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Vegas enters the club carrying an atmosphere that has the people on the dance floor – wild and uncontrolled as they are – move out of the way for him. He walks with no regard to the dancing lights reflecting on his skin and spinning through the room like a rainbow on drugs, straight to the stairs that lead up to the club owner's office.
The Tiger club, as it's so eloquently called with an all too obvious implication of what the owner thinks himself to be, isn't one of the high end clubs Vegas would normally visit to tend to his image. It's just one random club on the darker side of their business. Or at least it was, until it got into the bad graces of a certain major family that has now blacklisted it. The message was clear – no more business to be done with them.
But as Vegas believes, the major family has decided that, not his own. The minor family has no intention of following that order. Which is why Vegas, eldest son of Gun Theerapanyakul, is now in a dingy little club that he would only visit under very few circumstances. One of those circumstances, as he is coming to discover today, is profit.
If the major family doesn't plan on profiting from this club, then the minor one will. A win for the minor family, he'll will soon get to say.
When he reaches the office door, he doesn't knock but strides right into the room. He sees no need to wait for some flimsy permission to enter – not when the boss will regret giving it the moment he recognizes Vegas anyways.
"HEY, who's enter–" a yell immediately explodes from a few feet into the office. Vegas doesn't spare the man – or walrus, more accurately – a single glance as he closes the door behind him idly. The stunned silence tells him enough.
Vegas turns to the owner of the club, Sud, with an amused smirk. "I'm sorry, what were you going to say?" Sud slides deeper into his chair. "No, please, do continue."
"Kh-Khun Vegas, I wasn't expecting a visit from the Th-Theerepanyakul family after what... happened." He laughs nervously, hand inching towards his desk drawer. A visit from the Theerpanyakuls' enforcer after being blacklisted means sure death, everyone knows that. Vegas understands that sentiment but it's not what he's here for and he has no plans of being shot at when he's trying to make money, to make his father proud. Quickly, he pulls out his own gun from its place in his belt and clicks the safety off. The club owner fliches back at the sound, hand dropping away from the drawer.
"I wouldn't try that again, if I were you."
The idiot, of course, starts rambling immediately. "Khun Vegas, please spare me! The major family has already blacklisted me, what more do you want? I-I can give you money, contacts, a-anything you want, really, I'll make it happen!"
Vegas rolls his eyes. "A-a-and you shouldn't kill me anyways b-because then it would be known that the Theerapanyakuls don't stand by their word and that would be bad for your reputation!"
Thoroughly annoyed now, Vegas interrupts him and his flimsy, pathetic arguments with a single look and a head tilt to accompany it. "Are you threatening me, Khun Sud?" The owner's eyes widen even more. "I'd think carefully about what you say next."
The club owner isn't breathing and Vegas isn't blinking. Vegas lets him dangle at the edge of a bottomless cliff some more.
Finally, he breaks their eye contact and twirls the gun in his hand. "I'm not here to kill you", he says with a bored voice, "Stop making a fool of yourself, will you?"
The pathetic man deflates in his chair entirely and swipes a hand over his sweaty brow. Vegas sneers down at him in disgust as he tucks his gun away. What a waste of oxygen.
"I am here to offer you a deal in the name of the minor family. You reroute the major family's share of your profits to my father, and only to my father, increased by five percent, and in turn, we will make sure you business doesn't get overrun by gangs trying to get in the good graces of the major family." The owner doesn't answer immediately, so Vegas continues. "Of course, you can say no. But that means nothing stands between bloodthirsty gangs and you. They might even receive a little... incentive... to motivate them."
Vegas smiles. The owner's hands have started shaking again and Vegas revels in the sight.
With the threat hanging over his head though, he nods frantically only seconds later. Smiling in satisfaction, Vegas uncrosses his arms.
"Good. I'll have someone come by –"
The door bursts open behind Vegas and a man stumbles into the room. Vegas' fingertips ghost over the handle of the gun but the man rushes right past him to the front of the wooden desk.
