“Every adventure requires a first step.”

Exhaustion is hitting Vegas hard. He’s been to hell and back in the last 12 hours; rebirth is taxing. Strangely enough, Pete shows no signs of tiredness. Without being asked, he showers Vegas off with the water hose, meticulously washing all traces of blood, earth and sex from his skin and hair.

Vegas just stands there, eyes closed, relishing in the feeling of being taken care of. “Aren’t you tired at all?” he mumbles, stifling a yawn.

“I’m running on adrenaline, that will keep me going for a while.”

Pete even thought of bringing along towels. He dries Vegas off. All of this feels so damn nice that Vegas doesn’t want this moment to end. “I’ll do the cleanup,” he offers.

Handing Vegas a change of fresh clothes, Pete stuffs their old clothes into a black plastic sack. “You’ve done enough, I’ll deal with the rest. Go take a nap in the car, Vegas. You must be really tired.”

“Thank you,” Vegas says quietly because he really doesn’t want to go back into the warehouse. That chapter of his life is closed and over. “Oh, and Pete? I don’t know what you usually do with remains that need to disappear, but he needs to be properly cremated.”

A huff of irritation shows clearly what Pete thinks about this. “You’ve got to be kidding me… Why bother with it? We can just drop the pieces all over the countryside on our way back to the city.”

Vegas is slightly surprised that the suggestion doesn’t upset him as much as it probably should. “A real cremation,” he insists, nevertheless. “He might have been a horrible person, but he was a Theerapanyakul after all, with all that it entails. I need the ashes, and I need a proper urn. Can you get this done?”

Pete snorts softly. He obviously isn’t pleased with the decision. “Of course I can. This won’t be the first time I need to dispose of a body this way. Just leave it to me, I have connections. I will get it done. Now go take a nap.”

“Thank you,” Vegas mumbles, vaguely intrigued. One of these days he needs to ask Pete a lot of questions about everything, just not today. Pete is right, he’s damn tired. It has been a long and eventful 12 hours. He needs to crash. “Are you sure you won’t need my help with anything?”

“I’m pretty sure I have more experience with this than you do, Vegas,” Pete reminds him with a soft smile, and gives him a quick kiss. “Go sleep. I don’t think this should take very long. I promise to wake you up if I need assistance.”

And since there is nothing else to add, Vegas takes Pete’s advice, crawls into the backseat of the car, and curls up there. Within minutes he is asleep. There are no dreams, just blissful silence.

When Pete wakes him with a kiss, the warehouse is on fire. “Rise and shine, Vegas. We need to get going.”

Vegas yawns and smiles tiredly, climbing out of the car. How much time has passed? A glance at his watch; it’s been roughly 2 hours. He could use some more sleep, but Pete is right, they should probably leave before people come to check what is burning. The flames are licking at the roof structure, it’s almost hypnotic to watch. Yes, they really need to leave.

Vegas casts a glance at Pete, who looks surprisingly tidy after his cleanup operation, and questioningly arches an eyebrow. “Did you wear a coverall?”

“Of course.” Pete motions to the car. “Come on, let’s go.”

Vegas’ gaze drifts over the car, coming to rest on the trunk. Then the corners of his lips start twitching and he can’t hold back a chuckle.

Pete obviously finds this sudden change of mood alarming. “Vegas…? You’re not about to have another meltdown, are you?”

If only he could stop it! But Vegas can’t hold back the laughter bubbling up in him. With a few steps he’s by Pete’s side, grabbing his shirt and yanking him in for a quick, hard kiss that surprises both of them. Sparks, wonderful sparks, almost as fiery as the glowing sparks the wind is blowing off the burning roof. Vegas wants to keep going, but now is not the time, and besides, he has to break the kiss because he still can’t hold back his chuckles. Burying his face against Pete’s neck, he inhales deeply, trying to get himself back under control, to stop his shoulders from shaking with barely suppressed laughter.

Pete hugs him awkwardly, and Vegas can feel the nervous tension in him. “I’m okay…” he manages to chuckle. “I’m okay, I swear… just give me a moment.”

“Your timing sucks, Vegas,” Pete points out with a stoic sigh. “What on earth set you off now?”

Just thinking about it induces more hilarity. “I… it just occurred to me… who would have thought that one day I’d be taking a trip to the countryside… with my serial killer boyfriend… and my dad chopped up in plastic sacks in the trunk… I’m sorry… I just find it hilarious how my life has turned out to be…”

“Vegas…” Pete’s alarm is getting more pronounced. He obviously has no clue how to interpret Vegas’ unexpected mood swings.

“You like my new wings, Pete?” Vegas whispers against the skin of Pete’s throat. “Am I good enough for you now?”

“Oh, bloody hell… you’re the most beautiful butterfly I have ever seen.” Pete tightens the hug, and being held so tightly is just what Vegas needs right now. It grounds him.

“You’re perfect, you hear me?” Pete mumbles softly. “We’re perfect together. Soulmates forever. Now could you please get the fuck into the car before we also end up as cellmates on death row?”

Vegas chortles and reluctantly disentangles himself from Pete. “All right, let’s get out of here then.”

He casts a last look at the fiery inferno and the dark smoke rising up into the sky, and finally gets into the car. He’s so done with this place. Vegas doesn’t look back even once as they drive away.

----------------------------------------

It is a long drive back to Bangkok. At first they’re silent, each of them lost in thoughts. Vegas is still tired, but at the same time wide awake. Absently, he rubs the golden ring on his finger, staring out of the window, watching the landscape rush past them.

“I don’t have to go through with it, you know?” he remarks eventually. “Taking over the family business just seemed the logical next step to me. But there is still time. Instead we could just head home, pack up everything and then move abroad and start a new life there. What I’m trying to say is that I should probably have asked you about your opinion before making such a momentous decision about our future all by myself.”

Pete shrugs, keeping his gaze focused on the road ahead. “Well, thank you for being so considerate, but I think we both know that you wouldn’t be able to leave everything behind, not even to please me. You have your family here, and your friends. Who am I to stop you if you want to dive head first into the mess that is your family business? In all honesty, I even think it could potentially get very interesting. I’ve never before been involved with organised crime. You know how I love a good challenge.”

“It might get really bloody, Sunshine,” Vegas warns him. “If I do this… and if you decide to stay by my side… then we’re in it till the bitter end. This isn’t something we can just walk away from if it gets difficult, or if you get bored. Are you really up to this? Because I don’t think I can do it on my own.”

“Superglue, Vegas. Where you go, I go. Do you want me to swear fealty to you and kiss the ring?” Pete grins and gives Vegas a quick glance, wiggling his eyebrows. “I can do that. I think that could be pretty hot.”

Oh, yes, Vegas has to agree, this has potential. “I’ll get back to you about that.” Damn, and now he can’t get that mental image out of his head. Pete kneeling before him, kissing the damn ring… but he doesn’t have time to be distracted. “Uh… anyway… what day is it even? I kind of lost track.”

“It’s Friday. Why do you ask?”

“Friday…” Has his father been following the old schedule? Most likely. “Okay, that means we have three days.”

When Pete looks confused, Vegas explains. “Mondays at 10am are the weekly business meetings with the subordinates. No one is going to miss my father until then; he has the tendency to disappear now and then to spend time with his various mistresses. So him being out of touch for a few days will not cause any alarm. But he always shows up at those meetings. Always.”

“Are you planning to go to that meeting?” Instead of being alarmed, Pete sounds delighted.

“I need to be there and take over the reins, yes. Don’t look so excited; we have a lot of work to do this weekend. I can’t just show up at that meeting, wave the ring and expect everyone to fall in line. It’s not going to be that easy.” In fact, the more he thinks about it, the more daunting this whole operation seems. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I need you for this, Pete. Do you really want to come and work with me?”

Pete has to concentrate on the traffic, so he can only look at Vegas now and then, but he’s happily drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “I’m at your command, my liege. How can I help you?”

Vegas rolls his eyes. This is such a Pete thing to say.

“A couple of things come to my mind, but here are the most important ones: we need to snatch my dad’s old accountant, Uncle Mek. He used to do the whole unofficial bookkeeping for our family, but he has a heart condition and had to semi-retire three years ago. My father is… was… really suspicious of the new accountant, and Macau told me that he still has Uncle Mek double-checking the accounts once in a while. Which means Mek has access to the bookkeeping files that are stored online in the Cloud somewhere.”

Vegas opens the window slightly to get more oxygen and a bit of a breeze going in the hot car. “I need access to those books to see where all the family money is parked, and to get a feeling of the whole scale of the business operation we’re running. So we need to get our hands on Uncle Mek without alerting anyone, and we need to do this today. It can’t wait.”

“I work amazingly well under pressure.” Oh yes, Pete really appears to find all of this very exciting; Vegas isn’t sure if he should be delighted or alarmed.

“If possible,” Pete goes on, “I would like to have a short nap at some point—a couple of hours would be great—and then I’m good to go. I’ll bring him to you in no time. What else do you need?”

Vegas ponders the question for a moment. “Once I have a list of the various bank accounts, I need you to help me check who has access to them. And then we need to make sure to lock the Main family out of the accounts just before the meeting takes place.”

“They’re not going to be happy about that,” Pete points out, but Vegas shrugs.

“Can’t be helped. I need time to go over all accounts without their interference. And the best way to keep them playing nice is holding their finances hostage, at least temporarily.” This is going to be a pain in the ass. Vegas hates accounting.

“Your uncle is going to be pissed.”

“My uncle can go fuck himself.” There is a hint of steel in Vegas’ voice. “Which reminds me, I need temporary guards. No amateurs, I want professionals who have no qualms about killing if they need to. Money is not a problem, I will pay them well. Is that something you can also help with?”

“My, oh my, Vegas… spoken like a true King. You’re starting to impress me.” Pete gives him a quick grin. “I think I know where to look for people like this. I can make a few phone calls once we’re home. How many were you thinking about?”

“Enough to effectively lock down the Minor family compound. In short, a small army would be appreciated.” The more, the better. Vegas has a feeling he will need them to keep his uncle in check.

“What else?”

“You need to do a lot of hacking. I need background information about all the subordinates. I can’t let anyone on Uncle Korn’s payroll stay alive. And I need to find suitable replacements, and we need to discreetly dispose of all the bodies without catching the attention of the police.” The longer he thinks about it, the more details that need to be handled come to Vegas’ attention. So much to do, so little time.

“Aren’t you lucky, I’ve got nothing planned this weekend,” Pete informs him cheerfully. “So I’m fully at your disposal.”

“Do you have to be so damn excited about it?” Vegas frowns. “I fear you’re not taking this seriously enough. If we do this the wrong way, we could die.”

“The story of my life…” Pete is really totally unconcerned. “Tell me something new… or maybe, don’t. You’re just going to overthink everything. One thing at a time, all right? How about you start telling me about those subordinates you mentioned?”

As far as distractions go, this is a good one. Vegas leans back into his seat, closes his eyes and starts explaining the complicated structure of the Theerapanyakul family business to Pete.

----------------------------------------

It’s early afternoon when they arrive at the outskirts of the city. Pete is starting to look tired. Vegas would offer to do the driving, but he has no idea where they’re going. It seems they’re staying on the outskirts of Bangkok, weaving their way through a maze of streets in the suburbs and past sprawling industrial areas. Eventually Pete pulls up beside a fenced-in, nondescript building adjacent to a temple complex. Oh, of course. A crematory. What a perfect solution. Pete tells Vegas to wait, and then disappears through a side-door into the property, only to return shortly afterwards, just in time for the automated metallic gates currently blocking their car to open, allowing them entry.

They drive into the compound and around another set of buildings until Pete parks the car close to a set of large, metal double doors. A frail, bespectacled man is waiting for them there. Intrigued, Vegas exits the car and watches Pete have a hushed conversation with the man. Money is exchanged, and then the doors open; a stainless steel cart is already parked there, waiting for them.

Pete collects the cart and opens the trunk of their car. He casts Vegas a hesitant look, but before he can say anything, Vegas is already by his side. “I’ll help,” he offers grimly.

“You don’t have to, you can wait in the car,” Pete tries to convince him, but Vegas simply ignores it, grits his teeth and starts hauling the black plastic sacks from the trunk and onto the cart.

