Chapter Text
This Winter: December 2nd
Vegas knocks on the door of his fathers office, heart thudding in his chest. He’s almost thirty and yet he still has the sting of apprehension when his father summons him.
“Enter.”
Vegas opens the door and steps inside, and has barely a second to dodge the glass his father throws at his head. It shatters into pieces upon impact of the door, a few shards of glass landing in his hair and sticking into his neck. Vegas feels the sharp sting of the broken skin and winces.
“What kind of useless piece of shit are you?” Kan Theerapanyakul snarls, slamming his hands down on his desk.
Vegas opens his mouth to respond but the words stick in his throat and he dodges again as his father throws something else at him.
“All you have to do is to not lose money. How hard is that to comprehend? I let you degrade and debase yourself by fucking those filthy whores, I even let your prized little possession live against my better judgement, but time and time again you risk everything for that that boxer. Son of trash, a rat you found on the street.”
“Pete makes us money,” Vegas protests faintly, backing himself up against the door. “He’s—”
“How does he make the family money,” his father hisses, stepping out from behind the desk and approaching Vegas, “when you take him off the roster for two weeks? Were you going to tell me you were galavanting out of town with your whore? Putting the entire family at risk because you can’t keep your cock in your pants like a dog?”
Vegas knows better than to argue, he knows better than to fight back. But his father knows exactly what buttons to press to get him riled up, and they always center back on Pete.
“Pete’s not a whore,” Vegas snaps back, “and I’m not sleeping with him.”
His father slaps him so hard Vegas staggers, his ears ringing with the impact as his eyes water from the pain. He lifts a shaking hand to touch the cut above along his cheekbone before he clenches his hand into a fist, straightening back up.
“You’ve been nothing but a pathetic failure since you brought that boy under your employment, risking deal after deal. You’ve stuck your neck out for him at the expense of our family and I’ve allowed it, because he brought in money for the family. You even went so far as to clear his fathers debt with your own money — don’t think I didn’t figure that out — and he fights well, I’ll admit that. But he’s a weakness, he’s always been your weakness.”
Vegas swallows and clenches his jaw shut, refusing to say anything more.
“Nothing to say?” His father sneers. “You were unable to control him and he ruined the deal with the Yaperkunal family last year, because you were too soft to make sure he lost his fight. He destroyed the deal with the Yakuza when he beat the three of them in the alley after their dinner with you. After paying off his fathers debt he’s barely made even and he’s just a boxer, he isn’t worth the headache.”
Vegas lowers his eyes to the ground, unable to protest or defend against his failings. It’s true, Pete has caused numerous issues for his father — by complete accident — so naturally the blame falls on Vegas. But Vegas has loved Pete for a long time now, unable to make the decisions he needed to because of his weakness.
“You have until December 31st, Vegas, to seal the deal for the property out in Khon Kaen and to finalize collecting the debts of Pete’s father. I’m voiding all of the financial payment you've submitted on his behalf. You need to make a choice, because if you fail, I’ll kill the boy.”
“No!” Vegas shouts, forgetting his decision of not saying anything. His outburst is clearly what his father was looking for, a manic glint in his eye.
“You’ve been nothing but a disappointment since you met him,” his father laughs, cold and cruel. The sound digs straight into the hollows of Vegas’s chest, the ache in which he carries his love for Pete, the secret pulsing devotion he holds for the man who broke his heart. “I should have gotten rid of him years ago, but he still proved useful to me. Not anymore. Get him under control or I’ll have him killed.”
This Winter: December 1st
Pete wipes the sweat off of the back of his neck with a towel when he hears a chirping ring coming from his phone. He glances around for a few moments before catches the sight of it, poking out of the pocket of his jeans half folded in the corner from when he slipped out of them earlier. He hasn’t had a chance to take a shower yet, still cooling down from his intense workout.
He glances at the caller ID and grabs it with a smile.
It’s his grandmother. “Hi sweetheart,” she says into the line.
“Hi grandma,” Pete says back, his smile growing just with the sound of her voice. “Are you okay? Did you get my last check?”
“Of course I did. I keep telling you I don’t need the money!” she tuts, almost as if she is scolding him. “And why wouldn’t I be okay? Can’t I just call to chat?”
“Sure you can,” Pete says softly, “but grandma, I’m kind of busy right now. Can I call you back? I’m in the middle of something.”
“Okay honey,” she says softly. “I just wanted to check up on you. I haven’t heard from you in a while. I wanted to see what your plans were for Christmas. Are you coming home to visit? I know last year you had to stay in the city with your boyfriend but you haven’t said much more about him. Are you still together? I want to meet him. Are you bringing him home with you?”
“Oh,” Pete flushes, embarrassment burning through him. “Yeah, about that—”
Pete isn’t sure what exactly he was going to say, how exactly he was planning on handling this, how he was going to get out of the white lie he told his grandmother. The lie he was forced to tell because Vegas kept him in town for work, that his grandmother was so upset by him not coming home he slipped up and said it was because he was spending time with his boyfriend in the city. The boyfriend he doesn’t have. The boyfriend he never had. The closest thing to a boyfriend he has is Vegas and that’s only if a boyfriend is an overbearing aggressive obsessive manager who controls your every career move and life choice. Actually, putting it like that…
Regardless Pete has no clue how he is going to explain that he probably won’t be able to visit for the holidays, and he doesn’t want to maintain the charade but he doesn’t know what else he can do. He’s just about to take the leap and say anything when he is interrupted by a knock on the door. Unfortunately, whoever it is doesn’t stop to wait for Pete to answer before they open the door and even more unfortunately for Pete, it’s Vegas who walks in. He smirks at Pete before shutting the door behind him, stepping right up into Pete’s personal space.
“Vegas,” Pete snaps, irritation spiking so that he momentarily forgets that his grandmother is on the phone.
“Vegas?” She repeats, excited. “That’s your boyfriend right? It’s such a lovely name. When will I meet him? Is he there with you right now? You’ll bring him home soon, right?”
“I’m not sure—” Pete starts but Vegas interrupts.
“Is that your grandmother? She’s probably demanding you bring home your fake boyfriend, isn’t she?” Vegas looks unfoundedly smug at this and he crosses his arms. Which of course he is; last year when Pete lied to his grandmother on why he wasn’t coming home, Vegas overheard the entire conversation. He has never let Pete live it down that there was of course, no boyfriend. It was only Vegas.
Pete’s annoyance increases, as does his headache. “Yes, now—”
“Excellent!” His grandmother chirps, clearly taking Pete’s response as an answer to her question. Fuck . “Now Pete, I want you to bring him home for the holidays, okay? Do you hear me? I don’t want you to be dating some young man that can’t be bothered to spend the holidays with you and your grandmother.”
“But—” Pete protests, horror flooding him as he realizes his blunder, but before he can get another word in Vegas is walking over and plucking the phone out of Pete’s hand.
“Hello,” he says into the phone, low and smooth. “Hi, yes, this is Vegas. — Oh, really? — How amusing. — Mm. — Yes, that’s right. — Oh, he hasn’t? How strange, he talks about you all of the time. — Yeah, it’s quite precious. — No, I’m not doing anything for the holidays, and I would love to come home with Pete. — oh, I’m so sorry about last year. — He was really sad about not being able to spend it with you. — I know, I know. — No, our schedules are cleared so we are completely available. — Sure! I can’t get enough of him, and he talks about you so much it’ll be lovely to see it all in person.”
Pete tries, and fails, multiple times to grab his phone back from Vegas. Unfortunately, Vegas is faster and more agile than he is and also is fresh and alert, where Pete’s muscles have that faint twinge from long past exertion. He watches with growing fury as Vegas smooth talks his grandmother, saying things about Pete that he has absolutely no reason to be saying.
Finally Vegas seems to be wrapping the conversation up, all smiles and pleasantries. “Yes, of course. I’m excited to see you as well! I’ll make sure to take good care of Pete in the meantime. — Yes, including making sure he eats — yes, I know, he has a habit of skipping meals when he’s stressed.”
Pete lunges for the phone again but this time Vegas doesn’t move backwards or try to do. He grabs Pete around the waist with one arm and leans forward, holding the phone up to Pete’s ear.
“Say goodbye,” he murmurs in Pete’s other ear, his breath hot on Pete’s skin. “Before I hang up.”
“Pete? Oh, Vegas sounds so lovely! I can’t believe you haven’t spoken to me about him before! I’m so excited to meet him. I won’t bother you anymore, I didn’t realize you were spending time with him. I love you!!”
“Bye Grandma,” Pete says, glaring at Vegas so aggressively he’s shocked Vegas is still smiling at him. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”
“With Vegas!” Vegas mouths, as his grandmother infuriatingly parrots the same thing.
Pete glares at Vegas who only grins back. “With Vegas. Okay?”
His grandmother gives another happy sound before hanging up, Vegas pulling Pete’s phone back and sticking it in his own back pocket, not Pete’s.
“She sounds lovely,” Vegas smirks, “I can’t wait to meet her.”
“What the fuck was that?” Pete snarls. He tries to squirm out of Vegas’s grip but fails, only managing to squirm into the heat of Vegas’s chest.
“That was me saving you,” Vegas says, sounding so infuriatingly smug that Pete wants to punch him. He should punch him. Maybe he will punch him, maybe—
“I didn’t ask for your help,” Pete snaps, “and for your information I didn’t need it. I was going to give her a perfectly reasonable excuse on why you’re working me to death so I can’t go visit my grandmother for the holidays.”
“It sounds to me like you did, in fact, need my help.” Vegas tightens his grip on Pete’s waist and leans in, his lips hovering over Pete’s ear. “Lying to your grandmother? That’s not like you at all. Plus, this is a win-win for us both. You get to pretend to your grandmother for an entire week that you aren’t — and haven’t been — lying about being in a relationship, and I get to spend time away from the city, take some distance from my own work responsibilities here in Bangkok. I also get to meet your grandmother who you’ve clearly told me so much about. I’m altruistically clearing both of our schedules for this; you should be thanking me in fact.”
