Work Text:
Vegas was looking down at the man in front of him. He was dressed in unassuming black clothes, his hair was falling into his face and there was a bump on the side of his forehead, visible even through the fringe.
Vegas had bound him to the closest chair, unsure how long the man would be unconscious after Vegas had hit him with the butt of his gun. Usually, he would have taken the man down to the cellar but he hadn’t seemed like he would stay unconscious for a long time.
As expected, the man stirred almost as soon as Vegas was done binding him and searching his clothes for any weapons beside the syringe he’d tried jamming into Vegas’ neck. Once Vegas was done with this man, he’d kill every single bodyguard on duty for being incompetent enough to let an assassin get as far as his room. But first, Vegas had to deal with the assassin himself.
“Hey,” Vegas said, kicking the man’s leg, “wake up. You can take a nap when you’re dead.”
The assassin groaned, blinking his eyes and frowning. Then he winced, tilting his head to the side the bump was on.
“Fuck, you pack a punch,” the man mumbled, squinting his eyes. “Sleeper build?”
Vegas didn’t even bother answering that stupid question, waiting until the man’s eyes were on him before he asked, “Who do you work for?”
“A lot of people. But right now, your uncle.”
Vegas blinked, thrown off by how easily he got his answer. Then he narrowed his eyes, but before he could even question the validity of the statement, the man before him continued, “Look, I’ve never claimed to be loyal to anyone and I sure as hell am not going to let myself be tortured for a man who gave me weird vibes. And I’m an assassin, I’ve met a shitton of weird people. That being said, if you give me double of what your uncle promised me, I can go kill him for you.”
“Why would I trust you with the murder of my uncle when you couldn’t even kill me?”
The assassin shrugged as best as he could. “You’re an exception, I’m just not feeling well today. Do you want my repertoire? I promise I’ve killed people you know.”
Under any other circumstance, Vegas wouldn’t even be having a conversation with someone who’d come into his home with the express purpose of killing him, however this assassin hadn’t even needed to be tortured to say anything. He hadn’t even needed to be threatened.
Vegas supposed that as an assassin, this man wasn’t used to being restrained and questioned. At least if he was as good at his job as he claimed to be. He did have an unassuming look about him, even if his eyes exposed him as someone who wasn’t as soft as his appearance made him out to be. His gaze was steady, betraying not a single ounce of fear, and Vegas could tell that he wasn’t just pretending. He’d seen more than enough people who just played up the bravado, who threw out taunts and became haughty when threatened or tortured in the hopes that Vegas would give up and leave them be, but their eyes always betrayed them. This assassin in front of him was genuinely relaxed with his hands bound behind him and his movement severely restricted. He held Vegas’ gaze and talked with a clear intonation.
Vegas crossed his arms, tapping his fingers against biceps.
“You keep a record of all the people you’ve killed?”
“I can even tell you who hired me. I’ve got all the receipts in case the tides ever turn against them, ‘cause then, I can make sure they’re properly exposed.”
“You kill for a living but you leave a paper trail on purpose?”
“Well, there’s nothing exposing the one who killed them is me, of course.” The assassin smiled. “All anyone will ever know is that it was a contract killer, but they would never even know my age or gender.”
The more Vegas talked with this man, the more intrigued he was, against his better judgement. He’d never thought he’d meet an assassin who purposefully left evidence of being paid to kill someone just in case someone wanted to dig up dirt on the people who’d hired them. Granted, if Vegas took the offer of this assassin going back to kill Korn, he would also be one of the people who’d paid him and he couldn’t have that.
“Why should I release you if you’re going to leave a way for people to find out I hired you?”
Again, the assassin tried to shrug. “I’ll make an exception for you. Since your uncle hired me to kill first, I’ll just get rid of all the evidence and let this one be a secret.”
Vegas raised an eyebrow. “And I’m supposed to believe that?”
“Look,” the assassin sighed, “I didn’t go into this entire thing wanting to die on a job gone wrong. I have a family I care for, someone I send the money to, though they don’t know how I get it. If it makes you feel more secure, I can tell you my name and you can look me up.”
“You exist in the system?”
“I have a day job, you know?”
This assassin seemed to be genuine. Vegas couldn’t believe he was being swayed by someone who’d tried to kill him just a few minutes ago, but he couldn’t help being intrigued. And if this assassin really was as good as he said he was, hiring him to kill his uncle would mean that he’d achieved what his father had always asked of him. Gun would finally be proud of Vegas.
Vegas sighed, consciously loosening up his stance. It would do well for the assassin to think he was winning Vegas over. But even if Vegas took his offer, he would never actually trust this man. The only people Vegas trusted were himself and Macau, and he didn’t see that changing anytime soon.
“What’s your name, then?”
The assassin grinned.
“Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham. Nice to meet you, Khun Vegas.”
Seeing as Vegas didn’t want to leave a stranger who had no business being there alone in his room, he’d called Macau despite the late hour and told him to come to his room. Since his brother was on holiday, he wouldn’t be going to sleep until early morning, so he’d answered the summons immediately.
“What’s going on, Hia?” the boy asked when Vegas greeted him in front of his room. “Why didn’t you just come find me?”
“I need you to keep an eye on someone for me,” Vegas answered, opening the door for his brother. Macau stepped inside and Vegas closed the door.
“Keep an eye–” Macau cut himself off when he laid eyes on the man who claimed to be called Pete. He blinked. “Huh?”
“Hello,” Pete said, somehow managing to smile despite the situation he was in. “Are you Khun Macau?”
“Who’s asking?” Macau asked, instantly wary, and Vegas felt a surge of pride. Granted, anyone should be wary when talking to someone who was restrained like Pete but Vegas counted the small victories.
“My name’s Pete. I was originally here to kill your brother but he was faster than me. Well, I’m stuck here now and apparently Khun Vegas doesn’t trust me to stay put here. I don’t know what I could possibly do if I was left alone but, oh well.”
Macau frowned and didn’t acknowledge Pete further, turning to Vegas instead. “Hia, what the fuck?”
Vegas sighed. “Yeah, I feel the same. Still, can you watch him for me while I find out more about him? You can read any of my books.”
Macau sighed too but nodded. “Alright. Hurry, though. Your books aren’t actually as interesting as you think they are.”
With a click of his tongue, Vegas hit Macau upside the head and got rewarded with his brother sticking his tongue out at him. Vegas rolled his eyes and stepped out of his room. Despite Macau’s inability to sit still, Vegas knew his brother wouldn’t leave his room until Vegas came back, no matter what Pete would try to say or do.
As Vegas trudged through the mansion to get to his office, he didn’t encounter a single bodyguard, which explained to him how Pete had ended up in his room. After all, even an amateur burglar could have gotten in under these circumstances. Did the bodyguards think the main entrance was the only way to enter the mansion? Vegas would have to make sure something like this never happened again, especially since their bodyguards were not usually this incompetent, at least as far as Vegas was concerned.
In his office, Vegas went straight to his computer, tapping his foot on the ground impatiently as it booted up and required him to type in his password. Vegas tapped the keys with a bit too much force, not fully managing to hold back his irritation at the way his ‘relaxing evening’ had turned out.
Usually, he wouldn’t look into anyone himself. He’d just ask their information gathering team and wait for the results, but he was in no mood to look for anyone this late into the evening and it wasn’t like he had the patience right now to wait for a few hours at least for someone else to compile information he could get himself if he really wanted to.
Instead of opening any kind of database, Vegas did the normal person thing of looking Pete up online. The very first result was a facebook profile that Vegas clicked on with no hesitation.
Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham. 28 years old, employed at a gym called ‘Flex Factory’ as a personal trainer.
Vegas didn’t even have the time to ask himself why someone who wasn’t even thirty was using facebook as their primary social media before he discovered that every person he was friends with on there were in their seventies to eighties. It seemed his only family left was his grandmother, whose friends Pete was also friends with on facebook. Pete’s posts only ever included her, no sign of a mother, father or sibling. Vegas supposed this was the person Pete was sending his money to.