"Boss!", he pants in between laboured breaths. Before he's able collect enough air to continue, the boss who is still sitting in his spinning chair – that Vegas assumes is supposed to look impressive in its height but in reality just tells Vegas about all the rats that must be hidden in the corners and holes of the small office – interrups him.
"How dare you run in without knocking like this? Can't you see that I'm with an important business partner?!"
Partner my ass, Vegas scoffs internally. That man should know his place is still far beneath a partner of the minor family. It's especially rich considering the not-so-subtle threat Vegas arrived with. Clearly the message hasn't come across.
"I'm sorry, boss, it's an emergency!"
The club owner and poor excuse of a functioning boss thows a glance at Vegas and laughs nervously. Again. Vegas raises an eyebrow.
"Eh... I'm sure you can handle whatever it is."
Vegas watches the panting man (terrible stamina training, obviously) shake his head, apparently utterly oblivious to his surroundings and basic etiquette lik not making one's boss lose face in front of others.
"No, boss, you have to come see for yourself; I was just going out for my break where we usually are, you know, the little alley outside the back entrance–"
"Get to the point, idiot!"
"And the I saw Mok and Champ laying on the ground!" The boss sits up in his chair, agitated, and Vegas, too, straightens, hand once again inching towards the back of his pants.
"Well, go on!"
"Their throats were slit, boss!", the man finally exclaims. Vegas' face darkens. Someone is attacking the Sud's gang while Vegas is there and it isn't the minor family, he knows that for sure. Quietly slitting throats in back alleys is not their style; they go in guns blazing when they want to kill someone.
But the club owner doesn't know all of that, or isn't smart enough to make the connection, because he turnes to look at Vegas in accusation. The audacity.
"Khun Vegas... did you kill them?", he asks, far more daring than anyone with common sense should be. But Vegas reigns in his anger at the insolence. For now, at least – with the silent promise of violence later.
He sighs dramatically. "No, Khun Sud, that was not the minor family's doing. Why would I waste my time offering you a way out, if I was going to kill you anyway?" The boss looks around nervously, uncomfortable now that Vegas has countered him.
"Instead of accusing me", Vgeas continues, "you should be apologizing that you can't keep your club safe while I'm here; that's bad manners. Whoever is attacking you is putting me in danger, too." Vegas sneers at him coldly.
"I.. my apologies, Khun Vegas", the man backpedals. His eyes shine with fear. Good. "That was stupid of me to assume, please forgive me!"
Vegas makes a show of contemplating it, just to watch him shake a little. But as much he'd like to see the man begging and trembling with fear, he hasn't come here to kill. Not today at least.
"Well, Khun Sud, I came here to make a deal with you. Unfortunately, that deal means very little if your people are getting slaughtered. So I suggest you take me out there right now and I assess wether this deal is worth fighting for."
The owner jumps up, nodding eagerly "Yes, of couse, Khun, of course." He turns to the runner, who had so rudely interrupted them before and only seems to realise what kind of meeting he barged into now. "You! Lead us there right now." The runner nods fearfully, lowering his eyes as he walks past Vegas.
As they are led down a set of stairs and then along a hallway Vegas pulls out his gun, readying himself for whatever was waiting out there. Whoever it is, they intend to kill quietly and could be hiding behind any corner. It's an assassination job, Vegas deduces, which is not something a lot of gangs in their vicinity would go for. It would have to be someone with at least a little bit of power and Vegas has no intention of dying here tonight. He needs to figure out quickly who they're dealing with and he needs to make this deal work regardless of it. His father has given him this task.
The boss, meanwhile, is trying to make his walk look confident, like he's leading Vegas to a finished product, not a murder scene at his own club. Vegas keeps his gun up and eyes sharp, sweeping every centimeter of the dimly lit hallway carefully. When they reach the back door, Vegas stays a meter to the side of it, as does the owner. A gust of cool night air creeps into the hallway, gently carressing Vegas' forearms that are exposed by the rolled-back sleeves of his silk shirt. It makes his hackles rise up.