There are many. And they’re heavy. He’s trying not to think about what’s inside these plastic sacks, but the simple act of handling them, feeling the spongy wetness and harder chunks underneath the thick layer of plastic, makes his stomach roil. Not going there.

Pete sighs deeply. Working together they soon have the cart fully loaded. Vegas notes that everything is at least double-bagged. Maybe even triple-bagged. They wouldn’t want any leaks after all. Not going there, moving on. Following the elderly man into the building, Vegas and Pete silently push the cart. Its wheels squeak, the sound echoing eerily through the concrete hallway.

Soon they enter a large hall. This area is almost warehouse size, big enough to hold the enormous machines it houses. It’s unexpectedly loud in here; there’s a constant, dull, rumbling roar, and the hiss of industrial fans. The man leads them to the far side of the hall, past a long row of towering blocks of metal, all painted in neutral grey, each of them with large shiny steel doors at about waist height.

It’s an eerie place, Vegas isn’t quite sure what he’s feeling. Pete looks totally unconcerned, but then again, this is probably not his first time here. Bloody hell, how bizarre. Vegas has a bit of a problem processing everything right now, but then they’ve already arrived at their destination. The elderly man presses a couple of buttons on a control board, and the steel door opens automatically with a soft hiss, releasing a wave of heat.

Well, wow… Vegas isn’t quite sure what he expected. To be honest he’s a bit disappointed. There’s just this long concrete chamber, all darkish grey with a bit of black soot. Out of the ceiling of the cremation chamber, a stream of pale purple-blue flames blasts downward with a low hum.

Without hesitation, Pete grabs the first plastic sack and tosses it deep into the furnace. All right then. Vegas takes a deep, steadying breath and follows suit.

As soon as the cart is empty, the man presses a few more buttons, and a second burst of flames roars to life. “Any last words?” he asks dryly.

Vegas looks at the plastic bags already melting in the heat, crumbling and igniting with a crackle. What is there to say? He thought he would feel the need to perhaps pray, or say something deep and meaningful, but his mind is empty. There’s nothing left. He has truly closed this chapter of his life.

“Rot in hell,” he mutters, and then nods at the man, who wisely chooses not to comment but just presses even more buttons. The roar of the flames intensifies as the steel door closes automatically.

“Seventy minutes,” is the last thing the old man says before shuffling away again.

Vegas stares blankly at the furnace that is now reducing his father’s remains to ashes and feels—nothing? Well, that’s not true. ‘Good riddance’ comes to mind.

“Vegas?” Pete asks tentatively from somewhere behind him.

Oh. Pete. He forgot about Pete for a moment.

“Are you all right?”

Slowly, Vegas turns around and as soon as he sees Pete’s concerned face, his heart does a happy little skip. “Don’t worry, Sunshine. This is Vegas 2.0, I’m not going to have a meltdown, if that’s why you are fretting.”

It’s adorable how anxious Pete looks.

“How much time did he say this is going to take?” Vegas asks.

Judging from the skeptical expression on Pete’s face, he’s not entirely convinced that Vegas isn’t about to have a breakdown. “Seventy minutes. Then another thirty minutes to collect the remains, grind them to powder and put them into an urn.”

“Seventy minutes, huh…?”

The dull roar of the furnace behind him, Vegas strolls casually towards Pete, who watches him warily at first, and then swallows hard, seeing the slow smile spreading on Vegas’ face. Pete takes a step backward, and Vegas’ smile deepens.

“Where do you think you’re going, Sunshine?”

“Stop looking at me as if you want to eat me alive.” Taking another step backwards, Pete frowns at Vegas. “This is neither the time nor the place. You’re behaving irrationally.”

That statement only causes Vegas to grin wickedly. “Sunshine…?”

“Yeah?” Pete eyes him cautiously. He seems a bit confused, unsure how to react.

“Shut up,” Vegas tells him softly, inching closer. “I don’t want to think about dead people. I want to celebrate being alive.” He reaches out and tugs lightly at Pete’s shirt, reeling the other man in like a fish on a line. “We have seventy minutes, Pete. Are you really going to refuse?”

“Uhm…” Pete blinks as he is reluctantly pulled towards Vegas. “I don’t think you’re in the right frame of mind right now, Vegas. This isn’t like you at all. Normally you would freak out by now. The more I think about it, the more I believe you have to be in a state of delayed shock after all that has happened recently.”

He looks Vegas over, and there’s something in the depth of his eyes that snuffs out all the thoughts about kissing that Vegas has entertained up to this moment.

“But that’s fine,” Pete adds. “I can fix that, I can fix you.”

Vegas goes still upon hearing that. Oh no, not again. He’s so done with ‘getting fixed’ by this madman. Pete once again has that determined expression on his face, an expression that Vegas has come to dread. But instead of fear, this reborn version of Vegas only feels irritation.

“I don’t need fixing. I’m perfectly fine. Stop trying to counsel me. May I remind you that you’re not an actual therapist?”

But Pete doesn’t appear to listen. He simply brushes Vegas’ objections aside. “I’m pretty sure all of this must have been immensely traumatic for you. You being so calm about everything is not natural at all. Leave it to me, I’ll help you reconnect with your feelings…”

“You’re starting to piss me off, Sunshine,” Vegas warns him quietly. “I’m very much in touch with my feelings, and let me tell you, right now I am feeling increasingly irritated. Are you actually paying attention to what I am saying, Pete? All I wanted was a kiss, and you are blowing everything out of proportion. What the heck?!”

Yes, Vegas is so done with all this pseudo therapy bullshit. It’s so fucking infuriating that Pete continues to treat him as if he’s got no say in the matter.

“Don’t use that tone of voice with me, Vegas,” Pete admonishes him automatically. He has slapped the therapist mask into place, and it is pissing Vegas off.

“Then stop telling me what to do and how to feel,” Vegas growls, his fingers digging into the fabric of Pete’s shirt.

“I think you need a timeout, Vegas,” Pete informs him cooly. “Why don’t you go back to the car, rest and let me handle everything? I can make all the arrangements for Monday while you take it easy and focus on coming to terms with killing your father.”

What the hell?! Vegas is astonished by the bullshit Pete is sprouting. He’s being treated like a rebellious child. The nerve! And then he suddenly has another epiphany. If he doesn’t put a stop to this right now, Pete will continue to walk all over him, and do whatever he pleases to Vegas, all in the name of love. No, this has to stop.

“On your knees.” His voice is soft but there is a hard edge to it all of a sudden.

Pete’s eyes widen in stunned surprise. He didn’t expect Vegas to put up any sort of resistance. “Huh?”

Vegas leans in; they’re so close that Vegas could count Pete’s eyelashes if he wanted to.

“On. Your. Knees,” he repeats sharply, his tone of voice making it very clear that he isn’t joking. “It has just occurred to me that we need to decide once and for all who is in charge in this relationship. If you think you can continue to steamroll, control and manipulate me as you have done before, think again. Those days are over. Now get down on your fucking knees, Pete.”

Pete inhales sharply, and his eyes go very dark as his pupils dilate. Oh look, his little feral psychopath doesn’t like being ordered around? Cute. His reaction only makes Vegas even more determined to assert himself, especially when Pete stubbornly shakes his head while glowering at Vegas.

“Bend the knee, Sunshine,” Vegas once more orders him icily, the low roar of the cremation furnaces providing a chilling backdrop to the showdown. “You forced me to be reborn, now deal with the consequences. There can only be one king here, and that’s me. I’ve got the ring to prove it.”

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me… Who do you think you are, ordering me around like this? Go to hell.” Defiantly, Pete raises his chin, his hands tightening into fists. He is brimming with barely contained hostility and it’s delicious to see. It sends a spike of excitement through Vegas that makes him shiver in anticipation. Oh, what a turn on.

Perhaps Pete is right; perhaps Vegas’ reaction in the aftermath of his father’s death isn’t natural, but to be honest, it’s such a relief not to feel conflicted for once. His mind is calm, no ripples, not fluttering butterfly thoughts. It’s wonderful. He’s finally in charge of himself and his own destiny, and this little ray of death better be falling in line and submitting.

Smirking, Vegas leans sideways to be able to whisper into Pete’s ear. “Come on, get down on your knees, Sunshine, you know you want to. Just acknowledge that I am in charge here, and I’ll make it worth your while.”

Those lovely electric tingles are back, they are so close, and damn, Pete smells so good, Vegas simply cannot help himself, he nips at Pete’s earlobe.

A shocked little hiss escapes Pete’s mouth, and Vegas bites down again, this time harder. That seems to have the desired effect. Pete gasps and a moment later he is kneeling on the dirty concrete floor before Vegas, looking up at him in a daze.

Pleased with himself, Vegas bends forward, running a knuckle down Pete’s flushed cheek. “Such a good boy,” he croons with a dark smile, then ruffles Pete’s hair roughly. “You know what you have to do now, right?”

Another spark of rebellion flares up in Pete’s eyes. “I don’t want to…” he mumbles resentfully, biting his lower lip in an altogether delightful way, while glaring up at Vegas.

But in this battle of wills, Vegas is determined to win. He simply arches an eyebrow while staring down at Pete. A hard tug on Pete’s hair to remind him that Vegas is dead serious.

And Pete caves. His shoulders slump down, he takes hold of Vegas’ left hand and slowly lifts it. The golden family ring on Vegas’ index finger shimmers warmly in the cold neon light. Pete brings the hand to his mouth, kissing the ring. Vegas can feel Pete’s lips brushing against his fingers, his warm breath feathering over Vegas’ skin. It’s immensely satisfactory.

Pete bows his forehead against the ring. “Long live the King,” he mumbles softly.

Vegas smiles fondly. “That’s right, Sunshine. And just to make it perfectly clear, who is the Boss?”

“You are,” Pete admits reluctantly, then kisses the ring again, his lips lingering on the metal for much longer than necessary. Vegas feels a flick of tongue against his skin; what a cheeky bastard.

Damn, he’s so in love. Bemused, Vegas once again digs his fingers into Pete’s hair and hauls his little psychopath back to his feet. The pain from that is very much appreciated it seems; Pete shivers with pleasure and goes cross-eyed for a moment.

“See that wasn’t so difficult, was it?” Keeping a firm grip on Pete’s hair, Vegas walks to the wall directly opposite of the furnace currently reducing his father’s remains to ashes, dragging Pete along with him.

They end up on the floor, Vegas sitting against the wall with Pete straddling and kissing him feverishly. Vegas can feel Pete’s running on fumes, so he does his best to slow things down again.

“Not now…” he mumbles against Pete’s lips. “We’ve got a little bit over an hour. I want you to rest. Come on, lean your head on my shoulder, I’ll hold you.”

Pete huffs in protest, but has no energy to argue. Vegas is right, he’s been awake for ages and by now even the adrenaline isn’t enough to keep him going anymore. Reluctantly, he stops his attempts to seduce Vegas and snuggles into his arms instead.

“You’re not playing fair, Vegas,” he complains tiredly, his eyes fluttering shut as he nuzzles his face against Vegas’ neck.

“Fairness is overrated.” Fondly, Vegas kisses the top of his head. “Rest. We have so much to do until Monday. I need you sharp and alert.”

“Mmmm…” Pete sighs, all the tension draining out of him. Soon he’s limp and heavy in Vegas’ arms. “… I love you…” he mumbles under his breath before falling silent.

The feeling is mutual, Vegas thinks. And for the next hour he just sits there, holding his dozing boyfriend in his arms while staring blindly at the row of furnaces before him, lost in thoughts. So much to do. So little time. Can they pull it off?

----------------------------------------

On the way home they pick up something to eat. They are both famished. The urn holding the ashes of his father stays in the car; Vegas refuses to have that thing in his apartment. They eat while Pete does a quick search on the internet and then starts calling people. Vegas can’t help being impressed; so much criminal energy is quite remarkable. No wonder they never got anywhere with their investigation into his kills. Pete is just too damn thorough.

After a bit of negotiation, Vegas has his temporary army. They’ll be arriving within the next 24 hours, fully equipped. Sweet. Part of him still can’t believe that he is actually about to stage this palace revolt. He’s a cop after all, and now he wants to be a mob boss too? And not only is he doing a hostile takeover, he’s going up against his own family. Temporary insanity is the only explanation for this mad idea.

Both he and Pete are dead tired, and so they retire to the bedroom. They curl up, arms and legs intertwined, neither of them willing to be parted from the other even in sleep. Six hours should do the trick, they decide. As soon as the lights are out, both of them more or less pass out immediately.