“How is any of this beneficial to you?” Pete says, still attempting to slip out of Vegas’s hold. “Seriously, what the fuck do you get out of this?”
“Blackmail material?” Vegas laughs, shaking his head at Pete’s horrified expression. “I’m kidding, really, I am. Sorry; that was a low joke. I don’t have plans for the holidays so this works out for me. I know you think I’m a terrible person, Pete, and how much you hate me, but I’m sure you can set aside all of that for the sake of your grandmother?”
“Vegas,” Pete snaps. “I don’t hate you. You just piss me off. What could possibly be your ulterior motive? There’s no way you’re doing this just for fun.”
Vegas releases Pete and steps back. “I don’t have one. I know that’s hard to believe, but I simply saw an opportunity and took advantage of it.”
Pete stares at Vegas, not believing him. He doesn’t think there is a single thing that Vegas could get out of this, doesn’t think Vegas could have anything to gain from pulling this off. This does save him a lot of stress, from lying to his grandmother and also returning back home alone, but Vegas of all people?
Vegas reaches out to touch Pete’s cheek but he slaps his hand away. Vegas grins.
“Always so feisty,” Vegas says, pulling his hand back.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Sure,” Vegas shrugs, looking somewhat chastised. He watches Pete for a few more moments as if he wants to say something, as if he is looking for the right thing to say to bridge the gap between the two of them.
“If that’s all,” Pete says through his teeth, “you can leave now. I’d like to be alone.”
Vegas’s gaze hardens, the small moment between them gone as Pete breaks the tenuous peace between them. He doesn’t feel guilty about it — he has very firm iron clad boundaries when it comes to Vegas, for reasons , and he can’t go back on them — but it still goes against his nature to be so cruel.
But the thing is with Vegas, the tender moments with him are the anomaly. He matches cruelty with cruelty, and he has a nasty habit of drawing Pete into a false sense of intimacy before shattering every ounce of trust between them. He’s gone down that road before, with Vegas, and knows how it ends. Pete doesn’t want to go through all of it again, doesn’t want to reopen everything — all of the complicated history and past — with Vegas a second time. He has made sure that box is locked tight, never to be opened.
It doesn’t matter how infuriatingly handsome Vegas is, or how Pete finds himself thinking the most debauched and raunchy things about him.
He and Vegas can never, ever work out. Ever.
Fall: One year ago
Pete doesn’t exactly love his career as a boxer — it was always his fathers dream, which leaves a bitter taste in his mouth — but his father is gone and his legacy remains. The thing is, Pete was never planning on following what his father wanted for him but he is good — great even — winning match after match, always the underdog and wildcard, taking apart his opponents because they dare to underestimate him.
It pays the bills.
He carries his father’s legacy with him, in the tenseness of his shoulder, in the ache in his hip, in the ghost of hidden bruises across his skin. His father beat him until he was good enough to win; his father beat him when he had the audacity to win.
Pete is small, lean in ways that hide his well built muscles. He isn’t short, but the slenderness of his hips and delicate slope of his neck make people think he is, make them think of weakness and inadequacy, incompetence that bleeds into failure. He is none of these things.
He lets them think it, though, lets everyone underestimate him because it works for him. His dad beat him because in his eyes, he wasn’t good enough; but he beats his opponents in the ring because they think he isn’t good enough.
He never expected to continue his career as a boxer but there never really was an opportunity to stop. He won match after match, and the money he got from winning was enough to let him live comfortably. At first he tried to keep a tentative relationship with his father, mistakenly figuring that if at least Pete was financially providing for him there would be some leniency.
There never was.
But the thing about money? It can buy anything.
Pete isn’t proud of what he did, what type of money his freedom bought him, isn’t exactly satisfied with the fact he exchanged one leash for another. But at least the leash of his new master doesn’t choke him every time he moves, doesn’t tug him back with spikes and chains. At least the new master he serves keeps his hands to himself.
Mostly.
The last few years have been profitable; his professional fights bring in enough income to afford his luxurious apartment downtown, but his illegitimate fights bring in nearly triple that amount. That’s what you get for falling in bed with the mafia though.
Pete doesn’t mind. It’s not as if he really cares or has any qualms about morals. The money he makes pays for an apartment more spacious than he can imagine, a one bedroom with enough space to feel extravagant . He has more than what he needs and that suits him just fine. All of his extra money he sends home to his grandmother, obscene amounts that are more than enough for the lifestyle she leads, but it makes Pete feel better about the life he leads.
He misses his grandmother constantly and despite his numerous attempts to bring her out to the city to be closer she refuses. She loves her home out in the country, she has lived there her whole life and refuses to leave. Plus, she detests the city. There is nothing more obnoxious and overwhelming than the incessant noise, the overpowering smells, and she hates being around so many people, so living in a crowded metropolitan really isn’t an option for her. He doesn’t like the fact that he lives so far away but he has his career here in Bangkok and can’t give that up for a quiet country life.
He also hates the quiet country life.
His grandmother raised him at times where the situation with his father got to be unmanageable, but Pete always ended back right at the feet of the devil, one way or the other. He regrets not visiting her more, but he still makes it a point to visit her every single Christmas, to make sure that he is home for the holidays where both of them need it most.
This Winter: December 20th
Pete wakes up sore and angry, his limbs twinge with the ache indicating a strenuous burn from the night previous. Exhaustion clings to him, rolling in with the sleepless night.
It’s not the first time he’s stayed up until three am training, pushing himself until the burn in his muscles transitions into something else. He was alone last night, at least, grateful for the solitude as he collects his thoughts for the week ahead. Vegas hasn’t joined him since that night.
He rolls over and realizes that his phone is buzzing on the bed beside him and he picks it up without double checking the caller.
“Where are you?” It’s Vegas, and he sounds mad .
“In bed,” Pete snaps back, irritation spiking immediately. He doesn’t know how he is going to spend a week of this, a week of playing a doting boyfriend to someone who he not only can barely stand, but someone who gets under his skin in the worst ways.
“It’s a six hour drive to Khon Kaen, and I’d like to arrive before the afternoon.” Vegas sounds peevish, as if he is even more annoyed at this inconvenience than Pete is. “It’s almost ten in the morning.”
“I’m aware of the time,” Pete says, completely unaware of the time.
“Are you? Then why are you still in bed?” Vegas’s voice shifts down a notch, both scathing and suggestive. “Or were you up all night with someone else?”
“There’s only one of us who does that,” Pete says through his teeth, “and we both know I’m not the slut here.”
There is silence on the other line and Pete knows his words land exactly where he wants them to land. It’s a low blow, especially since Vegas — despite his dark and suggestive tone — wasn’t implying anything about Pete.
“Pete, about what—”
“No,” Pete snaps. “We aren’t talking about it. I thought I made that clear.” Vegas is silent across the line and Pete can almost see the look on his face. “I’ll be there to pick you up in twenty minutes.”
“No.” Vegas says, firmly. “I’m driving.”
“But—”
“I don’t feel comfortable with you driving me, Pete. Plus I’m the one with the nice car.”
Pete winces at the dig but doesn’t fight it. His car isn’t the best or most reliable, but he doesn’t feel the need to spend an excess of money to just replace it with something more extravagant. “Fine.”
“Good,” Vegas says, low into the phone.
Something about it creeps along Pete’s skin, as if the good is unfinished, as if Vegas means something completely different when he says good. Pete knows that Vegas doesn’t mean it in the way his mind is implying it is meant, but he does know what Vegas sounds like when he says good boy . And that’s enough to drive all of Pete’s coherent thoughts out the window. He may barely stand Vegas, but he also can’t ever shake the deep rooted attraction he has for him.
He hangs up without saying goodbye, refusing to acknowledge Vegas. He’ll be here soon, it doesn’t matter what Pete thinks. Vegas is in the business of getting what he wants and it doesn’t matter if what he wants isn't available to him, he does his best to take it anyway.
Pete busies himself by packing, taking mindful precautions to pack everything he needs for a trip of this length. He had a chunk of clothes set aside but it’s the rest of the things that Pete has been saving until the last minute. He scurries around his apartment to do some last minute cleaning, working on making sure everything will be orderly for when he comes home from the trip.
Vegas is unfortunately fast, showing up at his apartment exactly when he said he would, sending him a text that he is waiting for him when he arrives. Pete rolls his eyes at the impatience but he would rather have Vegas demanding him to come down then coming back up to his apartment. Vegas has only been here once before and Pete never wishes to repeat the process. He grabs his duffel bag and heads downstairs, ignoring the flutter in his stomach at the anticipation of a six hour car ride with Vegas, time he can’t escape from or run away. It’s always hard when Pete can’t run away from Vegas.
Spring: three years ago
The first time Pete met Vegas, it was an accident.
It was three years ago, right at the height of his boxing career. He was winning matches constantly, the euphoria of the victories and continuous wins enough to offset the swinging fists from his father.
The thing is, his father was the one who pushed Pete into boxing, because it was a dream he wanted for himself, molding Pete into the prodigy he wished he could have been. But the thing about his father is there is a darkness inside of him, a burning rage that cannot be offset no matter what is done to placate him.
Every time Pete lost — which at first was always — his father would reward and congratulate him with fists and kicks. So Pete vowed to be better, vowed to become so good no one would ever beat him.
Now, the more he wins the angrier his father gets. Not fast enough, not enough payout, too arrogant, too slow. Pete’s father takes the money and takes the victory and sours everything else.
Tonight Pete won a huge match and he is riding the euphoria of a job well done. He collects his winnings and his congratulations and leaves the underground area, choosing to wander around the streets of Bangkok instead of returning home to his father. He knows what will await him when he is home, and is in no rush to let that happen.