He kept facebook open in a tab and opened the second search result in another, Pete’s instagram. On it were mostly pictures of food, some of gym equipment, all of them with inane captions. Scrolling down, Vegas discovered that Pete posted a picture of his grandmother every year, wishing her a happy birthday and a long, healthy life.
Every picture Pete was in himself, he looked nothing like someone who would be able to kill. He always had a bright smile on his face, his eyes squinted with the force of it. In every picture with his grandmother, his arms were around her shoulder, settling there gently.
Vegas decided to click through Pete’s followers as well, aware that accounts could easily be faked and none of the things he was seeing had to be true, necessarily. Pete’s grandmother was even more active on facebook than Pete was. She posted about gardening, about food, about water yoga and about her grandson. There were several pictures of Pete looking at the camera with wide eyes, often with his mouth so full of food, his cheeks were bulging. Vegas shook his head as he scrolled through the posts, not fully able to reconcile the picture that was painting itself of Pete with the man still bound to a chair in his room.
The Pete that had tried to kill him seemed a bit too cheerful for having been caught and restrained, sure, but his eyes were calculating. He’d looked at Vegas without avoiding his gaze once, not expressing any fear or apprehension, his eyes dark and his gaze serious. Yet in every picture Vegas had seen of Pete on social media, his eyes seemed to be sparkling if they weren’t scrunched up with happiness. Big and round eyes, staring at the camera with surprise instead of calm and assessing eyes befitting the attitude of the man captured but not afraid.
Vegas supposed that was how Pete made sure no one knew he was an assassin. He had a family, even if it was just his grandmother, a job, and a very non-threatening appearance. All in all, if Vegas hadn’t met Pete the way he did and only knew him from social media, he would have thought of the man as plain and happy-go-lucky. It was the perfect cover, all things considered.
Having painted himself a picture and having found out which district Pete’s grandmother lived in, Vegas did access the database of Thai citizens that he shouldn’t have any access to in the way he did. He didn’t usually use it himself but he’d told their IT/hacker person to give him access too, just in case he needed to look someone up without having time for anyone else to do it for him. Vegas was glad for that decision now.
He assumed Pete was registered in the same district as his grandmother was, and he was right. Pete’s data there aligned with what his facebook stated. Additionally, Vegas looked up Pete’s parents, finding out that they were both dead. While his mother had died shortly after his birth from health complications, his father had passed away a little over ten years ago and the one who had found him had been Pete’s grandmother, his mother-in-law. The father’s cause of death was listed as alcohol poisoning.
Vegas spent a few more minutes making sure he could trust all of the information he’d gathered, then made his way back to his room. When he opened the door, he was met with an unusual sight.
Macau had dragged Vegas’ preferred plush arm chair closer to Pete, sitting almost right in front of him. He was holding a book in his hand and reading aloud, which he usually didn’t do. Pete was sitting in the chair with his eyes closed and the corner of his mouth pulled up into a small smile.
Vegas stood in the doorway, watching the scene with a frown. He didn’t know if Pete couldn’t tell he was there or if the assassin was pretending but Macau genuinely didn’t know. If he’d noticed Vegas, he would have greeted him already. Vegas sighed, closing the door and stepping closer and, as expected, Macau stopped reading, turning to face Vegas instead. Pete opened his eyes and looked at Vegas as well, the small smile not leaving his face.
“Hia!” Macau exclaimed, closing the book. “I like P’Pete, can we keep him?”
“As long as I’m getting paid, I have nothing against it,” Pete said before Vegas could reply. “Macau is a ray of sunshine.”
Macau lifted his chin like he did when he was proud of something, a smile playing on his lips. The only times Vegas usually saw that expression was when he complimented his brother on something. He could already tell this evening was going to be a long one.
With a sigh and resisting the urge to massage his temples, Vegas asked, “What happened in the time I was gone?”
“Well, I asked P’Pete who sent him and whatnot and he told me about our uncle that he offered to kill him instead of you. Which is great, actually, you should take that offer. And we didn’t have much else to talk about, so I started reading ‘cause you told me to. And P’Pete asked if the book was interesting. He hasn’t had time to read for a while, you know? So he asked me if I could read for him. He even complimented my voice!”
“Macau has a nice reading voice,” Pete agreed. “I’d listen to audiobooks recorded by him.”
Macau lifted his chin even higher, pushing out his chest, preening just because of what Pete had said. “Can we keep him, Hia? You can have him kill our uncle to prove himself and employ him after. No one ever compliments me.”
“I compliment you,” Vegas said with a frown. “But that’s not the point of this. You want us to keep the assassin who came here to kill me? Have I not taught you about stranger danger, Macau?”
Macau pouted. “You’re the one who left me here with him. Not my fault that P’Pete is actually really nice.”
“It’s my best quality,” Pete piped up. Vegas glared at him and the man closed his mouth but there was still a grin on his face.
Once again, Vegas sighed, looking back at Macau. “Go back to your room. We don’t adopt assassins out to get us in this family.”
Macau furrowed his brows, trying to glare but only managing to look like a temperamental teenager, which he was. “You can’t tell me you’re not considering it. I mean, P’Pete’s not even bleeding anywhere. All he has is that bump and he told me it’s just there because you knocked him out when he tried to kill you. You didn’t even do anything to him.”
Vegas ended up in a staring contest with his brother. Sadly, both of them were equally stubborn and Macau was right. If Vegas hadn’t considered Pete’s offer for even a second, he would have just tortured Pete and disposed of him without anyone ever finding out that he’d been there. He never would have called Macau to survey him and he wouldn’t have looked up anything about him. But Macau didn’t need to call him out on it.
“Go back to your room, Macau.”
“Fine,” Macau spat, standing up, “but I want P’Pete to stay with us. If you do anything to him, I’ll never forgive you.”
“You don’t know him–” Vegas interrupted himself as Macau stormed past him and out of the room, slamming the door behind him. “Macau, get back here!”
Macau, of course, didn’t come back. A stubborn, easily swayed teenager who bonded with captured assassins just because they were a little friendly. Vegas clenched his jaw and took a deep breath.
“Macau’s cute,” Pete said.
“Shut up.”
“Sorry.”
Vegas groaned and let himself fall into his armchair. The book Macau had put to the side fell to the ground. The dull thud marked the beginning of a long silence.
Vegas stared at Pete, Pete stared at Vegas. Neither of them said a word. Somehow, Vegas wished Pete hadn’t shown up, not because this was a hassle but because Macau liked this man. Macau was quite smart and not as trusting as this instant bond he seemed to have with Pete made it look. Vegas didn’t know what it was about this man that had made both Vegas and Macau lower their defenses enough to just listen to him speak and believe it to a certain extent. Macau had never gotten this attached to anyone, especially not in the matter of a few minutes.
Vegas finally interrupted the silence with a question.
“Do you get captured often?”
Pete shook his head. “Nope. This is the first time.”
“Then why aren’t you afraid? Just because you tell me everything you know doesn’t mean I can’t still torture you, you know?”
“Nothing you can do is worse than what’s already happened to me.” The corner of Pete’s mouth ticked up. “If I really didn’t want you to know something, you could skin me alive and I still wouldn’t tell you. But what do I care about a man who hired someone to kill his nephew? He didn’t even have to do that, I saw how many capable bodyguards that family has, they could probably infiltrate this mansion and kill you themselves. Torturing me won’t get you anything but self satisfaction. I’ve been told you’re into that stuff.”
Vegas raised an eyebrow. “Is that relevant to you killing me?”