----------------------------------------

Night has fallen, they have moved to a new temporary headquarter, and all Vegas can make out as he gazes out of the large window of Pete’s house are dark shapes and shadows, and the moonlight reflecting on the glass panes of the greenhouse further away in the garden. It is strange really, even reborn Vegas has a bone-deep aversion to this place, just looking at the location he was shot at makes his skin crawl. He doesn’t want to be here, but this property was the logical place to come to, the only safe place to stash away Uncle Mek for the time being.

Lost in thoughts, he’s unaware he has company until Pete leans his forehead against his back, right between Vegas’ shoulder blades. “Tell me how to fix it,” he asks Vegas quietly, with so much insecurity in his voice that Vegas has to sigh.

“I don’t know how to fix it, Vegas. Tell me what to do?”

“What is done, is done.” Staring at the greenhouse, Vegas absently rubs the left side of his chest where he can feel the scar tissue underneath his shirt. “I’m not going to forgive you for shooting me, but I’m not constantly going to hold it against you either. You’ll have to live with the fact that you fucked up big time, and there’s nothing you can do to change it.”

“I hate this. Seeing you upset and not being able to do anything about it makes me antsy,” Pete mumbles against his back. “I don’t like feeling like this… I don’t understand myself.”

“Maybe you should see a therapist about that then.”

No, Vegas has no comfort to give, not when it comes to the shooting. But since he can hear Pete sigh dejectedly, Vegas grudgingly offers him an olive branch. “You could get rid of the flowers. That would please me.”

He never wants to see those flowers again. He wants to burn down this greenhouse, erase it from the face of the earth. Vegas’ scars ache with an irritating phantom pain. He abruptly changes the topic. “How is Mek doing?”

The tension immediately drains out of Pete. He’s back on familiar territory. “Well, he’s not happy. I locked him up in the spare bedroom for the time being. You should probably go see him, he is quite agitated.”

Vegas sighs. Pete is frighteningly efficient; it only took him two hours to snatch Uncle Mek and bring him here to their temporary headquarters.

The house still smells of dust and stale air. Vegas would like to open the windows, but he’s afraid to catch even the slightest whiff of the greenhouse flowers. Talk about trauma. When all this is over, he will definitely book more counselling sessions for himself.

“Let’s get this over with then.”

With Pete in tow, Vegas heads to the guest room. A deep, steadying breath, then he unlocks the door and enters. Their captive must have been pacing; when Vegas enters he stops and glares. His eyes widen in confusion as recognition hits. “Vegas?”

Uncle Mek looks older and has put on some weight, but he is still very much the man who used to bounce little Vegas on his knees whenever his father wasn’t around. Vegas has fond memories of this man, and abducting him doesn’t sit well, but it couldn’t be helped. Before he can say anything, Pete clicks his tongue and corrects the accountant gently. “That’s ‘Khun Vegas’ for you.”

He’s right of course, it’s best to set the record straight at once to avoid any misunderstandings.

“Uncle Mek.” Vegas bow his head respectfully. “Please accept my apologies for this enforced late night meeting.”

Uncle Mek casts a quick look at Pete and then turns back to Vegas, trying to figure out what is going on. “Vegas…” And then he corrects himself quickly, “Khun Vegas… couldn’t you have called instead? Why did you have this man kidnap me from my home in the middle of the night? Was this really necessary? I would have expected better of you.”

“I suppose you don’t know me as well as you thought,” Vegas mumbles with a sigh. “I’m sorry, but this can’t wait. I’m on a tight schedule. I would appreciate your cooperation and will in turn make sure you have a comfortable stay.”

Mek narrows his eyes. He is clever old man, he can sense that something is up. “Why did you bring me here? Is your father aware of this?”

“There has been a change in management,” Vegas tells him calmly. He lifts his left hand to show off the family ring glittering in the light.

The accountant’s eyes widen with shock, and his face turns almost grey. Vegas nods at Pete, who quietly helps the older man sit down on one of the chairs and hands him a glass of water.

“What happened?” The glass shakes in the bookkeeper’s trembling hand. “Did Khun Korn force Khun Gun to retire?”

“Not exactly; the truth is that I got tired of my father,” Vegas informs him coolly. “From now on, I’m in charge of the family business, and I need you to help me sort out the accounts before the weekly meeting on Monday.”

The old accountant is so stunned he blinks repeatedly, he cannot make sense of it all. “You? In charge? You weren’t supposed to take over. Macau is the designated heir. Did you overthrow your father with the help of Khun Korn?”

“The King is dead, long live the King.” Vegas shrugs, he is growing tired of explaining himself. “I don’t give a fuck about my father grooming Macau to take over, and I don’t give a fuck about Uncle Korn and the Main family either. Now I know this must come as a shock to you, but my father is dead, and like it or not, I’m in charge now.” Vegas casts a quick look at Pete. “Did you bring his laptop?”

When Pete nods silently, Vegas turns his attention back to the shell-shocked accountant. “I’ll give you half an hour to process everything, then we get to work.”

Since there’s nothing else to do right now, Vegas leaves the room again, Pete following him like a shadow.

“When are the new guards arriving?” he asks Pete while heading to the kitchen. He needs something to drink, water will be fine if there is nothing else.

“Saturday afternoon, fully equipped with communication devices, body armour and of course weapons and ammunition.”

“Excellent. While I’m working with Mek, I need you to use your hacking skills to get a copy of the building plans for my family compound.” Vegas pulls the infamous USB stick from his pocket and tosses it to Pete, who catches it deftly. “Here’s a little present for you, I’m sure you’ll love it. Once you have the floor plans, see if you can hack into their current security system, or at least find its weaknesses. When the guards arrive, we need to figure out how to secure and lock down the compound quickly and efficiently on Monday. Make sure the Main family has no access to any cameras, change all code for the doors, and so forth… the whole damn drill. I know this isn’t your specialty, but the company we hired will know what needs to be done, and you can assist them.”

From the fridge, Vegas gets himself a bottle of mineral water and drinks, pondering what else he needs to organise. Then he becomes aware of Pete staring intensely at him, and he can actually feel himself blush. Now it’s Pete’s turn to look at him as if he wants to eat Vegas alive.

“Do you know how sexy you are?” Pete asks after clearing his throat. “Shit, I think I am developing a competence kink. Being a mob boss suits you, Vegas. You’re so damn hot, ordering me around like that.”

They stare at each other for a long moment.

Vegas takes another slow sip of water, heat unfurling in the depth of his stomach. “Is that so?” Placing the nearly empty bottle on top of the fridge he is leaning against, Vegas crooks his finger at Pete. “Come here, kitten.”

“Your wish is my command, boss,” Pete murmurs and saunters closer.

Once again, Vegas’ heart does a happy little skip. He will never tire of looking at Pete, especially when that dimpled Cheshire Cat smile makes an appearance.

“What can I help you with?” Pete purrs, coming to a stop before him, the playful glint in his dark eyes signalling that he’s well aware of the effect he is having on Vegas.

“A few things come to mind, but unfortunately we don’t have time for those right now.” Vegas sighs. It’s such a damn shame that they’ll be busy these next few days.

“I can do a lot of things in 30 minutes.” Pete gives him a cheeky smile while reaching out to rub his thumb over Vegas’ lower lip.

Their eyes meet, and once again Vegas feels as if he is falling head first into a black hole. He bites down on that thumb, and Pete shudders visibly.

“How about you show me exactly what you can do in the limited time we have?” They probably shouldn’t play around like this, but Vegas is tired of behaving reasonably. “Oh, and Pete? You’re not allowed to touch yourself unless I give you permission.”

Pete inhales sharply. The air between them seems to crackle with electricity all of a sudden. Vegas arches an eyebrow, looks pointedly at his watch and Pete swallows dryly, leaning in. Close, so close, they’re almost kissing, but neither of them takes that last step.

“Try not to shout,” Pete whispers hoarsely, and then Vegas can feel Pete’s nimble fingers fiddling with his belt, unbuckling it.

“I think between the two of us, you’re the one who tends to be unable to control his noise level,” Vegas murmurs, his breathing speeding up.

Pete is working fast. The belt proves to be no obstacle, and soon he is already undoing the buttons on Vegas’ pants, all the while staring deeply into Vegas’ eyes. “I won’t be able to beg or shout when my mouth is occupied with other things,” he points out with a wink.

Vegas groans helplessly at that, and then immediately bites his lip, determined to hold back any further sounds. Bloody tease!

Chuckling breathlessly, Pete undoes the last button and then wiggles his eyebrows at Vegas. “What do you want me to do now, boss?” His fingers brush teasingly over the edge of Vegas’ underwear, skimming over the sensitive skin there. Vegas sucks in a startled breath before he can stop himself.

He wants to kiss Pete. Oh, how he wants to kiss him. But knowing them, kissing will make everything go wildly out of control again, and they really don’t have time for that right now. Vegas lifts his hands and places them on Pete’s shoulders. “Take a guess,” he whispers, and presses downward.

The grin Pete gives him as he is pushed downwards is deliciously wicked. Vegas leans back against the sideboard and digs his nails into Pete’s shoulder muscles, which elicits a shudder and a soft moan. Pete’s hot breath heats the fabric of his shirt on the way down, and now it’s Vegas turn to shudder as he closes his eyes.

Pete pushes the shirt up. His wet, hot lips graze Vegas’ abs, and then travel down down down. Vegas burns, Pete is setting him on fire, this is so damn arousing that his toes are curling. The cheeky bastard is taking his time, pausing for a lick now and then, and Vegas can feel himself getting painfully hard. Bloody hell, Vegas doesn’t want a slow seduction, he wants Pete to get down to business.

“Kitten…” he warns, his voice sounding a bit ragged. “We don’t have all the time in the world here. Mek can come out of that room any second, so you better hurry up.”

He peeks downward. Pete is kneeling in front of him now, a devilish smile on his flushed face. Their eyes meet for a second. Then, without breaking eye contact, Pete leans in and takes the edge of Vegas’ boxers between his teeth, pulling them down slowly. The sight is so incredibly hot that it knocks the breath out of Vegas. Released from its constraints, his erection bobs up, and Vegas groans softly. Yes… finally they are getting somewhere!

“You’re so fucking sexy.”

Pete’s husky voice is barely audible, and Vegas is too scatterbrained to come up with a suitable reply. Before he can collect his thoughts, Pete is taking his cock in his mouth, and Vegas’ mind goes blank.

He must have been making some sort of incoherent sound that causes Pete to chuckle, and the vibration from it around his cock drives Vegas insane. With a gasp, he grabs the back of Pete’s head, sinking his fingers into Pete’s silky hair, pulling it really hard. He knows that Pete likes that—there is a stifled moan as Pete works his mouth up and down his cock. It feels incredible. Pete is doing something with his tongue, he’s twirling, flicking and sucking, and it is such an erotic display that Vegas can barely stand it.

“No touching!” he reminds Pete sharply when he sees him sneaking his hands towards his own bulging erection. “Hands up on my ass, and keep them there.”

Frustrated, Pete makes a needy sound but obediently clutches Vegas’ ass with both of his hands. Vegas yanks on Pete’s hair, grinding himself into that hot mouth, and he has to bite his lips to keep himself from making any sounds. His legs are starting to tremble, he so damn turned on.

Their harsh breathing is echoing through the kitchen, coupled with the wet sounds of Pete’s mouth at work, and his muffled moans.

“Vegas…” Pete hums breathlessly around Vegas’ cock, reduced to begging. “Please…”

But Vegas is chasing after his own pleasure. Pete is sucking him so well, he is starting to curl in on himself. His hips are flexing forward, he can hear the blood pounding in his head. Pete’s hands are squeezing his ass, and he can feel himself tensing. “I’m going to come,” he hisses though gritted teeth, and Pete whines, bobbing a little faster.

Then the world goes white, and Vegas shudders violently as he comes in Pete’s mouth. The orgasm is so intense that black spots appear in his field of vision. Vegas shivers and quivers,

his fingernails digging deeply into Pete’s scalp.

“Oh God, stop… stop stop stop…” he gasps as Pete laps it all up, swallowing and licking him clean. He’s just too sensitive right now, even the slightest touch feels like too much. It’s a miracle he is still standing. His legs feel like rubber.

