondly, Pete ruffles Vegas¡¯ hair. ¡°All right, let¡¯s hear it then.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t take offence, okay? I know you love to improvise and do everything your own way, but you have to promise me that tomorrow you will do no such thing.¡± It¡¯s time to yank on the leash to remind Pete who is in charge. And as expected, Pete doesn¡¯t look exactly pleased hearing that, so Vegas explains it further. ¡°You¡¯re new to all this, Pete. You have no idea about the complicated dynamics within an organised crime cartel; if you go on a one-man rampage, you will discredit me as a leader and ruin everything. I need you to fall in line and follow my orders without hesitation, and most importantly, you cannot shed any blood unless I order you to do so.¡± Pete grimaces, and his face hardens. ¡°Are you trying to cripple me? I don¡¯t like this, Vegas.¡± ¡°Tough luck, I¡¯m the boss and I expect you to follow my orders.¡± Vegas narrows his eyes in warning and sits back, removing himself from the hug. ¡°If any of my father¡¯s old guards resist, you can disable them, but please refrain from killing them. As for the Main family pawns, you can shoot to kill if they make a move, but not before. And under no circumstance must you kill or injure any of the assembled subordinates, they¡¯re mine to deal with.¡± Pete is still standing between his legs, glowering down at Vegas who is entirely unaffected by this very open display of displeasure. Instead of getting into an argument, Vegas opts for shrugging out of his shirt. ¡°I¡¯m going to sleep,¡± he announces, catching Pete off guard once again. ¡°If you¡¯re planning to sulk, do it outside.¡± He takes off his pants while doing his best to ignore how the expression on Pete¡¯s face changes from annoyance to barely concealed desire, and slips underneath the covers. ¡°Or you could of course opt for letting go of your grievances and join me in bed.¡± He gives Pete a pointed look and then snuggles into the blanket, closing his eyes. There is a very long stretch of silence followed by the sounds of Pete¡¯s footsteps as he heads over to the door. Is he really leaving? Seriously? Then with a click the light goes out and the footsteps approach the bed again. Fabric rustles as Pete undresses, then the mattress dips as he crawls into bed, lifts the blanket and nestles against Vegas, spooning him. Both of them sigh with relief. ¡°Psycho¡­¡± Vegas mumbles with a smile. ¡°Control freak¡­¡± Pete mutters, and Vegas can hear the smile in his voice as well. All is well again. They lace their hands, and shortly afterwards Vegas actually manages to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Grudgingly, Vegas has to agree with Pete, red suits him very well. There is a floor length mirror in the little bedroom, and Vegas examines his reflection as if he were gazing at a piece of art in a museum. Love is red, and so is blood. Wearing body armour is uncomfortable because he isn¡¯t used to it, but better safe than sorry. Lethal. He looks dangerous. That crimson shirt is like a promise of imminent violence. Thoughtfully, Vegas undoes the top button, then another one, exposing a decent amount of skin without giving away that he is wearing amour. Yes, this is perfect. He is channeling his inner predator now. The door opens and Pete enters. Vegas catches a glimpse of him in the mirror and turns around. Pete is wearing a suit, just a simple black suit with a white dress shirt, but the sight of him knocks the breath out of Vegas. Their eyes meet and lock. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. ¡°¡­ Vegas¡­¡± Pete says very softly while staring at him, and there is a wealth of emotion in that single word. ¡°¡­ Pete¡­¡± Vegas is at a loss for words. It¡¯s as if he has once again been hit by a bolt of lightning; he is feeling too much to put into words. They stare at each other, and suddenly they are moving forward simultaneously. D¨¦j¨¤ vu, it¡¯s a repeat of their first spectacular rooftop kiss. Vegas grabs hold of Pete¡¯s jacket, yanking him closer. Pete cradles Vegas face in his hands, pulling him in as well, and their mouths collide so forcefully that their teeth clang together, but neither of them cares. Ay ay ay ay, feels like fire, I¡¯m so in love with you¡­ Glorious sparks, Vegas loses himself in a whirlpool of electric tingles. The kiss turns into an open-mouthed frenzy, both of them gasp, moan and melt against each other. Vegas shudders from the intensity of the kiss. He will never get used to the insane chemistry that exists between them. As quickly as the kiss started, it comes to an end. They¡¯re both on the same page¡ªthis isn¡¯t the time to give in to the burning desire each of them is feeling. Vegas swallows hard, trying to catch his breath, staring at Pete¡¯s beloved face. The lovely dimples make an appearance. Pete is flushed, equally out of breath, and yet he gives Vegas the most dazzling smile he has ever seen. ¡°I thought I was a freak. Until now,¡± he tells Vegas with so much feeling that his voice is nearly breaking. ¡°Thank you for loving me, all of me.¡± Vegas emotions are also all over the place, his happiness is so intense that it scares him. ¡°Thank you for crashing into my life, Sunshine, and thank you for trusting me with your love. It¡¯s the most precious gift I ever received.¡± There are so many more words that remain unspoken between them, at least for now. They¡¯re drowning in each others eyes; Vegas wants to preserve this moment for eternity, it¡¯s so precious. ¡°Pete?¡± he mumbles, his voice barely above a whisper. ¡°Let¡¯s go and get my throne, shall we?¡± Pete¡¯s eyes harden and turn very dark as he nods slowly. The predator has come out to play. Just like that, Pete is unleashing his dark side, and it¡¯s thrilling. Still smiling, Vegas turns around and strides out of the room. He can hear that Pete is right behind him¡ªhis right hand in this operation. At the top of the stairs they pass Jai, who falls in step as well. The low hum of conversations downstairs turns into silence the moment Vegas appears. The men are all suited up, wearing inconspicuous tactical clothing: beige trousers and black shirts over their body armour. Everyone is armed and equipped with extra ammunition. Vegas looks at them. He is the centre of their attention; all eyes rest on him. Something deep inside of Vegas comes to life and unfolds, a great calm washes over him and suddenly he¡¯s no longer worried. He is Vegas Theerapanyakul and this is his birthright. No one better be standing in his way, he will walk right through them to get what is his, grinding them into the dust beneath his heels without a second thought. All hail the King, baby. Without bothering with any motivational speeches, Vegas simply walks through the crowd and out of the house towards the waiting vehicles. His little private army falls into step behind him. Papilio memnon. Vegas unfurls his black butterfly wings and takes to the skies.
The family compound of the Minor Theerapanyakuls is hidden away within a maze of other buildings. The complex itself is comprised of four buildings in neoclassical style, surrounding a charming central courtyard. The Main mansion is a breathtaking two-storey house, with a central front porch and a three-storey tower in one corner. Home, sweet home. Vegas has a love-hate relationship with this house. He adores the architecture, the soft yellow walls and the green windows. What sours the picture are his memories of life in this house. The last time he arrived here, he was dragged into the house, unable to walk on his own. Not today though. Today Vegas strides confidently past the guards posted all around the perimeter, and no one dares to stop him. He is Vegas Theerapanyakul, and they better get the fuck out of his way. He is flanked by Pete to his right and the commanding officer of the guards, Jai, to his left, in addition to four other guards. They¡¯re all in constant contact through tactical comms; even Vegas is wearing a virtually invisible earpiece and thus receives a running update about the whereabouts of the rest of his men who lie in wait, ready to enter at any moment. His arrival must have triggered a variety of alarms. It¡¯s just another sign of the Minor family¡¯s lousy discipline that this only leads to confusion amongst those guarding the house. No one takes charge to try and stop him at any point. Maybe they sense Vegas¡¯ attitude; his body language warns all those who look at him that he¡¯s not to be messed with. The guards and the staff duck out of his way as he enters the house, and ignore the fact that the eldest Theerapanyakul son is here with his own personal guards and has a clearly visible handgun tucked into the back of his pants. Vegas heads straight towards the conference room where the Monday meeting is about to be held. The subordinates have already arrived; Vegas¡¯ lookout has confirmed this. Showtime. Without further ado, Vegas opens the large, exquisitely carved green door, and enters. Nothing has changed. Just like the rest of the house, the interior is extensively decorated with carved teak. The walls are the same yellow shade as the exterior of the building, green windows and doors complimented by the dark teak decorations framing them. A long teak conference table dominates the centre of the room, and grouped around it are the comfortable green leather seats Vegas remembers so well. Nothing has changed, except for Vegas, who has finally come into his own. There are a handful of bodyguards in the room, respectfully standing on the sidelines. Vegas ignores them. He¡¯s confident that Pete, Jai and his men will keep an eye on them and stop them from making trouble. Instead, he focuses on the small group of people standing around the conference table. The Theerapanyakul subordinates have been making small talk, awaiting the arrival of his father so that the meeting can start. Vegas spent the whole weekend reading up on every single one of them. He has personally met one or two of them before, but the rest are unknown to him. He¡¯s been away from the family too long to know everyone who joined the business empire recently. His unexpected entrance sends a ripple of surprise through the assembled crowd. They¡¯re like a herd of sheep who unexpectedly discover a bloody wolf in their midst¡ªclueless and confused. Vegas can¡¯t help but smirk darkly. Surprise. But a moment later it¡¯s his turn to be surprised. ¡°Vegas¡­?¡± Macau asks tentatively, stepping into view; Vegas didn¡¯t see him because he was standing in the back of the crowd. Oh fuck. What the fuck is his brother doing here? Shouldn¡¯t he be in school? Vegas wants to kill his father all over again. White hot fury washes over him. ¡°Breathe,¡± comes a whisper through his earpiece. ¡°I¡¯ll keep him safe.¡± And Vegas knows Pete will keep his word. It takes a lot of willpower for Vegas not to drag his little brother out of the room and to safety right away¡­ must not get distracted, our lives depend on this¡­ instead he nods curtly in greeting to his brother. ¡°Hello Macau.¡± Then he politely greets everyone else as well. ¡°Ladies and gentlemen, it¡¯s a pleasure to meet you again.