Pete tried to shrug. Vegas felt like he would wave a dismissive hand if he had the range to do so. “Your uncle told me all about your affinity and that you enjoy bringing people pain in order to make sure I succeed at my job lest you catch me and I have to go through unimaginable torture. First of all, I couldn’t care less about that, and second of all, here I am, captured, and I haven’t experienced a second of pain.”
“Torture is a tool that looks different for everyone. You don’t need to experience pain to be tortured.”
“Of course,” Pete said. “But I don’t get the impression that you go for the longer term methods of solitary confinement or whatnot. If you’re going to torture me after all this, I’d prefer to be hurt, thanks.”
Vegas was unable to hold back a snort of amusement. “You’re so peculiar.”
“Thanks.”
They fell into silence again. Vegas picked up the book that had fallen, only then seeing that it was 1984, not a book Macau would usually take interest in.
“Did Macau pick this book himself?”
“Yeah. He was muttering to himself the entire time he looked through your collection. I think he really doesn’t like the books you have in here. Then again, I don’t think I would have been interested in any of these books either as a teenager. By now, I just read whatever I can get my hands on.”
“You’re quite chatty for an assassin,” Vegas said, leaning back in his armchair. “Shouldn’t you be a bit more stoic?”
“That’s a stereotype. And it’s not as if I have a lot of people I can chat with.”
“You can’t tell me you don’t talk to people as a personal trainer.”
“Ah.” Pete’s shoulders slumped a little. “You looked me up then? Well, I can’t exactly be as open with my clients as I can with someone who I’ve had a scuffle with, can I? By the way, the rope is starting to chafe. If you’re going to make use of me, it would be better to untie me sooner rather than later.”
“I don’t trust you,” Vegas said. “Why should I work with you?”
Pete let his head fall back with a groan. “Nobody trusts me, I’m a contract killer. But I’m also just a person, I have someone I care for. And I really do think Macau’s cute. I’m an only child, but if I had siblings, I think I would have liked a younger brother like him. Just untie me, so that I can go back to your uncle to kill him. I promise I’ll return, I’ll need my money after all. And I really wouldn’t have anything against you employing me permanently as long as I get paid at least as well as I am at the gym.”
Vegas stood up. “And as what would you like to work here? Our own personal hunting dog?”
“I don’t care.” Pete was looking at Vegas again with that determined look in his eyes. “I just need to make a living and a job where I can make use of my skills.”
For a while, the two just looked at each other. Vegas blamed the late hour and Macau storming out on him for the road his thoughts were going down. He was genuinely considering freeing Pete and taking his offer of killing Korn.
“Who have you killed before?”
Pete didn’t hesitate to rattle off a list of names. As promised, Vegas knew most of them, some of them even personally. It had been speculated for some of them that they’d been killed by a contract killer but there had never been any concrete evidence. Some deaths had even been brushed off as accidents or the result of a usual dispute between families. If Pete was telling the truth, he really was of a high caliber.
“And the sum my uncle was going to pay you for killing me?”
“A million baht.”
“That’s someone’s yearly salary. How do you justify having that much money as a personal trainer as a gym with a terrible name?”
“Obviously, I don’t store it at a bank and nobody knows I have that money. I just send my grandmother some from time to time, claiming my salary at the gym is a lot higher than it actually is. Can you free me now?”
Vegas narrowed his eyes. He disliked the fact that Pete was as open as he was. It made him uneasy, the fact that he doubted nothing coming out of Pete’s mouth, but he had to make a decision. Either, he was going to get rid of Pete right here and now or he was going to take the leap of faith and possibly deal with his uncle once and for all. Macau’s insistence on keeping the man echoed in Vegas’ head.
With yet another sigh, Vegas walked over and untied Pete.
The assassin sat still the entire time, only moving when Vegas was standing a bit further away from him again. He rubbed his wrists first, rolled his shoulders, then stood up. Despite Pete wearing gloves, the rope had left a bit of burn on his skin between the edge of his gloves and his pullover.
“Thanks,” he said, another one of his small smiles on his face. “Can I have my syringe back? I can use it on your uncle.”
Vegas shook his head. “Give me a guarantee first.”
Pete blinked. “A guarantee? You know where my grandmother lives, don’t you? That’s guarantee enough.”
Vegas supposed Pete’s grandmother was to him what Macau was to Vegas. His only weak spot. If Pete didn’t fulfill his part, his grandmother was in danger and he couldn’t risk that. Granted, as of now, Vegas was the only one who knew where Pete’s grandmother lived, and only he and Macau knew of Pete’s existence in this mansion. Pete wasn’t aware of that, though. As far as he was concerned, Vegas could have already informed the guards. Perhaps, if they weren’t so obviously incompetent at their job, he would have done so.
“Alright.” Vegas held out a hand for Pete to shake. “If you kill my uncle, I’ll make sure we hire you, possibly as a bodyguard. In that case, you’ll have to quit your job as a personal trainer. That won’t be a problem for you, will it?”
“It won’t, Khun Vegas,” Pete said, gripping Vegas’ hand in his own. His hold was firm and warm, even through his gloves, but it didn’t last very long. A truly professional handshake.
Vegas pulled down a corner of his mouth. “Stop with the ‘Khun’, it’s weird. You sound like a main family bodyguard.”
Pete laughed, the sound out of place in Vegas’ usually very quiet room. “Well, your uncle told me to call him ‘Khun Korn’, so it’s no wonder. But if you’re not into all that formality, I can drop it. Actually, Macau said the exact same thing. Well, he didn’t tell me that I sound like a bodyguard, just that it’s weird.”
“We’re not as high and mighty as the main family,” Vegas said. “We’re also not as desperate to maintain our power to send an assassin after their heir.”
“Your family dynamics are baffling,” Pete admitted as Vegas went to get Pete’s syringe from where he’d put it into the drawer of his desk. Originally, Vegas had planned to have the substance inside examined to find out what exactly had almost entered his bloodstream and probably almost killed him instantly. Seeing as he was now on speaking terms with the person who’d been planning to kill him, he could ask directly.
“What’s in this?” Vegas asked, picking the syringe up with a tissue, careful not to leave any fingerprints.
“Alcohol.” Pete reached out to take the syringe, then pulled out a cap from a pocket on his trousers and put it on the syringe. Vegas made a face. If Pete was working in healthcare, he would get fired for reusing syringes, however, as an assassin it was probably even advantageous when the needle wasn’t sterile. “It’s surprisingly effective to inject it directly into the bloodstream.”
“If you’re going to turn on me, I’d prefer if you just slit my throat or something.”
“If you promise to use the more traditional form of torture should you turn on me.”
Once again, Vegas stuck his hand out. Once again, Pete took it.
“Deal.”
“Deal.”
Having come to an agreement, Pete disappeared the way he came and Vegas was left alone in his room. He fell into his armchair with a groan, staring at the chair in front of him, the ropes Pete had been bound with lying on the floor. This had been, without question, the weirdest evening Vegas had ever had, though not the most eventful one.
Not only had he almost been killed, that wasn’t that unordinary, but Macau had bonded with the assassin and Vegas had made a deal with him. If Pete actually managed to kill Korn, Vegas, even if indirectly, would have succeeded in something big for once. His father would be proud. Perhaps, for once, Vegas would be told that he did a good job.
Of course the main family would not immediately crumble but Korn was still pulling more strings than he’d like Kinn to believe. Kinn wasn’t prepared enough to deal with his father’s death and the minor family going after them at the same time. Vegas would finally have achieved something his father had wanted from him since the day he was born.
And if Pete failed at killing Korn, at least Vegas wouldn’t have lost anything. Not even Macau, who’d become unreasonably attached to a random assassin, would be able to fault Vegas for Pete’s failing and not returning. He’d told Vegas himself to take the offer, so his little temper tantrum wouldn’t have any more fuel to continue.