He gestures for the club owner to go ahead, unwilling to put himself in some kind of crossfire. Slowly, he follows, turning to the right. There, on the wet cobble stones, two men lay motionlessly. The ground shines with dark liquid – their blood – that has glazed over the stones.
The runner who found the victims approaches the other who is further away, just short of the corner of the building. He kneels down and pulls the dead guy's head up by his hair, revealing a gaping cut that's still trickling blood.
The club owner pulls a face like he's never seen a dead person before and turns to Vegas as if to apologize for the sight. Vegas stares back at him, unimpressed. Apparently, he really does need a reminder of Vegas' reputation.
The runner stands up, looking shaken, and opens his mouth: "This is how I fou–"
He never completes his sentence.
He stands there frozen as a quiet sliding sound breaks the silence of the dead. Then Vegas spots a metal tip sticking out of his forhead. It shines in the moonlight in red and silver. A drop leaves the metal and splashes onto the man's nose.
Vegas has his gun pointed at the upheld dead man in seconds when there's another slide and the body collapses with a thump to reveal someone standing behind him. It's a relatively small figure, knife still raised at eyes' height, cloaked in darkness.
The shadow figure lowers the knife as the club owner shakes in shock next to Vegas, who is standing perfectly still. Vegas recognizes leather and black locks. But it's only when he sees the shine of their eyes, he understands just who he's looking at.
Vegas lowers his gun a few inches. "Hello, cousin."
Kim Theerapanyakul looks back at him, eyes still shining with violence. "Vegas." A pause. "You're not supposed to be here."
Vegas doesn't let it throw him off balance, the truth behind those words. Instead, he answers confidently: "How would you know? Isn't it you who's supposed to be in a studio far away from clubs like this one, Kimhan?"
The man standing next to Vegas looks at him in surprise. "Ki... Kimhan? Kimhan Theerapanyakul?"
But Kim isn't finished with Vegas, who he looks at nonchalantly, like he couldn't care less. "I can do whatever I want. But our family isn't doing business with this gang anymore. There's no reason for you to be here."
Vegas bristles. "The major family isn't doing business here anymore."
"Which means the minor family isn't either."
Vegas laughs. "What, so you're going to report this to your dear dad now?" Kim looks at him unmovingly.
"Cute, how you think you've escaped, and yet you're here, meddling. Tell me, Kim, why would you be here in the first place, if it isn't at the beck and call of your father?"
Kim glares at him. "Rich, coming from you. Did daddy send you here to make a deal that'll get the minor family some personal profit? Thats what you're doing, isn't it?"
The club owner is watching their exchange with wide eyes flitting from one to the other. Vegas sees Kim's eyes jump to him for a split second and feels the movement next to him right away. He has his gun aimed and cocked before the man can make the first full step towards the open door.
"Don't move", Vegas tells him. He's not sure where this is getting at, but he won't have the man run to his crew while things aren't settled.
Vegas counters his cousin once more. "And you? Your father sent you as an assassin to finish them off? Daddy's little killing machine?"
Kim's mouth is set but Vegas can see the flare of his nostrils. Encouraged, he continues. "Didn't know you let him control you like that, doing his dirty work. Almost makes me wonder why you do it."
"Why do you?", Kim grits out, and Vegas smirk falls.
Their eyes meet as understanding passes through Vegas. So my brother won't have to, would be his answer, but he'd never admit it out loud. He tenses, contemplating what to do next.
"Let's make a deal", Vegas says eventually, lowering his gun, "I won't stand in your way and you won't rat me out to Kinn." He ignores the whimper beside him.
Kim scoffs lightly. "You wouldn't really stand in my way. Unless you want to die in a back alley of some dingy club, of course."
Vegas tilts his head. "Or I could kill you. Problem solved."
Something animalistic flashes through Kim's eyes and the grip on his knife tightens. "You'd lose."
Vegas shrugs. "Guess we could test that theory. Your decision."