¡± ¡°Khun Vegas¡­¡± They are still baffled, but his greeting is returned by everyone. Some of them glance at their watches and then towards the door. Vegas¡¯ unexpected arrival has disrupted their weekly routine and they seem to be waiting for Khun Gun to arrive and explain everything to them. Well, that will be a long wait, Vegas thinks grimly. Meanwhile, Macau stares wide-eyed at his brother. He obviously can¡¯t believe his eyes. He¡¯s never seen Vegas dressed like this, never, and Vegas coming here of his own free will is clearly something he cannot wrap his mind around. Especially in the aftermath of their catastrophic last meeting at Vegas¡¯ apartment. ¡°What on earth are you doing here?¡± he asks his brother in obvious confusion, mixed with fear. ¡°Did Pa force you to be here?¡± He glances past Vegas towards the door, and in that very moment it dawns on Vegas that his little brother has no clue he¡¯s an orphan now. Oh, shit. Talk about unforeseen complications. ¡°Breathe,¡± comes Pete¡¯s whisper through the comm again, grounding him instantly. Vegas inhales slowly and then exhales again. There, all better. For the time being, Vegas ignores Macau¡¯s questions. Can¡¯t deal with this right now. ¡°Close the door,¡± he orders quietly, and one of his men immediately does his bidding. The atmosphere in the room changes instantly to wariness. While his men casually fan out to cover his back, Vegas contemplates the gathered underlings pensively. ¡°Let¡¯s get this meeting started, shall we?¡± he suggests with quiet authority, making his way past them towards the head of the table. ¡°Vegas¡­?¡± Macau anxiously calls out to him once again. It is like a stab to his heart, but Vegas forces himself to ignore his brother. I can¡¯t deal with this right now, I can¡¯t allow myself to get distracted. Someone speaks up while the others mumble amongst themselves in ever growing confusion. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we wait for Khun Gun?¡± ¡°That will not be necessary,¡± Vegas informs them firmly. ¡°Please be seated.¡± And to the horror of all the assembled people he takes the seat at the head of the table without even a second of hesitation. Everyone, including Macau, is flabbergasted. They¡¯re staring at him as if they just caught him committing the worst kind of sacrilege. This is the seat reserved for Khun Gun, no one is allowed to sit there but him. Macau is especially stunned; he knows his father doesn¡¯t even allow his own sons to sit on that chair¡ªever. Vegas gives a barely visible nod in Jai¡¯s direction. There is a low murmur of voices in his earpiece, then Vegas hears the click of a safety catch disengaging, and suddenly there are guns in the hands of his men, trained on all the remaining Theerapanyakul guards in the room, keeping them in check. Startled, some of them make a move to pull their weapons, but thankfully realise the futility of such a move in time to avoid an escalation. Instead, the guards slowly and carefully raise their hands in surrender. Everyone gasps, and unease ripples through the room. Macau looks at Pete and the gun in his hand as if he has sprouted horns. Oh yeah, Macau still thinks Pete is just a relatively harmless psychologist. Oops. ¡°Everyone sit the fuck down, I¡¯m running out of patience,¡± Vegas orders them sharply. He pulls his Glock and places it in plain view on the dark conference table in front of him. ¡°¡­But¡­ Khun Gun¡­?¡± an elderly man with a walking stick bravely dares to ask, while edging towards his seat at the table. Who is that again? Oh yes, he¡¯s the one in charge of the loan sharking. Vegas glares at the man, who turns as white as a sheet upon finding himself the sudden centre of Vegas¡¯ undivided attention. ¡°There is no need to wait for my father, he¡¯s already here,¡± Vegas informs everyone calmly. He waves his hand, and one of his men approaches him swiftly, handing him a large, brown paper bag. Without further ado, Vegas unceremoniously takes a plain white porcelain urn from the bag and slams it onto the surface of the teak table in front of him. ¡°Here you go, does that satisfy your curiosity?¡± A stunned silence descends onto the room. And then Macau moans softly in distress. He has gone deathly pale, his eyes are glued to the damn urn, and it breaks Vegas¡¯ heart. I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m so damn sorry. He would like nothing more than to enfold his little brother in his arms to comfort him, but instead he raises his voice, calling out sharply. ¡°What are you all waiting for? Sit. The. Fuck. Down!¡± Out of the corner of his eyes he sees Pete arching an eyebrow at him; he looks mightily impressed with Vegas¡¯ attempt to assert his authority. Within seconds there is a wild scramble for the chairs as everyone takes a seat as quickly as possible. Everyone but the shell-shocked Macau, and¡­ ¡°What the fuck is going on?!¡± A burly, middle-aged man with a crew cut and an ugly scar dissecting the lower half of his face glares at Vegas in outrage. He points at the urn and then accusingly at Vegas. ¡°What the fuck is this supposed to mean, huh?!¡± Ah, this must be the middle man responsible for maintaining the contact with the Yakuza and the Russians with regard to the drugs. He¡¯s an old buddy of Vegas¡¯ father and Uncle Korn. In fact, based on what Mek has told Vegas, this man holds his current position solely due to Uncle Korn. Well, isn¡¯t this perfect? ¡°I thought it was very obvious¡­¡± Vegas¡¯ voice is deceptively mild. ¡°But since you seem confused, let me clarify matters for you.¡± Leaning forward in the chair, Vegas smiles, and it is a terrible smile indeed. The Glock is right there, next to the urn. Vegas picks it up and clinks the barrel playfully against the white porcelain to bring attention to it. ¡°There has been a change in management,¡± he informs everyone, holding up his left hand, showing off the golden family ring shimmering on his index finger. ¡°The King is dead, long live the King. As for you¡ª¡± Vegas smirks darkly at the man still glaring at him. ¡°¡ªconsider yourself fired.¡± And before anyone can react, he aims his gun at the rebellious middleman, and casually pulls the trigger. The shot echoes sharply through the large room. There is a cloud of red mist and other bodily matter and the man is already crumbling to the floor with a bullet to his brain. Vegas feels nothing, only this great, great calm. He just shot someone¡ªit was like swatting a fly, he is completely unfazed. Well damn, this is nice. Everyone seated at the table has gone very pale; they¡¯ve been shocked into silence and are probably wondering who will be next. ¡°Lock the place down and neutralise the moles,¡± Vegas instructs Jai, and instantly his earpiece floods with a flurry of whispered commands. Everything is going according to their plan. ¡­and then there is a low whimper breaking through the silence of the room. Macau. Oh, fuck. Vegas zeroes in on his brother and cringes internally. Oh fuck. Macau has blood splatter all over his pale face. He was standing too close to the now deceased man. Oh fuck. It¡¯s impossible to say what his brother is more shocked about¡ªthat someone just got shot right next to him or ¡ªOh, fuck¡ªthe way Macau stares at the porcelain urn Vegas can take a lucky guess. Fuck. Vegas clears his suddenly very tight throat. ¡°¡­ Macau¡­¡± he calls out softly. ¡°¡­Pa¡­?¡± His brother¡¯s face is ashen and his voice thick with barely contained panic. ¡°Pa¡­?¡± He asks again, and takes a stumbling step forward, towards that urn. The expression on his face is killing Vegas. I¡¯m so sorry. I hope you will be able to forgive me one day. Vegas swallows hard. ¡°I think it is time for you to leave, Macau.¡± He tries to sound as gentle as possible. ¡°I will explain everything to you later.¡± But his brother isn¡¯t listening. His whole attention is centred on that damn white urn standing on top of the dark wooden surface of the table. From somewhere outside, Vegas can hear a commotion; there are the occasional shots being fired. He¡¯s receiving a steady stream of situational updates via his comm earpiece but Vegas shuts it all out. Macau has his undivided attention right now. ¡°Oh God, Pa¡­¡± Macau moans again, and then his gaze flickers past the urn to his brother, who is sitting on the imposing leather chair at the head of the table as if it were a throne. A throne he just usurped from their dead father. Macau takes a long shuddering breath, his eyes dart back and forth between the urn, the golden ring on Vegas¡¯ index finger and his brother¡¯s emotionless face. And then it seems as if he is finally connecting the dots. Macau keens softly. This time Vegas cringes visibly. But before he has the chance to explain himself, his little brother does something entirely unexpected. Suddenly there is a gun in his hand, and he is pointing it at Vegas. Well shit. ¡°Nobody move!¡± Pete instantly takes control of the situation, and glares at the other men who have started pointing their guns at Macau. ¡°I¡¯ll handle this, stay the fuck out of it.¡± He glances at Vegas, their eyes meet, and Vegas minutely shakes his head. Irritated, Pete takes a deep breath and then slowly closes in on Macau like a big cat stalking its prey. He still has the gun in his hand, but he isn¡¯t currently pointing it at Vegas¡¯ little brother. What a fucking mess. ¡°Put the gun down, Macau.¡± Vegas sighs deeply and slowly places his own handgun back down on the table to de-escalate the situation. ¡°I know you are upset, but this isn¡¯t the right way to deal with it.¡± Upset might be too mild a word to describe what Macau is feeling right now. He¡¯s trembling visibly. Vegas should probably be worried about getting accidentally shot, the way the gun is waving back and forth in his brother¡¯s hand. But Vegas is more concerned about the angry tears that have now started to spill from Macau¡¯s eyes. His little brother is crying, and it¡¯s his fault. Vegas thinks he must be the worst big brother on the whole planet. ¡°Khun Macau¡­ please put the gun down,¡± Pete demands. Vegas¡¯ little pet psychopath sounds mightily pissed off by these developments. He is not amused when people point guns at his boyfriend, not at all, and it shows clearly on his face as he heads towards Macau while stepping over the corpse on the ground. ¡°I promised Khun Vegas I would keep you safe, but I swear to God, if you do not drop that gun this very second, I¡¯m going to grab you, put you over my knee and spank the living daylights out of you. Respectfully, of course.¡± Vegas blinks, and so does Macau. The brothers simultaneously glance at Pete, who looks like a thundercloud incarnate. Vegas¡¯ eyes widen imperceptibly. Uh-oh. Macau is clearly conflicted, he doesn¡¯t know what to do. Poor boy, Vegas feels really sorry for him. ¡°Put the gun down, Macau,¡± he advises him gently. ¡°Trust me, you do not want to make Pete this upset. I promise, I will explain everything to you later today.¡± ¡°I hate you¡­¡± At first, it is just a whisper, but then Macau raises his voice to a desperate shout. ¡°I hate you!¡± The tears are rolling freely down his cheeks, and misery is written all over his face. Angrily, he drops the gun, and instead points his finger accusingly at Vegas. ¡°I fucking hate you!¡± Vegas has a lump in his throat. He swallows hard. Priorities. He needs to prioritise, and dealing with his angry, grief-stricken brother can¡¯t be at the top of his list right now. So sorry, Macau. Vegas¡¯ expression hardens. ¡°Get him out of here,¡± he orders Pete coolly. Vegas needs to focus on the damn meeting and Macau is a distraction. ¡°As you wish.¡± Pete strikes like a snake; he moves so fast that Macau has no chance to evade him. Within the blink of an eye he has the youngest Theerapanyakul in a wrist lock, marching him forcefully towards the exit. Macau howls at the top of his lungs, trying to break free, but with no success. ¡°I hate you, Vegas!