Vegas groaned again, leaning his head back. He’d planned on scolding Macau for how he’d acted but now, he’d actually freed Pete and sent him to kill his uncle, and he expected Pete to follow through. He didn’t know what it was, but Pete invited no distrust in Vegas, who naturally distrusted everyone. This should be especially true for an assassin he had no reason to believe would follow through on a deal made under no duress, yet Vegas had not hurt him and had simply let him go.
If Pete returned, Vegas had to keep him. Someone like that out there, who could sway anyone to his side, was dangerous. It would be better to have him in the mansion, where Vegas could keep an eye on him and make sure he wasn’t being betrayed. He would have to determine what kind of skills Pete possessed to assign him to the right position, but he was already playing with the thought of making him a bodyguard. If anything, he could replace one of the bodyguards who’d allowed him to get into Vegas’ room in the first place.
Vegas pinched the bridge of his nose. Even just thinking about having to deal with the bodyguards made his head hurt. Some of them were almost definitely main family plants, so at least this situation gave Vegas a reason beyond a suspicion to get rid of them.
With everything that had happened, Vegas wasn’t going to sleep today, so he went to find their head bodyguard instead to find out who was working the night shift. He had all the bodyguards rounded up and just spent several minutes looking them over. Since he was genuinely pissed off, that was enough to make quite a few of them nervous. They were still professionals, so the signs of their nervousness weren’t as obvious as they were on anyone else but Vegas had learnt how to read other’s body language down to the smallest detail before he’d even properly gotten involved in the family business.
“Some of you know why you’re here,” Vegas said and read ‘I’m fucked’ in several people’s eyes. He grinned. “And you won’t be disappointed.”
Pete returned. He entered Vegas’ room silently and kept his hands empty this time.
Vegas, who’d just gotten out of the shower after venting his frustration on the bodyguards who’d let Pete through the first time, barely even spared him a glance.
“You came back.” Vegas opened his closet, pulling out underwear, sweatpants and a shirt. Since Pete had now seen him only with a towel on, Vegas had no reason to keep up his image in front of him. “I half expected you to run and try to kill me another day.”
“And miss out on earning two million? No shot. Where’s my money?”
Vegas snorted as he put on his clothes. “Do you have proof that you’ve killed my uncle?”
Pete nodded, reaching into the pocket that didn’t contain his syringe, and pulling out a watch. He stepped closer as Vegas pulled on his shirt, extending his hand to show off the watch.
Vegas took it from him, turning it around. Korn wore a limited edition Rolex with an inscription of his name. It was as important to him as the family ring was to Vegas’ father, perhaps even more. Though the ring showed status, all of that was just shine. After all, Kinn wore the family ring and was officially the main family head, yet Korn had the actual power.
The ring, Korn could bear to let go but this watch, he’d been wearing every day since Vegas had first set eyes on him. Vegas had no idea what importance this watch had to the man but Pete never would have been allowed to take it with him, even to fool Vegas, if Korn had still been alive at the time he’d taken it.
Vegas found himself believing that Pete had actually done the job properly this time, though he would still only be sure when news of his demise reached their ears. Since it was night by now, unless someone specifically came looking for Korn, there was a high chance his death would only be discovered in a few hours, when the man was nowhere to be found in the morning.
“Do you need the two million in cash?” Vegas asked, still looking at the watch. “Or can I give you items worth that much?”
“I don’t really care,” Pete said. “As long as I get it.”
Vegas nodded and handed the watch back to Pete, lifting his head to look at him. “This one’s worth two million, easily. It’s probably closer to four.”
Pete lifted an eyebrow. “But I can’t exactly sell it, can I? I saw the inscription, you know?”
“The black market’s your friend. Especially if there’s someone who hated Korn, they’d want it as a kind of trophy, even if they had nothing to do with his death.”
Pete looked down at the watch with his eyebrows furrowed. Then he extended the watch towards Vegas again. “Want to buy a watch?”
The corner of Vegas’ mouth ticked up without his permission as he shook his head. “No thanks, I’ve got enough of those.”
“I get why you don’t want it,” Pete said, sighing, “but I don’t really want it either. It’s just a burden, I’m not someone who keeps trophies. I’d prefer cash if this is the item you’re gonna give me.”
Before Vegas got to answer, someone slammed the doors to his room open. Vegas grabbed for the gun in his closet and Pete, interestingly, put up his fists.
“You’re back,” Macau breathed as if he was a military wife waiting for Pete’s return. A smile bloomed on his face. “Hello, P’Pete.”
Vegas lowered his gun and Pete relaxed his body, smiling back at Macau. “Hello, Macau.”
“So, did you kill our uncle?”
Pete nodded, showing Macau the watch. Macau eyed it critically. “Wow. That’s worth at least four million. You could sell that on the black market for a shitton more probably. Especially because it’s our uncle’s.”
“Want to sell it for me? I don’t want it and I only need two million.”
Macau grinned. “Nice.”
So Pete handed Macau the watch, which was shoved unceremoniously into Macau’s pocket. Macau didn’t stop grinning and Pete slowly started mirroring the expression on the boy’s face, a glint in his eyes.
“You’re a bit weird, aren’t you?”
“All of us are,” Macau said, waving his hand. “Who’s normal in this day and age?”
“You’re right, of course.” Pete nodded. “You won’t survive if you’re normal.”
Macau made finger guns at Pete. “You get me.”
Vegas watched this interaction, wondering where in life he’d gone wrong. Perhaps when he’d actually had a conversation with Pete instead of getting rid of him at once after finding out his uncle had hired him.
Something occurred to Vegas, making him furrow his brows.
“Macau,” Vegas said, interrupting his brother in the middle of telling Pete something, “how did you know Pete’s back?”
Pete visibly did a double take. “You’re right. How did you know, Macau?”
“Umm…” Macau looked around the room with panicked eyes. “Uhh… I’ve developed a sixth sense! Goodnight!”
And, once more, the boy was gone. Only this time he’d run in order not to get questioned.
Pete chuckled. “I like your brother, he’s so cute.”
“Stay away from him.”
“I don’t think he’ll stay away from me. But I’ll try to do my best.”
Vegas narrowed his eyes at Pete. “You’re trying to get on my nerves, aren’t you?”
“Just a little,” Pete responded with a grin. Vegas could almost see the playfulness in his eyes that was so obvious in the pictures he posted with his grandmother. That didn’t last for long, though, as Pete sobered up quickly, asking, “What are you planning to do now that your uncle’s out of the way?”
“I don’t know yet.” Vegas shook his head. “Pa will make the decision, I’ll have no say in it.”
Pete hummed. The calculating look in his eyes was back. “I wouldn’t recommend storming their compound or anything. You’ll probably die before you even set a foot inside.”
“What gave you that idea?” Vegas asked with a raised eyebrow. “Are you loyal to them after all?”
Pete rolled his eyes. “I told you, I’m not. I’m just saying, my former colleague seems to be a bodyguard over there now and he’s totally infatuated with the head. He won’t let anything happen to anyone. As soon as he hears even a whisper about you trying to harm that family, your father will be dead and you possibly too.”
A bodyguard who was infatuated with the head of the main family?
“Porsche?”
“Yep.” Pete nodded. “That’s him.”
“Porsche used to be an assassin?”
“Well, he technically still is, it’s just that he hasn’t taken any jobs in a while. In fact, I’m pretty sure the head was supposed to be his last target but he determined that it would be too hard to kill him without getting close to him first, so he got a job as a bodyguard to get closer and kill the head while employed there. Well, it turns out that backfired.”
Vegas made a face. “Shouldn’t an assassin be better at controlling their feelings?”
Pete laughed, shaking his head. “Porsche’s not the kind of assassin I am. I like to kill my targets before they can even see me, but Porsche prefers to chat them up and use his natural energetic self to make them lower their walls so that he can kill them in a way that’s not immediate but brings about results. Even if someone’s aware that Porsche spent time with the targets, it can never be traced back to him. Still, Porsche has never had to spend this much time with a target, usually he likes to return to his brother as soon as possible. It seems all that extra time made Porsche a little soft.”
