Everything’s got a moral if only you can find it

It’s early evening, the setting sun is painting the sky a lovely shade of rose red, and the heat of the day is giving way to more bearable temperatures. Vegas casually strolls down an alleyway, deep in the slums. He knows the area as the back of his hand—every passageway, every dead end—and that’s why he’s picked this neighbourhood.

A glance at his watch; they’ve been at it for roughly an hour now, time to wrap things up. There’s no need to hurry, his target is overweight and out of shape, has long since stopped running and is now slowly jogging down this deserted back street.

The man keeps trying to escape into the houses lining the alley, but doors close in his face. People disappear inside as soon as they spy Vegas and his prey approaching. No one heeds the desperate pleas of the hunted man, not even the promise of money is tempting enough to make them grant him refuge. As soon as they look over his shoulder, and see Vegas casually meandering towards them, they close their eyes and ears and doors. Nothing to see here, move on.

Another turn around the corner and they’ve reached a dead end. No windows. No doors. Just walls. Surprised, the man looks around, but there is no way out, because Vegas is blocking the entrance of the alley now.

What a pathetic sight. Vegas snorts with contempt as the man sinks to his knees, his hair and face sweat-drenched and flushed from running. The designer clothes he is wearing, the golden watch, and the handmade Italian shoes… he sticks out like a sore in these destitute surroundings.

“Detective Theerapanyakul…” The man whimpers pitifully, his voice trembling with exhaustion. “Please… This has all been a terrible misunderstanding. I’m sure we can come to an agreement. Just tell me your price.”

“Oh please… you make me sick.” Vegas snorts with disgust and shakes his head, slowly approaching the kneeling man. He hates people like this, he hates them. “Money can’t solve everything. You may have paid off the captain and even the judge, but I’ve got news for you, I don’t give a damn about your money, you asshole.”

The man gulps and wrings his fat hands with the gold rings. “You’re making a terrible mistake, Detective Theerapanyakul. You know as well as I do that my lawyers will have me out of custody, with all the charges dropped, within 24 hours, just like the other times. Why do you insist on arresting me anyway? You’re going to ruin your career. I believe you already received a warning from your superiors to leave me alone. Why do you insist on hunting me down like this?”

“Because you not keeping your dirty hands off those teenagers is unacceptable.” Vegas narrows his eyes. Just looking at this scumbag makes him incredibly angry. “They’re children, not your sex toys or punching bags. People like you make me sick. You think having money makes you invulnerable, that you can do whatever twisted things come to your mind? Well, I don’t give a fuck about your money. All I care about is justice for your victims.”

Worried, the man squints his eyes in a furtive manner, looking around for a way out, for help to materialise. “The commissioner is my brother-in-law!” he squeaks anxiously.

Totally unimpressed, Vegas simply shrugs. “Good for you.”

His ever-growing anxiousness causes him to stammer, and he tries once again to threaten Vegas. “If… If… if you arrest me now, I’ll have you suspended!”

Vegas lips curl into a dark smile. “Who said I’m going to arrest you?”

The kneeling man most certainly didn’t expect to hear something like this. His eyes go round with panic, he opens his mouth as if he is about to speak, but no words come forth. He reminds Vegas of a fish out of water.

“How about you take a good look at me?” Slowly, Vegas strolls closer. “Am I wearing my uniform right now? No? Now try using your braincells. What could this possibly mean?”

The man continues to gape at Vegas; he is so confused, and obviously not a quick thinker.

“Fine, I will tell you: I’m not wearing my uniform because I’m off duty right now,” Vegas patiently explains, making sure to speak slowly. Hopefully the man will get the hint.

He is slow, so slow, but eventually the man on the ground blinks and some of the nervous tension drains out of him again. “Off duty… Okay…” And then he is suddenly complaining again. “What the fuck?! What sort of game are you playing at, Detective?! You think this is funny, scaring me like this?!”

Vegas waits until the outburst is over, then he pulls out the gun from the back of his pants, aiming it at the scumbag. “As I said, I’m not going to arrest you…”

First distress, then anger and now terror… it is very satisfying to watch all the facial expressions of his victim. Especially the naked fear on his pale face, now that he is staring at the barrel of the gun pointed at him.

“… W..w..what…? W–what is the meaning… of… this…?” the man croaks fearfully.

Vegas’ cellphone starts ringing at that very moment. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, I need to take this. Just a moment, all right?” With a sigh, Vegas answers the phone while still pointing his gun at the man on the ground. “Yes?”