The night is a balmy temperature and Pete is grateful he doesn’t need any more layers than what he is wearing, the sweat still cooling on the back of his neck and collarbones. He clutches the bottle of soju to his chest and sighs, closing his eyes and reveling in the cool night air on his heated cheeks.
The adrenaline lingers in his chest and he feels giddy, and it’s nights like these that he wishes he had someone to fall into bed with. He’s never been much for romance but he often wonders what it would be like to have someone to come home too. He’s not prudish by any means, sex is something he’s enjoyed before with people, but the older he gets the more he wants it to mean something.
He walks a few more blocks, aimlessly wandering, weaving in and out of different alleyways. He’s about to take the plunge and circle back a few streets, to the nondescript door where an alluring thumping base bleeds through the heavy walls. Pete thinks about the flashing lights and sticky floors, the soles of his shoes fusing with the remnants of drinks long lost, the way the crowd itself has a humming pulse to it, shifting and weaving around him. There’s a certain hive mind that exists only in dark rooms with artificial light, a manufactured intimacy that forces bodies closer, hands on hips and lips on exposed skin.
Pete thinks he might try his luck on if he can find someone to go home with, roll the roulette on discovering a partner who will bring him to his knees. He hesitates for a moment and then turns, taking a left up at the next street to circle back around.
That’s when he hears it; sounds distinctive to his ears only from hours of exposure. There is shuffling around and a grunt or two, muffled and muted, and Pete wagers a two-to-one, maybe three? Every bone in his body screams to turn back around, to circle away from the danger and to mind his own business. Except. Something tells him to keep going, so he does.
He rounds the corner to see his initial hunch was right; three men in dark clothing circling one man in a gaudy silk shirt, tucked into dark pants. He is adorned in jewelry and looks rich - rich and Pete makes an educated assumption that they’re after his money.
He watches however as one of the men takes a vicious slash at the man in the middle who jumps back, his agile reflexes enough to dodge the hit completely. Pete realizes with a flash that the first man is holding a knife, as are the other two.
“Not so cocky without your bodyguards, huh?” The second man taunts, moving forward to stand next to the first.
The rich man shrugs as he steps back again, nearing close to the part of the alley Pete is lingering in.
“Yet I’m still enough of a threat that you feel concerned enough to take me three to one,” the rich man says, and Pete can feel the arrogance in his words, the derision at their attempts to intimidate him.
The first goon takes another lunge forward and that’s when Pete steps out of the shadows, taking a final swig and finishing off the remnants of the soju in the glass. The goon’s eyes widen as Pete moves forward and barely has a moment to register that Pete is swinging before he brings the bottle straight over his head. The goon drops to his knees and doesn’t have a chance to dodge before Pete is bringing his knee up into the underside of his jaw. He collapses to the ground and doesn’t move again.
He hears a grunt of pain behind him and turns around to see the rich one lifting his fingers to touch his freshly split lip, dabbing at the bright red bead of blood.
“Ow,” he winces. “That hurt.”
Goon number two just laughs and swings again but this time Pete is ready. He grabs him by the wrist and twists, spinning his arm around at an unnatural angle until he hears the tell tale sound of a joint popping from a socket. The man screams and goes limp, which Pete thinks is a little dramatic. It’s only a dislocation, moderate on the pain scale. The third goon steps in and Pete goes in a completely different direction, using his agility to duck and dip around him until he has him in a headlock. The man struggles but Pete is used to this and uses the leverage against him, slamming him up against the wall a few times until he goes slack. It would be so easy to snap his neck in this position but that’s going in the wrong direction of what Pete should be doing so he simply makes sure the guy is unconscious before stepping back. He looks back at the man he saved who is currently looking at Pete warily.
“You don’t want to fight me,” he warns, holding out his hands.
Pete noticed the gleam of numerous rings in the dingy alley light and the flash of a watch that’s worth three times what he makes in a year.
“Of course I don’t,” Pete snaps, “why the fuck would I want to fight you? I just saved your ass from being mugged.”
The man laughs, but it’s not a friendly sound. It’s harsh and derisive and he’s looking at Pete as if Pete is an idiot and a fool. Maybe he is, for stepping into business that clearly wasn’t his own.
“I was doing fine on my own,” he says, looking Pete up and down.
Pete is suddenly extremely self conscious of the clothes he is wearing, sweat-damp and frayed, the lack of any type of jewelry, and his generally frumpy appearance. He hates that this guy twisted something that he was totally fine with back into something he’s ashamed of, and his hackles raise.
“Sure you were.”
“I was, until you interfered.”
Pete does not like the smug arrogance dripping off of this man and he steps forward, feints to the right, and then takes a vicious uppercut with his left fist. It takes him completely by surprise as Pete’s knuckles connect with his cheek and he feels the skin give way under the impact. The man staggers back with a snarl and then suddenly, without warning, Pete’s arm is twisted behind him and he is shoved chest first into the dirty wall.
“Who sent you?” He growls in Pete’s ear, crowding in even closer so they are hip to hip. “The Yakuza? My cousin? The Chinese? The Italians? Who do you work for?”
“Let go of me,” Pete snarls, trying to slip out of the man’s grip. It’s futile; the man is much stronger than he looks and he’s now digging his fingers into the nape of Pete’s neck.
“Your name,” the man whispers in Pete’s ear, low and deadly. Pete is about to protest when the cold sharp edge of a blade presses against his check. “Tell me who you are.”
“Pete,” he says, “I’m a boxer. Mostly down at Catalyst but sometimes I’ll perform a match down at Red Dragon.”
“A boxer.”
“Yes. Nothing more, nothing less. I just won my match, I was about to go to Jinbesan, try my luck. I heard a disturbance and found you with those guys and I thought they were about to mug you, you looked a little useless.”
“Useless, huh?” The man presses in closer and Pete is suddenly distinctly aware of the muscular slope of the man's body, the way his thighs press warm and firm against the back of Pete’s legs, the way the fingers around his throat make him want to moan more than beg for his life.
He wants to beg, but in a very different way.
Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the adrenaline, maybe it’s the pulsating threat of danger with the knife into his skin, maybe it’s the eroticism of being pushed up against the wall by a stranger; whatever it is, Pete is into it. His breath hitches in his throat and he closes his eyes, trying with all of his might to will his erection away.
It doesn’t work.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were a little slut.” The words are whispered low into Pete’s ear and he shivers, a small little whine falling from his lips. “But the thing is, I don’t know you at all.”
All of a sudden he releases Pete and steps back and Pete has to bite his tongue to physically restrain himself from whining in protest. He shouldn’t be into this. He shouldn’t want to be slammed back into the wall, hands on his throat, knife in his skin while he’s fucked mercilessly, right? That shouldn’t be the first thought in his head in this situation, right?
Pete watches the man warily, trying his best to parse together some thoughts that didn’t start and end with fuck me please .
“If you aren’t here to kill me—”
“Why the fuck would I be here to kill you?” Pete interrupts, shock breaking his stupor. “Why would anyone be trying to kill you? Were the men not trying to rob you?”
“Oh,” The man says softly, a little taken aback, but clearly amused this time. “Interesting. Do you really not know who I am?”
“Obviously not,” Pete snaps. “Clearly I am missing some important information here.”
“Those men… well. A deal gone bad, business taking a sharp turn for the worst, wounded pride etc, etc, they were upset about the merger my father acquired that slighted them.”
“They tried to kill you over a botched business deal?” Pete shakes his head, flabbergasted. This has to be the most insane thing he has ever heard.
The man raises an eyebrow. “Are you always this obtuse or are you being intentionally thick headed?”
If Pete could get away with it he would throw a second punch, if only to wipe that smirk off of the man's face. “You know what? I don’t think I care anymore. I’m just going to leave now, and forget this ever happened.”
Pete tries to move past him in the alley but before he takes three steps, the man grabs his wrist and spins him around, shoving him back into the wall. This time though, it’s his back that hits the cold stone, and he is face to face with the man.
“I’m not finished talking with you yet.” He moves in closer until they are nose to nose, his forearms pressing into the wall on either side of Pete’s head, boxing him in. “What’s a guy like you doing meddling in strangers' businesses, especially if it only brings him trouble without gain?”
Pete swallows and watches as the man’s eyes flick down to Pete’s lips and then back up. “I don’t know. Normally I wouldn’t.”
“Mm,” he says, not moving. He seems to be contemplating something for a long moment, holding Pete’s gaze with a dark intensity. And then he’s stepping back and running a hand through his hair. “The name is Vegas, one of the Theerapanyakul heirs.”
Pete frowns, the alcohol in his system causing a slower reaction time than normal. He knows that name, he knows that name. Why does he know that name? He’s never met this guy before and—
“Theerapanyakul, as in the hotels?”
The man — Vegas, apparently — laughs. “Sure. And foreign cars, and imported goods. We also own a large number of casinos and have multiple businesses around Bangkok.”
“Oh fuck, you are filthy rich.”
“So, Pete,” Vegas says, “what is it that you want? Money? Power? Connections? What kind of reward or favor do you need from me?”
“Reward? Pete asks, confused. “I didn’t save your life for a reward.”
“Sure,” Vegas shrugs. “But I don’t like to be indebted to anyone, and I’d rather solve this right now. So what will it be?”
Pete chews on his bottom lip, contemplating. It takes him a few moments to decide, but finally he settles on his answer. After all, he knows exactly what Vegas Theerapanyakul can give him.
This winter: December 20th
“So what will it be?” Vegas snaps, staring at Pete expectantly. “You have two choices.”
“Giving me the option between your weird obscure instrumental music full of chanting monks and random opera songs, and a playlist of Blackpink and Itzy is not a fair choice.”
“I don’t understand what you have against Blackpink.”
“I don’t have anything against Blackpink,” Pete protests, gesturing his phone at Vegas, “but I’m saying that you’re acting like you’re giving me a choice when this is very much not a choice.”