“And you?” Vegas asked. “What would it take for you to go soft?”
“I don’t know.” Pete wasted no time answering. “I don’t usually spend enough time with people to develop attachments. Though with the way this is going, all it’s going to take is Macau looking at me with big eyes and asking for something nicely.”
Vegas rolled his eyes. It seemed Pete was as weirdly attached to Macau as Macau was to Pete. This was beneficial to Vegas, of course, but he still wasn’t sure Pete couldn’t turn on them even with the obvious liking he’d taken to Macau. After all, Pete had said himself that he wasn’t loyal to anyone and Vegas was inclined to believe him. He’d turned on Korn just because he’d gotten captured and Korn had given him ‘weird vibes’. Nothing about Pete’s demeanor suggested he would stay with the minor family even if they properly employed him.
But before they could properly employ him, Vegas would have to pitch the idea to his father first. And Pete couldn’t stay here before that, so Vegas sent him home, telling him he’d send someone to get him later. Pete didn’t ask how he wanted to achieve that. Instead, he nodded and saw himself out.
Vegas closed the door and let out a long breath, pressing the balls of his hand to his eyes until he saw stars. None of this was going to be easy.
Vegas sent someone to get Pete before they’d even had breakfast. He’d brought up the topic of a new bodyguard with his father and been told to handle it however he saw fit. Not in those exact words but that had essentially been the message.
Pete arrived at the mansion barely even an hour later, bag slung over his shoulder and a pair of sunglasses pushing up his fringe. With the hair covering his eyes, he’d looked somewhat plain but with his hair out of his face, Pete managed to look handsome. All the jewellery he was wearing definitely helped, an earring on each lobe, a dainty necklace above his collarbones and a wide ring on his middle finger. Instead of the plain black clothes, he was dressed in jeans and a white dress shirt that had three of its buttons undone.
“I noticed your bodyguards don’t follow a dress code,” he said. “So I just put on whatever.”
“Are those all your belongings?” Vegas asked instead of acknowledging that seeing Pete like that had made him feel some type of way. He still had some pride, damnit.
Pete glanced at his bag, then shook his head. “No. My escort was nice enough to take my other bag with him. He didn’t seem eager to speak with you.”
“Why should he?”
Pete shrugged and Vegas decided that topic was done. Instead, he took Pete down to the gym to assess his skills, both in hand-to-hand combat and with a gun.
Pete’s hand-to-hand consisted mostly of boxing moves, but it was efficient. He really must have felt off yesterday, otherwise Vegas wouldn’t have been able to knock him out as easily as he had. Sparring with him was actually fun. Vegas could use any underhanded tactics he wanted to and Pete would respond accordingly but never fall for any of his tricks. It was exhilarating. So much so that they lost almost half an hour just to sparring, when Vegas usually spent no more than a few minutes in the ring with their bodyguards. They both walked away from those spars bound to bruise.
When both of them had washed up, Vegas took Pete to the shooting range. He had him assemble a gun, empty the magazine and disassemble it again as quickly as possible. Both the assembly and the disassembly took longer than they expected from their bodyguards but Pete’s shooting was excellent. He was quick and accurate, hitting only the most vital points of head, neck and heart.
When Vegas asked him where he learned to shoot like that, Pete only answered that he’d trained for it a bit.
“You could have been a sniper with those skills,” Vegas commented as Pete laid down all the components before him. Pete laughed.
“Being a sniper is boring. What’s the fun in killing someone from a distance when you can feel them struggle right under your hands?”
Vegas raised an eyebrow. That was not a comment someone who was mentally sound made. Then again, Pete was an assassin and no one who killed people for a living could be fully sane. It was just that Pete did more or less of a good job to behave like a normal person with the exception of his calculating gaze.
It occurred to Vegas that that was probably the reason he was so intrigued by the other man. The dichotomy between what Pete portrayed himself as and the qualities he possessed was something Vegas didn’t usually see. People involved with the mafia tended to be ruthless and present themselves that way too, after all, it was not advantageous to be a sheep amongst wolves. As an assassin, Pete didn’t need to worry about any of that of course, and now, as a bodyguard, it could actually come in handy to be underestimated.
Though Vegas had never had a personal bodyguard, he was playing with the thought of having Pete stick with him. He felt that anywhere he went would be a lot more fun with Pete by his side, who had no idea how to behave as a bodyguard and didn’t have a single bit of brain-to-mouth filter.
After they were done at the shooting range, Vegas showed Pete to his room and left him to get settled in. He told him to go to the courtyard when he was done to have breakfast, then went down there himself.
Macau was already sitting with the bodyguards, stuffing his mouth with food.
“Where’d you leave P’Pete?” the boy asked, a few rice grains falling from his mouth.
“Swallow before you speak,” Vegas told him and took the empty seat by his brother’s side. “Pete is in his room, he has yet to settle in. He’s going to be joining us later.”
Macau hummed and continued eating. Vegas looked over the food and reached for whatever he wanted, not in the mood to fake a jovial attitude towards the bodyguards that were sitting at the table with them. Usually, Vegas would make an effort to make the bodyguards feel at ease and lull them into a sense of camaraderie despite the difference in status among them but he’d tortured and killed several of their colleagues just yesterday evening, so they wouldn’t want to engage in such a play now anyway. In truth, Vegas was only looking forward to Pete joining them and seeing what the man would get up to over the course of the meal.
It didn’t take long for Pete to enter the courtyard. Macau noticed before Vegas did, his head snapping up as he wasted not a second to smile and throw up an arm.
“Here, P’Pete! Come sit next to me!”
Vegas’ gaze settled on the man just as he nodded and walked over to Macau. There was a smile on his face as well as he settled in on Macau’s other side.
“Do you always eat out here like this with your bodyguards?” Pete asked.
“Not always but often,” Macau replied, handing Pete a plate and putting all the food on it that he could reach. “Now that you’re here, I’m going to eat here more often. You need to sit next to me every time!”
Pete looked incredibly fond, considering the fact that he’d gotten to know Macau yesterday under less than ideal conditions. He let Macau pile the food high without his smile faltering even once, his gaze soft. It was evident that he’d told the truth when he’d said he would have liked a younger brother like Macau if he’d had siblings.
“You’re very energetic this early in the morning, Macau,” Pete said. “Are you usually up this early?”
Macau made a face, shaking his head. “No way. Usually, I only get up this early when there’s school. But I didn’t sleep the entire night anyway and I knew you were going to come today, so I’m a bit more energetic than usual.”
Pete’s smile widened. He set down the chopsticks he’d picked up and reached out to ruffle Macau’s hair instead. “You’re so cute.”
“P’Pete!” Macau complained, scrunching his nose and ducking out from under Pete’s hand. “I’m not cute! I’m almost an adult!”
“I don’t think being seventeen is almost an adult. You’ve got at least another three years. And when you’re twenty, you still won’t feel grown up.”
Macau stuck out his tongue at Pete the same way he did whenever Vegas made the same kind of comment. Pete only chuckled and started eating.
Macau managed to stay quiet only for a little while before he spoke up again. He pointed at Pete’s earrings.
“You probably shouldn’t wear any jewellery on duty, P’Pete. What if you get into a fight and they pull out your earrings or something?”
Pete nodded. “You’re right. I was just so excited, I wanted to dress up a little.”
“And you look very handsome!” Macau threw out the compliment with a bright smile and Vegas couldn’t help but agree. Pete looked good even with his hair down and wearing only simple black clothing but he looked even better dressed up. “But we wouldn’t want you to get hurt because of something like that.”
“I’ll take my jewellery off after breakfast,” Pete assured the boy. “What do I even do as a bodyguard exactly?”
“I’ll have Mhen brief you,” Vegas inserted himself into the conversation. “He’s our head bodyguard.”