When he has finally caught his breath again, Vegas meets Pete’s feverish, dark eyes. Pete’s face is all flushed, he’s breathing hard, and looking further down, Vegas can see a very conspicuous tent in his pants. That must be uncomfortable.

He arches an amused eyebrow at Pete, who seems on the verge of losing his mind. “You did very well, kitten. If you ask me really nicely, I’ll give you permission to touch yourself now,” Vegas tells him graciously.

Pete flexes his fingers in clear exasperation; he hasn’t dared to go against Vegas’ last order, so his hands are still firmly placed on Vegas’ ass. Visibly fighting for composure, Pete clears his throat several times before asking in a strangled voice: “Vegas… would you please allow me to jerk off now, before I pass out?”

The corners of Vegas’ mouth twitch with fond amusement. He knows how much it must have cost Pete not to yell at him right now. “Go ahead, Sunshine.”

This was a much needed physical interlude, Vegas is riding an endorphin high and feeling splendid. Grinning, he puts his clothes back in order and then ruffles Pete’s hair affectionately. “I’ll see you later then,” he tells him with a wink, and strolls out of the kitchen.

Behind him, still kneeling on the floor, Pete huffs in total outrage and Vegas laughs. Life is good, now back to business.

----------------------------------------

Sorting through the family finances is a nightmare, as far as Vegas is concerned. Thankfully he is not totally new to this; until he left the family, his father tried to ram all the myriad details down his throat at every opportunity. Back then Vegas hated every second of it. Now he is immensely grateful for everything he learned.

Whereas the Main family tries to maintain an immaculate public image by officially sticking to real estate deals, hotels, spas and resorts. With a little bit of luxury car imports sprinkled in, the Minor family has always dealt with the murky side of the Theerapanyakul business empire.

TK Group, TK Leasing, TK Sky Bird’s Nest Export—the list of companies is seemingly endless. Uncle Mek patiently explains it all to Vegas, who takes notes while drinking ungodly amounts of coffee to stay awake and alert.

There are the casinos of course, generating staggeringly huge profits, which makes them perfect for money laundering operations. In addition to these, the Minor family runs numerous illegal, online gambling sites, call-centre type operations running online scams, and illegals gambling dens all over the country. In every single province, they have money lending networks charging exorbitant interest rates—not to mention the unauthorised gold mines in this country and several others. Lastly, there are the drugs and the black-market weapons.

The sheer amount of money generated by all of this is enormous. Vegas feels a bit overwhelmed for a moment. He’s supposed to run a part of this business empire now? Can he really do this without messing up monumentally?

Later, when he does a deep-dive into the accounts with Mek, the anger slowly starts to well up within him. All this work his branch of the family is doing, and yet most of the money flows into the coffers of the Main family. The Minor Theerapanyakuls are not poor, far from it, but they are living off the breadcrumbs Uncle Korn is leaving for them. It’s so bloody unfair. Their people… no, his people… they are the ones risking their lives out there on the streets every day. They’re not getting their fair share of the money; instead they’re looked down upon by the Main family. Minor family scum. Good for nothing trash. Vegas is fuming quietly. Time for a change.

----------------------------------------

So little time, so much to do, and then it’s Sunday already. Now and then, Vegas thinks his head is about to explode with all the information he is cramming into it. Thankfully, Pete sees to it that he eats regularly and even forces him to take naps in between. It is a strange feeling, having someone taking care of him this way, strange and wonderful, but Vegas doesn’t even have time to enjoy it because there are so many decisions to make. His temporary guards have arrived, the house is crowded, and people are everywhere. They’re professionals, they’re excellently trained and their superiors are a pleasure to work with.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Vegas briefs everyone about the family compound with the help of the floor plans that Pete has managed to hack his way into. Doors, communication centres, access codes… there are so many details to take into consideration. With the help of Pete, the USB stick and some freshly hired IT specialists, they hack their way into the internal surveillance system, and even though this is useful, Vegas despairs over his family’s lack of decent security. He ends up hiring those IT guys to do an emergency upgrade of everything, scheduled for Monday afternoon, when he will hopefully be in charge. Damn, this is getting expensive. Thankfully he has full access to his father’s bank accounts now.

Then there are some uncertainties regarding the current guards. How many are there, what weapons do they have access to, how will they react to Vegas taking over? All in all they should not pose a big problem—he is a Theerapanyakul after all—and it’s not as if his father is able to come back from the dead and retake his throne. Once again roping in Uncle Mek for a much needed inside perspective, Vegas makes a list of guards and personnel who are on the Main family payroll. Uncle Korn placed his men everywhere. As did Vegas’ father in the Main family. At this point it has become some sort of weird family tradition. But those men are the ones that could cause real trouble, and the ones he needs to neutralise first.

Jai, the commanding officer of Vegas’ private army, gets together with Pete, and a short time later all the men have a laminated card with the names and photos of the known Main family spies. This is starting to look more and more like a military operation rather than a hostile takeover. There are weapons everywhere; everyone has body armour. Even Vegas gets a body armour set assigned to him; Pete insists on it.

Speaking of Pete, he’s having way too much fun with that USB stick. Perhaps it would be a good idea to confiscate that again when all this is over. Vegas worries what mischief his little murderer will cook up otherwise.

Pete’s in his element. He merges seamlessly with the guards, charming everyone with his ready smile and helpfulness—it’s pretty impressive. His boyfriend is the perfect con man, it’s a bit unsettling.

So little time, so much to do. Vegas is stressing. He has a tension headache, his shoulder muscles are so knotted they are killing him. What is he even doing? In all truth, after all the chaos in his life these past months he should be going on vacation, not staging a coup. What the fuck is he doing? Whenever he is not being pestered with questions for a moment, Vegas paces through the house to walk off the nervous energy buzzing through his veins.

Eventually Pete grabs him. “That’s enough now, Vegas. Just look at the time, you need to get some hours of rest so that you’re clear-headed tomorrow. Come along, leave the rest of the planning to everyone else. You’ve done more than well, you’ve thought of every possible complication. Just let it go and get some sleep.”

“I just have the feeling I maybe forgot something important,” Vegas protests as he is dragged towards the little bedroom that is theirs. Every other space in the house is occupied by their guards. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt. I need to make this plan as perfect as possible.”

“The plan hinges on you taking over the family business, something that will not be happening if you are too tired to stand, or talk.” No, Pete isn’t about to let him get back to planning. He pulls Vegas into the bedroom and closes the door behind them, locking it.

Vegas sighs deeply, glancing at the simple, single bed. He’s not feeling tired at all because of all the adrenaline, but Pete has a point—he needs to rest. It’s soon midnight, he really needs to wind down. Reluctantly, he goes to sit on the side of the bed, kicking off his shoes and then rolling his shoulders, trying to get the circulation going in his tense muscles.

Meanwhile, Pete heads for the cupboard. “As promised, I picked up something for you to wear tomorrow. I think we both agree that jeans and a t-shirt won’t do.” Pete pulls a set of clothes from the cupboard, and holds them out for Vegas to see. The cheeky gleam in his eyes, coupled with Pete’s mischievous smile should have been a clear warning sign, but Vegas had been too lost in thoughts to notice until now.

Sleek black suit pants that must have cost a fortune. The pants are all right, it’s the shirt he has issues with; it’s very red, a deep, dark crimson red. It reminds him of blood and the sea of red flowers in the greenhouse outside. Wrong colour, this is so the wrong colour. And it’s velvet! Everything is wrong with this shirt, this is summertime, does Pete want him to die of a heat stroke?!

“I’m not wearing that!” Vegas exclaims in consternation. When he told Pete to get him something decent to wear, he had a suit in mind. Something nice and professional, something Kinn would wear. But this… Kinn would drop dead before wearing this abomination. “I’ll look like a pimp!”

Pete laughs heartily, enjoying Vegas’ horrified reaction way too much. “Nonsense. These are the perfect clothes for this occasion. Think about it, Vegas, you can’t go there looking like a Minor family clone of your perfect cousin. They’re never going to accept you then.” Pete has a point, but still… Vegas does not want to wear this outfit. He doesn’t even know where to start, it’s just wrong. “It’s red!” he complains heatedly.

“You’re going to look stunning, Vegas.” Totally unimpressed by his outrage, Pete hangs the clothes back in the cupboard. Then he wanders over to the bed, steps between Vegas’ legs and smiles down at him while running his hands through Vegas’ hair. “You’re going to look like Vegas Theerapanyakul, eldest son of Gun Theerapanyakul, the heir apparent of the largest organised crime clan in this country. You’re going to match all their expectations about how someone in your position should look like. They’re going to lap it all up, and bend their knees.”

“Of all the fucking colours, did it need to be red?” Stressed, Vegas massages the back of his neck. He’s not a happy camper at all, and not even Pete’s caress is enough to mollify him right now. “You’re turning me into a live version of one of your goddamn flowers, you asshole.”

A hint of unease flickers over Pete’s face. “That wasn’t my intention, I swear. I’m just trying to give you the very best odds of surviving tomorrow, that’s why I picked these clothes. You can even wear the body armour underneath with no problem. And I am truly sorry it is red, I totally forgot that you aren’t very fond of that colour. Please don’t get upset with me because of this?”

Vegas irritation flickers and snuffs out. He can see that Pete is truly regretful, and an argument between them is a complication he doesn’t need right now. With a deep sigh, his shoulders slump as he reaches out and slips his arms around Pete’s waist, drawing him closer until he can rest his head against Pete’s stomach.

“Just forget about it, okay? I’ll wear the damn clothes. And I’m not angry with you either. Can you just hold me for a while?” He buries his face into the folds of Pete’s shirt and sighs deeply. “Just hold me, please.”

Keeping up with Vegas’ mood swings is a challenge for Pete. He hesitates for a moment until he awkwardly hugs Vegas, but he still seems to be on his guard, unsure what Vegas will do next.

Vegas really just wants to soak up Pete’s warmth and scent, he wants to drown himself in it so that for a short time he can forget about the harsh reality they’re going to face tomorrow.

“Can you promise me something?” Vegas’ voice is muffled when he eventually breaks the silence.

“Sure. What do you need?” Pete is stroking Vegas’ hair slowly. It’s a repetitive motion, almost hypnotic, and Vegas marvels once again that someone so inherently violent can be so gentle.

Swallowing dryly, Vegas clears his throat. “If I die tomorrow, please don’t kill my whole family…”

Every muscle in Pete’s body stiffens; suddenly Vegas is holding a block of ice. “Shut up, don’t jinx it.” Even Pete’s voice is icy now, and there is that lethal edge to it that Vegas has come to dread. “You’re not going to die tomorrow, not on my watch. Forever, remember?”

Vegas inhales slowly. As far as he is concerned, he isn’t jinxing anything, he’s simply being realistic. There’s always a chance that their plan will go terribly wrong somehow, and that he’ll get killed. Being in denial about that won’t change their odds. “Promise me,” he repeats quietly.

“Vegas!” Fear is leaking into Pete’s voice, and the next moment he flips straight into despair. He tightens his arms around Vegas as if he’s afraid his boyfriend will drop dead right here and then. “You can’t die on me, you hear me? You mustn’t! I can’t live without you anymore. Damn it, stop freaking me out…” he whispers harshly.

“I love you too.”

Because that’s what it’s all about. They’re so damn in love with each other, they’ve finally gotten rid of most of the misunderstandings and obstacles between them, and now they’re both scared that their happy ending will get ruined. Vegas wants to hold on to Pete and never let go, and he’s pretty sure Pete feels the same way about him.

“I’m sorry. You’re right, no one is going to die tomorrow,” Vegas mumbles. He sighs while stroking Pete’s back to get him to relax again. “Can I ask for something else, then?”

Pete huffs, refusing to answer. He’s still clutching Vegas against his chest, refusing to loosen his hold. He must be feeling very spooked. Great, once again Vegas has ruined the mood. Shit.

“Please help me keep my brother safe.”

There are two people in his life that Vegas cares about; the one he is hugging right now, and the one who is about to be dropped right in the middle of a violent power struggle. “I don’t know if he’ll be home tomorrow, but he can’t become part of this conflict. Please help me keep him safe. He mustn’t get hurt, and you’re the only one I trust to ensure that.”

Vegas can feel how this request startles Pete. He pulls back a bit in order to be able to look up at his face. A myriad emotions are flickering across it; surprise, confusion and elation.