“If you don’t have a problem with Blackpink—”
“I don’t—”
“— then you shouldn’t have a problem deciding.” Vegas drums his fingers against the steering wheel and glances over at Pete, clearly impatient.
“Just start the car,” Pete grumbles, reaching out to swipe Vegas’s phone from the center console.
“You won’t be able to use it unless it’s unlocked,” Vegas says, a bit too condescending for Pete’s liking. “So we need to put the music on now.”
“I don’t understand why we can’t just listen to my music,” Pete protests, albeit under his breath. “Or silence. I could do with some silence.”
“I’m driving—”
“By coercion!”
“— and it’s my car—”
“Also by coercion!”
“So,” Vegas says sharply, cutting Pete off again, “it’s my music that we’re playing. So, Pete, what will it be?”
Pete glares at Vegas who glares right back. He puts on the Blackpink.
“Good boy,” Vegas says as he turns on the car, and Pete against his will, shudders with the praise. He really contemplates just abandoning the entire trip all together. Vegas can go visit his grandmother without Pete! He doesn’t need to be there! Anything to get him out of the obligation of spending a week with Vegas in close and confined quarters.
Pete, unfortunately, does not have a response to that. He sulks instead. Vegas pulls out onto the road and Pete settles in for a long ride, annoyance simmering under the surface that Vegas was right about the car situation and the driving situation. But just because Vegas is right doesn't mean Pete has to be okay with it.
“Stop sulking,” Vegas says.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“No,” Pete protests mulishly.
“Pete.”
“Vegas,” Pete mimics back, not caring about his obvious immaturity on the issue.
“You’re going to have to fix your attitude within the next six hours,” Vegas says rather unhelpfully, “or your grandmother will know in minutes that we aren’t actually dating.”
“I’m aware, thank you.”
“Are you?”
Pete doesn’t respond. He hates that Vegas can goad him so easily, that Vegas knows every single button to push to make Pete bristle in anger or annoyance. He’s well aware of the stakes — his grandmother will be even more upset if she finds out how elaborately Pete committed to lying to her — but also, Vegas now will know where his grandmother lives which he’s kept separate this whole time.
It’s not that he doesn’t trust Vegas — because he doesn’t trust Vegas — it’s that Vegas leads a dangerous life and the possibility of accidents happening increase exponentially. Pete rubs shoulders with a lot of people and a large chunk of them are those he’s met within his career as a boxer. They’re not exactly the stand up type of crowd.
And above all else, Vegas holds a secret that could potentially ruin Pete’s relationship with his grandmother. And his life.
Pete chooses to ignore Vegas in the meantime and he twists himself in the seat to stare out the window, taking in the blur of the scenery as the car flies down the road. Vegas doesn’t try to push conversation, instead letting the upbeat music take up space in the stale air between them.
The thing is, if things were different, he and Vegas might have had an actual legitimate shot. If they had met in another lifetime, in another way, they could have had an opportunity to find each other and fall in love. Disregarding the fact that Pete can’t stand Vegas, is infuriated by his every move, thinks he’s the worst kind of hypocrite and scoundrel… Pete can’t deny the attraction to him. He hates it, and that’s half of the issue. Pete also knows that deep down under his frustration and rage, the intensity of his emotions fall a little too close to love for his own comfort. His life would be so much easier if Vegas was ugly, if he didn’t set Pete’s blood on fire every time he steps in close, every time his eyes linger a second too long.
But Pete works for Vegas, and Vegas has a rule about not messing around with his fighters, no matter how bullshit the rule is. Plus, Vegas has information on Pete that could ruin his life. He won’t use it, but it’s enough for Pete to know he has it after all.
Sometimes he thinks he should have never asked for that favor, never used that request as a bargaining chip. Maybe things would be different now.
Maybe Vegas would be heading home to meet his grandmother as Pete’s actual boyfriend, rather than a fake one.
Winter: three years ago
December 4th, 7pm:
Pete stares down at his shaking hands in horror, covered in a vibrant crimson. The knife in his hand clatters to the floor and rattles against the hardwood, the blade and handle hitting the floor a few times before slowly vibrating to a standstill.
The room is covered in blood, the acrid scent of iron rising up from the body at his feet. Pete’s ears are ringing, emulating the sounds of a screaming arena, the sort of white noise that pierces through his skull and scrapes out his consciousness until nothing remains.
He tries to wipe his hands off on his pants but his pants are splattered in blood and he only manages to smear it over his palms. The blood is under his fingernails and in his cuticles, it’s in his hair and painted across his face.
He starts to panic.
There’s no way to clean this up, no way to cover up what he just did. He looks around the room for something, for anything, but finds nothing of use.
He knows the man at his feet is dead, but he still drops to his knees and presses his trembling fingers into the gashes in his neck, trying to hold together the skin as if he can turn back time. He doesn’t want to turn back time, but he doesn’t want to continue in the reality of taking responsibility for this.
He just killed someone.
He knows enough that he’s on a limited time frame, that a body has a few hours before rigor mortis sets in, before the blood on the floor seeps into the grains of the wood and stains in a way that can never be replaced. He pats his pockets and pulls out his phone, struggling to hold it with his fingers slick with warm blood. He unlocks it after a few failed tries and scrolls through his contacts. There is only one person he can call, one person who can help him with this.
Vegas Theerapanyakul.
He presses the call button and waits, his heart thumping in his throat with so much force Pete wonders if he is dying. He isn’t. He's just having a panic attack.
“Pete?” Vegas’s voice answers after the second ring. He sounds surprised, curious, and a little wary. Pete can’t blame him, he’s never called him of his own volition before.
“Vegas,” Pete breathes out, somehow the sound of his voice and the physical embodiment of him across the phone line enough to give him room to take a shaky inhale. “Thank fuck you picked up.”
“Pete,” Vegas repeats and this time he sounds concerned. There is chatter in the background of the line, and a wave of ice washes over Pete’s skin. Vegas is busy. Vegas is at an event, Vegas is doing something and—
“Hey,” Vegas says, sharper this time. Pete realizes he is crying. “Pete. What’s wrong?”
“I fucked up,” Pete gasps, the tears stinging his eyes. He goes to wipe them away on instinct but looks down at his crimson stained hands. “I need your help.”
There is silence on the other line and it stretches out long enough that Pete is convinced Vegas will say no.
“Where are you?”
“At— at—” Pete’s voice cracks. He can’t say. There is some heavy type of finality about admitting to this, about letting someone in on this secret. But Pete can’t handle this by himself and he can’t think of any other way.
“Pete.”
“Vegas,” Pete whispers. “Please. Help. I’ll do anything.”
“Okay.”
Pete hears Vegas take a deep breath and exhale, the sound almost as much of a comfort as having Vegas on the line. His fingers clutch his phone into ear as if it is his only lifeline, and maybe it is. Over the line he hears Vegas make apologetic sounds, murmurs of goodbyes and farewells, and then there is silence from the line.
“Can you tell me where you are?”
Pete shakes his head and then realizes that Vegas can’t see him. He opens his mouth to try to explain but Vegas is talking again, voice smooth and comforting.
“Okay. That’s okay. What I need you to do is turn on the location sharing on your phone. Can you do that for me? Put me on speakerphone, and tell me when it’s done.”
Pete pulls the phone away from his ear and fumbles with it, managing to put Vegas on speakerphone without disconnecting the call.
“You’re on speaker.”
“Okay. Good job.”
Pete shivers and swallows back his retort, letting the praise settle into his bones as a perverted sort of comfort.
“Now, tap on my contact info. There should be a feature that says ‘share location’. I need you to activate that for me.”
Pete follows the instructions and pauses when it asks him for the length of time. “For how long?”
“Only as long as I can get to you,” Vegas says, “but if you want to keep it on longer that’s your choice.”
Pete’s thumb hovers over the prompt and chooses the “ twenty four hours ” option. “Okay.”
“Very good,” Vegas says again. “Okay Pete. I need you to hold tight, alright? I’ll come get you, and you can tell me what’s going on in person.”
“Please hurry,” Pete pleads.
Vegas makes an affirming noise before hanging up, leaving Pete alone again. Pete looks around the room before sinking down to his knees again, the front of his pants growing cold from the puddle of blood underneath him, his skin ice cold.
This winter: December 20th
“Vegas,” Pete whines, not caring at all at the desperation in his voice. “Hurry up.”
“Why didn’t you go before we left?” Vegas growls through clenched teeth, his hands gripping the steering wheel with the grip of a man haunted.
“I didn’t have too.” Pete slouches further down in the seat and crosses his legs. “Plus it’s been almost five hours.”
“Yes, I’m aware.” Vegas sighs, exasperation bleeding off of him. “According to the navigation there’s only an hour left of the drive. Can’t you hold it? You’re a grown man for fucks sake.”
Pete huffs, resisting the urge to be a childish brat for almost three seconds. He gives up. “Would you rather I pee my pants like a dog? Get it all over your leather seats?”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“I would.”
“Do you know how much this car costs?”
“I do. Are you willing to ruin it because you’re being a stubborn ass?”
Vegas glares at Pete, clearly debating whether or not calling Pete’s bluff would be worth it. Clearly he decides it’s not, as he takes a sharp turn onto the shoulder of the road, pulling the car to a stop. “Out.”
“Here?”
“Why not?” Vegas grins at him. “I thought you said you were desperate .”
Pete glances around the empty road and at the vast expanse of fields on either side. There is nothing even remotely close to resemble any type of cover or privacy. He turns back around to glare at Vegas who is watching him, amused.
“What, don’t tell me you’re shy.”
Pete wants to punch him. No, that’s too simple. Pete wants to drag Vegas out of his fancy car and leave him here on the side of the road, maybe to die. His life would be so much easier without his pompous arrogant influence.
“Are you done throwing a fit? Get back in the car.” Vegas turns away from Pete and starts the car, clearly thinking he won this argument and that Pete won’t follow through.