¡± he yells, and turns his head one more time towards his brother, giving him a dirty look before Pete manhandles him out of the room. Silence descends on the conference room once again. Vegas takes a deep breath, ruthlessly shoving all his emotions regarding his brother to the back of his mind. Cannot deal with this right now. He turns towards his third in command, nodding towards the Theerapanyakul guards, who are currently kept in check by his men. ¡°Cuff them and remove them from this room.¡± Then he taps the earpiece he is wearing. ¡°Lock down the accounts and jam all cellphone signals.¡± Having taken care of that part, he once again leans back in the leather chair, steeples his fingers and eyes his terrified business subordinates thoughtfully. ¡°Now¡­ where were we¡­?¡± ¡°Macau wants to leave the compound,¡± Pete informs him through the comms. ¡°Let him leave,¡± Vegas replies tiredly. A stress ball would be nice right now. He feels like strangling something. Very swiftly the guards get zip-tied and are removed from the room, meanwhile Vegas is impatiently drumming his fingers against the top of the urn holding his father¡¯s ashes. ¡°As I mentioned before, I¡¯m in charge of this branch of the Theerapanyakul family from now on.¡± He gives every single one of the people assembled around the table a hard stare. ¡°If you have a problem with that, feel free to leave.¡± As expected, no one dares to move a muscle. Bloody cowards. ¡°No one? Really? You¡¯re all fine with this?¡± Vegas twists his lips into a half-smile. ¡°Uhm¡­¡± There are only two women in this group, and one of them, a meticulously styled elderly lady, now cautiously raises her manicured hand with the bright red nails to catch Vegas¡¯ attention. ¡°Khun Vegas, if you don¡¯t mind, I would prefer to leave. I¡¯m afraid I can¡¯t afford to potentially upset Khun Korn¡­¡± Her voice trails off, and she gives him an sweet, apologetic smile. There are nods from several of the other underlings when they hear this. They obviously sympathise with her dilemma. Graciously, Vegas nods and motions for the door. ¡°Totally understandable. Please, don¡¯t let me keep you here.¡± The woman hesitates at first, but since Vegas is smiling, looking so friendly and understanding, she gets to her feet and, after a last cautious glance at him, walks hastily towards the door. Casually, Vegas picks up his Glock again and pulls the trigger, shooting her in the back of her head without even blinking an eye. This time, there are panicky screams from around the table as the body collapses to the floor. Disgusted with their reactions, Vegas clicks his tongue and shakes his head. ¡°Seriously? You really thought I would just let you walk out of here? Are you all fucking morons?¡± He rests his hands on the table without letting go of his gun. ¡°I¡¯m aware that all of you are scared of Khun Korn since he¡¯s the head of the Main family. My father grudgingly accepted being ¡®less¡¯ and ¡®minor¡¯ all his life, but I¡¯m not my father. Screw family traditions. There is nothing ¡®minor¡¯ about this branch of the Theerapanyakul family. My Uncle can take his ¡®Main and Minor family¡¯ bullshit and choke on it, as far as I am concerned.¡± Once again, the people around him gasp in horror. They¡¯ve never heard anyone talk about Khun Korn and the Main family like this. ¡°Everyone pay attention now,¡± Vegas warns them, the muscles in his face tightening with determination. ¡°I am the only one in charge here, I make all the decisions, and my dear uncle has absolutely no say in how I run this family business. Starting today, the Main family no longer controls any of the business aspects you all are involved in. You will no longer heed any orders coming from them, and you will also not report to them. The only thing that connects their side of the family with ours is our shared family name.¡± Totally cowed, everyone stares fearfully at Vegas, not daring to comment. Some of them are wringing their hands in distress, others are hyperventilating. ¡°Now here is what¡¯s going to happen¡­¡± Vegas narrows his eyes and makes a point of glancing at his Glock before staring icily at his subordinates. ¡°Fair is fair. I will give each of you ten minutes to convince me that you will be absolutely loyal to me, explain to me in what way you are important to this business and what you bring to the table, and try to convince me that I should keep you alive.¡± ¡°How about we start with you¡­¡± Vegas fixates on the man sitting closest to him on the left, a thin bespectacled guy, sweating profusely. Drumming his fingers once against the lid of the urn, he threateningly places his right index finger on the trigger of his handgun. ¡°Tick tock, tick tock.¡± Vegas¡¯ soft voice is totally devoid of emotion. ¡°Time¡¯s running, you better speak fast¡­¡± All hail the King, baby.
There is truth in the saying that killing gets easier every time you do it. Vegas loses count of all the dead bodies as he ruthlessly continues to clean house. Ten underlings become five. The conference room turns into a bloody mess which will be a pain in the ass to scrub clean. The shell-shocked survivors of the massacre are made to swear allegiance to Vegas. In writing. The stench of death and blood is heavy in the air. When it gets too much Vegas opens one of the many windows. Outside in the courtyard, every single Main family mole that is discovered gets executed on the spot. Vegas ignores the noise but the traumatised subordinates flinch every time a shot rings out. At some point some of his new guards enter the conference room and drag the bodies outside so that they can be properly disposed of. Pete has organised a truck and a crematorium on stand-by. Vegas reigns supreme. His underlings each receive a folder with business directives and a bullet point list of issues they need to fix in their business areas, then Vegas has them herded out of the blood-splattered room, to be locked up separately in the mansion until the initial purge is over and done with. No one is allowed in or out of the compound while Vegas removes all undesirable personnel and implements new security routines. His private army is everywhere, and they¡¯re very efficient. The security systems get a complete overhaul. The company he hired for this is doing an excellent job, and they better be, given the exorbitant amount of money they¡¯re charging him for it. Pete hovers nearby like a dark, bloodthirsty shadow, ruthlessly meting out death sentences in the wake of Vegas¡¯ interrogations, not leaving his side even once. He is still a bit miffed that he missed all the fun while he was out of the room to take care of Macau, and is probably plotting his revenge already. Vegas is looking forward to it. As for his little brother¡­ Judging from the panicky voice message Porsche left him, Macau went to the Main family. It was to be expected, and Vegas has faith in Porsche and Tankhun taking care of his distraught brother. The downside is of course that his uncle now knows what¡¯s going on, but that would have happened sooner or later. When his phone starts pinging non-stop with messages and incoming calls, Vegas turns it off to avoid any distractions. With Mek¡¯s help he spends hours reshuffling the family finances, now that they¡¯ve locked everyone else out of the accounts. In private, Pete tells him he is an idiot for trying to divide the money fairly, but Vegas is just doing his best to lay the foundations of a functioning system. He wants to avoid an all-out war between his branch of the family and the other Theerapanyakuls. They need a clean cut and fresh beginnings. At some point, one of the staffers approaches Vegas cautiously. The whole household is shell-shocked about the coup, and everyone is afraid of Vegas and his crew. ¡°Khun Vegas?¡± ¡°Mmmm?¡± Vegas takes a break from typing away on his laptop, and looks up questioningly. ¡°I apologise for disturbing you, but Khun Korn has sent a car. You¡¯re expected to meet with him at the Main family mansion.¡± Vegas sarcastically says the first thing that comes to his mind. ¡°Cute.¡± Then he notices that this reply only causes confusion amongst the staff. He sighs and tries to clarify the matter. ¡°Please tell the driver that my dearest uncle is always welcome to drop by for a visit, if he misses my company.¡± To the right of him, Pete chortles; he¡¯s lounging on a comfy leather seat, drinking some fancy coffee. Vegas rolls his eyes at him. ¡°What? I¡¯m being diplomatic, aren¡¯t I? If it were up to me, I would just tell him to go fuck himself.¡± The staffer gasps in horror upon hearing this. ¡°See?¡± Vegas points out. ¡°And that¡¯s why I¡¯m being diplomatic.¡± He waves the staffer away and eyes Pete¡¯s coffee cup longingly. ¡°Go get your own coffee,¡± the love of his life tells him heartlessly. So much for being King of the castle. ¡°Whatever happened to ¡®What¡¯s mine is yours¡¯?¡± Vegas points out, but Pete just flips him off. Oh well. ¡°How many men do we have right now?¡± he asks Pete, closing his laptop for a while. He needs a break before his mind turns into mush. Pete furrows his brow, doing some calculations. ¡°We have about forty of the original guards left after our little house cleaning operation. Jai is currently equipping them with body armour and new clothes, and assessing how well trained they are.¡± Forty out of sixty, that¡¯s better than nothing. Vegas is glad he¡¯s brought in his own private army though. He has a feeling he will need them until he has found and trained a suitable amount of fresh permanent guards. Lost in thoughts, he spins the golden ring on his finger. Earlier today, after the last execution, they had a little ceremony in the entrance hall. Vegas had every single member of the staff swear allegiance to him and kiss the damn ring. He¡¯d be lying if he said that he didn¡¯t get a huge kick out of it. The rush of power was dizzying. Pete felt it too, judging from the way he looked at Vegas afterwards, all hungry. Vegas sighs again. If only they had some time to themselves¡­ ¡°You think he¡¯ll lower himself to actually meet you here?¡± Pete rests his chin on his hand, watching Vegas closely. ¡°Once he realises that I¡¯m not planning to heed his summons, yes. I am leaving him no choice. He doesn¡¯t have the luxury to wait me out, because right now I control the money he needs for his everyday transactions. His legal businesses don¡¯t cover the expenses of everything else he has to pay for.¡± Just thinking about it makes Vegas smile gleefully. His uncle must be fuming right now. Not so ¡®Minor¡¯ after all, eh? ¡°I¡¯ll talk to Jai,¡± says Pete. ¡°He¡¯s already called in for some additional men and a weapons upgrade. As far as I remember the Main family bodyguards use mostly regular handguns. Jai is upgrading our men to MP5s in addition to their normal weapons of choice.¡± Pete¡¯s dark eyes gleam. He¡¯s been channeling his dark side the whole day, and Vegas can see how much he relishes being able to do that. ¡°MP5s are submachine guns¡­ isn¡¯t that overkill?¡± Vegas can¡¯t help but pointing it out. ¡°We¡¯re not at war with them just yet.¡± ¡°Better to shock them into submission right from the start,¡± Pete counters cheerfully. ¡°It¡¯s a good thing you have so much money. This is going to cost you a fortune, but it¡¯ll be so worth it. You¡¯ll have well over one hundred and fifty men at your disposal, all armed to the teeth, isn¡¯t it thrilling? Your uncle is going to throw a fit when he arrives and notices it.¡± Vegas surveys the room with its exquisite teak carvings and the ornamental ceiling. He can already imagine the shocking amount of damage an indoor shootout would cause. ¡°Let¡¯s have the meeting in the courtyard,¡± he suggests quickly. ¡°I might be rich, but I would rather not have to renovate the whole house.¡± Pete chortles again. Their eyes meet and Vegas feels a rush of deep fondness for this lunatic. ¡°You¡¯re really enjoying this, aren¡¯t you, Sunshine?¡± Never breaking the eye contact between them, Pete nods quietly. He isn¡¯t the only one. Vegas enjoys this as well, much more than he thought he would. He¡¯s soaring over the Abyss, there¡¯s blood splatter on his shimmering black butterfly wings, and he¡¯s high on power. Life is good.