They stare at each other, dead serious and caught in a stalemate. Vegas recognizes the mad glint in Kim's eyes – it's the look he sees in the reflection of the tools he uses to torture people. Never knew we were so similar.
"I won't tell my father about this", Kim finally speaks up, "if you help me now." Vegas raises an eyebrow in surprise. Kim responds by baring his teeth a tiny bit. "Wanna see how you'll do. You know, from a father's weapon to a father's weapon."
The club owner next to Vegas loses his struggle to stay still against the instinct to flee and dashes around the corner before Vegas can stop him. Kim's eyes stray from the door back to Vegas, who rolls his eyes. Now he really wants to hurt that coward. Always causing trouble.
Vegas smirks at Kim as he lowers his gun. "If that's all." How he's going to explain this to his father, he doesn't know yet, but he'll find a way.
Kim loses the brief smile in favor of a serious look again, one that looks more dangerous and determined than before. "One day, when the minor family makes their move – yes, we both know that's a when," he says to the little twitch of Vegas mouth, "when that day comes, you'll call me beforehand and tell me where I need to be."
Vegas' mind is racing, weighing the risks of such a concession. "It's that or I go to my father right now and then it'll never even come to coup."
"Shouldn't that be the preferable option for you anyways? Why would you risk a coup?", Vegas questions to buy himself more time. He's losing his leverage.
Kim doesn't answer, working his jaw like he's fighting with himself. Then he meets Vegas' eyes and Vegas sees the look he saw in the mirror for years when he was younger.
"Do you hate your father for the life he's created?"
Vegas hesitates for only a second. Then he breaks their eye contact and clicks the safety of his gun off. "Let's do this."
Kim nods at him and raises both his arms, each hand holding a long knife.
Because my father created a miserable life for my brothers. Because I can't go against him myself without hurting them. Because I need my father to die.
Vegas lets Kim's unspoken words sink in.
Because I'd risk a coup that could kill my father, too, to be free of him, was what Vegas used to see in his own eyes reflected in the mirror. Before he chose to be the perfect son so his brother would never have to.
Together, they walk through the door.
–
Kim has to admit to himself, entering the bustling ground floor with Vegas by his side is a new kind of power. Kim's closest friend on missions like these are the shadows of hidden corners and dark rooms – it's what his father wants from him; a quiet assassin to complete the job without garnering attention.
The minor family, in comparison to him, has clearly never heard of subtility. They're all about demonstrating power in open violence – but it's true what they say about new money in comparison to old money. It's never the bright flashes and big labels that define the upper-most layer of the upper class.
Analyzing the room quickly, Kim finds no guards watching over the happenings in the crowded room. They must have been called upstairs by their boss. As if that can protect him from the wrath of the Theerapanyakuls.
Kim exchanges a glance with Vegas, who nods to him, having come to the same conclusion. Vegas raises his gun towards the ceiling – a warning shot for the dancing people to get out.
"No," Kim interjects before Vegas can fire. "This is supposed to be a quiet job."
Vegas scoffs, letting his arm sink back down. Kim eyes him carefully for a moment before slipping away and leaving Vegas to stand there with a look of confusion and annoyance clouding his features.
Seamlessly, Kim weaves through the crowd towards the DJ's area and sneaks up behind him. He places one of his knives to the man's throat and tells him to turn up the music and to leave it turned up for the next fifteen minutes. Shaking, the DJ obeys, and before he can ever turn around and find out who's behind him, Kim has already disappeared back into the crowd.
Vegas only spots him when he's already at the foot of the stairs that Vegas himself walked up probably a mere twenty minutes or so ago. Kim raises an eyebrow in his direction as if to say, 'Coming?'
Half-boxing his way through the people, Vegas joins him on the stairs and nods towards the DJ. "So I can use my gun? How nice of you, cousin."
Wordlessly, Kim ascends the stairs with Vegas quickly catching up to him. They position themselves pressed to the wall, readying their weapons to turn around the corner. Kim raises his arms, a knife in each hand, as Vegas lifts his gun.