Pete leaned forward a little, presumably to see Vegas better, and put his thumb and his index finger together in an ‘ok’ sign. “Thanks. There’s also something else I wanted to talk to you about but it’d probably be better if we did that later.”
Vegas nodded. “We’ll find a good time.”
Pete smiled at him, then got back to eating. Macau, who’d already stuffed himself full earlier, spent the entirety Pete was with them talking about whatever was in his head. School projects, his friends, his interests and hobbies, his desire to get a tongue piercing. Sometimes, when he remembered more than one person should talk during a conversation, he asked Pete what it was like for him or what he thought of it.
That way, Vegas learned that Pete really didn’t have any friends outside of the people his grandmother was friends with, that he’d barely scraped by in secondary school with the exception of P.E. and art, subjects on very different ends of the spectrum, and that he had a tattoo.
“Oh, really?” Macau asked, his eyes sparkling. “Can I see it?”
Pete glanced around, then leaned a little closer to Macau, who leaned closer to him as well. Pete put his hand next to his mouth as if anyone would be able to read his lips.
Vegas had no idea what he told Macau but the boy blushed and leaned back. “You don’t need to show me in that case.”
Pete laughed. “I can still tell you what it says.”
For some reason, Macau’s blush deepened. “No thanks. I have to go. Homework waits for no one.”
“You’re on holiday, Macau,” Vegas reminded his brother but Macau was already halfway across the courtyard. Vegas had no idea what Pete possibly could have told Macau to get that kind of reaction from him. He wondered just where exactly Pete’s tattoo was. There wasn’t even a single hint of it on the skin that was currently exposed, though the arms were a very popular place for tattoos. It probably wasn’t Pete’s legs or back either, Macau wouldn’t have blushed then.
Vegas found his gaze roaming over Pete’s figure, trying to find where exactly he had that tattoo of his. Pete didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he finished eating everything Macau had put on his plate before getting up.
“Are you going to show me to your head bodyguard?” he asked, and Vegas nodded, standing up as well.
“Follow me.”
Pete was assigned as Vegas’ personal bodyguard. This had nothing to do with Mhen somehow reading Vegas’ mind, Vegas had just taken the liberty of informing the head bodyguard of where he would like to have Pete, and Mhen hadn’t really had much of a choice.
So, being Vegas’ personal bodyguard, Pete ended up at his office with him after getting introduced to the Theerakanyakun family and their ventures. He wasn’t wearing his jewellery anymore and he’d been given a gun that now sat at his hip. Without the sunglasses on his head, his hair was falling into his face again. There was a bruise forming under his jaw, where Vegas had hit him a bit too hard during their spar. For no reason at all, Vegas wanted to press his fingers to that bruise and see how Pete reacted.
Instead of doing that, Vegas sat down in his chair. Pete stood in front of his desk.
“Do I just stand here then?” Pete asked. “I don’t think I’ll have to do much guarding under these circumstances.”
Vegas huffed. “Who knows. Maybe an assassin sneaks in and tries to kill me. In that case, you’ll have a lot of guarding to do.”
“I think you would be able to take care of them just fine by yourself.”
“Maybe I don’t want to. You shouldn’t even have been there in the first place.”
Pete lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender but there was a smile playing on his lips. “Hey, no harm done. In fact, I was the one who got hurt.”
Vegas had to concede on that one. Pete had walked away from that altercation with a bump on his head and Vegas had walked away with nothing.
“That reminds me.” Vegas tapped his desk with his fingertips. “When you said nothing I could do would be worse than what’s already happened to you, what did you mean? You said this was your first time getting captured.”
Pete huffed a laugh. “That’s because it was. I’ve never been hurt by any of my targets, so if we’re being pedantic, I’ve never been tortured. That doesn’t mean I’ve never been hurt, though.”
The phantom pain of Gun’s cold ring on Vegas’ cheek arose at such a statement. Vegas narrowed his eyes.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s nothing much,” Pete said and actually seemed to mean it. “My father used to hit me. He’s the one who stuck me into boxing and when I didn’t perform well enough, I was beat up. When I finally did win–” Pete shrugged– “I was still beat up. I was still a kid, so the fact that my father hit me almost hurt as much as his fists.”
Pete’s father had died of alcohol poisoning. Pete went around injecting his targets with alcohol.
Vegas looked at how relaxed Pete’s body language was, considered the fact that he’d so easily admitted to his father hitting him and asked, “Did you kill him?”
Pete shook his head. “No. He killed himself, essentially. An alcoholic through and through, he wanted to get drunk faster so he injected himself with the whiskey he loved drinking.”
Vegas couldn’t imagine his own father dying, whether it was by his own hand or someone else’s. Death was something Vegas was familiar with, death was an end, but Gun was an ever-existing presence. Of course Gun wasn’t immortal, yet the thought of his death had never crossed Vegas’ mind. He didn’t know how he would react when Gun died, if he even died before Vegas did, and he didn’t want to know.
Seeing that Vegas wouldn’t respond to what he’d said, Pete started looking around his office. Vegas busied himself with the papers he’d come here to look over. He could hear Pete walk through the room, pull out some of the books and folders, generally making himself familiar with the layout. If Pete was any other bodyguard, Vegas would have already thrown him out. No, if Pete was any other bodyguard, he wouldn’t even have wanted to have him as his personal guard.
Around lunch time, Macau waltzed into Vegas’ office. Vegas was revising a contract for the third time and Pete had settled in the chair that Macau usually lounged in, staring off into space. Both of their heads snapped up when the door opened, though they relaxed when they saw that it was only Macau.
“I’m hungry,” the boy said. “I want to eat curry.”
Pete’s face lit up. Considering he’d told Macau this morning that he loved curry more than any other food, that was no surprise. Vegas, on the other hand, narrowed his eyes. Macau coming in here and stating that he wanted to eat a specific food could only mean one thing. As expected, his brother grinned at him.
“You’ll make it for me, won’t you, Hia?”
Pete turned his head to look at Vegas then. “You cook?”
Before Vegas could answer, Macau exclaimed, “He’s an amazing cook! It doesn’t matter if he’s ever made a certain food before or not, it tastes great every time! I prefer his cooking to the kitchen staff’s but don’t tell them that. Who knows what they’d have me eat if they knew.”
Macau shuddered and Pete smiled, still looking at Vegas. “Do you cook often, then, if Macau prefers your food?”
Vegas shook his head but didn’t elaborate. Macau leaned closer to Pete and whispered something in his ear. Pete’s gaze darkened but he didn’t say anything. Vegas could already imagine what Macau had told him. That their father forbade Vegas from cooking since it wasn’t a useful skill to have in their business, so Vegas only did it when their father wasn’t home and only for himself and Macau.
Since Gun had set off to a meeting this morning and wasn’t bound to return until the late evening at the earliest, Vegas was free to do as he wanted.
“Would I get to eat your cooking too?” Pete asked, a hopeful glint in his eyes. Macau was looking at Vegas with big eyes, silently begging him to say yes.
Vegas sighed. “Fine.”
Macau jumped up, screaming in joy, and Pete’s smile was dazzling as he said, “Thank you.”
Vegas had to avert his eyes from them.
Macau and Pete chatted the entire time Vegas cooked, somehow never running out of words or breath. Vegas was forced to participate in the conversation from time to time but they mostly let him be, expressing their anticipation for the food every few minutes. When Macau complained about how long the curry had to simmer, Pete told him about how he’d spent the time back when he’d been a kid and had had to wait for his grandmother’s curry to simmer. He’d go out and play, read books, play games with his grandmother, do everything but his homework.
When Macau called them kindred spirits, both Pete and Vegas agreed. Macau only ever did his homework the night before it was due, whether it was as simple as solving a question sheet or something big like a project. More often than not, Vegas got roped into it.