Damn, it’s one of his subordinates, the one in charge of the casinos. Vegas listens while tapping his foot impatiently, and isn’t impressed with what he is being told. Problems, always problems, what does he pay these guys for…

“So? I’m at work right now, just handle it on your own.” Vegas rolls his eyes and mouths ‘I’m so sorry for this interruption’ to the kneeling man, who watches all of this wide-eyed.

But apparently that is too much to ask for; his manager is begging for more instructions and Vegas can feel his patience growing thin. “What the fuck am I paying you for if I need to make all the decisions?” Irritation creeps into Vegas’ voice. “Just pay him off for now and then look for a suitable replacement.”

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say because now his employee is only getting started, attempting to drown Vegas in a flood of suggestions. Vegas starts rocking back and forth on his heels and decides that enough is enough. “I don’t care, just do your fucking job already.” And with that he hangs up and pockets the phone again.

“Sorry about that. I have a lot of new employees who are still learning the ropes, and they keep calling me for advice all the time. You think I should perhaps hire a supervisor? All these phone calls day and night really are turning into a hassle,” Vegas ponders, not really expecting an answer.

“Anyway… you were asking about the meaning of all this before we got interrupted, right? Well, I don’t know what you expect me to say, I mean, isn’t it rather obvious?” Vegas wiggles his gun a bit. “This isn’t an arrest, this is an execution.”

“You can’t do this, you’re a police officer!” the man on the ground yells, in full-blown panic.

“That’s why I’m shooting you when I am off duty,” Vegas explains patiently. “I do try to separate work from pleasure. Now, do you have any last words?”

Shell-shocked, the kneeling man starts to whimper and then outright cry, bawling like a baby. He’s a pathetic heap of trash, wetting his pants, calling for his mother, it’s disgusting to watch. A glance at his watch tells Vegas he is running late, and so he simply pulls the trigger. A nice and clean double tap. Done.

Then he turns around and strolls out of the deserted dead end, back into the main alleyway. All the doors and windows are shut. Hear no evil, see no evil. Everyone living here knows what is best for them. Vegas is aware that as soon as he is gone, they will descend onto the dead body like vultures, stripping him of all valuables. And then it will only be a dead naked body rotting in the sun until the smell gets so bad that someone will reluctantly call the cops to take care of the mess.

The sun has set, twilight is descending. It takes Vegas a while before he emerges from the maze of alleyways to where has parked his car. No person in their right mind would park their car here, but Vegas isn’t worried. His car is still standing exactly where he parked it, being guarded by a small group of teenagers.

“Khun Vegas…” They all jump to their feet and greet him respectfully as he approaches. One of them hurries into a nearby house while Vegas pays his car guardians generously. Life is difficult here in the slums; they’re living a hard life.

A moment later the youth emerges from the house again, this time carefully holding a large plastic pet carrier as far away from him as he possibly can. “Here you go, Khun Vegas.” The teenager is so anxious to get rid of the carrier that he almost tosses it at Vegas. “My mom said to tell you that you better drown this one, it’s got the devil inside.” Shuddering, he retreats a few steps, eyeing the carrier warily.

Vegas clears his throat. Even he is holding the carrier at a safe distance; he has learned his lesson the hard way. “Thank you for taking care of it while I was busy.”

People are so superstitious here, and they’re prone to exaggeration as well. The devil inside? Nonsense… A low, mean growl emerges from the carrier and Vegas swallows hard. Nonsense, right… ?

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The drive back home is interesting. Vegas secures the carrier in the passenger seat. He thinks that it’s a good idea to have the access grate pointing in his direction. You know, so that the little monster inside doesn’t feel lonely, scared and abandoned during its first car ride.

Fifteen minutes into the ride he comes to regret that decision. The car has a manual transmission, and Vegas is shifting gears when there is a black flash from the front of the carrier and his left hand holding the gear stick suddenly sprouts four, deep claws marks that immediately start oozing blood. Vegas yelps and hits the brakes, nearly causing a pile-up. “Fuck!” Then he slaps his hand over his mouth. Oops, mustn’t curse. And then he blinks. Of course he can curse. This isn’t a human child after all. “Fuck fuck fuck!” Damn, this hurts!