"I'll cover you," Vegas says, and Kim nods, raising three fingers off his right knife. Counting down, he closes each of the fingers back around the handle.
Middle finger, ring finger, pinkie.
Kim whips around the corner, ducking down and moving forward quickly. Six men stand armed in front of a door about fifteen meters down the hall. Kim has crossed a fifth of the distance before the men even notice him and begin to aim their guns.
But the first shot doesn't come from in front of him – instead, one of the men drops his gun as him arm is hit and brought off course. Rapidly, his colleagues fire at Kim and behind him, to where Vegas is making his way forward with measured steps and steady shots.
Kim zigzags down the open expanse of the hallway like a shadow come to life.
Ten meters.
Eight.
Five.
Another gunman is hit in the shoulder.
Two.
Kim launches himself at his first opponent and slices through their throat with his left knife, already landing on one knee as another one turnes their gun on him. Kim continues his motion and cuts into the man's wrist that's holding the gun as he drives his right arm upwards, burying his second knife in his chin. The man's eyes bulge for a millisecond before Kim rips his knife back out and gets up in one smooth motion, just as his latest victim crumples to the floor to join his partner. In front of him, another opponent flies backwards from the force of a bullet hitting their head and doesn't get up again after hitting the floor.
There Vegas is, slamming the handle of his gun down on an opponent's skull. Kim finishes the job by embedding one of his knifes right in the heart of the knocked-out man while Vegas turns his gun into the dircetion Kim has come from to fire another perfect head shot into their fifth opponent.
Briefly and almost eerily, silence falls upon the hallway as the last ear-tearing echo of the gunshot dissipates, and Kim gets up. In front of him lays the last survivor of the five men on the floor, clutching his injured arm with his uninjured one. It's the one Vegas hit right at the behinning, who hasn't moved a millimeter while his men were slaughtered around him. His gun lays next to him, abandoned.
Kim looms over the whimpering and writhing mess as Vegas crouches down next to him to look at the man. Vegas tiltes his head slowly, face unreadable and all the more frightening because of it. The two of them must be sight to behold – Kim with his blood-stained knives and cold, detachted eyes and Vegas with his gun resting lazily in one hand and that dangerous, calculating gaze trained on the crumpled heap of a human being on the floor.
Weakly, their victim tries to crawl away, but Kim places a foot right on the gunshot wound still weeping blood onto the floor. The man cries out in pain, and Vegas tsks at the noise. Gripping his gun more firmly, he places it against his head. Kim watches him pull the trigger without hesitation.
Worldlessly, the two of them step away to stand next to the door of the office. Inside, the main target will be awaiting his death by now, possibly with a last line of defence with him.
Kim works his jaw in slight frustration. If he had done the job alone as originally intended, the club owner would be none the wiser of what's coming. Less people would have had to be killed, and Kim wouldn't be standing in front of a door that most likely has people waiting behind it, ready to shoot the second it opens.
This is why he prefers to work by himself. Or well, he would prefer not to do anything of the sorts in the first place, but that's not an option.
Unaware of Kim's inner ranting, Vegas is changing the magazine of his gun. "I'll break the look. You push it open, and we'll let them shoot at nothing until they come out?", he suggests idly.
Weighing his options, Kim nods eventually, positioning himself on the side of the door without the handle. He bends his knees slightly and flexes his fingers on the handles of his knives.
On the other side next to the door, Vegas is mirroring him in position. He grips his gun tightly at the barrel before slamming it down on the door handle once, twice, thrice, until they hear and see the lock break. From inside the room, a distressed call of "They're coming in!" is released.
From his position, Kim carefully places the flat part of one knife against the wood of the door, just enough to be able to press but not enough for his hand to be visible. With one firm push, the door swings open. Immediately, fire is opened on them, bullets flying past them to hit the opposite wall. Small pieces of concrete split off and rain down as Kim and Vegas stay pressed to the wall, waiting for their moment.