Much to his relief, Vegas manages to squeeze in a good night¡¯s sleep and even a delicious breakfast before he is alerted that his uncle is on his way. Well, this is going to be interesting. Wryly he takes note that Pete is even more excited than he is; he¡¯s practically bouncing all over the place. Vegas grabs the back of his neck and yanks him close till they are face to face. ¡°Listen up, you little murder bunny¡­ you better rein in that dark side of yours. The bloodlust in your eyes is starting to freak out the staff.¡± Affectionately Vegas kisses the tip of Pete¡¯s nose. ¡°Repeat after me: I must not kill Vegas¡¯ extended family unless ordered to do so.¡± ¡°Awww¡­ not fair¡­¡± Pete whines in protest, but his eyes soften a little bit. For Vegas¡¯ sake he dons the mask of ¡®innocent boyfriend¡¯ once more. ¡°Fine, I won¡¯t kill them¡ªyet.¡± Damn, Pete is adorable. Vegas grins and rewards him with a quick, hard kiss before putting on his body armour. Pete has picked today¡¯s outfit; black dress pants, a white dress shirt so soft it puts all other shirts Vegas has ever worn to shame, and as the icing on the cake, an absolutely sinful, wine-red velvet jacket with satin lapels of the same colour. A glance into the mirror confirms that Vegas is slaying it. Whistling softly to himself, he strolls downstairs, taking his time. His third in command is at the front door to inform his uncle to wait. Showing up unannounced and expecting everyone to jump to attention and do his bidding? Not today, Uncle Korn, not today. Karma¡¯s a bitch. He even suggests that his men go and take a peek at Khun Korn as he is forced to wait. Go and look at the almighty Main family being humbled. I hope you choke on it, uncle. ¡°You¡¯re holding a grudge, aren¡¯t you?¡± Pete remarks as they head for the courtyard. ¡°Damn right I am.¡± After years of being told that he¡¯s not good enough, not nearly as perfect as the Main family relatives, Vegas is feeling rather resentful. The courtyard is beautiful. In one corner of it, shaded from direct sunlight by two large trees, is a casual dining area with a round teak table and comfortable, yet luxurious outdoor chairs. Vegas has decided to have the meeting here for security reasons, and to protect the antique interior of the mansion. His men are evenly spaced all around the courtyard, not to mention those keeping a watch on the area from each of the first and second floor windows. Overkill? Perhaps. But it¡¯s damn impressive. Making himself comfortable in one of the chairs, Vegas slowly eats the ice cream he ordered, smiling to himself. ¡°Remember not to shoot anyone,¡± he reminds Pete, who is leaning casually against the back of his chair. ¡°You know how annoyingly stuck-up Kinn is, but my uncle is so much worse. The urge to put a bullet in him just to shut him up will be almost impossible to resist, but please hold your horses.¡± Pete rolls his eyes but nods to show he will comply. ¡°Do I get a reward for playing nice?¡± Vegas thoughtfully licks some ice cream off his silver spoon, and his smile widens. ¡°You know, some of the rooms here have ceiling beams, and I vaguely remember seeing some chains around here as well¡­ you still have the handcuffs, right?¡± Pete¡¯s slow, controlled intake of breath feels immensely rewarding. ¡°I knew you would like that.¡± Vegas finishes his ice cream and motions to a nearby staffer. ¡°I think they¡¯ve been waiting long enough now; would you mind showing our guests in?¡± While he is waiting for his uncle to arrive, he orders coffee for everyone. He¡¯s even seen to it that there is an antique chess set on the table; Uncle Korn likes his chess metaphors, and Vegas is a gracious host, so why deprive Korn of this opportunity to spout nonsense? A few minutes later Jai leads a small group of men into the courtyard, and Vegas senses how Pete tenses up behind him. ¡°Tone it down,¡± he mumbles under his breath as he watches his uncle and his entourage cross the patio. As always, Khun Korn is travelling with his bodyguards. Ten, to be exact. Plus perfect Chan. And Kinn, of course there is Kinn. It¡¯s very obvious to Vegas that his cousin would rather be somewhere else. Porsche must be throwing a fit at home. Vegas imagines Kinn having the worst 24 hours of his life right now. The Main family bodyguards are not a source of worry. They might be well trained, but there are more than a dozen sniper rifles trained at them. They¡¯re not that good. Perfect Chan mustn¡¯t be underestimated though; Vegas has Pete watching over him with Argus eyes. Speaking of Chan, the man doesn¡¯t seem his usual, calm self; there is a certain tightness around his eyes as he surveys the courtyard, noting the unusual amount of guards with military grade weapons. Surprise. And lastly, there is his uncle¡­ ¡°Vegas¡­¡± Khun Korn Theerapanyakul greets his nephew with a gentle, fatherly smile. Vegas inclines his head in polite greeting while he imagines taking one of the chess pieces and ramming it down his Uncle¡¯s throat. Now wouldn¡¯t that be nice¡­? ¡°Uncle Korn. What a lovely surprise visit. I¡¯m so sorry I couldn¡¯t drop by to visit yesterday. I¡¯m simply too busy right now.¡± Vegas isn¡¯t even pretending to sound sincere. ¡°Please, take a seat and have some coffee.¡± Then he turns his attention towards his cousin. ¡°I see your father is no longer retired, huh? It must be such a relief. Now you have all the time in the world to take Porsche on that extended vacation you two have been planning for the longest time, right? Come on, don¡¯t just stand there, take a seat and have some coffee as well.¡± His cousin flinches, casting Vegas a murderous look, but quickly regains control of his features, not bothering to reply to that taunt. Chan narrows his eyes, displeased with the way Vegas talks to his relatives. Then his gaze flickers over to Pete, who is still leaning against Vegas¡¯ chair, and he grows very still. Seems Chan¡¯s danger sense just started emitting an unearthly screech¡­ Vegas can sympathise. Still smiling, Uncle Korn takes a seat, and after hesitating briefly, Kinn sits down as well. They¡¯re each served a cup of coffee, and Vegas accepts one as well. Khun Korn slowly drinks some coffee, eyeing the chess set. ¡°You¡¯re playing chess, Vegas?¡± So apparently they are making small talk first. Fine. ¡°I know the basics, but I don¡¯t really enjoy playing,¡± Vegas admits calmly. ¡°Black or white?¡± Reaching across the table, his uncle silently picks a white chess figure and makes his first move. ¡°You¡¯ve been causing quite an uproar across town, Vegas.¡± Vegas wasn¡¯t kidding when he said he barely knows the basics¡ªthis will be a very short game. He simply picks one of the black pieces and moves that too, without even bothering to attempt a strategic move. His uncle pauses and stares at Vegas¡¯ left hand, where the golden family ring gleams in the sunshine. The poker face slips for a second, and quiet anger bleeds into his Uncle¡¯s eyes. ¡°You have indeed been very naughty, I see.¡± After a moment of contemplation he moves another chess piece across the board. ¡°I think that depends entirely on your definition of naughtiness.¡± Vegas reclines in his chair and continues to drink his coffee, completely unperturbed. ¡°This is nothing really, I can assure you I have the potential to be a hell of a lot naughtier. Do you like the coffee, Uncle Korn? I think my father imported the beans directly from Central America.¡± Eeny, meeny, miny, moe¡­ Vegas picks another random black chess piece and makes his equally random move. His uncle¡¯s fingers clench reflexively around the white chess piece he just picked up. ¡°Is that so? Speaking of which, care to tell me what happened to your father?¡± Leisurely lifting the delicate coffee cup to his lips, Vegas takes another slow sip while eyeing his uncle over the rim of the cup. ¡°He had an unfortunate encounter with a Japanese boning knife. What goes around, comes around.¡± Vegas shrugs nonchalantly. ¡°Which reminds me¡­¡± At the wave of his hand, a staffer approaches, very carefully carrying the white porcelain urn with Khun Gun¡¯s ashes. He places it gently next to Vegas¡¯ uncle on the table. Vegas has even wrapped a lovely red velvet bow around the urn. It just looks so much better this way. He might as well have dropped a hand grenade on the table. Kinn draws in a sharp breath, and looks worriedly at his father, who has actually gone quite pale. Vegas always had the impression that there wasn¡¯t much love lost between the two brothers, but apparently his uncle has a heart after all, because he looks genuinely pained. ¡°You can have it if you want to¡­¡± It¡¯s an easy offer to make for Vegas; he has no emotional connection to his father¡¯s remains at all. ¡°If you¡¯re not interested, I¡¯ll flush the ashes down the toilet.¡± ¡°Vegas!¡± Kinn hisses in outrage, and Vegas has the pleasure to see Khun Korn loose his calm as he slams the chess piece into the chessboard with way more force than necessary. Vegas¡¯ lips curl into a slow, cruel smile, and he places his empty coffee cup back on the table before making his next random chess move. ¡°I warned you, I can be a lot worse than you¡¯d possibly imagine.¡± His uncle is really doing his best to keep a rein on his temper. It must be a new experience for him that his nephew is neither grovelling nor treating him with the respect he has grown used to as the head of the Theerapanyakul family. ¡°I¡¯m starting to see why your father removed you from the family,¡± Khun Korn mutters bitterly under his breath. ¡°He didn¡¯t remove me, I walked out on my own free will,¡± Vegas corrects him gently. ¡°And now I have returned to take my rightful place.¡± ¡°That place rightfully belongs to Macau,¡± his uncle reminds him icily, moving another white chess piece. ¡°Macau is still a child. He won¡¯t be leading this family now, or at any time in the future. I think he should go to university and have some fun instead, live his life, you know?¡± Any real chess player would by now be horrified by Vegas¡¯ wildly random chess moves, but Uncle Korn only smiles, biding his time, probably thinking he is luring Vegas into a trap. ¡°The family rules state quite clearly how the succession of the Minor family should be handled in case of an unexpected death,¡± he lectures his nephew. ¡°I don¡¯t give a fuck about your family rules.¡± Which chess piece to move now? Eeny, meeny, miny, moe¡­ This one looks cute, is that a pawn or a bishop?¡­ who fucking cares¡­ ¡°Haven¡¯t I made this abundantly clear by now?