Pete is nothing if not stubborn and petty, and if this is the game Vegas is going to play Pete is not going to let him win. He will do just about anything to wipe that smug look off Vegas’s face even if it is dropping trou in the middle of an empty field on the side of the road.
Vegas looks back over at Pete when he doesn’t immediately climb back into the car and makes a shocked noise when he catches Pete’s eye. “Pete, what the fuck are you doing?”
“Peeing,” Pete says defiantly. “Isn’t that what you told me to do?”
Vegas just stares at him with his mouth hanging open and Pete has a vindictive rush when he catches the tips of Vegas’s ears tinged pink. Vegas looks away from Pete and stares back at the road straight ahead which Pete takes as a win.
Sure, he feels embarrassed, but the vindication of making Vegas feel embarrassed is worth the sacrifice. So much of Vegas is wrapped up in a shell that is impossible to break through or ruffle and he uses that against Pete whenever he can. He has such an influence over Pete and he knows it, using it to his advantage like an asshole.
Pete finishes — he did in fact, really have to go — and pulls his pants up and slides back into the car, smug. “Okay. Let’s go.”
Vegas shoots him a nasty look before pulling back on the road. They spend the rest of the drive in tense silence before Pete finally breaks it.
“What’s Macau going to do for the holiday with you gone?” Pete presses his knees together and shoves his fingers between them, resisting the impulse to fidget.
“He’s with some school friends. He never planned to come home.”
Pete looks over at Vegas who looks tense, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. “Is it because of your dad?”
Vegas is silent for a long moment and Pete is worried he might have stepped too far. The thing is, Pete knows what Vegas’s dad is like. They’ve talked about before — or, well, Pete’s caught undeniable evidence that Vegas was desperate to explain away — but Vegas is tight lipped about any type of emotional vulnerability. He always has to be in control, whether or not he actually can control the situation. Pete has always done his best to keep his distance from Vegas — they have a complicated history made even more complicated by their working relationship — but he is genuinely curious and is looking at an entire week with Vegas.
“Yes,” Vegas finally says, glancing over at Pete for the smallest moment before looking back at the road. “It’s not safe for him to be home, not even when I’m there to protect him.”
“Mm,” Pete says. “I guess… I was lucky, to be an only child. I couldn’t imagine trying to navigate… everything with someone else to protect.”
Vegas grunts which Pete takes as encouragement.
“Macau is lucky to have you,” Pete says softly.
“Being born into our family is unlucky,” Vegas counters, a note of thinly suppressed disgust in his tone. “Always the second, always the failure, nothing but pain and disappointment.”
Pete bites his lip, mulling over his next response. The moment between them feels fragile, and maybe it’s because of the false intimacy in the liminal space of the car — the shared and forced physical intimacy while also maintaining a separation and distance — or the fact that this is the longest they have spent together at once, but Pete wants to hold onto it.
“You speak of your family's luck as if it is set in stone,” Pete says slowly, “and that’s not to say that you haven’t faced hardship and tribulations. But perhaps your father wants you to believe this and think that way because that’s the way he feels. That your father cannot outrun his own demons so he uses you as a catalyst and sacrifices for his own bruised ego.”
“And you know so much about outrunning demons,” Vegas scoffs. Except it’s missing all of its usual heat and lacks any real cut to the words.
Pete allows the comment to sink in between them before saying with cutting finality, “you can only run from your demons so far until they catch up to you. You know that about me more than anyone.”
Winter: three years ago
December 4th, sometime after 7pm
Pete isn’t sure how much time passes as he waits for Vegas, it could be five minutes or fifty; all he knows is one minute he is alone, looking at the body in front of him and then there is a hand on his shoulder.
If Pete were in his right frame of mind he would have faster reflexes but as it is he can only turn around hoping to god it’s Vegas and not someone else.
It’s Vegas.
Who… is in black tie.
“Vegas,” Pete breathes, relief and shame coursing through him. It feels like a terrible idea, all of a sudden, to have called Vegas here. But then Vegas is lifting Pete to his feet and is cupping Pete’s cheeks, holding his gaze.
“What happened?”
“I — I don’t know. I lost control, and—”
“Okay,” Vegas says soothingly. “Look at me.”
Pete looks at Vegas. Vegas, in his tuxedo that costs more than what Pete could make in a lifetime, in the bow tie around his neck, hastily undone, at the way his hair is styled and slicked back. He is so handsome it takes Pete’s breath away.
“What did you touch?”
Pete looks down at his hands, doing his best to wrap his thoughts back around into a semblance of coherency.
“Pete. I need to know what your prints are on that can tie you to this.”
“The knife,” Pete whispers, pointing to the floor.
Vegas pulls the suit jacket off his shoulders and tosses it over a chair before unbuttoning his crisp white shirt. Pete watches, confused, until Vegas slips out of it, standing in front of him bare chested and determined. He walks over — expertly avoiding the spreading pool of blood — and scoops up the knife with the white shirt. He wraps the blade inside the fabric multiple times before tying the bundle with the sleeves. “Anything else?”
Pete shakes his head. “No… that’s it.”
“Okay. Here is what we are going to do. You’re going to come home with me. I’m going to get you a change of clothes and a shower. I will send one of my men to finish cleaning up the rest.”
“But—”
“Do you trust me?”
The thing is, Pete doesn’t. Not really. Not at all. But Vegas was — is — his only option. “As much as I’m able to.”
“My men work for me,” Vegas says, cold and firm, “which means they face the consequences of disobedience. And they know better than to disobey me.”
Pete looks down at his hands once more, down to the bloodstained clothes and the bloodstained floor. He feels as if he will never be able to wash himself of this, never be able to escape the horror of what he has done.
Vegas walks back across the room and sets the bundled shirt on top of his suit jacket and Pete is suddenly distinctly aware again of the fact that Vegas’s chest is bare. He steps back up into Pete’s personal space and cups Pete’s jaw with one hand.
“Your first kill is always the hardest.”
“My first ?” Pete tries to move back out of Vegas’s grip but fails, weak from shock and nerves.
“You’re in shock. I can’t say how you’ll feel after this but… you’ve always had this inside of you.”
Pete glares at Vegas who doesn’t seem off-put. “You barely know me.”
“I know enough.” Vegas digs his thumb into the side of Pete’s cheek and Pete hisses, tilting his head to the side. “Your body is in shock, operating on complete overdrive. You need a shower, you need to eat, and you need to sleep.”
“So nurturing,” Pete spits, but there isn’t any authentic aggression behind it.
Vegas shrugs. “I’ve been where you are. I’ve also seen it before. Don’t forget, you called me for help. This is me helping.”
Vegas grabs Pete by the shoulders and starts maneuvering him out of the room and outside onto the street. Pete shivers and watches as Vegas grabs a duffle out of the trunk of his car and heads back inside, grabbing the clothes and shoving them inside. He walks around and opens the passenger door for Pete.
“Inside. I’m taking you to my apartment for the night.”
Pete obediently climbs inside the car and waits.
This winter: December 20th, 7pm
Vegas pulls up a long winding driveway and puts the car into park, looking over at Pete. “Nice place.”
Pete shrugs. “It’s home.”
He climbs out of the car, his shoes crunching on the gravel, immediately kicking up dust around him. He looks around at a home that represents some of his best childhood memories. It’s secluded off in the countryside, surrounded by acres of land, trees and fields. Pete turns to the sound of enthusiastic barking and then the front door is opening and a chocolate lab is bolting across the front yard to jump up on Pete.
“Pistol!” Pete cries out in delighted surprise. “Oh boy, I’ve missed you. Oh look at you, so excited to see me, huh?”
“Pete!”
Pete pauses his thorough and aggressive reacquaintance with Pistol and looks up to see his grandmother walking across the front yard and he has a few moments before she is pulling him into a bone crushing hug.
“Oh sweetheart, I’ve missed you so much!”
Pete hugs her back, Pistol now alternating his enthusiastic barks, persistent licking, and energetic leaping around the two of them. “I’ve missed you too.”
She pulls back and ruffles his hair fondly and looks past him to where Vegas is standing, somewhat awkwardly, looking distinctly out of place. Pete should have warned Vegas how far out in the country his grandmother lives, the dirt back roads and distinct lack of neighbors, but he thought it would be fun to see him adapt in real time. Everything Vegas is wearing is obnoxiously expensive, paired with the flashy sports car, he looks lost. And in a sense he is lost.
But then Pete’s grandmother is moving past Pete to pull Vegas into a hug — completely oblivious of the fact that Vegas is a lethal killer — and plants a large kiss on Vegas’s cheek.
“Oh look at how handsome you are. And rich! Oh Pete, you’ve done well for yourself. What a fancy car. I hope you’re taking good care of my Pete, aren’t you?”
“Yes ma’am,” Vegas says with all the seriousness of a man on the execution block. “Taking very good care of him.”
Pete looks over at Vegas who grins at him, winking when his grandmother looks away.
“Well come in, come in! Dinner is almost ready.”
Spring: two years ago
It’s been a few months since he called Vegas in a panic and his entire life has shifted dramatically in such a short time period. Vegas owns Catalyst now, and on a more alarming level, owns Pete. Vegas made it clear that he would take care of the issue for Pete for a price, and the price is this. Working as Vegas’s prized fighter.
There is an undercurrent of tension between them, Pete refusing to talk about that night and Vegas not bothering to ask, but something changed between them that night and Pete doesn’t know if it can be fixed or repaired, or if he even wants to fix things between them.
Pete knows, now, what type of business Vegas conducts. He knows, now, the type of people Vegas brushes shoulders with. It becomes apparent that not only does Vegas have a hand in a vast network of casinos but he also has an iron fist over an illegal underground gambling den. It’s not just cars or horses, but fights like the one Pete performs in.