The idiots inside fire for a full five seconds before the voice of the club owner calls out for them to stop. A second of silence settles over all of them before he demands: "Well?! What are you waiting for? Go outside and take care of it!"
Vegas and Kim lock eyes, silently communicating, before looking away and tensing their bodies like strings ready to snap. Kim knows from their firing a few seconds ago that three gun-carrying people will be coming at them. This is confirmed as three pairs of steps come closer slowly. They're scared, and quite obviously so – with good reason, considering they just heard six of their people being slaughtered right outside of the office. The clear panic in their boss' voice probably hasn't helped either.
Kim doesn't ever get to experience this feeling of power through the fear of his targets, since they're usually dead before they ever know what's happening. He never waits long enough for the other party to realize they're going to die, to bask in their desperation. Kim doesn't take a sadistic pleasure from it the way Vegas does every time he gets to inhale the scent of fear in the air and taste the power his hands hold over someone else's life.
This is a first for Kim and while he doesn't enjoy the violence he brings upon his father's enemies, it feels good to have a partner taking half the workload off his shoulders, bearing half the weight of killing. He likes how it feels to have someone cover his back and how they complete each other's tasks seamlessly. But at the same time, Kim hates that he feels this way about their situation because he can't trust Vegas not to use his position and shoot him in the back after all, and they aren't really partners in crime. After this, Kim will go back to his solitude, and Vegas will return back to his responsibilities.
They will both be go back into the clutches of their fathers. But for now, they spill more blood together.
When an opponent appears on his side of the door, Kim slams their gun-holding arm into the wall as it releases a salve of bullets that never find their target. He keeps it pinned there and sinks his knife into their throat, pulling it out just as quickly. A gurgling sound leaves his victim's throat as they fall. Vegas has already shot down one opponent and hits the second one in the head just as Kim steps over the body at his feet.
He catches Vegas' falling victim and holds them up in front of him, turning towards the open office where the owner is attempting to shoot at Kim with his own handgun. Kim pushes forward until he's right in front of the desk behind which his last opponent and original target is standing. He throws his human shield aside and slices at the hand holding the gun in one motion. The gun clatters onto the desk, and the club owner clutches his injured hand.
Undeterred, Kim launches himself over the desk, kicking the man backwards into his chair. Within less than a second, Kim is holding one of his knives to the his throat.
From the corner of his eye, Kim can see that Vegas has moved into the room as well. He turns his head slightly to exchange a glance with Vegas – though if you asked him, he wouldn't be able to explain why he does it. Vegas answers his unspoken question with a nonchalant shrug, crossing his arms and watching as Kim turns his attention back to the now whimpering man to cut through his jugular vein in one clean slice. He observes the blood cascade down the man's shoulder for a short second before quickly wiping both of his bloody knives on a clean patch of his victim's clothing and walking around the desk.
Vegas is still regarding the dying man while Kim now watches him, waiting. Finally, Vegas turns to look a Kim as well and then they stand there, staring at each other in silence, trying to read the other's expression, trying to figure out what to say, because honestly, the minor and major family never work together like they have and neither of them know how to act now that the job is done.
Eventually, Vegas clears his throat and asks: "Any injuries?"
Kim shakes his head. After a moment: "You?"
"No."
Silence.
Kim stares at the floor intently. Vegas looks around at the mess they've made.
Suddenly, he laughs a little, and Kim snaps his head up, expecting some sort of betrayal. Instead, Vegas meets his eyes with a mildly insane glint in his own and states: "We worked well together, didn't we?" He gestures vaguely at their surroundings.
Kim stares at him silently. Vegas smile brightens. "This was fun to do together, admit it."
Kim rolls his eyes, scoffing in slight amusement. He turns and begins walking away. As he steps over the bodies at the entrance of the office, he hears Vegas call after him: "Will I be seeing you at next month's family meeting ?"
Kim half-turns to look at his cousin, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Do you ever?", he retorts and leaves without another word, Vegas' chuckle echoing behind him.