¡± His uncle cringes faintly, looking at chaos on the chessboard. Then he gives his nephew a sharp look. ¡°You¡¯re a Theerapanyakul, those are your family rules as well. And those rules are meant to be obeyed. ¡± ¡°Oh, you mean the whole ¡®The Main family controls it all, the Minor family must report to the Main family and always follow their orders¡¯ bullshit? Yeah, well¡­ See, this doesn¡¯t sound very appealing to me, Uncle Korn. It never has. So now that I¡¯m in charge here, I make my own damn rules.¡± Even the Main family bodyguards flinch upon hearing that. ¡°Vegas!¡± Kinn warns him again. He is starting to sound stressed, his eyes darting back and forth between his father and Vegas. ¡°You can¡¯t just make your own rules; it simply isn¡¯t done!¡± ¡°Says who?¡± Vegas can feel his patience starting to slip. His voice is now carrying a sharp edge. ¡°Your father? Of course he¡¯s all for keeping these idiotic rules¡ªthey¡¯re in his favour after all. Let me give you some advice, Kinn¡­ don¡¯t allow the older generation to ruin your life. Everything becomes so much clearer when you start doing your own thing.¡± Kinn swallows hard. Vegas senses that his cousin feels trapped by the family traditions as well, but he isn¡¯t ready just yet to openly rebel against his imposing father. His uncle meanwhile makes another chess move. He asks Vegas quietly, ¡°Are you planning to go to war, boy?¡± Pete¡¯s hand comes to rest on Vegas¡¯ shoulder, the lightest of touches, but somehow it makes Chan nervous. He seems to be caught in a staring contest with Pete. Vegas can feel the hair on the back of his neck standing up; Pete is playing mind games with the head bodyguard of the Main family, and it irritates him. ¡°I told you to fucking tone it down,¡± he warns his boyfriend sharply before turning his attention back to his uncle. ¡°If I had planned to go to war, you would have died within three minutes of entering this courtyard,¡± he tells the older man dryly, and all the bodyguards around them react with alarm, the overall tension in the courtyard ratcheting up a notch. ¡°This isn¡¯t a fucking movie. I wouldn¡¯t waste my time with small talk, I would just get on with it right away.¡± The chessboard in front of them is a chaotic mess that makes absolutely no sense to Vegas. He always hated this game anyway. ¡°Why don¡¯t you just tell me why the fuck you¡¯re here, Uncle Korn?¡± His uncle doesn¡¯t like Vegas¡¯ tone of voice; he frowns openly at the younger man. ¡°Check,¡± he warns him, and Vegas knows this doesn¡¯t apply just to their crazy chess game. ¡°Whatever made you think that your actions would have no consequences, Vegas? You shouldn¡¯t start playing if you do not know the rules, because in the end you will always loose.¡± Korn Theerapanyakul motions to the chessboard. ¡°Just like in this chess game.¡± Vegas huffs with amusement. ¡°Who says I¡¯ve lost?¡± ¡°There are no more moves for you to make, Vegas. Whatever you do next, checkmate is inevitable.¡± Entirely too pleased with himself, his uncle leans back in the chair and gives Vegas a fake, benevolent smile that doesn¡¯t reach his hard eyes. ¡°Despite everything you¡¯ve done, I will not have you killed, since you are after all my nephew. You can leave the country if you want, start anew somewhere far away.¡± ¡°That¡¯s adorable. Sending people abroad really runs in this family,¡± Pete mutters behind him, and the corners of Vegas¡¯ mouth twitch. For the first time in this conversation, Khun Korn focuses on the man standing behind Vegas. He looks Pete over thoughtfully. Vegas can feel the pressure of Pete¡¯s hand on his shoulder increasing. Pete stays silent, but whatever is showing on his face, it makes Chan move closer to Khun Korn in an instant, with a hand on his gun. Vegas sighs deeply. ¡°Sunshine, what did I tell you before this meeting? Are you suffering from short term memory loss?¡± ¡°¡­You must not kill my extended family unless ordered to do so¡­¡± Pete sounds like a scolded toddler, rebelliously reciting the rule he just broke. Or in this case, was clearly considering breaking. ¡°Exactly, so stop frightening our guests. No chains the rest of the week for you,¡± Vegas announces the penalty and Pete huffs in frustration. Now, where were they¡­ oh yes. ¡°Checkmate? I don¡¯t think so.¡± Vegas reaches out and pushes the whole chess board off the table. ¡°See, problem solved.¡± Khun Korn¡¯s mouth tightens. He has trouble holding his anger in check. ¡°That was a stupid move, boy. You seem to forget that Macau is living with me now.¡± Kinn exhales a sharp breath. He obviously didn¡¯t see this threat coming. Boy, does he have to learn a lot about his father. Strangely enough, Vegas stays completely calm. ¡°I think my little brother is perfectly safe. Or do you want to deal with your own little palace revolt? You really think Tankhun or Porsche would let anything happen to Macau? And I think we all know that you can¡¯t possibly risk threatening Porsche over this, don¡¯t we?¡± A glance at his cousin¡¯s grim face confirms that Kinn would without hesitation go against his own father when it comes to Porsche. Vegas chuckles softly. ¡°No, Macau is perfectly safe. See, I¡¯m a good chess player after all. Now let¡¯s cut the crap and get down to business, shall we?¡± His uncle is seething. No one from the Minor family has ever dared treat him like his, no one. If looks could kill, Vegas would be dying a horrible death right now. But Vegas simply ignores him. He has a lot of things to get off his chest. ¡°First of all, there is no ¡®Minor¡¯ family anymore. I know it might take some time for you to adapt to this, but my branch of the family tree is just as good as yours. All those fucking family rules Grandpa implemented? Consider them null and void.¡± And then Vegas raises his voice, so that all his men throughout the courtyard can hear what he says next. ¡°We report to no other family. We obey no other family. We bow to no other family. We are Theerapanyakuls. We are at the top of the food chain, and we rule!¡± Cheers echo over the courtyard, and for a brief moment Vegas wonders if his uncle will have an apoplectic fit; he certainly looks like it, first going very pale and then flushing a deep red. Chan hurriedly pours a glass of water and hands it to his boss. Even Kinn gets up and hovers close to his father, clearly concerned. But all Vegas can think about is how much easier life would be if his uncle would just keel over and die. ¡°What exactly is the meaning of all of this?¡± Kinn asks him anxiously. ¡°What point are you trying to make, Vegas?¡± ¡°My family¡¯s going independent,¡± Vegas announces calmly, and that is followed by another round of cheers. ¡°You are of course always free to hire us¡ªon our terms.¡± Seems that was the wrong thing to say. ¡°I¡¯m going to end you,¡± his uncle sputters, almost choking on the water. He is trembling with outrage. ¡°I am going to ruin your business, burn down this house and kill every single one of you!¡± ¡°No, you¡¯re not.¡± Vegas expression hardens. ¡°You can fantasise about all the things you want to do to me, but that is all you can do. You can¡¯t touch me, because right now I¡¯m the one controlling all the money, and without my good will you can¡¯t fulfil any of your immediate monetary obligations. You really think the other families, the Yakuza or the Russians will show lenience about late payments? I doubt it.¡± Pete¡¯s hand still rests on his shoulder, and Vegas absently reaches up to caress it while watching his uncle like a hawk. All hail the King, baby. ¡°You worked so hard to make your side of the family almost respectable, Uncle Korn. Looking down on the rest of us¡ªwho are risking our lives for you, doing your dirty business so that you and your children can remain squeaky clean in the public eye. Well, go ahead and invest all your money into respectable businesses then. I¡¯m going to be fair, my accountants are in the process of calculating your family¡¯s share of the overall finances. Everything will be put into an off-shore account, for you to do with as you please. Have your go at being fully respectable. Or sign a contract with us, in case you want us to run any sort of illegal businesses for your family. It¡¯s up to you.¡± ¡°You think you can run your business without me? I¡¯m the head of the family, I¡¯m the one brokering the deals with the other syndicates! I¡¯m the one negotiating with the other families! You¡¯re nothing, Vegas, they don¡¯t even know your name, they only know Khun Korn Theerapanyakul!¡± His uncle¡¯s face contorts with rage. ¡°Khun Korn Theerapanyakul is but a name,¡± Vegas points out, shrugging nonchalantly. ¡°What use is your good name if you don¡¯t have the infrastructure in place to make everything work? The money laundering accountants, the casino personnel, the loan sharks, the people running the gambling dens, the drug runners and the weapon smugglers¡­ they¡¯re all my people.¡± Vegas smiles mirthlessly. ¡°Feel free to try and build such an infrastructure of your own¡­ but wait¡­ you can¡¯t¡­ you don¡¯t have the time for it, because you have bills to pay. So what¡¯s it going to be, Uncle Korn? If you ask me really nicely, I might help you out.¡± That is the last straw. Khun Korn explodes from his seat with so much force that the chair he was sitting on falls over. Suddenly there are guns in everyones hands, and Kinn freezes, totally caught off guard by this turn of events. He looks at his father, who is shaking his fist at Vegas, unleashing a string of profanities so foul that Kinn pales. He sounds remarkably like his brother, Vegas thinks absently. He didn¡¯t bring a gun of his own to this meeting; he doesn¡¯t need one. Half a dozen red laser dots have instantly appeared on each of their guests. ¡°Can I kill him now?¡± the Abyss behind him leans down and whispers in his ear. ¡°He¡¯s really rude, just like your father. It pisses me off.¡± Both the King and the Abyss turn their dark eyes towards the raging elderly gentleman, who is barely held in check by his head bodyguard and his son. ¡°We might get lucky¡ªif he continues like this maybe he¡¯ll have a stroke¡­¡± the King muses quietly, just tuning out all the curses hurled at him. ¡°I doubt he would hold out as long as his brother did¡­¡± the Abyss ponders absently. Both of them simultaneously tilt their heads, suddenly staring with an unnerving intensity at Khun Korn Theerapanyakul. Seeing their eerie behaviour is enough to finally trigger Chan into action. He resolutely grabs his incensed employer and pulls him away towards safety. Kinn is herded away by his bodyguards as well; after all he is the heir. He offers no resistance, in fact Vegas could almost swear that his cousin is glad to be able to leave. And thankfully one of those spooked Main family guards even remembers to take along the urn. ¡°What a pity¡­¡± the Abyss sighs in disappointment as its prey is dragged out of the courtyard and hurried back towards the safety of the Main family mansion. ¡°I think you underestimate how resilient this old man is¡­¡± the King contemplates thoughtfully, and then adds. ¡°Want to make a bet?