Then Pete’s expression settles into grim determination as he nods. “Of course I will do my utmost to keep him safe. Thank you for trusting me.”

Yes, strangely enough he now trusts Pete with Macau’s safety. A smile flickers across his face as Vegas studies Pete. All mine. This man might be a psychopathic serial killer, but he belongs to Vegas now, and Vegas has faith in him. Their eyes meet, and then Pete’s expression softens and he returns the smile.

“There is more,” Vegas warns him.

“Seriously, there is more? You’re getting very demanding, boss.” Fondly, Pete ruffles Vegas’ hair. “All right, let’s hear it then.”

“Don’t take offence, okay? I know you love to improvise and do everything your own way, but you have to promise me that tomorrow you will do no such thing.”

It’s time to yank on the leash to remind Pete who is in charge. And as expected, Pete doesn’t look exactly pleased hearing that, so Vegas explains it further.

“You’re new to all this, Pete. You have no idea about the complicated dynamics within an organised crime cartel; if you go on a one-man rampage, you will discredit me as a leader and ruin everything. I need you to fall in line and follow my orders without hesitation, and most importantly, you cannot shed any blood unless I order you to do so.”

Pete grimaces, and his face hardens. “Are you trying to cripple me? I don’t like this, Vegas.”

“Tough luck, I’m the boss and I expect you to follow my orders.” Vegas narrows his eyes in warning and sits back, removing himself from the hug. “If any of my father’s old guards resist, you can disable them, but please refrain from killing them. As for the Main family pawns, you can shoot to kill if they make a move, but not before. And under no circumstance must you kill or injure any of the assembled subordinates, they’re mine to deal with.”

Pete is still standing between his legs, glowering down at Vegas who is entirely unaffected by this very open display of displeasure.

Instead of getting into an argument, Vegas opts for shrugging out of his shirt. “I’m going to sleep,” he announces, catching Pete off guard once again. “If you’re planning to sulk, do it outside.” He takes off his pants while doing his best to ignore how the expression on Pete’s face changes from annoyance to barely concealed desire, and slips underneath the covers. “Or you could of course opt for letting go of your grievances and join me in bed.” He gives Pete a pointed look and then snuggles into the blanket, closing his eyes.

There is a very long stretch of silence followed by the sounds of Pete’s footsteps as he heads over to the door. Is he really leaving? Seriously? Then with a click the light goes out and the footsteps approach the bed again. Fabric rustles as Pete undresses, then the mattress dips as he crawls into bed, lifts the blanket and nestles against Vegas, spooning him. Both of them sigh with relief.

“Psycho…” Vegas mumbles with a smile.

“Control freak…” Pete mutters, and Vegas can hear the smile in his voice as well.

All is well again. They lace their hands, and shortly afterwards Vegas actually manages to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

----------------------------------------

Grudgingly, Vegas has to agree with Pete, red suits him very well. There is a floor length mirror in the little bedroom, and Vegas examines his reflection as if he were gazing at a piece of art in a museum. Love is red, and so is blood. Wearing body armour is uncomfortable because he isn’t used to it, but better safe than sorry.

Lethal.

He looks dangerous. That crimson shirt is like a promise of imminent violence. Thoughtfully, Vegas undoes the top button, then another one, exposing a decent amount of skin without giving away that he is wearing amour. Yes, this is perfect. He is channeling his inner predator now.

The door opens and Pete enters. Vegas catches a glimpse of him in the mirror and turns around. Pete is wearing a suit, just a simple black suit with a white dress shirt, but the sight of him knocks the breath out of Vegas.

Their eyes meet and lock.

Inhale. Exhale.

Inhale. Exhale.

Inhale. Exhale.

“… Vegas…” Pete says very softly while staring at him, and there is a wealth of emotion in that single word.

“… Pete…” Vegas is at a loss for words. It’s as if he has once again been hit by a bolt of lightning; he is feeling too much to put into words.

They stare at each other, and suddenly they are moving forward simultaneously. Déjà vu, it’s a repeat of their first spectacular rooftop kiss. Vegas grabs hold of Pete’s jacket, yanking him closer. Pete cradles Vegas face in his hands, pulling him in as well, and their mouths collide so forcefully that their teeth clang together, but neither of them cares.

Ay ay ay ay, feels like fire, I’m so in love with you…

Glorious sparks, Vegas loses himself in a whirlpool of electric tingles. The kiss turns into an open-mouthed frenzy, both of them gasp, moan and melt against each other. Vegas shudders from the intensity of the kiss. He will never get used to the insane chemistry that exists between them.

As quickly as the kiss started, it comes to an end. They’re both on the same page—this isn’t the time to give in to the burning desire each of them is feeling. Vegas swallows hard, trying to catch his breath, staring at Pete’s beloved face.

The lovely dimples make an appearance. Pete is flushed, equally out of breath, and yet he gives Vegas the most dazzling smile he has ever seen. “I thought I was a freak. Until now,” he tells Vegas with so much feeling that his voice is nearly breaking. “Thank you for loving me, all of me.”

Vegas emotions are also all over the place, his happiness is so intense that it scares him. “Thank you for crashing into my life, Sunshine, and thank you for trusting me with your love. It’s the most precious gift I ever received.”

There are so many more words that remain unspoken between them, at least for now. They’re drowning in each others eyes; Vegas wants to preserve this moment for eternity, it’s so precious.

“Pete?” he mumbles, his voice barely above a whisper. “Let’s go and get my throne, shall we?”

Pete’s eyes harden and turn very dark as he nods slowly. The predator has come out to play. Just like that, Pete is unleashing his dark side, and it’s thrilling.

Still smiling, Vegas turns around and strides out of the room. He can hear that Pete is right behind him—his right hand in this operation. At the top of the stairs they pass Jai, who falls in step as well. The low hum of conversations downstairs turns into silence the moment Vegas appears.

The men are all suited up, wearing inconspicuous tactical clothing: beige trousers and black shirts over their body armour. Everyone is armed and equipped with extra ammunition. Vegas looks at them. He is the centre of their attention; all eyes rest on him. Something deep inside of Vegas comes to life and unfolds, a great calm washes over him and suddenly he’s no longer worried.

He is Vegas Theerapanyakul and this is his birthright. No one better be standing in his way, he will walk right through them to get what is his, grinding them into the dust beneath his heels without a second thought.

All hail the King, baby.

Without bothering with any motivational speeches, Vegas simply walks through the crowd and out of the house towards the waiting vehicles. His little private army falls into step behind him.

Papilio memnon.

Vegas unfurls his black butterfly wings and takes to the skies.

----------------------------------------

The family compound of the Minor Theerapanyakuls is hidden away within a maze of other buildings. The complex itself is comprised of four buildings in neoclassical style, surrounding a charming central courtyard. The Main mansion is a breathtaking two-storey house, with a central front porch and a three-storey tower in one corner. Home, sweet home.

Vegas has a love-hate relationship with this house. He adores the architecture, the soft yellow walls and the green windows. What sours the picture are his memories of life in this house.

The last time he arrived here, he was dragged into the house, unable to walk on his own. Not today though. Today Vegas strides confidently past the guards posted all around the perimeter, and no one dares to stop him.

He is Vegas Theerapanyakul, and they better get the fuck out of his way.

He is flanked by Pete to his right and the commanding officer of the guards, Jai, to his left, in addition to four other guards. They’re all in constant contact through tactical comms; even Vegas is wearing a virtually invisible earpiece and thus receives a running update about the whereabouts of the rest of his men who lie in wait, ready to enter at any moment.

His arrival must have triggered a variety of alarms. It’s just another sign of the Minor family’s lousy discipline that this only leads to confusion amongst those guarding the house. No one takes charge to try and stop him at any point. Maybe they sense Vegas’ attitude; his body language warns all those who look at him that he’s not to be messed with. The guards and the staff duck out of his way as he enters the house, and ignore the fact that the eldest Theerapanyakul son is here with his own personal guards and has a clearly visible handgun tucked into the back of his pants.

Vegas heads straight towards the conference room where the Monday meeting is about to be held. The subordinates have already arrived; Vegas’ lookout has confirmed this. Showtime. Without further ado, Vegas opens the large, exquisitely carved green door, and enters.

Nothing has changed. Just like the rest of the house, the interior is extensively decorated with carved teak. The walls are the same yellow shade as the exterior of the building, green windows and doors complimented by the dark teak decorations framing them. A long teak conference table dominates the centre of the room, and grouped around it are the comfortable green leather seats Vegas remembers so well. Nothing has changed, except for Vegas, who has finally come into his own.

There are a handful of bodyguards in the room, respectfully standing on the sidelines. Vegas ignores them. He’s confident that Pete, Jai and his men will keep an eye on them and stop them from making trouble. Instead, he focuses on the small group of people standing around the conference table. The Theerapanyakul subordinates have been making small talk, awaiting the arrival of his father so that the meeting can start. Vegas spent the whole weekend reading up on every single one of them. He has personally met one or two of them before, but the rest are unknown to him. He’s been away from the family too long to know everyone who joined the business empire recently.

His unexpected entrance sends a ripple of surprise through the assembled crowd. They’re like a herd of sheep who unexpectedly discover a bloody wolf in their midst—clueless and confused. Vegas can’t help but smirk darkly. Surprise.

But a moment later it’s his turn to be surprised. “Vegas…?” Macau asks tentatively, stepping into view; Vegas didn’t see him because he was standing in the back of the crowd. Oh fuck. What the fuck is his brother doing here? Shouldn’t he be in school? Vegas wants to kill his father all over again. White hot fury washes over him.

“Breathe,” comes a whisper through his earpiece. “I’ll keep him safe.”

And Vegas knows Pete will keep his word.

It takes a lot of willpower for Vegas not to drag his little brother out of the room and to safety right away… must not get distracted, our lives depend on this… instead he nods curtly in greeting to his brother. “Hello Macau.” Then he politely greets everyone else as well. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s a pleasure to meet you again.”

“Khun Vegas…” They are still baffled, but his greeting is returned by everyone. Some of them glance at their watches and then towards the door. Vegas’ unexpected arrival has disrupted their weekly routine and they seem to be waiting for Khun Gun to arrive and explain everything to them. Well, that will be a long wait, Vegas thinks grimly.

Meanwhile, Macau stares wide-eyed at his brother. He obviously can’t believe his eyes. He’s never seen Vegas dressed like this, never, and Vegas coming here of his own free will is clearly something he cannot wrap his mind around. Especially in the aftermath of their catastrophic last meeting at Vegas’ apartment.

“What on earth are you doing here?” he asks his brother in obvious confusion, mixed with fear. “Did Pa force you to be here?” He glances past Vegas towards the door, and in that very moment it dawns on Vegas that his little brother has no clue he’s an orphan now. Oh, shit. Talk about unforeseen complications.

“Breathe,” comes Pete’s whisper through the comm again, grounding him instantly. Vegas inhales slowly and then exhales again. There, all better.

For the time being, Vegas ignores Macau’s questions. Can’t deal with this right now.

“Close the door,” he orders quietly, and one of his men immediately does his bidding.

The atmosphere in the room changes instantly to wariness. While his men casually fan out to cover his back, Vegas contemplates the gathered underlings pensively.

“Let’s get this meeting started, shall we?” he suggests with quiet authority, making his way past them towards the head of the table.

“Vegas…?” Macau anxiously calls out to him once again. It is like a stab to his heart, but Vegas forces himself to ignore his brother. I can’t deal with this right now, I can’t allow myself to get distracted.

Someone speaks up while the others mumble amongst themselves in ever growing confusion. “Shouldn’t we wait for Khun Gun?”

“That will not be necessary,” Vegas informs them firmly. “Please be seated.”

And to the horror of all the assembled people he takes the seat at the head of the table without even a second of hesitation.

Everyone, including Macau, is flabbergasted. They’re staring at him as if they just caught him committing the worst kind of sacrilege. This is the seat reserved for Khun Gun, no one is allowed to sit there but him. Macau is especially stunned; he knows his father doesn’t even allow his own sons to sit on that chair—ever.

Vegas gives a barely visible nod in Jai’s direction. There is a low murmur of voices in his earpiece, then Vegas hears the click of a safety catch disengaging, and suddenly there are guns in the hands of his men, trained on all the remaining Theerapanyakul guards in the room, keeping them in check. Startled, some of them make a move to pull their weapons, but thankfully realise the futility of such a move in time to avoid an escalation. Instead, the guards slowly and carefully raise their hands in surrender.