Vegas gives the middle finger to all the people honking their horns, he simply turns on the hazard lights and glowers at the damn pet carrier while wrapping a tissue around his bleeding hand. Fuck, how can this hurt so much? From the depth of the carrier comes rustling and another mean growl.

With a deep sigh, Vegas fishes his cellphone out of his pocket, peels away the tissue and snaps a photo of his bleeding hand before wrapping the wound up again.

‘I got a cat. I think we are having initial communication problems. Drop by to meet it and offer some advice?’ He sends the message together with the photo to Macau. For all he knows Macau still has him blocked, but that doesn’t deter Vegas. He keeps sending him messages anyway.

Pete doesn’t understand, he thinks it is a waste of time. “Just leave him be, he’ll come around eventually,” he suggested just yesterday, when Vegas snapped a photo of the kitchen after their second attempt at making banana muffins. “Stop sending him messages, just leave him alone.”

Pete doesn’t understand because he never had a brother. But Vegas does, and he misses his little brother dreadfully. The guilt is eating away at him. He knows it isn’t his fault, he should instead blame his father for making Macau attend those damn Monday meetings. If his brother had been in school that day, then their confrontation in the conference room wouldn’t have happened. Then Vegas would have had time to talk to Macau in private, and to tell him, as gently as possible, about their father’s death. And try to explain his role in it (the censored version of it at least).

But now shit has hit the fan, and Macau is no longer talking to him. And it hurts.

Before this mess, when Vegas kept his distance to Macau to honour the deal with his father, the radio silence between them could always be broken by a simple phone call. The bond between the two brothers was so strong that even time or the physical distance between them didn’t wear it out.

But now Macau is no longer taking his calls. Or reading his messages. Or meeting him. And it hurts really badly.

The only thing that makes it all easier to bear is the knowledge that Porsche and Tankhun are keeping a very close eye on Macau. Tankhun has taken his little orphaned cousin under his wing, watching over him like a mother hen, somehow managing, together with Porsche, to keep Macau from the poisonous clutches of Khun Korn.

Porsche has mercy on Vegas, and keeps sending him updates, even though he’s also angry with him. Vegas’ palace coup has seriously upset the power balance between every single organised crime family in this country, and poor Kinn has his hands full trying to fix the problems erupting left and right for the Main family. And seeing his boyfriend stressed out like this is terrible for Porsche, which has driven a wedge between him and Vegas. Their friendship is on shaky grounds right now. This sucks too.

Vegas sighs deeply. It’s no use wallowing in self pity. He just has to hope that everything will work out in the end.

For the rest of the drive, the opening of the carrier is pointed in the opposite direction, far away from Vegas, who is having doubts about this little plan of his. It sounded like such a great idea—teach his little psychopath a bit of empathy by introducing a pet, forcing Pete to take care of it, and turning them into a real little family.

And now Vegas is having second thoughts.

This might have worked if only he had picked another kitten, and not this resentful little devil. He had the choice of the litter; the kittens were all over him, cute furry bundles of joy, in the most amazing colours.

And what did he pick?

If only he had ignored the yowling from the other room. If only he hadn’t asked to see what was making the ruckus there. If only this little ball of hatred hadn’t glared at him like this, its anger rattling the whole carrier he was locked away in.

Vegas was doomed from the start; the lush fluffy black fur, the furious orange eyes—one look and all he could think of was Pete and their first meeting. Yes, he was doomed from the start, it had to be this little devil and no one else.

Vegas, the collector of misfits, the King of the freaks, that’s him.

Stolen story; please report.

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His bodyguards aren’t happy that he has snuck out without them. His third in command greets Vegas at the front door, sounding rather frustrated with his boss. “Khun Vegas, with all due respect, how are we supposed to keep you safe if you keep leaving the house without us? Did you at least wear the body armour?” Jai doesn’t even wait for an answer. “Of course you didn’t.”

Vegas has the good grace to feel ashamed; he looks down, mumbles an apology and then takes this opportunity to hand the pet carrier to a member of his staff. “Careful with that,” he warns them.

“Khun Vegas, you’re making my job unnecessarily difficult.” Jai is determined to say his piece. He follows Vegas into the house, his brows knitted into a frown. He’s probably regretting changing jobs and coming to work for Vegas full time. “Just this week we averted two assassination attempts. Two! Khun Korn is not calming down; our intel tells us that he is still determined to murder you. All the money in the world is not going to keep you safe if you leave this house without body armour and guards!”