¡± And then both of them smile darkly. All hail the King, baby. Epilogue Everything¡¯s got a moral if only you can find it It¡¯s early evening, the setting sun is painting the sky a lovely shade of rose red, and the heat of the day is giving way to more bearable temperatures. Vegas casually strolls down an alleyway, deep in the slums. He knows the area as the back of his hand¡ªevery passageway, every dead end¡ªand that¡¯s why he¡¯s picked this neighbourhood. A glance at his watch; they¡¯ve been at it for roughly an hour now, time to wrap things up. There¡¯s no need to hurry, his target is overweight and out of shape, has long since stopped running and is now slowly jogging down this deserted back street. The man keeps trying to escape into the houses lining the alley, but doors close in his face. People disappear inside as soon as they spy Vegas and his prey approaching. No one heeds the desperate pleas of the hunted man, not even the promise of money is tempting enough to make them grant him refuge. As soon as they look over his shoulder, and see Vegas casually meandering towards them, they close their eyes and ears and doors. Nothing to see here, move on. Another turn around the corner and they¡¯ve reached a dead end. No windows. No doors. Just walls. Surprised, the man looks around, but there is no way out, because Vegas is blocking the entrance of the alley now. What a pathetic sight. Vegas snorts with contempt as the man sinks to his knees, his hair and face sweat-drenched and flushed from running. The designer clothes he is wearing, the golden watch, and the handmade Italian shoes¡­ he sticks out like a sore in these destitute surroundings. ¡°Detective Theerapanyakul¡­¡± The man whimpers pitifully, his voice trembling with exhaustion. ¡°Please¡­ This has all been a terrible misunderstanding. I¡¯m sure we can come to an agreement. Just tell me your price.¡± ¡°Oh please¡­ you make me sick.¡± Vegas snorts with disgust and shakes his head, slowly approaching the kneeling man. He hates people like this, he hates them. ¡°Money can¡¯t solve everything. You may have paid off the captain and even the judge, but I¡¯ve got news for you, I don¡¯t give a damn about your money, you asshole.¡± The man gulps and wrings his fat hands with the gold rings. ¡°You¡¯re making a terrible mistake, Detective Theerapanyakul. You know as well as I do that my lawyers will have me out of custody, with all the charges dropped, within 24 hours, just like the other times. Why do you insist on arresting me anyway? You¡¯re going to ruin your career. I believe you already received a warning from your superiors to leave me alone. Why do you insist on hunting me down like this?¡± ¡°Because you not keeping your dirty hands off those teenagers is unacceptable.¡± Vegas narrows his eyes. Just looking at this scumbag makes him incredibly angry. ¡°They¡¯re children, not your sex toys or punching bags. People like you make me sick. You think having money makes you invulnerable, that you can do whatever twisted things come to your mind? Well, I don¡¯t give a fuck about your money. All I care about is justice for your victims.¡± Worried, the man squints his eyes in a furtive manner, looking around for a way out, for help to materialise. ¡°The commissioner is my brother-in-law!¡± he squeaks anxiously. Totally unimpressed, Vegas simply shrugs. ¡°Good for you.¡± His ever-growing anxiousness causes him to stammer, and he tries once again to threaten Vegas. ¡°If¡­ If¡­ if you arrest me now, I¡¯ll have you suspended!¡± Vegas lips curl into a dark smile. ¡°Who said I¡¯m going to arrest you?¡± The kneeling man most certainly didn¡¯t expect to hear something like this. His eyes go round with panic, he opens his mouth as if he is about to speak, but no words come forth. He reminds Vegas of a fish out of water. ¡°How about you take a good look at me?¡± Slowly, Vegas strolls closer. ¡°Am I wearing my uniform right now? No? Now try using your braincells. What could this possibly mean?¡± The man continues to gape at Vegas; he is so confused, and obviously not a quick thinker. ¡°Fine, I will tell you: I¡¯m not wearing my uniform because I¡¯m off duty right now,¡± Vegas patiently explains, making sure to speak slowly. Hopefully the man will get the hint. He is slow, so slow, but eventually the man on the ground blinks and some of the nervous tension drains out of him again. ¡°Off duty¡­ Okay¡­¡± And then he is suddenly complaining again. ¡°What the fuck?! What sort of game are you playing at, Detective?! You think this is funny, scaring me like this?!¡± Vegas waits until the outburst is over, then he pulls out the gun from the back of his pants, aiming it at the scumbag. ¡°As I said, I¡¯m not going to arrest you¡­¡± First distress, then anger and now terror¡­ it is very satisfying to watch all the facial expressions of his victim. Especially the naked fear on his pale face, now that he is staring at the barrel of the gun pointed at him. ¡°¡­ W..w..what¡­? W¨Cwhat is the meaning¡­ of¡­ this¡­?¡± the man croaks fearfully. Vegas¡¯ cellphone starts ringing at that very moment. ¡°Fuck, I¡¯m so sorry, I need to take this. Just a moment, all right?¡± With a sigh, Vegas answers the phone while still pointing his gun at the man on the ground. ¡°Yes?¡± Damn, it¡¯s one of his subordinates, the one in charge of the casinos. Vegas listens while tapping his foot impatiently, and isn¡¯t impressed with what he is being told. Problems, always problems, what does he pay these guys for¡­ ¡°So? I¡¯m at work right now, just handle it on your own.¡± Vegas rolls his eyes and mouths ¡®I¡¯m so sorry for this interruption¡¯ to the kneeling man, who watches all of this wide-eyed. But apparently that is too much to ask for; his manager is begging for more instructions and Vegas can feel his patience growing thin. ¡°What the fuck am I paying you for if I need to make all the decisions?¡± Irritation creeps into Vegas¡¯ voice. ¡°Just pay him off for now and then look for a suitable replacement.¡± Apparently that was the wrong thing to say because now his employee is only getting started, attempting to drown Vegas in a flood of suggestions. Vegas starts rocking back and forth on his heels and decides that enough is enough. ¡°I don¡¯t care, just do your fucking job already.¡± And with that he hangs up and pockets the phone again. ¡°Sorry about that. I have a lot of new employees who are still learning the ropes, and they keep calling me for advice all the time. You think I should perhaps hire a supervisor? All these phone calls day and night really are turning into a hassle,¡± Vegas ponders, not really expecting an answer. ¡°Anyway¡­ you were asking about the meaning of all this before we got interrupted, right? Well, I don¡¯t know what you expect me to say, I mean, isn¡¯t it rather obvious?¡± Vegas wiggles his gun a bit. ¡°This isn¡¯t an arrest, this is an execution.¡± ¡°You can¡¯t do this, you¡¯re a police officer!¡± the man on the ground yells, in full-blown panic. ¡°That¡¯s why I¡¯m shooting you when I am off duty,¡± Vegas explains patiently. ¡°I do try to separate work from pleasure. Now, do you have any last words?¡± Shell-shocked, the kneeling man starts to whimper and then outright cry, bawling like a baby. He¡¯s a pathetic heap of trash, wetting his pants, calling for his mother, it¡¯s disgusting to watch. A glance at his watch tells Vegas he is running late, and so he simply pulls the trigger. A nice and clean double tap. Done. Then he turns around and strolls out of the deserted dead end, back into the main alleyway. All the doors and windows are shut. Hear no evil, see no evil. Everyone living here knows what is best for them. Vegas is aware that as soon as he is gone, they will descend onto the dead body like vultures, stripping him of all valuables. And then it will only be a dead naked body rotting in the sun until the smell gets so bad that someone will reluctantly call the cops to take care of the mess. The sun has set, twilight is descending. It takes Vegas a while before he emerges from the maze of alleyways to where has parked his car. No person in their right mind would park their car here, but Vegas isn¡¯t worried. His car is still standing exactly where he parked it, being guarded by a small group of teenagers. ¡°Khun Vegas¡­¡± They all jump to their feet and greet him respectfully as he approaches. One of them hurries into a nearby house while Vegas pays his car guardians generously. Life is difficult here in the slums; they¡¯re living a hard life. A moment later the youth emerges from the house again, this time carefully holding a large plastic pet carrier as far away from him as he possibly can. ¡°Here you go, Khun Vegas.¡± The teenager is so anxious to get rid of the carrier that he almost tosses it at Vegas. ¡°My mom said to tell you that you better drown this one, it¡¯s got the devil inside.¡± Shuddering, he retreats a few steps, eyeing the carrier warily. Vegas clears his throat. Even he is holding the carrier at a safe distance; he has learned his lesson the hard way. ¡°Thank you for taking care of it while I was busy.¡± People are so superstitious here, and they¡¯re prone to exaggeration as well. The devil inside? Nonsense¡­ A low, mean growl emerges from the carrier and Vegas swallows hard. Nonsense, right¡­ ?
The drive back home is interesting. Vegas secures the carrier in the passenger seat. He thinks that it¡¯s a good idea to have the access grate pointing in his direction. You know, so that the little monster inside doesn¡¯t feel lonely, scared and abandoned during its first car ride. Fifteen minutes into the ride he comes to regret that decision. The car has a manual transmission, and Vegas is shifting gears when there is a black flash from the front of the carrier and his left hand holding the gear stick suddenly sprouts four, deep claws marks that immediately start oozing blood. Vegas yelps and hits the brakes, nearly causing a pile-up. ¡°Fuck!¡± Then he slaps his hand over his mouth. Oops, mustn¡¯t curse. And then he blinks. Of course he can curse. This isn¡¯t a human child after all. ¡°Fuck fuck fuck!¡± Damn, this hurts! Vegas gives the middle finger to all the people honking their horns, he simply turns on the hazard lights and glowers at the damn pet carrier while wrapping a tissue around his bleeding hand. Fuck, how can this hurt so much? From the depth of the carrier comes rustling and another mean growl. With a deep sigh, Vegas fishes his cellphone out of his pocket, peels away the tissue and snaps a photo of his bleeding hand before wrapping the wound up again. ¡®I got a cat. I think we are having initial communication problems. Drop by to meet it and offer some advice?¡¯ He sends the message together with the photo to Macau. For all he knows Macau still has him blocked, but that doesn¡¯t deter Vegas. He keeps sending him messages anyway. Pete doesn¡¯t understand, he thinks it is a waste of time. ¡°Just leave him be, he¡¯ll come around eventually,¡± he suggested just yesterday, when Vegas snapped a photo of the kitchen after their second attempt at making banana muffins. ¡°Stop sending him messages, just leave him alone.