Vegas put him into the ring within the first week, against a practiced and seasoned fighter. Cortado, a well known opponent rarely set to lose. Especially not against someone with Pete’s stature.
The thing is — that Vegas knows as well — Pete is not a normal fighter. He is calculating and observing, meticulous and masterful in his analysis of his opponents. So the moment Pete steps into the ring — with the assistance and coaching from Vegas — he knows every single weakness that Cortado has.
Everyone bets against Pete; against the house. Vegas tells Pete this in a hushed voice, that this is the opportunity to establish himself, to make a name for himself. A lot of the bets are on how long he’ll last in the ring, how many hits he will take, etc. The longer the match goes on the more the value is of the winning.
Pete of course knows this, but there is something illicit about what Vegas tells him, something erotically charged with the way Vegas places his hands on Pete’s shoulders, his rings cold and firm against his bare skin. Vegas murmurs a low and ominous don’t lose before he pushes Pete into the ring.
Pete, of course, wins.
The amount he gets — even after Vegas’s cut — is astronomically large, money he can’t even fathom what to do with. He asks Vegas what he should do and he suggests looking into real estate. It’s the fastest investment that can prove profitable return. This isn’t exactly what Pete was asking about but it does give him the idea to get a nicer apartment, somewhere in the city.
He has enough in cash to pay for the first year upfront, with some left over. He has an issue at first securing the place — something about a lack of references and a lack of stable employment and they have a certain reputation here, which Pete doesn’t quite fit — but when Vegas finds out he drags Pete back there by the scruff of his neck.
When he walks in the manager hastily stands and bows, fear flickering over her face.
“Khun Vegas,” she stutters, gathering up the papers on her desk in a rush. “What brings you here? Last we talked you were pleased with how the property was doing.”
“I was,” Vegas says, and Pete catches a glint in his eye that makes him shiver. “But then I was catching up on the applicants for the new rooms. You see, I suggested Pete here to apply for one of the new rooms, and I was shocked to see that his application had been rejected.”
“Khun Vegas,” the manager protests, bowing low again. “He did not mention he was referred by you—”
“No,” Vegas looks over at Pete with a strange look on his face. “He didn’t. I believe he misunderstood me, when I told him available options in the city. However, the fact remains. Pete is one of mine, and I’m disappointed to see this type of treatment. Do I make myself clear?”
The manager looks like she very much does understand, that she understands what a grievous mistake she made, apologizing to Vegas profusely.
Pete gets the apartment.
There is also a new manager by the end of the week.
Pete starts to realize how deep the power Vegas has runs in this city, and he isn’t complaining.
He busies himself for the next few weeks on packing and moving, Vegas scheduling him only when Pete texts him he’s ready for a gig. It’s strange, that Vegas gives him so much space and freedom. Pete keeps thinking that Vegas views Pete as a prized pet on a leash, allowing so much slack only to tug him back.
Pete knows that he is lucky, that in this lot in life he happened to catch the eye and favor of Vegas — as much as his favor goes — and his path has been cleared of almost every obstacle. But he simply traded one leash for another, one master for another.
He finally finishes — packing and unpacking — and gets himself settled in his new apartment, doing his best to adjust to his new life where Vegas apparently is his guardian angel as well as the devil in red.
This winter: December 20th
“Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s get you inside and settled. Darling, go get your luggage from the trunk, I want to get to know your handsome boyfriend.”
Pete’s grandmother pinches Pete’s cheek before cupping Vegas’s face, absolutely delighted. Pete tries to hold back a laugh at how uncomfortable Vegas looks under the physical touch but he doesn’t protest, in fact it takes him a moment but he relaxes into it. Pete walks over to Vegas and gives him a pointed look before reaching inside of Vegas’s front pocket.
“Just getting the keys,” Pete says in an obnoxiously flirtatious tone. Vegas doesn’t flinch, but holds still as Pete slides his fingers in his tight pocket. Pete feels that even though this was something he did to try to throw Vegas off, he is the one thrown by the sudden closeness between the two of them and the firm muscle of Vegas’s thigh, warm even through the fabric.
Pete scoops out the keys and steps back, his own cheeks flushed. Vegas smirks at him.
“Baby, there’s no reason to be so shy,” Vegas teases. “I’m sure your grandmother is fine with it.”
“Of course I am,” his grandmother teases. “You two are healthy young men, I’m well aware of—”
“Grandma!” Pete winces, not liking where this conversation is going. She only gives him a sly wink before guiding Vegas into the house, Pistol right at their heels.
Pete walks back over to the car and pops the trunk, grabbing all of the various bags and pieces of luggage. He takes his time because he knows how his grandmother is with new people and he wants to give Vegas at least a few minutes to acclimate to her before having to perform their charade of boyfriends. Unfortunately for Pete there really isn’t much luggage to bring into the house, so he can’t drag this out as long as he would like too.
By the time he gets inside Vegas is already sitting at the table, his grandmother fusing over him, Pistol’s head in Vegas’s lap. Pete admires the sight for a moment uninterrupted and unnoticed by the two of them, thinking how handsome Vegas looks like this, domestic with a dog, sitting at his dining table.
This is the moment when he gets caught though and his grandmother delightedly beckons Pete to sit down next to Vegas.
It seems as if she was not exaggerating with the fact that dinner was almost ready because she sets down two hot plates in front of them. It takes a bit more for her to finally join them, bustling around the kitchen with a nervous energy. Once she finally sits down she fixes both of them with a piercing stare.
“So how was the drive?”
“Fine,” Vegas says, “we made good time.”
“I was surprised! When Pete called me this morning, I wasn’t going to expect you until late this evening, so when he told me a few hours ago when you might be coming in I was in a mad dash to make sure everything was ready when you got here!”
“You didn’t have to do this—” Pete protests but falls silent with the stern look she fixes him with.
“Nonsense,” she says with no room for argument. “You two are guests and had a long day of travel. You need to be fed and taken care of. And if I didn’t have dinner ready for you I would worry about you eating.”
“She’s right,” Vegas says, fixing Pete with a smug look as he lifts a bite of food to his mouth. “You have a bad habit of not eating.”
“He does, doesn’t he. Well, it’s a good thing that he has you in his life now. It’s important he eats as much as he can.”
Pete kicks Vegas under the table but he only looks more smug.
“Vegas,” his grandmother starts, “why don’t you tell me a bit more about yourself? What do you do for work? You said you are a businessman? You must be extremely successful for how rich you look. I wasn’t born yesterday you know, I know how much your watch and your car cost.”
“Ah,” Vegas laughs softly, “well, yes. I do own quite a few businesses in Bangkok, mainly hotels and real estate. My family has some other investments, some domestic and some international. It is a pretty profitable venture, I will say.”
His grandmother smiles as she looks between Vegas and Pete, clearly pleased with the way her grandson has done well for himself. It is every guardian's dream to see their child or grandchild in love and settled down, but even more so with a partner that can provide a stable and happy life. Pete doesn’t think that Vegas truly can offer Pete either, but he’s not here to burst his grandmother’s bubble. Not yet at least.
“So, what I really want to know is how did you two meet? Tell me the whole story.”
Pete swallows and glances at Vegas. He clearly can’t tell his grandmother about their first meeting — Vegas almost getting murdered in an alley — but maybe their second meeting? He is almost ready to start explaining but that’s when Vegas opens his mouth.
“How did we meet? Well, that’s a long story.”
Spring: three years ago
It’s been a few weeks since Pete’s encounter with Vegas Theerpanyakul — a few weeks since Pete stumbled across him in the alley and potentially saved his life — and Pete can’t get Vegas off of his mind. He wakes up thinking about Vegas, falls asleep thinking about Vegas. How regal he was, how beautiful he was, how one encounter with one man can take such a powerful hold on him.
He starts with a simple Google search. It’s almost too helpful. Articles after articles, websites and reportings, press releases, no matter what it is the Theerapanyakul men are in the center of everything. It’s not just domestic either, they own international hotels and are constantly rubbing shoulders with powerful men from powerful countries. Pete is taken aback; this was the man he saved in the alley? He clearly wasn’t joking about being powerful and influential, wasn’t exaggerating at all when he made an offhand comment about money, and it wasn’t a bluff when he said he could offer Pete anything he wanted. He clearly can offer Pete anything he wants. Well, almost anything.
After the initial surface level search he dives a little deeper. He doesn’t feel weird about it — he’s never going to see Vegas again, their social circles are so far removed it would be ridiculous to think they could overlap — and even if they did meet again there’s absolutely no way that Vegas will remember him. So he sets about trying to learn everything he possibly can, to scratch the itch of the beautiful heart stopping stranger he cannot forget.
Vegas Kornwit Theerapanyakul, twenty-four, eldest child of Kan Theerapanyakul, second son and younger brother to Korn Theerapanyakul. Vegas has one younger brother, Macau, who there is very little about him that Pete can find. It seems almost as if he is a ghost or a myth, mentioned only in passing and in reference. There’s a reference to both Vegas and Macau attending international schools, but Vegas stayed locally in Thailand where Macau was actually sent abroad.
Pete wonders why this is, why Vegas would stay local where his brother goes someplace far away. No matter how he searches though he can’t find answers to any of his more pressing questions. He does find however that Vegas’s mother deceased, her date of death listed as December 24th, 2007. Pete spends a significant more time digging up all the information he can, and quickly becomes frustrated. While it seems like a lot, everything he finds is cryptic and vague, as if there is something to hide. This doesn’t necessarily surprise Pete — most people have something to hide, after all — but what's shocking is that even if there were slip ups, they’ve successfully been buried, and the lack of information is more concerning than a surplus. Unfortunately there’s no real answer to that and Pete is forced to reckon with the fact he hit a dead end. He can googlestalk Vegas to his hearts content but it won’t actually tell him any of the things he wants to know.
Pete does his best to put Vegas out of his mind but his best is terrible, actually.