Vegas kicks off his shoes. Old habits die hard. He just treats the mansion like his apartment, much to the consternation of his staff, who have to constantly clean up after him.

“I know, I know.” Vegas sighs and strides towards the kitchen. “I’m simply not used to having guards around me all the time. It feels weird. It would also look strange if I were to show up at work with bodyguards, right?”

That is the second beef Jai has with him, Vegas not quitting his daytime job. “Then maybe you should just stop pretending to be a police officer,” he mutters under his breath, following his employer into the kitchen.

“I heard that!” As always, Vegas entering the kitchen causes chaos. The kitchen staff expects him to stay out of here. They want him to do it the proper way, to sit in the dining room and order food. Another thing that feels weird.

“Sorry, I’m just looking for a quick snack…”

He hasn’t even finished the sentence before a plate with sandwiches is thrust at him. They’re really trying to get him out of their workspace as quickly as possible. Vegas doesn’t know if he should feel offended or pleased; he just takes the plate and leaves the kitchen.

“I’m not quitting my job,” he tells Jai.

“You already have a job right here. You can’t have two full-time jobs, it just can’t be done,” his main bodyguard points out patiently. They’ve had this conversation several times already.

There is a low yowl, followed by a sharp hiss, and the staffer holding the pet carrier yelps and nearly drops the container. Blood drips down onto the parquet floor.

“When I told you to be careful with that, I didn’t mean ‘Don’t drop it’, I meant ‘Try not to loose any limbs’.” Vegas sighs deeply. “Someone go get him a bandage. And give that to me…” Very carefully he takes back the carrier, making sure not to come anywhere near the grate at the front.

“What on earth is that?” Jai tries to lean closer to peek into the carrier but Vegas hastily moves it out of the man’s reach. He needs his head bodyguard with both of his eyes.

“A cat. I mean, a kitten.” Juggling his plate of sandwiches in one hand, and the pet carrier in the other hand, Vegas climbs the stairs to his private floor.

“You went and risked getting assassinated to get a kitten?” Jai sounds outraged. He will most likely ask for a raise, or hand in his resignation soon. “Boss! Seriously? You can’t possibly think this was a good idea.”

Vegas huffs in growing irritation; he’s hungry, would like to get a band-aid himself, and a shower would be nice too. Opening the damn door to his apartment isn’t easy with both hands occupied, and Jai the asshole is too busy berating him to help. Gah! The angry yowling from the carrier rises in pitch, it sends shivers of dread down his spine. Finally, the door swings open and Vegas can enter.

“I didn’t leave the house to get a pet, I left the house to kill someone,” Vegas explains to his guard as he makes his way into the living room area of the large apartment. He could probably fit his old apartment into this one ten times over, it’s that huge. Without a cleaning service, Vegas would despair.

“Another body?!” Jai exclaims anxiously. “Boss! I thought we discussed this, you should leave the killing to the rest of us, that’s what we are paid for!”

“What is that I’m hearing?” Pete strolls into the room; he must be fresh out of the shower and the sight of him wearing only a pair of jeans, water still dripping from his wet hair, makes the butterflies in Vegas’ stomach go crazy. Mine mine mine! “You’re killing people without me? I think I’m going to have to ask for a divorce.”

“We’re not even married, you nutcase.” Vegas catches himself staring at Pete’s bare upper body and can feel his face getting hot. Oh shit, is he blushing? In front of the staff? How embarrassing. “Out,” he snaps at Jai, who promptly turns around and hastily leaves the apartment.

“And whose fault is that?” Pete gives Vegas a subtle wink and ambles closer.

Must not forget to breathe. Vegas inhales shakily; he feels like such an idiot for losing his head every time Pete arrives in his vicinity. Every, single, damn time. It’s not getting better, it’s actually getting worse. They’re so besotted with one another that the staff makes fun of them behind their back. Whatever.

“I don’t have time to get married in the middle of a bloody war,” Vegas mumbles, losing himself in Pete’s dark eyes. But instead of kissing him, Pete makes a grab for the sandwiches. “Hey!”

Cackling gleefully, Pete skips out of his reach with his loot. Vegas more of less dumps the pet carrier on the floor to dart after him, but the occupant of the carrier takes exception to this rude treatment and emits an eardrum-shattering yowl.

Surprised, Pete skids to a stop, looking around for the source of this goosebump-inducing sound, until his eyes come to rest on the plastic carrier. He blinks in astonishment. “What on earth is that?”