Everyone gasps, and unease ripples through the room. Macau looks at Pete and the gun in his hand as if he has sprouted horns. Oh yeah, Macau still thinks Pete is just a relatively harmless psychologist. Oops.

“Everyone sit the fuck down, I’m running out of patience,” Vegas orders them sharply. He pulls his Glock and places it in plain view on the dark conference table in front of him.

“…But… Khun Gun…?” an elderly man with a walking stick bravely dares to ask, while edging towards his seat at the table.

Who is that again? Oh yes, he’s the one in charge of the loan sharking.

Vegas glares at the man, who turns as white as a sheet upon finding himself the sudden centre of Vegas’ undivided attention.

“There is no need to wait for my father, he’s already here,” Vegas informs everyone calmly. He waves his hand, and one of his men approaches him swiftly, handing him a large, brown paper bag. Without further ado, Vegas unceremoniously takes a plain white porcelain urn from the bag and slams it onto the surface of the teak table in front of him. “Here you go, does that satisfy your curiosity?”

A stunned silence descends onto the room.

And then Macau moans softly in distress. He has gone deathly pale, his eyes are glued to the damn urn, and it breaks Vegas’ heart. I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry.

He would like nothing more than to enfold his little brother in his arms to comfort him, but instead he raises his voice, calling out sharply. “What are you all waiting for? Sit. The. Fuck. Down!”

Out of the corner of his eyes he sees Pete arching an eyebrow at him; he looks mightily impressed with Vegas’ attempt to assert his authority.

Within seconds there is a wild scramble for the chairs as everyone takes a seat as quickly as possible. Everyone but the shell-shocked Macau, and…

“What the fuck is going on?!” A burly, middle-aged man with a crew cut and an ugly scar dissecting the lower half of his face glares at Vegas in outrage. He points at the urn and then accusingly at Vegas. “What the fuck is this supposed to mean, huh?!”

Ah, this must be the middle man responsible for maintaining the contact with the Yakuza and the Russians with regard to the drugs. He’s an old buddy of Vegas’ father and Uncle Korn. In fact, based on what Mek has told Vegas, this man holds his current position solely due to Uncle Korn. Well, isn’t this perfect?

“I thought it was very obvious…” Vegas’ voice is deceptively mild. “But since you seem confused, let me clarify matters for you.” Leaning forward in the chair, Vegas smiles, and it is a terrible smile indeed. The Glock is right there, next to the urn. Vegas picks it up and clinks the barrel playfully against the white porcelain to bring attention to it.

“There has been a change in management,” he informs everyone, holding up his left hand, showing off the golden family ring shimmering on his index finger. “The King is dead, long live the King. As for you—” Vegas smirks darkly at the man still glaring at him. “—consider yourself fired.” And before anyone can react, he aims his gun at the rebellious middleman, and casually pulls the trigger.

The shot echoes sharply through the large room. There is a cloud of red mist and other bodily matter and the man is already crumbling to the floor with a bullet to his brain. Vegas feels nothing, only this great, great calm. He just shot someone—it was like swatting a fly, he is completely unfazed. Well damn, this is nice.

Everyone seated at the table has gone very pale; they’ve been shocked into silence and are probably wondering who will be next.

“Lock the place down and neutralise the moles,” Vegas instructs Jai, and instantly his earpiece floods with a flurry of whispered commands. Everything is going according to their plan.

…and then there is a low whimper breaking through the silence of the room. Macau.

Oh, fuck. Vegas zeroes in on his brother and cringes internally. Oh fuck. Macau has blood splatter all over his pale face. He was standing too close to the now deceased man. Oh fuck. It’s impossible to say what his brother is more shocked about—that someone just got shot right next to him or —Oh, fuck—the way Macau stares at the porcelain urn Vegas can take a lucky guess. Fuck.

Vegas clears his suddenly very tight throat. “… Macau…” he calls out softly.

“…Pa…?” His brother’s face is ashen and his voice thick with barely contained panic. “Pa…?” He asks again, and takes a stumbling step forward, towards that urn.

The expression on his face is killing Vegas. I’m so sorry. I hope you will be able to forgive me one day. Vegas swallows hard. “I think it is time for you to leave, Macau.” He tries to sound as gentle as possible. “I will explain everything to you later.”

But his brother isn’t listening. His whole attention is centred on that damn white urn standing on top of the dark wooden surface of the table. From somewhere outside, Vegas can hear a commotion; there are the occasional shots being fired. He’s receiving a steady stream of situational updates via his comm earpiece but Vegas shuts it all out. Macau has his undivided attention right now.

“Oh God, Pa…” Macau moans again, and then his gaze flickers past the urn to his brother, who is sitting on the imposing leather chair at the head of the table as if it were a throne. A throne he just usurped from their dead father. Macau takes a long shuddering breath, his eyes dart back and forth between the urn, the golden ring on Vegas’ index finger and his brother’s emotionless face. And then it seems as if he is finally connecting the dots. Macau keens softly.

This time Vegas cringes visibly. But before he has the chance to explain himself, his little brother does something entirely unexpected. Suddenly there is a gun in his hand, and he is pointing it at Vegas. Well shit.

“Nobody move!” Pete instantly takes control of the situation, and glares at the other men who have started pointing their guns at Macau. “I’ll handle this, stay the fuck out of it.” He glances at Vegas, their eyes meet, and Vegas minutely shakes his head. Irritated, Pete takes a deep breath and then slowly closes in on Macau like a big cat stalking its prey. He still has the gun in his hand, but he isn’t currently pointing it at Vegas’ little brother.

What a fucking mess. “Put the gun down, Macau.” Vegas sighs deeply and slowly places his own handgun back down on the table to de-escalate the situation. “I know you are upset, but this isn’t the right way to deal with it.”

Upset might be too mild a word to describe what Macau is feeling right now. He’s trembling visibly. Vegas should probably be worried about getting accidentally shot, the way the gun is waving back and forth in his brother’s hand. But Vegas is more concerned about the angry tears that have now started to spill from Macau’s eyes. His little brother is crying, and it’s his fault. Vegas thinks he must be the worst big brother on the whole planet.

“Khun Macau… please put the gun down,” Pete demands.

Vegas’ little pet psychopath sounds mightily pissed off by these developments. He is not amused when people point guns at his boyfriend, not at all, and it shows clearly on his face as he heads towards Macau while stepping over the corpse on the ground.

“I promised Khun Vegas I would keep you safe, but I swear to God, if you do not drop that gun this very second, I’m going to grab you, put you over my knee and spank the living daylights out of you. Respectfully, of course.”

Vegas blinks, and so does Macau. The brothers simultaneously glance at Pete, who looks like a thundercloud incarnate. Vegas’ eyes widen imperceptibly. Uh-oh. Macau is clearly conflicted, he doesn’t know what to do. Poor boy, Vegas feels really sorry for him.

“Put the gun down, Macau,” he advises him gently. “Trust me, you do not want to make Pete this upset. I promise, I will explain everything to you later today.”

“I hate you…” At first, it is just a whisper, but then Macau raises his voice to a desperate shout. “I hate you!” The tears are rolling freely down his cheeks, and misery is written all over his face. Angrily, he drops the gun, and instead points his finger accusingly at Vegas. “I fucking hate you!”

Vegas has a lump in his throat. He swallows hard. Priorities. He needs to prioritise, and dealing with his angry, grief-stricken brother can’t be at the top of his list right now. So sorry, Macau. Vegas’ expression hardens. “Get him out of here,” he orders Pete coolly.

Vegas needs to focus on the damn meeting and Macau is a distraction.

“As you wish.” Pete strikes like a snake; he moves so fast that Macau has no chance to evade him. Within the blink of an eye he has the youngest Theerapanyakul in a wrist lock, marching him forcefully towards the exit.

Macau howls at the top of his lungs, trying to break free, but with no success. “I hate you, Vegas!” he yells, and turns his head one more time towards his brother, giving him a dirty look before Pete manhandles him out of the room.

Silence descends on the conference room once again. Vegas takes a deep breath, ruthlessly shoving all his emotions regarding his brother to the back of his mind. Cannot deal with this right now. He turns towards his third in command, nodding towards the Theerapanyakul guards, who are currently kept in check by his men. “Cuff them and remove them from this room.” Then he taps the earpiece he is wearing. “Lock down the accounts and jam all cellphone signals.”

Having taken care of that part, he once again leans back in the leather chair, steeples his fingers and eyes his terrified business subordinates thoughtfully. “Now… where were we…?”

“Macau wants to leave the compound,” Pete informs him through the comms.

“Let him leave,” Vegas replies tiredly. A stress ball would be nice right now. He feels like strangling something. Very swiftly the guards get zip-tied and are removed from the room, meanwhile Vegas is impatiently drumming his fingers against the top of the urn holding his father’s ashes.

“As I mentioned before, I’m in charge of this branch of the Theerapanyakul family from now on.” He gives every single one of the people assembled around the table a hard stare. “If you have a problem with that, feel free to leave.”

As expected, no one dares to move a muscle. Bloody cowards. “No one? Really? You’re all fine with this?” Vegas twists his lips into a half-smile.

“Uhm…” There are only two women in this group, and one of them, a meticulously styled elderly lady, now cautiously raises her manicured hand with the bright red nails to catch Vegas’ attention. “Khun Vegas, if you don’t mind, I would prefer to leave. I’m afraid I can’t afford to potentially upset Khun Korn…” Her voice trails off, and she gives him an sweet, apologetic smile.

There are nods from several of the other underlings when they hear this. They obviously sympathise with her dilemma.

Graciously, Vegas nods and motions for the door. “Totally understandable. Please, don’t let me keep you here.”

The woman hesitates at first, but since Vegas is smiling, looking so friendly and understanding, she gets to her feet and, after a last cautious glance at him, walks hastily towards the door.

Casually, Vegas picks up his Glock again and pulls the trigger, shooting her in the back of her head without even blinking an eye. This time, there are panicky screams from around the table as the body collapses to the floor.

Disgusted with their reactions, Vegas clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Seriously? You really thought I would just let you walk out of here? Are you all fucking morons?”

He rests his hands on the table without letting go of his gun. “I’m aware that all of you are scared of Khun Korn since he’s the head of the Main family. My father grudgingly accepted being ‘less’ and ‘minor’ all his life, but I’m not my father. Screw family traditions. There is nothing ‘minor’ about this branch of the Theerapanyakul family. My Uncle can take his ‘Main and Minor family’ bullshit and choke on it, as far as I am concerned.”

Once again, the people around him gasp in horror. They’ve never heard anyone talk about Khun Korn and the Main family like this.

“Everyone pay attention now,” Vegas warns them, the muscles in his face tightening with determination. “I am the only one in charge here, I make all the decisions, and my dear uncle has absolutely no say in how I run this family business. Starting today, the Main family no longer controls any of the business aspects you all are involved in. You will no longer heed any orders coming from them, and you will also not report to them. The only thing that connects their side of the family with ours is our shared family name.”

Totally cowed, everyone stares fearfully at Vegas, not daring to comment. Some of them are wringing their hands in distress, others are hyperventilating.

“Now here is what’s going to happen…” Vegas narrows his eyes and makes a point of glancing at his Glock before staring icily at his subordinates. “Fair is fair. I will give each of you ten minutes to convince me that you will be absolutely loyal to me, explain to me in what way you are important to this business and what you bring to the table, and try to convince me that I should keep you alive.”

“How about we start with you…” Vegas fixates on the man sitting closest to him on the left, a thin bespectacled guy, sweating profusely. Drumming his fingers once against the lid of the urn, he threateningly places his right index finger on the trigger of his handgun. “Tick tock, tick tock.” Vegas’ soft voice is totally devoid of emotion. “Time’s running, you better speak fast…”

All hail the King, baby.

----------------------------------------

There is truth in the saying that killing gets easier every time you do it. Vegas loses count of all the dead bodies as he ruthlessly continues to clean house. Ten underlings become five. The conference room turns into a bloody mess which will be a pain in the ass to scrub clean.