Somehow he sees traces of Vegas everywhere. It’s like meeting the man once unlocked an entire underbelly of the city he was oblivious to, names on buildings and whispers on streets, circling Pete round and round the center force of gravity that is Vegas.
Pete does his best to return back to normal but the shift in his universe has him unbalanced. He performs the matches his father arranges, returning with bloody fists and split lips, not all from the original fight. He never understands what his father wants, what sort of impossible game he plays that have impossible rules and impossible standards. The weeks turn into months and Pete starts thinking of Vegas less and less, filing the encounter away for prosperity's sake.
He has more pressing issues, like the new business investor that is trying to buy Catalyst. The investor wants complete control, a full buyout that removes all influence from Pete’s father. His father is furious about this, taking his anger out on Pete worse than normal. It’s somehow Pete’s fault, that Pete was so good that it caught the attention of the wrong people, that Pete couldn’t just be useless like his mother and do exactly what he is told.
Pete takes the hits, absorbs the impact and anger into his body without complaint, resisting the urge to fight back. Fighting back gets him nowhere. There is nowhere he can run from his father, nowhere that his father can’t reach him. Not unless he slips into the grip of the mafia and that’s out of the talons grip and into the mouth of the beast, teeth and all. The thing is, Pete knows his father can’t resist the acquisition for long. Despite the money Pete brings into the venue it’s never enough to cover his fathers gambling debt.
Recurring gambling debt.
The loan sharks seem to be coming around more and more these days, and no matter how much money Pete gives them it never seems to be enough. If Pete had any say in the business he would change a lot of things, but first and foremost do his best to dig them out of the red.
It’s not even like the business isn’t profitable — it is, by a lot — but somehow the gambling and the drinking not only break even the profits but somehow cut into their bottom line.
Pete has no idea how he is supposed to discuss this with his father, that if there is someone that wants to buy the business they need to sell before the loan sharks take over. He is smart enough to know that his father won’t listen.
He manages to continue as normal — as if nothing at all is wrong — for a few more weeks before it catches up to him. It happens after one of his matches, two men approaching him in suits with such a serious and stern consternation that it makes Pete hesitate and rethink the whole punching his way out of it thing. It’s not as if he likes violence as an answer to his problems, because oftentimes it simply causes more problems than it fixes, but he can’t deny how effective it is.
“Our boss would like to see you,” they say, as if that’s all they have to say for Pete to follow. Apparently it is enough, because Pete shrugs, the curiosity outweighing the danger.
The two men pull him to the side and then gesture for Pete to follow. Pete catches a gun in a holster under their suit on each of them and he grimaces. He can take men fist to fist but not when they have weapons.
He follows.
The two men lead him through a dark alley to a car idling, windows tinted black, the paint sleek and shiny. Pete is half expecting some intimidating mafia goon to be sitting in the backseat but it’s empty when he slides inside. The two guards climb into the car after him, each pulling out their guns and holding it in their laps, like two freaky little guard dogs.
“There’s nothing I can do that should warrant those,” Pete says, a little testily.
“How fast did you knock out your last opponent?” Guard number one asks, one eyebrow lifted.
Pete doesn’t have an answer for that so he sits back, doing his best to ignore the two men. Whatever is about to happen isn’t going to be solved by talking his way out and he only hopes it’s nothing that will eventually come back to haunt him in the form of his fathers fists into his skin.
Eventually the car pulls to a stop and the guards get out of the car, gesturing for Pete to exit as well. He climbs out and looks around, taking a catalog of where he is. They are on a large sprawling property that looks straight out of a period drama, columns and archways, and a massive courtyard lit by artificial light sits in the middle of everything. He follows the two guards down a few curving hallways, curiosity burning through him as he looks at every open doorway and the antique looking art hanging on the wall.
They lead Pete to what looks like a large room where another set of guards are stationed outside. The guards exchange a look before stepping to the side and opening the door, the first guard pushing Pete by his shoulder blades.
“Here you go boss, here’s the fighter you asked for.”
Pete stumbles forward and takes account of the room before his eyes land on the man in the middle of it. He is standing with his back to Pete and he turns around slowly.
Pete’s breath hitches in his chest. Vegas .
“Leave us,” Vegas says with such a silken voice that Pete shivers, his eyes drinking Pete in with a barely concealed hunger.
“Yes, Khun.” The guard pushes Pete forward again and then bows to Vegas before turning on his heel and leaving the room, shutting the door behind him with an ominous click.
The lighting is better this time than it was in the alley and Pete is reminded how gorgeous Vegas is. He is slender and just a tad shorter than Pete, but his clothing indicates prestigious wealth and his black heeled boots adds an unsuspecting inch in his height. While he is just in a pair of black jeans and an olive silk blouse, Pete is reminded that each piece of clothing would cost more than an entire month's rent, that Vegas is unfathomably rich.
Vegas lifts the glass of wine to his lips and takes a delicate sip, appearing the perfect image of grace and dignity. Pete isn’t fooled; there is something to him though, a coiled grace, a wired tension, an undercurrent of power simmering below the surface that simply adds to the haunting beauty.
Vegas has the face of a predator.
“It’s you,” Pete says, rather stupidly. He doesn’t mean to — clearly Vegas had him tracked down and brought here — but there is still a sort of simmering confusion tugging at his consciousness. He didn’t think he’d ever meet Vegas again.
“Hello Pete,” Vegas says, walking around to the front of his desk. He leans back until he is perched on the edge and he places one hand on the desk, the other still holding his wine glass. “We meet again.”
“What do you want?” Pete winces at the demand in his words, but he doesn’t apologize or take it back; if Vegas fetched him here, if he went through the trouble of tracking him down and summoning him here, there is clearly something he wants from Pete. And with the mafia, Pete is almost afraid to know what it is.
“I’m in the business of investments,” he says, examining Pete with a calculated look. “And I believe you can make me a lot of money.”
Pete doesn’t like the way he says this, like Pete is an object or a plaything, like Pete is a prize to be displayed. The Theerapanyakul’s are the richest family in Thailand, overseeing hotels and foreign car imports and have hands in almost every successful business out there, in addition to having huge influence on the prosperity of scouted talent. Vegas must truly believe he has a leg to stand on here, must truly believe that acquiring ownership of Pete is a worthwhile investment.
The only problem is Pete already belongs to another master.
“That’s an interesting thought,” Pete says, “but I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake.”
“I don’t make mistakes.” Vegas reaches around behind him on the desk for a folder and opens it, flipping through the newspaper clippings, photographs, and what appears to be hospital records. “Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham, twenty-five, mastery in numerous forms of martial arts, been boxing since you were twelve, professionally since you were seventeen. Two living relatives, one grandmother in the country and your biological father who lives in the city. No siblings, single, no record or history of any long term romantic partner apart from—”
“What do you want?” Pete snaps again, heat flushing to his cheeks.
“I want you,” Vegas says simply. “I’m in the business of investments and you, Pete, are an investment.”
Pete rocks back on his heels and bites his lip. Vegas must be serious if he put in the work to track Pete down like this, to dig up information as far back as his adolescent years. Vegas… is not only rich but his power and influence seems to be less pure and forthright than it seems. Pete has always heard whispers and rumors of Mafia but chalked it up to superstition and idle gossip… but with Vegas Theerapanyakul standing in front of him, deadly serious…
The only problem is Pete’s career belongs to his father. There is no way around this, no way to move past this main obstacle. “I can’t.”
“And why not?”
“My father—”
“Ah,” Vegas says, almost disappointed. “Yes, I was worried that might be an obstacle. “He has resisted every offer we’ve put on the table.”
“You—”
“Yes,” Vegas laughs softly, “I am the one trying to buy your fathers venue. I figured that would be the easiest way to get to you but your father… is proving difficult.”
“You could say that.” Pete clenches his fingers into fists at his side, willing his spike in temper to recede. It’s not Vegas’s fault that his father can’t see sense, not Vegas’s fault that his father is stubborn beyond belief. Except Vegas’s meddling has made the past few weeks an unbearable hell. His father has never responded well to pressure and the noose tightening around his own neck is only tightening around Pete’s neck.
“If you come work for me, I can offer you more money than you’ve ever dreamed of. I’ve recently acquired a venue in the heart of Bangkok and it’s come to my attention that the underground fight scene could use my influence. I want to sponsor a fighter for my venue and I want the best.”
“The best,” Pete says skeptically.
Vegas raises an eyebrow. “Are you not the best?”
Pete flushes, embarrassed by the direct attention and compliment. He doesn’t deny it. “But—”
“I would take twenty percent of all your winnings as a flat rate,” Vegas continues, as if he isn’t offering something that could change Pete’s entire world, shake the foundation he stands on. “Which, frankly, is insanely generous in this industry, but I’m willing to make compromises if it means acquiring you.”
Pete can’t argue with that — anything less than thirty-five percent seems unfounded… and then he remembers something. “What about external bets from outside the house?”
Vegas laughs, looking impressed. “You really are incredibly smart. I’ll take fifty percent, any of the offbook wagers and winnings.”
Pete bites his lip, mulling this over. This breakdown seems more reasonable; the bets from the house collect serious money but the bets outside of the house are significantly harder to track, which allows for higher winnings. “There’s still only one problem.”
“And what’s that?” Vegas flips the folder shut and sets it back on the desk, fixing Pete with such an intense look that Pete almost shivers. He stands his ground, though.
“I cannot work for you — ever — while I work for my father. If you can figure out how to solve that issue, if you can figure out how to sever my ties with him so completely he can never touch me, if you can financially and legally own my father and all of his business ventures, I will work for you. What you offer is interesting and I’ll be honest with you, as you have been with me: I’d like a chance to be free from his influence. But as long as I work for him I cannot work for you.”
“Is this a promise?” Vegas asks, low and dangerous. “Because I don’t like spending effort into winning something, only for my prize to turn around and change its mind.”