Vegas takes this opportunity to steal back at least one of the sandwiches and starts eating it. “This? This is our cat.” And since Pete hasn’t snapped out of his initial astonishment yet, he adds tentatively. “Surprise…?” Oh yes, he is definitely having second thoughts now.

“Why are we getting a cat?” Pete is so baffled it’s almost comical. He simply drops the sandwich he was holding, and before Vegas has time to warn him, he’s already next to the carrier, couching down to peek inside.

Whoosh. The paw of terror strikes again.

Now it’s Pete’s turn to yelp. He rocks backward, staring in stark disbelief at his hand, where bright red blood is welling up from fresh scratch marks. Oh shit, Pete and the cat are not getting off to a good start, it seems.

“Uhm…” Vegas swallows dryly, unsure how to pacify Pete, who definitely looks as if he needs to be pacified fast. “You’re going for a partner look I see. Wise decision…” He flashes his own scratches and hurries to Pete’s side. It might be a good idea to put himself between his boyfriend and their new pet.

Pete is at a loss for words; he is struggling to vocalise whatever he is feeling, and from the thunderous expression on his face, he has a lot of feelings. Eventually he manages to growl: “Tell me again, why do we have a cat?”

Because I want you to learn how to care for other living beings? Nah, not a good idea to explain this to Pete right now. Time to play dirty.

Vegas crouches beside Pete and gives him a dazzling smile. “Because I always wanted to have a cat, but my father never allowed me to have one.”

Pete might have very strong feelings about owning a pet, but whatever Vegas wants, Vegas gets. No matter what it is. That goes especially for everything that Vegas was deprived of by his evil father. Vegas knows this and exploits Pete’s weakness shamelessly. Time to go for the kill

“Besides… I saw this kitten and immediately thought of you. The first time I met you, you reminded me of a sleek black cat… just like this one. This kitten… I think it’s fate that it ended up with us.”

Okay, so maybe this was a bit too much. Pete casts Vegas an incredulous look and huffs. “Yeah right…” And since Vegas is still watching him anxiously, he finally throws up his hands in defeat. “Fine. You want a cat? All right. We’ll keep the cat.”

Crisis averted, Vegas can relax once again. “Thank you, Sunshine.”

Both of them lean forward to peek into the carrier, but from a safe distance. A pair of angry, orange eyes stares at them; the rest of the cat is kind of difficult to see in the shadows of the carrier. But it growls rather impressively at them.

“Are you sure this is a kitten, Vegas? Aren’t kittens supposed to be smaller?” Automatically Pete tries to intimidate the cat into submission with his signature, unblinking stare, and learns the hard way that this little monster isn’t impressed by a mere Abyss. From one second to the next, a spitting mad kitten is trying to bite its way through the metal grate of the carrier, presumably to claw his eyes out.

Once again, both Vegas and Pete yelp with alarm, and stumble backwards.

“You scared it!” Vegas accuses his boyfriend.

“Well, it scared me too, so we’re even now!” Pete counters. He’s irritated and unsure how Vegas expects him to react. “Why is it so big? And why is it so angry?”

“It’s a Maine Coon. This breed of cats tends to get very large. As for why it’s angry, I don’t know. This is my first cat! It was already angry when I got it. Maybe it simply is a very angry cat. Just like you are a very bloodthirsty person. Maybe it’s a personality trait.” Vegas shrugs. He is as clueless as Pete.

Pete rolls his eyes at Vegas. “I am not bloodthirsty. And you obviously picked this cat because you subconsciously recognised that it has the same kind of anger issues that you have, as well.”

That earns him an elbow to the side and he oofs.

The carrier is rattling under another furious outburst of the not so small kitten.

“Is it male or female?” Pete wonders, impressed with how much anger such a young cat can display.

“It’s a boy. Already neutered.” Both Vegas and Pete wince in instinctive male sympathy. “I got all the papers from the breeder. We just need to pick a name for it now.”

“Lucifer?” Pete suggests immediately. “Satan? Beelzebub? Mephistopheles?”

Vegas elbows him again, harder this time. “Stop being a jerk. It’s probably a perfectly nice kitten once the initial anger has died down. It certainly deserves a better name, something positive.”

Both of them once again stare at the little fluff ball of hatred hissing at them.

“Let’s keep with the family tradition then,” Pete suggests. “Macau. Vegas. What are some other cities famous for gambling?”