The shell-shocked survivors of the massacre are made to swear allegiance to Vegas. In writing. The stench of death and blood is heavy in the air. When it gets too much Vegas opens one of the many windows. Outside in the courtyard, every single Main family mole that is discovered gets executed on the spot. Vegas ignores the noise but the traumatised subordinates flinch every time a shot rings out. At some point some of his new guards enter the conference room and drag the bodies outside so that they can be properly disposed of. Pete has organised a truck and a crematorium on stand-by.

Vegas reigns supreme. His underlings each receive a folder with business directives and a bullet point list of issues they need to fix in their business areas, then Vegas has them herded out of the blood-splattered room, to be locked up separately in the mansion until the initial purge is over and done with.

No one is allowed in or out of the compound while Vegas removes all undesirable personnel and implements new security routines. His private army is everywhere, and they’re very efficient. The security systems get a complete overhaul. The company he hired for this is doing an excellent job, and they better be, given the exorbitant amount of money they’re charging him for it.

Pete hovers nearby like a dark, bloodthirsty shadow, ruthlessly meting out death sentences in the wake of Vegas’ interrogations, not leaving his side even once. He is still a bit miffed that he missed all the fun while he was out of the room to take care of Macau, and is probably plotting his revenge already. Vegas is looking forward to it.

As for his little brother… Judging from the panicky voice message Porsche left him, Macau went to the Main family. It was to be expected, and Vegas has faith in Porsche and Tankhun taking care of his distraught brother. The downside is of course that his uncle now knows what’s going on, but that would have happened sooner or later.

When his phone starts pinging non-stop with messages and incoming calls, Vegas turns it off to avoid any distractions. With Mek’s help he spends hours reshuffling the family finances, now that they’ve locked everyone else out of the accounts. In private, Pete tells him he is an idiot for trying to divide the money fairly, but Vegas is just doing his best to lay the foundations of a functioning system. He wants to avoid an all-out war between his branch of the family and the other Theerapanyakuls. They need a clean cut and fresh beginnings.

At some point, one of the staffers approaches Vegas cautiously. The whole household is shell-shocked about the coup, and everyone is afraid of Vegas and his crew. “Khun Vegas?”

“Mmmm?” Vegas takes a break from typing away on his laptop, and looks up questioningly.

“I apologise for disturbing you, but Khun Korn has sent a car. You’re expected to meet with him at the Main family mansion.”

Vegas sarcastically says the first thing that comes to his mind. “Cute.” Then he notices that this reply only causes confusion amongst the staff. He sighs and tries to clarify the matter. “Please tell the driver that my dearest uncle is always welcome to drop by for a visit, if he misses my company.”

To the right of him, Pete chortles; he’s lounging on a comfy leather seat, drinking some fancy coffee.

Vegas rolls his eyes at him. “What? I’m being diplomatic, aren’t I? If it were up to me, I would just tell him to go fuck himself.”

The staffer gasps in horror upon hearing this.

“See?” Vegas points out. “And that’s why I’m being diplomatic.” He waves the staffer away and eyes Pete’s coffee cup longingly.

“Go get your own coffee,” the love of his life tells him heartlessly. So much for being King of the castle.

“Whatever happened to ‘What’s mine is yours’?” Vegas points out, but Pete just flips him off. Oh well. “How many men do we have right now?” he asks Pete, closing his laptop for a while. He needs a break before his mind turns into mush.

Pete furrows his brow, doing some calculations. “We have about forty of the original guards left after our little house cleaning operation. Jai is currently equipping them with body armour and new clothes, and assessing how well trained they are.”

Forty out of sixty, that’s better than nothing. Vegas is glad he’s brought in his own private army though. He has a feeling he will need them until he has found and trained a suitable amount of fresh permanent guards.

Lost in thoughts, he spins the golden ring on his finger. Earlier today, after the last execution, they had a little ceremony in the entrance hall. Vegas had every single member of the staff swear allegiance to him and kiss the damn ring. He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t get a huge kick out of it. The rush of power was dizzying. Pete felt it too, judging from the way he looked at Vegas afterwards, all hungry. Vegas sighs again. If only they had some time to themselves…

“You think he’ll lower himself to actually meet you here?” Pete rests his chin on his hand, watching Vegas closely.

“Once he realises that I’m not planning to heed his summons, yes. I am leaving him no choice. He doesn’t have the luxury to wait me out, because right now I control the money he needs for his everyday transactions. His legal businesses don’t cover the expenses of everything else he has to pay for.” Just thinking about it makes Vegas smile gleefully. His uncle must be fuming right now. Not so ‘Minor’ after all, eh?

“I’ll talk to Jai,” says Pete. “He’s already called in for some additional men and a weapons upgrade. As far as I remember the Main family bodyguards use mostly regular handguns. Jai is upgrading our men to MP5s in addition to their normal weapons of choice.” Pete’s dark eyes gleam. He’s been channeling his dark side the whole day, and Vegas can see how much he relishes being able to do that.

“MP5s are submachine guns… isn’t that overkill?” Vegas can’t help but pointing it out. “We’re not at war with them just yet.”

“Better to shock them into submission right from the start,” Pete counters cheerfully. “It’s a good thing you have so much money. This is going to cost you a fortune, but it’ll be so worth it. You’ll have well over one hundred and fifty men at your disposal, all armed to the teeth, isn’t it thrilling? Your uncle is going to throw a fit when he arrives and notices it.”

Vegas surveys the room with its exquisite teak carvings and the ornamental ceiling. He can already imagine the shocking amount of damage an indoor shootout would cause. “Let’s have the meeting in the courtyard,” he suggests quickly. “I might be rich, but I would rather not have to renovate the whole house.”

Pete chortles again. Their eyes meet and Vegas feels a rush of deep fondness for this lunatic. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you, Sunshine?”

Never breaking the eye contact between them, Pete nods quietly. He isn’t the only one. Vegas enjoys this as well, much more than he thought he would. He’s soaring over the Abyss, there’s blood splatter on his shimmering black butterfly wings, and he’s high on power. Life is good.

----------------------------------------

Much to his relief, Vegas manages to squeeze in a good night’s sleep and even a delicious breakfast before he is alerted that his uncle is on his way. Well, this is going to be interesting. Wryly he takes note that Pete is even more excited than he is; he’s practically bouncing all over the place. Vegas grabs the back of his neck and yanks him close till they are face to face.

“Listen up, you little murder bunny… you better rein in that dark side of yours. The bloodlust in your eyes is starting to freak out the staff.” Affectionately Vegas kisses the tip of Pete’s nose. “Repeat after me: I must not kill Vegas’ extended family unless ordered to do so.”

“Awww… not fair…” Pete whines in protest, but his eyes soften a little bit. For Vegas’ sake he dons the mask of ‘innocent boyfriend’ once more. “Fine, I won’t kill them—yet.”

Damn, Pete is adorable. Vegas grins and rewards him with a quick, hard kiss before putting on his body armour. Pete has picked today’s outfit; black dress pants, a white dress shirt so soft it puts all other shirts Vegas has ever worn to shame, and as the icing on the cake, an absolutely sinful, wine-red velvet jacket with satin lapels of the same colour.

A glance into the mirror confirms that Vegas is slaying it.

Whistling softly to himself, he strolls downstairs, taking his time. His third in command is at the front door to inform his uncle to wait. Showing up unannounced and expecting everyone to jump to attention and do his bidding? Not today, Uncle Korn, not today. Karma’s a bitch. He even suggests that his men go and take a peek at Khun Korn as he is forced to wait. Go and look at the almighty Main family being humbled. I hope you choke on it, uncle.

“You’re holding a grudge, aren’t you?” Pete remarks as they head for the courtyard.

“Damn right I am.” After years of being told that he’s not good enough, not nearly as perfect as the Main family relatives, Vegas is feeling rather resentful.

The courtyard is beautiful. In one corner of it, shaded from direct sunlight by two large trees, is a casual dining area with a round teak table and comfortable, yet luxurious outdoor chairs. Vegas has decided to have the meeting here for security reasons, and to protect the antique interior of the mansion. His men are evenly spaced all around the courtyard, not to mention those keeping a watch on the area from each of the first and second floor windows. Overkill? Perhaps. But it’s damn impressive.

Making himself comfortable in one of the chairs, Vegas slowly eats the ice cream he ordered, smiling to himself. “Remember not to shoot anyone,” he reminds Pete, who is leaning casually against the back of his chair. “You know how annoyingly stuck-up Kinn is, but my uncle is so much worse. The urge to put a bullet in him just to shut him up will be almost impossible to resist, but please hold your horses.”

Pete rolls his eyes but nods to show he will comply. “Do I get a reward for playing nice?”

Vegas thoughtfully licks some ice cream off his silver spoon, and his smile widens. “You know, some of the rooms here have ceiling beams, and I vaguely remember seeing some chains around here as well… you still have the handcuffs, right?”

Pete’s slow, controlled intake of breath feels immensely rewarding.

“I knew you would like that.” Vegas finishes his ice cream and motions to a nearby staffer. “I think they’ve been waiting long enough now; would you mind showing our guests in?”

While he is waiting for his uncle to arrive, he orders coffee for everyone. He’s even seen to it that there is an antique chess set on the table; Uncle Korn likes his chess metaphors, and Vegas is a gracious host, so why deprive Korn of this opportunity to spout nonsense?

A few minutes later Jai leads a small group of men into the courtyard, and Vegas senses how Pete tenses up behind him.

“Tone it down,” he mumbles under his breath as he watches his uncle and his entourage cross the patio.

As always, Khun Korn is travelling with his bodyguards. Ten, to be exact. Plus perfect Chan. And Kinn, of course there is Kinn. It’s very obvious to Vegas that his cousin would rather be somewhere else. Porsche must be throwing a fit at home. Vegas imagines Kinn having the worst 24 hours of his life right now.

The Main family bodyguards are not a source of worry. They might be well trained, but there are more than a dozen sniper rifles trained at them. They’re not that good.

Perfect Chan mustn’t be underestimated though; Vegas has Pete watching over him with Argus eyes. Speaking of Chan, the man doesn’t seem his usual, calm self; there is a certain tightness around his eyes as he surveys the courtyard, noting the unusual amount of guards with military grade weapons. Surprise.

And lastly, there is his uncle…

“Vegas…” Khun Korn Theerapanyakul greets his nephew with a gentle, fatherly smile. Vegas inclines his head in polite greeting while he imagines taking one of the chess pieces and ramming it down his Uncle’s throat. Now wouldn’t that be nice…?

“Uncle Korn. What a lovely surprise visit. I’m so sorry I couldn’t drop by to visit yesterday. I’m simply too busy right now.” Vegas isn’t even pretending to sound sincere. “Please, take a seat and have some coffee.”

Then he turns his attention towards his cousin. “I see your father is no longer retired, huh? It must be such a relief. Now you have all the time in the world to take Porsche on that extended vacation you two have been planning for the longest time, right? Come on, don’t just stand there, take a seat and have some coffee as well.”

His cousin flinches, casting Vegas a murderous look, but quickly regains control of his features, not bothering to reply to that taunt. Chan narrows his eyes, displeased with the way Vegas talks to his relatives. Then his gaze flickers over to Pete, who is still leaning against Vegas’ chair, and he grows very still. Seems Chan’s danger sense just started emitting an unearthly screech… Vegas can sympathise.

Still smiling, Uncle Korn takes a seat, and after hesitating briefly, Kinn sits down as well. They’re each served a cup of coffee, and Vegas accepts one as well.

Khun Korn slowly drinks some coffee, eyeing the chess set. “You’re playing chess, Vegas?” So apparently they are making small talk first. Fine.

“I know the basics, but I don’t really enjoy playing,” Vegas admits calmly. “Black or white?”

Reaching across the table, his uncle silently picks a white chess figure and makes his first move. “You’ve been causing quite an uproar across town, Vegas.”

Vegas wasn’t kidding when he said he barely knows the basics—this will be a very short game. He simply picks one of the black pieces and moves that too, without even bothering to attempt a strategic move.

His uncle pauses and stares at Vegas’ left hand, where the golden family ring gleams in the sunshine. The poker face slips for a second, and quiet anger bleeds into his Uncle’s eyes. “You have indeed been very naughty, I see.” After a moment of contemplation he moves another chess piece across the board.