They talked like this right up until Vegas told them it would only be a few more minutes until both the rice and the curry were done. Macau got up to show Pete where they stored their plates, their glasses and utensils, and the two of them set the table as Vegas finished cooking.
Usually, Macau and Vegas would sit across from each other but with Pete in the mix, apparently Macau and Pete had decided that Vegas would sit at the head of the table and Macau and Pete next to him at the sides. They were already sitting when Vegas set the pot down on the table, looking up at him expectantly.
Seeing as the seat had been assigned to him, he had no choice but to take it, even if he wasn’t used to sitting at the head. Pete and Macau both nodded before Pete took Vegas’ bowl and filled it with rice. He did the same with Macau’s bowl before he served himself. Vegas tried to serve Macau and himself curry and was immediately shut down by Pete clicking his tongue.
“Let me,” he said, and Vegas let go of the ladle. Pete smiled at him. “Thanks.”
The thought of ‘This man is dangerous’ solidified in Vegas’ mind. And yet he let Pete serve him. And yet, Macau smiled at both Pete and Vegas as if they’d always been like this and Pete hadn’t tried to kill Vegas just yesterday. As if Pete hadn’t turned on the person who’d hired him to do so just because he’d gotten caught.
Nothing about this picture of the three of them was certain, yet Pete had established himself easily and quickly. Vegas didn’t trust him but Macau liked him and Vegas couldn’t say he distrusted Pete for a reason he couldn’t place. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that Pete was so obviously unhinged, perhaps he was even more messed up than Vegas was, yet he managed to function in society. He managed to present himself as a non-threat, not someone who killed people from close up because he preferred to feel them struggle. Vegas was almost jealous. Then again, he had fun seeing people tremble in fear even when they just set eyes on him, so he didn’t think he could live like Pete did.
After lunch, which consisted of even more conversation between Macau and Pete, Vegas took Pete with him to visit a few of their establishments. He didn’t have any meetings set up but he liked checking in with the staff there, looking over the books and making sure everything was running smoothly.
Pete drove them around and followed Vegas without complaining, seeming interested the entire way. He made comments from time to time about the places they visited or the people there but he didn’t ask any questions. Even if he’d asked any, Vegas wouldn’t have answered and he probably knew that.
The only question he did ask was when Vegas had spent the entire visit speaking English with the employees. He waited until they were back in the car before he opened his mouth to ask, “Did you go to an international school?”
Vegas shook his head and Pete hummed.
“Your English is amazing. Mine’s average at best, I could never speak as fluently as you.”
“You’ll be glad to know bodyguards don’t need to know any English at all,” Vegas said and Pete huffed a laugh.
“That’s good. I don’t think I’d be able to hold a conversation.”
When they arrived back at the minor family mansion in the evening, Macau was the one to greet them.
“I was so bored,” he whined. Vegas rolled his eyes, intent on ignoring his brother. He knew Macau liked to play things up and Vegas still had work to do, so he couldn’t grace the boy with a response.
Pete, on the other hand, didn’t know Macau as well as Vegas did and he seemed to like indulging the boy anyway, so he said, “Oh no, were you almost bored to death?”
“You get me, P’Pete! I knew there was a reason we immediately bonded!” Macau clung to Pete’s arm as the man smiled down at him. “Hia was going to ignore me, I just know it. It’s as if he doesn’t care about my untimely demise!”
Again, Vegas only rolled his eyes and turned his back on them. Macau gasped. “Look at that, P’Pete, my brother doesn’t love me! Pity me! Give me money, give me food! I don’t have enough of anything!”
Despite Vegas walking away from them, Macau’s voice didn’t get quieter. That either meant he’d managed to find a way to be even louder than usual or Pete and Macau were following him. A glance behind told him that the latter was true. Pete was following Vegas and since Macau was still clinging to him, he was being pulled along.
“Your brother loves you plenty,” Pete said, his voice calm, his smile audible. “You have more money than I can count and there’s still left-over curry from lunch. Do you lack in affection? Should Vegas hug you more often?”
“Ew, Hia hugging me? No thanks.”
Pete laughed and Macau whined again.
Vegas tuned them out on his way to the office and only tuned back in when they were standing in front of the doors. He turned around and looked at his brother still clinging to Pete.
“Macau,” he said. “You can order something for dinner today and we’ll eat it in my office. Let Pete go, he has to work.”
Macau pouted, holding eye contact with Vegas, and Vegas didn’t look away. Pete was silently standing, making no move to take either Vegas’ or Macau’s side.
Only after several minutes did Macau relent, letting go of Pete as he grumbled about something or another and disappeared down the hallway. Pete looked after him before turning his gaze to Vegas again.
“You two are funny.”
Vegas sighed. “That’s what happens when you have a teenage sibling. You’d spoil him, wouldn’t you?”
“He’s cute,” Pete replied with a shrug. Macau had never seemed cute to Vegas but who knew what Pete’s standards were.
Shaking his head, Vegas opened the doors to his office, stepping in first. Naturally, Pete followed.
Vegas managed to get some more work done for about half an hour before Macau came back, this time with boxes of fried chicken and a blanket. Macau and Pete laid out the blanket as Vegas finished up his work, already knowing he wasn’t going to be able to do anything else this day.
The three of them settled on the blanket, their legs crossed, and they dug into the food. This time, Macau and Pete miraculously managed to keep mostly quiet. Perhaps both of them had been worn down by the advancing hour, only starting up conversation from time to time and even then, it never lasted very long.
Vegas somehow found that he’d enjoyed this single day a lot more than he had most of last month. He didn’t want to think about it too hard lest he reached the conclusion that Pete’s presence had something to do with it.
When the food was all gone, Macau turned big, pleading eyes on Vegas again.
“Hia,” he started, trying to sound soft but not really managing it, “can you let P’Pete go for the day? I want to play games with him.”
Vegas glanced at Pete, who didn’t seem to care either way, then looked back at his brother. Macau was blinking up at him as if that had any bearing on Vegas’ decision. But since Vegas had planned on letting Pete go anyway, he nodded.
“Thanks, Hia! I love you!”
Macau’s exclamation in English was met with laughter from Pete. Macau grabbed Pete’s arm again and pulled him up and out of Vegas’ office, leaving behind Vegas on the floor on a blanket with empty fried chicken boxes. Vegas shook his head as he got to cleaning it all up, reveling in the silence he finally had. Never before had his day been as persistently noisy as it had today, which probably also had to do with the fact that Macau usually didn’t seek him out as often as he had today.
When everything was cleaned up, Vegas went back to his room, grabbing the book he’d been reading when Pete had almost overwhelmed him yesterday, and settling in his armchair.
The room was quiet, almost tranquil, the only sound being Vegas’ own breathing and the occasional turning of the pages. Vegas relaxed as the evening progressed, but he was still aware enough to notice when the door was opened almost silently. Looking up from his book, Vegas was faced with Pete standing by the door that was already closed again. His hair was ruffled, his shirt untucked from his trousers.
“What did Macau do to you?” Vegas asked, an eyebrow raised.
“We played a two-player game. It was extremely frustrating and Macau told me to ‘lock in’, whatever that means. Apparently untucking my shirt would make it easier to play. And honestly, I did play better after that.”
Vegas waved a hand. “I don’t want to know more than that. So, why are you here? You’ve been freed for the day.”
“I was going to talk to you but then I was so distracted by your office that I forgot.”
Vegas had forgotten as well. It had been said in such a ‘by the way’ way, Vegas hadn’t put much importance on it.
“Right.” Vegas closed the book and got up. “What did you want to talk about?”
“Should I continue as an assassin? Like you said, I could even just work as your personal hunting dog, I don’t really care, but I feel like being a bodyguard will get boring quickly enough. I’d still like to get paid extra for that, though, if you take me up on that offer. I mean, it’s something outside of the bodyguard’s job description.”