“I am not naming this kitten Monte Carlo or Atlantic City! It’s an idiotic family tradition in the first place, my father and his damn love for casinos.” Vegas shakes his head vigorously.

“Fine, no casino cities then. Let’s just pick any other city and be done with it, before the critter manages to gnaw its way through the metal grate.”

But they simply can’t decide on a city. After a lengthy, heated discussion, they finally compromise and print out a long list of cities that Pete pins to the wall. “Do you want to do it, or should I?” he asks Vegas.

“Go ahead, you know I’m not good at throwing knives.”

Pete pulls a knife. Of course he has a knife on him. Vegas has long since stopped being surprised at Pete carrying a variety of weapons. With a smirk and a flashy flick of his wrist, Pete sends the knife flying. It goes straight through the list, burying itself deeply into the teak ornament behind it. Vegas can already hear the staff complaining. “This is an antique,” he mutters, calculating how much its restoration will cost him.

Meanwhile Pete goes to collect his knife again, and to check which city got hit. “Well, welcome to the family, Venice,” he tells the angry kitten and gets a low growl in reply. Venice is not amused.

“Maybe he just doesn’t like to be locked up?” Aren’t cats supposed to be freedom loving creatures? Vegas is sure he heard that on TV once. No wonder the kitten is grumpy if it was locked up in that damn carrier the whole day. “Maybe we should let him out. You would like that, Venice, won’t you?”

Venice growls louder.

“I guess that means yes.” Pete eyes the carrier warily, and faces Vegas again. “Well, what are you waiting for, release him already.”

“Me?” Getting anywhere within the range of the paws of death doesn’t sound very appealing to Vegas. “Why me? You do it. You are not afraid of a little kitten, are you?”

“I think I read somewhere that cat bites can be particularly nasty…” Pete shudders. “I’m really not good with animals, Vegas. You do it, it’s your cat after all.”

“But I got the cat for both of us, so that we could be more like a totally normal couple, you know? The whole ‘a house, kids and pets’ thing… just the slightly altered gay mob version of it.” Vegas is not getting anywhere near that pet carrier, oh no. “Besides, I’m your boss, you should follow my orders. And protect me. I really think I need protecting right now, until Venice is a little less angry.”

Pete’s exasperated look is priceless.

“I love you too, Sunshine.” Vegas blows him a kiss to mollify him. “You got this, Pete. Fighting.” And then he retreats a few steps, just to be on the safe side.

Cautiously, Pete inches towards the carrier. “Now be a nice little kitty, Venice…” he mumbles while examining the locking mechanism for the grate from a safe distance. “Seriously Vegas… Could’t you get an easier-to-open carrier? I need to get way too close to those pins in order to open the grate. He’ll hit me again, this sucks!”

“I promise I’ll kiss it better, honey. Now stop stalling already.” Holding back his laughter is turning into a challenge of its own. The corners of Vegas’ mouth are twitching with barely contained mirth.

“I didn’t even want a pet. I don’t like pets,” Pete mutters grumpily under his breath. He grabs a pillow from a nearby chair and shields himself with it while unlocking the grate as quickly as possible. The carrier has fallen suspiciously silent, and it’s making Pete visibly nervous. Calmly carving people up as a hobby, but terrified of a little kitten—it’s hilarious. Vegas is starting to giggle. “Here we go…” A last push and the grate springs wide open. At the same time, Pete jumps backwards, still holding the pillow as a shield, hurrying back to Vegas’ side. Both of them eye the pet carrier suspiciously.

Dead silence, nothing moves.

“Venice?” Vegas calls out cautiously, as if the kitten could understand him. He’s holding on to Pete’s arm, still fighting to hold the giggles in.

Irritated with him, Pete tries to shake off Vegas’ hand. “See? I told you, he’s just angry because he wanted to have the possibility to leave that damn prison. Now let go of me, I want to go clean those fucking scratches.”

“Don’t swear in front of the kitten,” Vegas corrects him automatically, and this time it’s Pete who elbows him hard. Ouch.

There is another, earth-shattering yowl, and a black flash emerges from the carrier, hurling itself across the floor in their general direction. Vegas yells in alarm and throws himself backwards onto the nearest couch. Pete has the same idea, and lands next to him. Hissing and spitting furiously, the angry kitten races towards them, and then dives underneath the couch they’ve taken refuge on.

“Fuck!” Pete has actually turned slightly pale. “Are you sure this thing isn’t possessed?”