“I think that depends entirely on your definition of naughtiness.” Vegas reclines in his chair and continues to drink his coffee, completely unperturbed. “This is nothing really, I can assure you I have the potential to be a hell of a lot naughtier. Do you like the coffee, Uncle Korn? I think my father imported the beans directly from Central America.” Eeny, meeny, miny, moe… Vegas picks another random black chess piece and makes his equally random move.

His uncle’s fingers clench reflexively around the white chess piece he just picked up. “Is that so? Speaking of which, care to tell me what happened to your father?”

Leisurely lifting the delicate coffee cup to his lips, Vegas takes another slow sip while eyeing his uncle over the rim of the cup. “He had an unfortunate encounter with a Japanese boning knife. What goes around, comes around.” Vegas shrugs nonchalantly. “Which reminds me…”

At the wave of his hand, a staffer approaches, very carefully carrying the white porcelain urn with Khun Gun’s ashes. He places it gently next to Vegas’ uncle on the table. Vegas has even wrapped a lovely red velvet bow around the urn. It just looks so much better this way.

He might as well have dropped a hand grenade on the table. Kinn draws in a sharp breath, and looks worriedly at his father, who has actually gone quite pale. Vegas always had the impression that there wasn’t much love lost between the two brothers, but apparently his uncle has a heart after all, because he looks genuinely pained.

“You can have it if you want to…” It’s an easy offer to make for Vegas; he has no emotional connection to his father’s remains at all. “If you’re not interested, I’ll flush the ashes down the toilet.”

“Vegas!” Kinn hisses in outrage, and Vegas has the pleasure to see Khun Korn loose his calm as he slams the chess piece into the chessboard with way more force than necessary.

Vegas’ lips curl into a slow, cruel smile, and he places his empty coffee cup back on the table before making his next random chess move. “I warned you, I can be a lot worse than you’d possibly imagine.”

His uncle is really doing his best to keep a rein on his temper. It must be a new experience for him that his nephew is neither grovelling nor treating him with the respect he has grown used to as the head of the Theerapanyakul family.

“I’m starting to see why your father removed you from the family,” Khun Korn mutters bitterly under his breath.

“He didn’t remove me, I walked out on my own free will,” Vegas corrects him gently. “And now I have returned to take my rightful place.”

“That place rightfully belongs to Macau,” his uncle reminds him icily, moving another white chess piece.

“Macau is still a child. He won’t be leading this family now, or at any time in the future. I think he should go to university and have some fun instead, live his life, you know?”

Any real chess player would by now be horrified by Vegas’ wildly random chess moves, but Uncle Korn only smiles, biding his time, probably thinking he is luring Vegas into a trap.

“The family rules state quite clearly how the succession of the Minor family should be handled in case of an unexpected death,” he lectures his nephew.

“I don’t give a fuck about your family rules.” Which chess piece to move now? Eeny, meeny, miny, moe… This one looks cute, is that a pawn or a bishop?… who fucking cares… “Haven’t I made this abundantly clear by now?”

His uncle cringes faintly, looking at chaos on the chessboard. Then he gives his nephew a sharp look. “You’re a Theerapanyakul, those are your family rules as well. And those rules are meant to be obeyed. ”

“Oh, you mean the whole ‘The Main family controls it all, the Minor family must report to the Main family and always follow their orders’ bullshit? Yeah, well… See, this doesn’t sound very appealing to me, Uncle Korn. It never has. So now that I’m in charge here, I make my own damn rules.”

Even the Main family bodyguards flinch upon hearing that.

“Vegas!” Kinn warns him again. He is starting to sound stressed, his eyes darting back and forth between his father and Vegas. “You can’t just make your own rules; it simply isn’t done!”

“Says who?” Vegas can feel his patience starting to slip. His voice is now carrying a sharp edge. “Your father? Of course he’s all for keeping these idiotic rules—they’re in his favour after all. Let me give you some advice, Kinn… don’t allow the older generation to ruin your life. Everything becomes so much clearer when you start doing your own thing.”

Kinn swallows hard. Vegas senses that his cousin feels trapped by the family traditions as well, but he isn’t ready just yet to openly rebel against his imposing father.

His uncle meanwhile makes another chess move. He asks Vegas quietly, “Are you planning to go to war, boy?”

Pete’s hand comes to rest on Vegas’ shoulder, the lightest of touches, but somehow it makes Chan nervous. He seems to be caught in a staring contest with Pete. Vegas can feel the hair on the back of his neck standing up; Pete is playing mind games with the head bodyguard of the Main family, and it irritates him.

“I told you to fucking tone it down,” he warns his boyfriend sharply before turning his attention back to his uncle.

“If I had planned to go to war, you would have died within three minutes of entering this courtyard,” he tells the older man dryly, and all the bodyguards around them react with alarm, the overall tension in the courtyard ratcheting up a notch. “This isn’t a fucking movie. I wouldn’t waste my time with small talk, I would just get on with it right away.”

The chessboard in front of them is a chaotic mess that makes absolutely no sense to Vegas. He always hated this game anyway.

“Why don’t you just tell me why the fuck you’re here, Uncle Korn?”

His uncle doesn’t like Vegas’ tone of voice; he frowns openly at the younger man. “Check,” he warns him, and Vegas knows this doesn’t apply just to their crazy chess game. “Whatever made you think that your actions would have no consequences, Vegas? You shouldn’t start playing if you do not know the rules, because in the end you will always loose.” Korn Theerapanyakul motions to the chessboard. “Just like in this chess game.”

Vegas huffs with amusement. “Who says I’ve lost?”

“There are no more moves for you to make, Vegas. Whatever you do next, checkmate is inevitable.” Entirely too pleased with himself, his uncle leans back in the chair and gives Vegas a fake, benevolent smile that doesn’t reach his hard eyes. “Despite everything you’ve done, I will not have you killed, since you are after all my nephew. You can leave the country if you want, start anew somewhere far away.”

“That’s adorable. Sending people abroad really runs in this family,” Pete mutters behind him, and the corners of Vegas’ mouth twitch.

For the first time in this conversation, Khun Korn focuses on the man standing behind Vegas. He looks Pete over thoughtfully. Vegas can feel the pressure of Pete’s hand on his shoulder increasing.

Pete stays silent, but whatever is showing on his face, it makes Chan move closer to Khun Korn in an instant, with a hand on his gun.

Vegas sighs deeply. “Sunshine, what did I tell you before this meeting? Are you suffering from short term memory loss?”

“…You must not kill my extended family unless ordered to do so…” Pete sounds like a scolded toddler, rebelliously reciting the rule he just broke. Or in this case, was clearly considering breaking.

“Exactly, so stop frightening our guests. No chains the rest of the week for you,” Vegas announces the penalty and Pete huffs in frustration. Now, where were they… oh yes.

“Checkmate? I don’t think so.” Vegas reaches out and pushes the whole chess board off the table. “See, problem solved.”

Khun Korn’s mouth tightens. He has trouble holding his anger in check. “That was a stupid move, boy. You seem to forget that Macau is living with me now.”

Kinn exhales a sharp breath. He obviously didn’t see this threat coming. Boy, does he have to learn a lot about his father.

Strangely enough, Vegas stays completely calm. “I think my little brother is perfectly safe. Or do you want to deal with your own little palace revolt? You really think Tankhun or Porsche would let anything happen to Macau? And I think we all know that you can’t possibly risk threatening Porsche over this, don’t we?” A glance at his cousin’s grim face confirms that Kinn would without hesitation go against his own father when it comes to Porsche.

Vegas chuckles softly. “No, Macau is perfectly safe. See, I’m a good chess player after all. Now let’s cut the crap and get down to business, shall we?”

His uncle is seething. No one from the Minor family has ever dared treat him like his, no one. If looks could kill, Vegas would be dying a horrible death right now.

But Vegas simply ignores him. He has a lot of things to get off his chest. “First of all, there is no ‘Minor’ family anymore. I know it might take some time for you to adapt to this, but my branch of the family tree is just as good as yours. All those fucking family rules Grandpa implemented? Consider them null and void.” And then Vegas raises his voice, so that all his men throughout the courtyard can hear what he says next. “We report to no other family. We obey no other family. We bow to no other family. We are Theerapanyakuls. We are at the top of the food chain, and we rule!”

Cheers echo over the courtyard, and for a brief moment Vegas wonders if his uncle will have an apoplectic fit; he certainly looks like it, first going very pale and then flushing a deep red. Chan hurriedly pours a glass of water and hands it to his boss. Even Kinn gets up and hovers close to his father, clearly concerned. But all Vegas can think about is how much easier life would be if his uncle would just keel over and die.

“What exactly is the meaning of all of this?” Kinn asks him anxiously. “What point are you trying to make, Vegas?”

“My family’s going independent,” Vegas announces calmly, and that is followed by another round of cheers. “You are of course always free to hire us—on our terms.”

Seems that was the wrong thing to say.

“I’m going to end you,” his uncle sputters, almost choking on the water. He is trembling with outrage. “I am going to ruin your business, burn down this house and kill every single one of you!”

“No, you’re not.” Vegas expression hardens. “You can fantasise about all the things you want to do to me, but that is all you can do. You can’t touch me, because right now I’m the one controlling all the money, and without my good will you can’t fulfil any of your immediate monetary obligations. You really think the other families, the Yakuza or the Russians will show lenience about late payments? I doubt it.”

Pete’s hand still rests on his shoulder, and Vegas absently reaches up to caress it while watching his uncle like a hawk. All hail the King, baby.

“You worked so hard to make your side of the family almost respectable, Uncle Korn. Looking down on the rest of us—who are risking our lives for you, doing your dirty business so that you and your children can remain squeaky clean in the public eye. Well, go ahead and invest all your money into respectable businesses then. I’m going to be fair, my accountants are in the process of calculating your family’s share of the overall finances. Everything will be put into an off-shore account, for you to do with as you please. Have your go at being fully respectable. Or sign a contract with us, in case you want us to run any sort of illegal businesses for your family. It’s up to you.”

“You think you can run your business without me? I’m the head of the family, I’m the one brokering the deals with the other syndicates! I’m the one negotiating with the other families! You’re nothing, Vegas, they don’t even know your name, they only know Khun Korn Theerapanyakul!” His uncle’s face contorts with rage.

“Khun Korn Theerapanyakul is but a name,” Vegas points out, shrugging nonchalantly. “What use is your good name if you don’t have the infrastructure in place to make everything work? The money laundering accountants, the casino personnel, the loan sharks, the people running the gambling dens, the drug runners and the weapon smugglers… they’re all my people.” Vegas smiles mirthlessly. “Feel free to try and build such an infrastructure of your own… but wait… you can’t… you don’t have the time for it, because you have bills to pay. So what’s it going to be, Uncle Korn? If you ask me really nicely, I might help you out.”

That is the last straw. Khun Korn explodes from his seat with so much force that the chair he was sitting on falls over. Suddenly there are guns in everyones hands, and Kinn freezes, totally caught off guard by this turn of events. He looks at his father, who is shaking his fist at Vegas, unleashing a string of profanities so foul that Kinn pales.

He sounds remarkably like his brother, Vegas thinks absently. He didn’t bring a gun of his own to this meeting; he doesn’t need one. Half a dozen red laser dots have instantly appeared on each of their guests.

“Can I kill him now?” the Abyss behind him leans down and whispers in his ear. “He’s really rude, just like your father. It pisses me off.”

Both the King and the Abyss turn their dark eyes towards the raging elderly gentleman, who is barely held in check by his head bodyguard and his son.

“We might get lucky—if he continues like this maybe he’ll have a stroke…” the King muses quietly, just tuning out all the curses hurled at him.

“I doubt he would hold out as long as his brother did…” the Abyss ponders absently.

Both of them simultaneously tilt their heads, suddenly staring with an unnerving intensity at Khun Korn Theerapanyakul. Seeing their eerie behaviour is enough to finally trigger Chan into action. He resolutely grabs his incensed employer and pulls him away towards safety. Kinn is herded away by his bodyguards as well; after all he is the heir. He offers no resistance, in fact Vegas could almost swear that his cousin is glad to be able to leave. And thankfully one of those spooked Main family guards even remembers to take along the urn.

“What a pity…” the Abyss sighs in disappointment as its prey is dragged out of the courtyard and hurried back towards the safety of the Main family mansion.

“I think you underestimate how resilient this old man is…” the King contemplates thoughtfully, and then adds. “Want to make a bet?”

And then both of them smile darkly.

All hail the King, baby.