¡± Pete doesn¡¯t understand because he never had a brother. But Vegas does, and he misses his little brother dreadfully. The guilt is eating away at him. He knows it isn¡¯t his fault, he should instead blame his father for making Macau attend those damn Monday meetings. If his brother had been in school that day, then their confrontation in the conference room wouldn¡¯t have happened. Then Vegas would have had time to talk to Macau in private, and to tell him, as gently as possible, about their father¡¯s death. And try to explain his role in it (the censored version of it at least). But now shit has hit the fan, and Macau is no longer talking to him. And it hurts. Before this mess, when Vegas kept his distance to Macau to honour the deal with his father, the radio silence between them could always be broken by a simple phone call. The bond between the two brothers was so strong that even time or the physical distance between them didn¡¯t wear it out. But now Macau is no longer taking his calls. Or reading his messages. Or meeting him. And it hurts really badly. The only thing that makes it all easier to bear is the knowledge that Porsche and Tankhun are keeping a very close eye on Macau. Tankhun has taken his little orphaned cousin under his wing, watching over him like a mother hen, somehow managing, together with Porsche, to keep Macau from the poisonous clutches of Khun Korn. Porsche has mercy on Vegas, and keeps sending him updates, even though he¡¯s also angry with him. Vegas¡¯ palace coup has seriously upset the power balance between every single organised crime family in this country, and poor Kinn has his hands full trying to fix the problems erupting left and right for the Main family. And seeing his boyfriend stressed out like this is terrible for Porsche, which has driven a wedge between him and Vegas. Their friendship is on shaky grounds right now. This sucks too. Vegas sighs deeply. It¡¯s no use wallowing in self pity. He just has to hope that everything will work out in the end. For the rest of the drive, the opening of the carrier is pointed in the opposite direction, far away from Vegas, who is having doubts about this little plan of his. It sounded like such a great idea¡ªteach his little psychopath a bit of empathy by introducing a pet, forcing Pete to take care of it, and turning them into a real little family. And now Vegas is having second thoughts. This might have worked if only he had picked another kitten, and not this resentful little devil. He had the choice of the litter; the kittens were all over him, cute furry bundles of joy, in the most amazing colours. And what did he pick? If only he had ignored the yowling from the other room. If only he hadn¡¯t asked to see what was making the ruckus there. If only this little ball of hatred hadn¡¯t glared at him like this, its anger rattling the whole carrier he was locked away in. Vegas was doomed from the start; the lush fluffy black fur, the furious orange eyes¡ªone look and all he could think of was Pete and their first meeting. Yes, he was doomed from the start, it had to be this little devil and no one else. Vegas, the collector of misfits, the King of the freaks, that¡¯s him. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
His bodyguards aren¡¯t happy that he has snuck out without them. His third in command greets Vegas at the front door, sounding rather frustrated with his boss. ¡°Khun Vegas, with all due respect, how are we supposed to keep you safe if you keep leaving the house without us? Did you at least wear the body armour?¡± Jai doesn¡¯t even wait for an answer. ¡°Of course you didn¡¯t.¡± Vegas has the good grace to feel ashamed; he looks down, mumbles an apology and then takes this opportunity to hand the pet carrier to a member of his staff. ¡°Careful with that,¡± he warns them. ¡°Khun Vegas, you¡¯re making my job unnecessarily difficult.¡± Jai is determined to say his piece. He follows Vegas into the house, his brows knitted into a frown. He¡¯s probably regretting changing jobs and coming to work for Vegas full time. ¡°Just this week we averted two assassination attempts. Two! Khun Korn is not calming down; our intel tells us that he is still determined to murder you. All the money in the world is not going to keep you safe if you leave this house without body armour and guards!¡± Vegas kicks off his shoes. Old habits die hard. He just treats the mansion like his apartment, much to the consternation of his staff, who have to constantly clean up after him. ¡°I know, I know.¡± Vegas sighs and strides towards the kitchen. ¡°I¡¯m simply not used to having guards around me all the time. It feels weird. It would also look strange if I were to show up at work with bodyguards, right?¡± That is the second beef Jai has with him, Vegas not quitting his daytime job. ¡°Then maybe you should just stop pretending to be a police officer,¡± he mutters under his breath, following his employer into the kitchen. ¡°I heard that!¡± As always, Vegas entering the kitchen causes chaos. The kitchen staff expects him to stay out of here. They want him to do it the proper way, to sit in the dining room and order food. Another thing that feels weird. ¡°Sorry, I¡¯m just looking for a quick snack¡­¡± He hasn¡¯t even finished the sentence before a plate with sandwiches is thrust at him. They¡¯re really trying to get him out of their workspace as quickly as possible. Vegas doesn¡¯t know if he should feel offended or pleased; he just takes the plate and leaves the kitchen. ¡°I¡¯m not quitting my job,¡± he tells Jai. ¡°You already have a job right here. You can¡¯t have two full-time jobs, it just can¡¯t be done,¡± his main bodyguard points out patiently. They¡¯ve had this conversation several times already. There is a low yowl, followed by a sharp hiss, and the staffer holding the pet carrier yelps and nearly drops the container. Blood drips down onto the parquet floor. ¡°When I told you to be careful with that, I didn¡¯t mean ¡®Don¡¯t drop it¡¯, I meant ¡®Try not to loose any limbs¡¯.¡± Vegas sighs deeply. ¡°Someone go get him a bandage. And give that to me¡­¡± Very carefully he takes back the carrier, making sure not to come anywhere near the grate at the front. ¡°What on earth is that?¡± Jai tries to lean closer to peek into the carrier but Vegas hastily moves it out of the man¡¯s reach. He needs his head bodyguard with both of his eyes. ¡°A cat. I mean, a kitten.¡± Juggling his plate of sandwiches in one hand, and the pet carrier in the other hand, Vegas climbs the stairs to his private floor. ¡°You went and risked getting assassinated to get a kitten?¡± Jai sounds outraged. He will most likely ask for a raise, or hand in his resignation soon. ¡°Boss! Seriously? You can¡¯t possibly think this was a good idea.¡± Vegas huffs in growing irritation; he¡¯s hungry, would like to get a band-aid himself, and a shower would be nice too. Opening the damn door to his apartment isn¡¯t easy with both hands occupied, and Jai the asshole is too busy berating him to help. Gah! The angry yowling from the carrier rises in pitch, it sends shivers of dread down his spine. Finally, the door swings open and Vegas can enter. ¡°I didn¡¯t leave the house to get a pet, I left the house to kill someone,¡± Vegas explains to his guard as he makes his way into the living room area of the large apartment. He could probably fit his old apartment into this one ten times over, it¡¯s that huge. Without a cleaning service, Vegas would despair. ¡°Another body?!¡± Jai exclaims anxiously. ¡°Boss! I thought we discussed this, you should leave the killing to the rest of us, that¡¯s what we are paid for!¡± ¡°What is that I¡¯m hearing?¡± Pete strolls into the room; he must be fresh out of the shower and the sight of him wearing only a pair of jeans, water still dripping from his wet hair, makes the butterflies in Vegas¡¯ stomach go crazy. Mine mine mine! ¡°You¡¯re killing people without me? I think I¡¯m going to have to ask for a divorce.¡± ¡°We¡¯re not even married, you nutcase.¡± Vegas catches himself staring at Pete¡¯s bare upper body and can feel his face getting hot. Oh shit, is he blushing? In front of the staff? How embarrassing. ¡°Out,¡± he snaps at Jai, who promptly turns around and hastily leaves the apartment. ¡°And whose fault is that?¡± Pete gives Vegas a subtle wink and ambles closer. Must not forget to breathe. Vegas inhales shakily; he feels like such an idiot for losing his head every time Pete arrives in his vicinity. Every, single, damn time. It¡¯s not getting better, it¡¯s actually getting worse. They¡¯re so besotted with one another that the staff makes fun of them behind their back. Whatever. ¡°I don¡¯t have time to get married in the middle of a bloody war,¡± Vegas mumbles, losing himself in Pete¡¯s dark eyes. But instead of kissing him, Pete makes a grab for the sandwiches. ¡°Hey!¡± Cackling gleefully, Pete skips out of his reach with his loot. Vegas more of less dumps the pet carrier on the floor to dart after him, but the occupant of the carrier takes exception to this rude treatment and emits an eardrum-shattering yowl. Surprised, Pete skids to a stop, looking around for the source of this goosebump-inducing sound, until his eyes come to rest on the plastic carrier. He blinks in astonishment. ¡°What on earth is that?¡± Vegas takes this opportunity to steal back at least one of the sandwiches and starts eating it. ¡°This? This is our cat.¡± And since Pete hasn¡¯t snapped out of his initial astonishment yet, he adds tentatively. ¡°Surprise¡­?¡± Oh yes, he is definitely having second thoughts now. ¡°Why are we getting a cat?¡± Pete is so baffled it¡¯s almost comical. He simply drops the sandwich he was holding, and before Vegas has time to warn him, he¡¯s already next to the carrier, couching down to peek inside. Whoosh. The paw of terror strikes again. Now it¡¯s Pete¡¯s turn to yelp. He rocks backward, staring in stark disbelief at his hand, where bright red blood is welling up from fresh scratch marks. Oh shit, Pete and the cat are not getting off to a good start, it seems. ¡°Uhm¡­¡± Vegas swallows dryly, unsure how to pacify Pete, who definitely looks as if he needs to be pacified fast. ¡°You¡¯re going for a partner look I see. Wise decision¡­¡± He flashes his own scratches and hurries to Pete¡¯s side. It might be a good idea to put himself between his boyfriend and their new pet. Pete is at a loss for words; he is struggling to vocalise whatever he is feeling, and from the thunderous expression on his face, he has a lot of feelings. Eventually he manages to growl: ¡°Tell me again, why do we have a cat?¡± Because I want you to learn how to care for other living beings? Nah, not a good idea to explain this to Pete right now. Time to play dirty. Vegas crouches beside Pete and gives him a dazzling smile. ¡°Because I always wanted to have a cat, but my father never allowed me to have one.¡± Pete might have very strong feelings about owning a pet, but whatever Vegas wants, Vegas gets. No matter what it is. That goes especially for everything that Vegas was deprived of by his evil father. Vegas knows this and exploits Pete¡¯s weakness shamelessly. Time to go for the kill ¡°Besides¡­ I saw this kitten and immediately thought of you. The first time I met you, you reminded me of a sleek black cat¡­ just like this one. This kitten¡­ I think it¡¯s fate that it ended up with us.¡± Okay, so maybe this was a bit too much. Pete casts Vegas an incredulous look and huffs. ¡°Yeah right¡­¡± And since Vegas is still watching him anxiously, he finally throws up his hands in defeat. ¡°Fine. You want a cat? All right. We¡¯ll keep the cat.¡± Crisis averted, Vegas can relax once again. ¡°Thank you, Sunshine.¡± Both of them lean forward to peek into the carrier, but from a safe distance. A pair of angry, orange eyes stares at them; the rest of the cat is kind of difficult to see in the shadows of the carrier. But it growls rather impressively at them. ¡°Are you sure this is a kitten, Vegas? Aren¡¯t kittens supposed to be smaller?¡± Automatically Pete tries to intimidate the cat into submission with his signature, unblinking stare, and learns the hard way that this little monster isn¡¯t impressed by a mere Abyss. From one second to the next, a spitting mad kitten is trying to bite its way through the metal grate of the carrier, presumably to claw his eyes out. Once again, both Vegas and Pete yelp with alarm, and stumble backwards. ¡°You scared it!