“That’s for you to find out.” Pete shrugs. “So my question is, how bad do you want me, Vegas Theerapanyakul?”
This winter: December 20th
“Well, we first met at a club,” Vegas says, looking at Pete before looking back at Pete’s grandmother. “He had just won one of his matches and was celebrating by himself. I was visiting because I owned the venue he was at, and he caught my attention immediately.”
“Oh,” his grandmother croons. “Love at first sight?”
“Something akin to it,” Vegas smiles, and he reaches out to brush a strand of Pete’s hair off his face. Pete almost smacks Vegas’s hand away but remembers the fact that he is supposed to be in love with Vegas. Vegas runs his forefinger down the slope of Pete’s nose and lips, before sliding his thumb across Pete’s bottom lip. Pete’s breath hitches and it takes every single ounce of self control not to react.
“See, Pete here was the center of everyone ’s attention. He was in the middle of the club dancing his heart out and I swear, all eyes were on him. I knew right then that I wanted to have him, wanted him to be mine.”
Pete nods, as if this story is as familiar to him as it can be, as if he was there with Vegas in that club. In a way, he was. It reminds him of one of the nights Vegas took him out to celebrate after one of his most successful wins… Vegas hadn’t taken his eyes off Pete the whole night. It was one of those nights when one drink turned into two into three, where the beat of the music matched the beat of their hearts, the heat between them growing as they danced together in a crowded room.
Pete had been wearing a mesh crop top and a delicate waist chain that night, thinking he might try his luck with someone to take home. The last time he had sex with anyone… well, nothing had been able to erase the memory of him on his knees, fingers around his throat as he submitted so completely.
The only problem is not a single person would approach him, not with Vegas at his side. Vegas, in his blood red silk, in his chains and rings, his cheekbones sharp enough to kill a man. Pete remembers turning around to Vegas, to give him a piece of his mind, to tell him to give Pete space at least, but Vegas merely leaned in and said in Pete’s ear, “ you’re mine, and they all know that.”
Vegas put his hands on Pete’s hips and drew him in close, the twist of their bodies against each other leading into something more, into an avenue Pete knew they couldn’t follow. The sexual tension between them is always present, brewing and burning under the surface, but Vegas has a rule about not messing with people that work for him — something he told Pete during one of their first meetings — and the fact that Pete is owned by Vegas in too many ways to stumble down this path.
It didn’t stop Pete from taking advantage of the moment though, letting Vegas put his hands on Pete’s bare skin under the flashing lights of the club, let him press their hips together, the hard bulge in his pants slotting against the curve of Pete’s ass.
“Just say the word baby,” Vegas breathed into Pete’s ear, “and I’ll take us out of here.”
Pete wanted nothing more than to give into it, to let Vegas take him back to his high rise apartment in the city, to let Vegas fuck him all night long, but he knows where they stand and he knows what will happen tomorrow morning.
“Anyway,” Vegas says, bringing Pete back to the present, and he realizes Vegas has been talking for some time now. “It took a little bit of persuasion and pursuit, but Pete finally agreed to go out with me. We’ve been together ever since.”
Vegas punctuates this with another brush of Pete’s hair off his face and a soft smile and Pete ignores the flutter in his stomach. The absolute last thing that can happen is for Pete to fall in love with Vegas. Fall even more in love.
“And now I can’t imagine my life without him,” Vegas finishes, turning back to Pete’s grandmother. She beams at them both.
“I’m so excited for both of you to be here,” she says. “I’m so glad you found Pete, and he found you.”
Dinner progresses normally after that, Pete sinking into the enjoyment and pleasure of his grandmother’s cooking once more. Vegas is infuriatingly right, that he skips meals when he’s stressed, but he has such a harmful relationship with food that when he’s stressed, or upset, or overwhelmed it’s often the first thing to go. He wishes his grandmother could feed him all the time but he knows that’s not exactly logistically possible, so he takes what he can get when he has a chance.
Every once in a while he feels Vegas’s gaze on him and the heat of it lingers long after Vegas looks away.
***
When the dishes are cleared and washed, dinner long since over, his grandmother leads them down the hall.
“Now, I had the second spare bedroom converted into storage a while back,” she says, sounding almost smug about the fact, “so the two of you will have to share the guest room.”
“Not a problem,” Vegas says with such sweetness Pete nearly scowls. “I don’t mind sharing with Pete.”
Pete does, in fact, mind sharing. He knows how small that room is, knows that it connects to a bathroom that he and Vegas will share. Knows that there is only one twin bed that apparently his grandmother expects him to share with Vegas.
He never planned on sharing a bed with Vegas.
Vegas either doesn’t understand the implications and ramifications of this or he simply doesn’t care; either way he seems completely unaffected. She leads them down to the room and smiles, placing her hands on Pete’s cheeks.
“I’ll leave you two to get settled in. I’m sure you both will want to freshen up, or even just go straight to bed!” She pauses before winking. “I’m all the way across the house as you know, so I really can’t hear anything . Don’t be shy on my account.”
“You hear that baby?” Vegas grins, obnoxiously smug. He reaches out to grab Pete’s waist before lowering his mouth to Pete’s ear. “We don’t have to be quiet… I know how loud you get sometimes.”
Pete really will kill Vegas before this trip is over, he is sure of it.
Fall: two years ago
Pete is going to kill Vegas.
“Is he in there?” He snarls at the guard stationed outside his office. It’s rare for him to be out here, on property when a fight or event isn’t scheduled, but he just got a text with the upcoming matches Vegas set up for him.
A whole lot of nothing.
“Khun Vegas is not to be disturbed,” one of the guards says, not even looking at Pete.
This is perhaps the most infuriating thing about Vegas — no, that’s a lie, there are many infuriating things about him but this just pisses him off the most — that his guards are almost never the same, and none of them ever recognize Pete.
Pete is technically half owner here, at least, it’s his name on the property deeds and his name on the bills. Vegas may financially own the business and building, but Pete still has a say in what happens here. Only with Vegas’s approval, but still.
“I’m going in.” Pete moves forward and the second guard holds out his hand.
“No, you aren’t.”
“Move,” Pete says quietly, holding himself back, trying his best to wrestle the fury back under control. “Or I will make you move.”
Pete is serious, too. He will make them move one way or another. There are a few of Vegas’s guards that Pete likes — Fuji and Blue — but the rest he could seriously do without.
The two guards exchange a glance but are spared the repercussions of their defiance when the door opens, revealing Vegas.
“Pete,” he says with a smile. “Come in.”
Pete doesn’t waste any time and gives Hester a nasty look. He shuts the door behind him with more force than necessary, turning back to face Vegas.
“What the fuck, Vegas?”
“You’ll have to be more specific,” Vegas says, leaning back on his desk. “What did I do this time to upset you?”
“I made it very clear I wanted you to set up a fight with the Cobra. This is the third week you’ve refused.”
Vegas crosses his arms. “And I’ve made it clear that setting up that match isn’t in your best interests.”
“How is it not in my best interest when I am asking you directly?” Pete takes a step forward, drawing closer to Vegas. “I want to get him in the ring with me.”
“You’re blinded by rage—”
“Of course I am,” Pete snarls, “and since you won’t let me do a single thing not in the ring—”
“If you go after him outside of these conditions, I can’t protect you.” Vegas tilts his head to the side and Pete can’t decide if he wants to brush the hair out of Vegas’s face or just hold him down and shave all of it off, just to make him less annoyingly hot.
“I don’t need your protection,” Pete spits. “I can take care of myself.”
“Clearly.”
The way Vegas says this is cutting, slicing through Pete’s exterior down to his sensitive underside. He is aware he isn’t always the most put together person but he had been doing just fine before Vegas came along. Well, mostly fine.
“It’s because you don’t think I’ll win,” Pete says slowly, trying to shove down the spike of humiliation. “It’s because you think I’ll fail, and you’ll lose money on me. Because that’s all I’m worth to you, isn’t that right?”
Vegas’s face is an impenetrable mask and he is silent long enough that it starts to worry Pete. “Is that what you think of me ?”
Pete hesitates. Yes? No? Not really? But the way Vegas asks… it feels like a trick question. Yes, Pete works for Vegas. Yes, Pete is well aware that Vegas is mafia, that there are many, many illegal things that Vegas has a hand in. Pete is well aware of all of the blood staining Vegas’s hands — not that Pete can complain, his hands are also stained — but Vegas is still an enigma to Pete. An infuriatingly beautiful enigma who gives Pete so much whiplash he wants to scream.
“Do you really think all I care about from you is money ?” Vegas says again, this time softer. Pete doesn’t want to lose his composure by looking at Vegas so he keeps his eyes on the ground. “After what I’ve done for you, do you truly believe that the only thing that matters to me is whether or not you’ll win in that ring?”
Pete feels ashamed and he doesn’t really know why. It’s not as if he owes Vegas anything. They have a business arrangement, nothing more. Vegas is… well. Vegas. And Pete is, well, Pete.
“Look at me.”
Pete looks up, his eyes landing on Vegas.
“I book you the fights that are best for you. I book you the fights that you will win — not because I only care about the money — but because I also care about you.”
Pete shifts backwards, transferring his weight from one foot to another, trying to shake off the rush of feelings that are rattling inside of his chest. They work together, they work together, they work together—
“You’re not ready to fight the Cobra,” Vegas says with finality. “I understand that you want to face off against him in the ring, but you need to trust me. There’s more going on here than you think.”
Pete nods, knowing that the discussion is over. For now, at least. Yes, he does have his issues with Vegas and how he runs things, but Vegas is right when he says that he cares about Pete. At least as far as the boxing goes. Vegas is in the practice of always getting what he wants after all, and what he wants is Pete’s success. He may have ulterior motives but they are at least — for the most part — in line with Pete’s.
Pete is almost to the door when Vegas calls out to him.
“Get some sleep, you’re looking a little exhausted lately.”