“Maybe we should do an exorcism, just to be on the safe side,” Vegas mumbles, kind of stunned as well. And then he finally dissolves into laughter. He laughs so hard that his ribs are starting to hurt.

“Very funny, Vegas—not.” Still feeling grumpy, Pete waits until Vegas has calmed down a bit again, which takes a while. “Nice try distracting me with that cat, but I haven’t forgotten that you went out to kill someone without me.”

Well shit, Vegas was counting on Pete to have already forgotten about that. Oops. Vegas sighs, but then decides to wiggle his eyebrows suggestively at Pete. “It just occurred to me that you’re in a delightful state of undress, Sunshine. How about a kiss?”

“You’re really shameless, you know that? You can get your kiss when you tell me who you killed, and how you did it. And why you didn’t take me along. I thought we had an agreement?” Pete is not to be distracted, what a shame.

Vegas sits up and inches closer to him anyway. “Don’t get irritated with me, okay? It was just some scumbag I came across while working a case a while ago. It wasn’t really planned, the opportunity presented itself and I took it. A little bit of a cat and mouse game, and once he was cornered I ended it with a clean double-tap.”

Pete snorts. “You and your guns; I gifted you an obscenely expensive handcrafted knife and you never use it.”

“I was in public. Using a knife makes such a mess. It just wouldn’t have worked in this situation, but maybe I’ll use it the next time. Will that make you happy?” Vegas leans in and kisses Pete’s bare shoulder. Mmmm… nice.

“I’ll be happy if you take me along every time you head out to kill someone, just as we agreed on.” Pete isn’t as indifferent to Vegas’ advances as he pretends to be; he’s leaning a bit closer so that Vegas has better access to his neck.

“I would have taken you along, but you were nowhere to be found.” Vegas trails a line of kisses from the shoulder up to Pete’s throat. “Where did you go, Sunshine? Are you cheating on me?”

“Do I look as if I have a death wish?” Pete tilts his head to the side, and sighs as Vegas nuzzles his neck. “I had a late lunch with Arm.”

Vegas bites Pete’s neck to express his displeasure. Thankfully Pete stopped working as a police counsellor a while ago, since working for Vegas is keeping him very busy. Everything could be perfect, if only Pete would stop playing his stupid games. Ever since Arm made those appreciative comments about Pete’s murder scenes, he’s caught the attention of the Abyss, and that is never an entirely good thing.

So now Pete is playing a game with poor Arm, who isn’t even aware he has advanced to Player status. With nearly childish delight, Pete is dumping his mob kills in a very intricate pattern all over the city, waiting for Arm to realise the huge artwork he is leaving for him.

Naturally, that means that Arm has made it onto the list Vegas has pinned to the wall in their bedroom—People who must not be killed. Arm, Pol and Yok are on it. Jai and a few other essential staffers as well. Vegas’ brother and his cousins too. Porsche too. And much to Pete’s annoyance, Uncle Korn as well. At least for the time being.

Pete shivers, goosebumps erupt on his skin from the bite. “I only meet him once per month. Just let me have some fun please… he’s entirely safe, I promise.”

Vegas huffs, moves his mouth a bit and bites again, this time a bit harder.

Pete moans softly and inhales sharply. “I like it when you’re so possessive. No need to worry though, he’s way too vanilla for me. He could never handle me.”

“Damn right, and you better not forget it, Sunshine. I’m watching you really closely, Pete. One step out of line and I am going to kick your ass, you better remember that.” Vegas then wraps his arms around Pete’s waist and snuggles close. “I’m not sharing and I don’t like it when you play these games with other people. You’re mine.”

“I know.” Pete sighs happily; he is more than okay with that.

Then both of them do a startled little jump as the black fluff ball of feline wrath emerges from underneath their couch all of a sudden, its little claws clicking on the parquet floor as it makes a beeline to the sandwich Pete dropped earlier on. Growling ferociously, Venice sinks his teeth into it and carries it back underneath the couch.

Vegas and Pete swallow hard.

“We could jump from this couch onto the next, and then on the chair. And from there we could make a dash for the bedroom door…” Pete suggests, trying to gauge the distances.

“Sounds like an excellent plan, we better do it while he’s still eating and distracted.”

The bedroom has a very sturdy door, they will be safe there. They exchange a solemn look that turns into a mischievous grin. And then the King and the Abyss make a dash for it…

- THE END -