Vegas hummed. It would be useful to be able to use Pete not only as a bodyguard but as an assassin as well. He was evidently not only experienced, he was skilled, and if the minor family had him exclusively for themselves, they would have another door opened to them. Not to mention that it would make Vegas’ job a lot easier. He wouldn’t have to scheme to cause someone’s downfall as often anymore, he would just have to send Pete their way and wait for the good news.
“You can keep being an assassin for all I care,” Vegas said. “Just don’t get caught and don’t expect me to give you someone to kill every other day.”
Pete grinned. “Don’t worry, I’m not homicidal or anything. Even if I don’t get to kill anyone for months, I’d be fine, I’d just like some action. Who knows, maybe being a bodyguard is going to be fulfilling enough. I’m just saying, me being an assassin at your service alone is in the cards.”
Vegas nodded. Pete was offering up something extremely valuable. “In that case, don’t take on anyone’s jobs but ours. In fact, you only listen to me.”
“Yes, sir.” Pete put two fingers up to his temple in a salute. The grin hadn’t left his face. Vegas sighed.
“Did Macau already rub off on you? You should really spend less time for him, more for your own sake rather than his. When I told you to stay away from him, I didn’t think it would change its meaning so quickly.”
Pete laughed. “A lot has changed in just twenty-four hours. I don’t think either of us thought we’d end up here.”
“No.” Vegas shook his head. “Definitely not. If you were any other assassin, I would have tortured and killed you before you could even lay eyes on anyone or anything else.”
“Good thing I’m so open and honest then,” Pete said.
“We’ll see if it’s good or not.”
Pete nodded and bowed, managing to seem only slightly mocking, before leaving Vegas alone again.
No one else came into Vegas’ room after, and Vegas went to bed only about an hour later.
In the morning, Vegas woke up feeling groggy. He already knew this day was going to go a lot differently from the one before. For one, his father was either already back home or he was going to return soon enough, which mellowed Macau out a lot. The boy didn’t dare to be too loud with Gun even just in the same general space, mostly staying in his room. For two, it had been an entire day since Korn had died, so it wasn’t going to stay a secret for much longer. Gun was going to want to go after the main family but Vegas found himself believing Pete.
If Porsche really was an assassin or used to be, he would take the minor family out before they could even try and do any harm to Kinn and his brothers. As much as Vegas hated his cousin, he knew when to stay back and let things develop a bit more. More opportunities were bound to crop up and now that Vegas was aware of Porsche’s background, he had more options to explore.
Vegas showered for half an hour, mentally preparing himself for the day before he could go out into the world.
When he got dressed, he put on his favourite red shirt and black trousers. He brushed his hair up and sprayed his favourite cologne, taking a deep breath before stepping out of his room.
Pete was already standing in the hallway in front of it.
“Good morning,” he said with a smile.
Despite not being used to being greeted like that, Vegas replied, “Good morning.”
“What’s on the agenda for today?” Pete asked as they started walking.
“We’ll have breakfast first. Then I’ll meet my father. After that, we’ll see.”
“That’s a short agenda,” Pete commented but didn’t ask why, and Vegas didn’t elaborate.
They went down to eat breakfast in the courtyard from which Macau was very conspicuously missing. Pete didn’t say anything about it, though he possibly just assumed Macau was sleeping in.
After breakfast, Vegas gave Pete some time to freshen up as he did himself as well. Though Vegas’ idea of freshening up consisted of brushing his teeth, throwing cold water into his face, and gripping the edge of the sink as he told himself this day was going to be uneventful. Nothing would happen. He’d be alright.
Once again, Pete was already waiting for him when he got out of his room. If he wasn’t Vegas’ personal guard, Vegas would have asked him if he had nothing better to do.
Pete was silent the entire way to Vegas’ office, so much so that Vegas almost forgot about his presence by his side. As soon as they stepped inside and Vegas saw Gun standing in front of his desk, he did forget about Pete. All he could focus on was his father, grinning at him.
“Vegas,” Gun said, looking happier than Vegas had ever seen him. “I’ve got wonderful news. My brother’s dead. He unexpectedly fell sick and succumbed like the weakling he is. This is our chance. We’ll mobilise and be on the move by tomorrow.”
“Pa.” Vegas stood with his back straight and his head held high. “I have reason to believe that any attempt of a coup would fail. Porsche is completely on the side of the main family and he is a lot more skilled than we’ve been led to believe.”
Gun let out an incredulous laugh. “What are you saying? A single man can take all of us down? Are you a coward, Vegas?”
“No, Pa. I simply believe that there will be other opportunities for us to establish our rightful place. Porsche’s informational network is presumably as extensive as ours, possibly even bigger.”
“I’m disappointed in you, Vegas.” Gun shook his head. Vegas swallowed and tried not to show any of his feelings on his face. “This was a chance to prove yourself and you failed. Think about your responsibilities.”
Gun started to leave but Vegas couldn’t just let that happen. “Pa! I’m not saying we should leave the main family in peace forever, it’s just that we should carefully think–”
Vegas’ head snapped to the left with the force of Gun’s slap. The feeling of the family ring’s biting cold lingered against Vegas’ cheekbone, even more so when Vegas’ gaze landed on Pete still standing not far from the door.
“You’re incapable of thinking carefully, Vegas! Neither you nor Macau deserve to be my sons.”
With that, Gun stormed off, not even acknowledging Pete’s presence as he brushed past him. Vegas clenched his jaw, unable to predict how Pete would react to this display. He turned to face Pete properly, planning to tell him to pretend he didn’t see anything, however, Pete’s demeanour gave him pause.
His eyes were narrowed, shadowed by his fringe, and his eyebrows were drawn together. The hand resting on the gun by his hip was gripping it tightly.
“Speaking of getting paid for my job, I'll kill your father for free.”
Something constricted in Vegas’ chest. Pete’s voice had a tone to it that Vegas had never heard anyone use before on behalf of him. Pete was seething. He looked extremely hot.
In three steps, Vegas had crossed the room, placed a hand on the side of Pete’s neck and pressed his lips to Pete’s. The other man let out a noise of surprise, his lips parting, and Vegas used that opportunity to deepen the kiss. The hand that wasn’t on Pete’s neck was pressed to his shoulderblade, pulling the man closer to Vegas.
Pete’s hands settled on Vegas’ waist and he reciprocated the kiss with enthusiasm. Vegas’ cheek still stung from being slapped but he couldn’t care less with Pete moaning quietly into his mouth, the vibration of the sound resonating in Vegas’ fingertips.
It took a while for them to separate. Vegas’ shirt was rumpled from Pete gripping at it but other than that, they didn’t look like anything had happened just now if one didn’t take the position they were still in into consideration. Pete’s eyes weren’t as angry anymore. In fact, his entire expression had cleared up.
“What was that for?”
“Apparently I don’t respect my father as much as I thought I did. Hearing you say you’d kill him just because he slapped me was incredibly hot.”
Pete chuckled, leaning forward until their foreheads touched. His eyes were closed, his eyelashes fluttering.
“You’re so weird.”
“You reciprocated,” Vegas retorted, earning himself another chuckle.
“I did,” Pete said, his voice a bit rough. “If someone offered to kill my father back then, I probably would have fallen in love with them right then and there.”
Vegas hummed.
“I don’t know if it’s love but–” He slid the hand that was on Pete’s neck to the back of his head, tangling his fingers in the hair there and tugging gently. Pete followed the unspoken command, his eyes half-lidded. “You’re intriguing. There’s so much more of you I want to see.”
Pete licked his lips. “Me too. I want to know what you’re capable of.”
Vegas grinned, looking down at Pete’s lips. They were a little swollen, a bit red around the edges, but Vegas could do more than this. He could take the man in his arms apart. He wound the arm on Pete’s back around his hips instead and tightened his hold on Pete’s hair, leaning in for more. Between the scant space between them, he whispered, “I’ll show you.”