¡± Vegas accuses his boyfriend. ¡°Well, it scared me too, so we¡¯re even now!¡± Pete counters. He¡¯s irritated and unsure how Vegas expects him to react. ¡°Why is it so big? And why is it so angry?¡± ¡°It¡¯s a Maine Coon. This breed of cats tends to get very large. As for why it¡¯s angry, I don¡¯t know. This is my first cat! It was already angry when I got it. Maybe it simply is a very angry cat. Just like you are a very bloodthirsty person. Maybe it¡¯s a personality trait.¡± Vegas shrugs. He is as clueless as Pete. Pete rolls his eyes at Vegas. ¡°I am not bloodthirsty. And you obviously picked this cat because you subconsciously recognised that it has the same kind of anger issues that you have, as well.¡± That earns him an elbow to the side and he oofs. The carrier is rattling under another furious outburst of the not so small kitten. ¡°Is it male or female?¡± Pete wonders, impressed with how much anger such a young cat can display. ¡°It¡¯s a boy. Already neutered.¡± Both Vegas and Pete wince in instinctive male sympathy. ¡°I got all the papers from the breeder. We just need to pick a name for it now.¡± ¡°Lucifer?¡± Pete suggests immediately. ¡°Satan? Beelzebub? Mephistopheles?¡± Vegas elbows him again, harder this time. ¡°Stop being a jerk. It¡¯s probably a perfectly nice kitten once the initial anger has died down. It certainly deserves a better name, something positive.¡± Both of them once again stare at the little fluff ball of hatred hissing at them. ¡°Let¡¯s keep with the family tradition then,¡± Pete suggests. ¡°Macau. Vegas. What are some other cities famous for gambling?¡± ¡°I am not naming this kitten Monte Carlo or Atlantic City! It¡¯s an idiotic family tradition in the first place, my father and his damn love for casinos.¡± Vegas shakes his head vigorously. ¡°Fine, no casino cities then. Let¡¯s just pick any other city and be done with it, before the critter manages to gnaw its way through the metal grate.¡± But they simply can¡¯t decide on a city. After a lengthy, heated discussion, they finally compromise and print out a long list of cities that Pete pins to the wall. ¡°Do you want to do it, or should I?¡± he asks Vegas. ¡°Go ahead, you know I¡¯m not good at throwing knives.¡± Pete pulls a knife. Of course he has a knife on him. Vegas has long since stopped being surprised at Pete carrying a variety of weapons. With a smirk and a flashy flick of his wrist, Pete sends the knife flying. It goes straight through the list, burying itself deeply into the teak ornament behind it. Vegas can already hear the staff complaining. ¡°This is an antique,¡± he mutters, calculating how much its restoration will cost him. Meanwhile Pete goes to collect his knife again, and to check which city got hit. ¡°Well, welcome to the family, Venice,¡± he tells the angry kitten and gets a low growl in reply. Venice is not amused. ¡°Maybe he just doesn¡¯t like to be locked up?¡± Aren¡¯t cats supposed to be freedom loving creatures? Vegas is sure he heard that on TV once. No wonder the kitten is grumpy if it was locked up in that damn carrier the whole day. ¡°Maybe we should let him out. You would like that, Venice, won¡¯t you?¡± Venice growls louder. ¡°I guess that means yes.¡± Pete eyes the carrier warily, and faces Vegas again. ¡°Well, what are you waiting for, release him already.¡± ¡°Me?¡± Getting anywhere within the range of the paws of death doesn¡¯t sound very appealing to Vegas. ¡°Why me? You do it. You are not afraid of a little kitten, are you?¡± ¡°I think I read somewhere that cat bites can be particularly nasty¡­¡± Pete shudders. ¡°I¡¯m really not good with animals, Vegas. You do it, it¡¯s your cat after all.¡± ¡°But I got the cat for both of us, so that we could be more like a totally normal couple, you know? The whole ¡®a house, kids and pets¡¯ thing¡­ just the slightly altered gay mob version of it.¡± Vegas is not getting anywhere near that pet carrier, oh no. ¡°Besides, I¡¯m your boss, you should follow my orders. And protect me. I really think I need protecting right now, until Venice is a little less angry.¡± Pete¡¯s exasperated look is priceless. ¡°I love you too, Sunshine.¡± Vegas blows him a kiss to mollify him. ¡°You got this, Pete. Fighting.¡± And then he retreats a few steps, just to be on the safe side. Cautiously, Pete inches towards the carrier. ¡°Now be a nice little kitty, Venice¡­¡± he mumbles while examining the locking mechanism for the grate from a safe distance. ¡°Seriously Vegas¡­ Could¡¯t you get an easier-to-open carrier? I need to get way too close to those pins in order to open the grate. He¡¯ll hit me again, this sucks!¡± ¡°I promise I¡¯ll kiss it better, honey. Now stop stalling already.¡± Holding back his laughter is turning into a challenge of its own. The corners of Vegas¡¯ mouth are twitching with barely contained mirth. ¡°I didn¡¯t even want a pet. I don¡¯t like pets,¡± Pete mutters grumpily under his breath. He grabs a pillow from a nearby chair and shields himself with it while unlocking the grate as quickly as possible. The carrier has fallen suspiciously silent, and it¡¯s making Pete visibly nervous. Calmly carving people up as a hobby, but terrified of a little kitten¡ªit¡¯s hilarious. Vegas is starting to giggle. ¡°Here we go¡­¡± A last push and the grate springs wide open. At the same time, Pete jumps backwards, still holding the pillow as a shield, hurrying back to Vegas¡¯ side. Both of them eye the pet carrier suspiciously. Dead silence, nothing moves. ¡°Venice?¡± Vegas calls out cautiously, as if the kitten could understand him. He¡¯s holding on to Pete¡¯s arm, still fighting to hold the giggles in. Irritated with him, Pete tries to shake off Vegas¡¯ hand. ¡°See? I told you, he¡¯s just angry because he wanted to have the possibility to leave that damn prison. Now let go of me, I want to go clean those fucking scratches.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t swear in front of the kitten,¡± Vegas corrects him automatically, and this time it¡¯s Pete who elbows him hard. Ouch. There is another, earth-shattering yowl, and a black flash emerges from the carrier, hurling itself across the floor in their general direction. Vegas yells in alarm and throws himself backwards onto the nearest couch. Pete has the same idea, and lands next to him. Hissing and spitting furiously, the angry kitten races towards them, and then dives underneath the couch they¡¯ve taken refuge on. ¡°Fuck!¡± Pete has actually turned slightly pale. ¡°Are you sure this thing isn¡¯t possessed?¡± ¡°Maybe we should do an exorcism, just to be on the safe side,¡± Vegas mumbles, kind of stunned as well. And then he finally dissolves into laughter. He laughs so hard that his ribs are starting to hurt. ¡°Very funny, Vegas¡ªnot.¡± Still feeling grumpy, Pete waits until Vegas has calmed down a bit again, which takes a while. ¡°Nice try distracting me with that cat, but I haven¡¯t forgotten that you went out to kill someone without me.¡± Well shit, Vegas was counting on Pete to have already forgotten about that. Oops. Vegas sighs, but then decides to wiggle his eyebrows suggestively at Pete. ¡°It just occurred to me that you¡¯re in a delightful state of undress, Sunshine. How about a kiss?¡± ¡°You¡¯re really shameless, you know that? You can get your kiss when you tell me who you killed, and how you did it. And why you didn¡¯t take me along. I thought we had an agreement?¡± Pete is not to be distracted, what a shame. Vegas sits up and inches closer to him anyway. ¡°Don¡¯t get irritated with me, okay? It was just some scumbag I came across while working a case a while ago. It wasn¡¯t really planned, the opportunity presented itself and I took it. A little bit of a cat and mouse game, and once he was cornered I ended it with a clean double-tap.¡± Pete snorts. ¡°You and your guns; I gifted you an obscenely expensive handcrafted knife and you never use it.¡± ¡°I was in public. Using a knife makes such a mess. It just wouldn¡¯t have worked in this situation, but maybe I¡¯ll use it the next time. Will that make you happy?¡± Vegas leans in and kisses Pete¡¯s bare shoulder. Mmmm¡­ nice. ¡°I¡¯ll be happy if you take me along every time you head out to kill someone, just as we agreed on.¡± Pete isn¡¯t as indifferent to Vegas¡¯ advances as he pretends to be; he¡¯s leaning a bit closer so that Vegas has better access to his neck. ¡°I would have taken you along, but you were nowhere to be found.¡± Vegas trails a line of kisses from the shoulder up to Pete¡¯s throat. ¡°Where did you go, Sunshine? Are you cheating on me?¡± ¡°Do I look as if I have a death wish?¡± Pete tilts his head to the side, and sighs as Vegas nuzzles his neck. ¡°I had a late lunch with Arm.¡± Vegas bites Pete¡¯s neck to express his displeasure. Thankfully Pete stopped working as a police counsellor a while ago, since working for Vegas is keeping him very busy. Everything could be perfect, if only Pete would stop playing his stupid games. Ever since Arm made those appreciative comments about Pete¡¯s murder scenes, he¡¯s caught the attention of the Abyss, and that is never an entirely good thing. So now Pete is playing a game with poor Arm, who isn¡¯t even aware he has advanced to Player status. With nearly childish delight, Pete is dumping his mob kills in a very intricate pattern all over the city, waiting for Arm to realise the huge artwork he is leaving for him. Naturally, that means that Arm has made it onto the list Vegas has pinned to the wall in their bedroom¡ªPeople who must not be killed. Arm, Pol and Yok are on it. Jai and a few other essential staffers as well. Vegas¡¯ brother and his cousins too. Porsche too. And much to Pete¡¯s annoyance, Uncle Korn as well. At least for the time being. Pete shivers, goosebumps erupt on his skin from the bite. ¡°I only meet him once per month. Just let me have some fun please¡­ he¡¯s entirely safe, I promise.¡± Vegas huffs, moves his mouth a bit and bites again, this time a bit harder. Pete moans softly and inhales sharply. ¡°I like it when you¡¯re so possessive. No need to worry though, he¡¯s way too vanilla for me. He could never handle me.¡± ¡°Damn right, and you better not forget it, Sunshine. I¡¯m watching you really closely, Pete. One step out of line and I am going to kick your ass, you better remember that.¡± Vegas then wraps his arms around Pete¡¯s waist and snuggles close. ¡°I¡¯m not sharing and I don¡¯t like it when you play these games with other people. You¡¯re mine.¡± ¡°I know.¡± Pete sighs happily; he is more than okay with that. Then both of them do a startled little jump as the black fluff ball of feline wrath emerges from underneath their couch all of a sudden, its little claws clicking on the parquet floor as it makes a beeline to the sandwich Pete dropped earlier on. Growling ferociously, Venice sinks his teeth into it and carries it back underneath the couch. Vegas and Pete swallow hard. ¡°We could jump from this couch onto the next, and then on the chair. And from there we could make a dash for the bedroom door¡­¡± Pete suggests, trying to gauge the distances. ¡°Sounds like an excellent plan, we better do it while he¡¯s still eating and distracted.¡± The bedroom has a very sturdy door, they will be safe there. They exchange a solemn look that turns into a mischievous grin. And then the King and the Abyss make a dash for it¡­ - THE END -