Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Something was wrong with Pete.

Well – something had been wrong with Pete since he came back from wherever the minor family had taken him, which was understandable, though something Tankhun didn’t want to think about too much. But now there was something new wrong with him. It was the only explanation for why he’d suddenly abandoned the family (abandoned him) and was now lurking morosely around his worst cousin’s hopefully deathbed.

Tankhun wasn’t entirely clear on the sequence of events, but he did know that if he’d been there he would never have let Pete just leave when he was clearly not in his right mind.

He’d been brainwashed. It was obvious, and Tankhun didn’t understand why no one else seemed to see it. Tankhun didn’t know how Vegas had done it, only that he had, and now he’d ruined Pete like he ruined everything.

The trouble was what to do about it now.

“How do you un-brainwash someone?” he asked Arm, who was his head bodyguard now until Pete came back.

“I don’t know,” Arm said slowly. Tankhun sniffed.

“Some good you are,” he said. “Pol?” Pol shook his head, too.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “Get them away from the person who brainwashed them, maybe?”

That did seem important, even if Vegas was barely there at all. He wasn’t even conscious and he still had some kind of a hold on Pete. But Tankhun had tried to get Pete to leave and so far at least he just wouldn’t budge. He’d invited him to a movie night. Offered to take him to Hum Bar. Told him to come to a pool party. Pete just smiled and said thank you, Khun Noo, but I can’t right now.

Vegas clearly had his hooks in deep.

He was good at that. Convincing people to like him, to trust him, even though they should really know better. Tankhun knew better and he didn’t know why it wasn’t obvious to everybody else, all the time, that Vegas was rotten all the way down to the core.

“I’m worried about Pete,” he said. Pol and Arm exchanged a look. Maybe they thought he didn’t notice.

People underestimated how much he noticed.

“I know, Khun Noo,” Pol said.

“Something needs to be done,” he said. He wondered briefly if it would work to just have Pete kidnapped, but that would probably just make Pete angry with him, even if it was for his own good. He needed a lighter touch.

Maybe if Vegas would just die already, but he hadn’t yet, and Tankhun was seriously worried that if he did die while Pete was like this, it would hurt Pete. Even if, again, it would be for the best.

Privately, Tankhun didn’t know why his father was letting Vegas live at all. If he’d won, he wouldn’t be so merciful to them. But he knew it wasn’t up to him, so all he could do was hope that Vegas’s injuries would finish him off.

“Something like what?” Arm asked. Tankhun sighed, and flopped down onto his couch.

“I don’t know,” he said unhappily. He was supposed to take care of his people, and Pete was his people. But Pete wasn’t making it easy.

Tankhun didn’t like hospitals. They made his skin tight and prickly, reminded him of things he didn’t like to think about, and he tried to avoid them. For Pete, though, he forged into the depths.

He glanced briefly at Vegas, but the sight of him lying there hooked up to a bunch of machines, pale and lifeless, made him feel worse, so he didn’t look for long. He focused on Pete instead, who’d stood up as soon as he came in.

Pete really did look awful. Like a wrung out dishrag. It was like nobody was looking out for him at all.

“Hello, Khun Noo,” he said, smiling.

“Pete, my dear Pete,” Tankhun said, sweeping over and putting his hands on his shoulders. “You look absolutely wretched.”

“I’m really all right,” Pete said. Tankhun gave him a chiding frown.

“Of course you’re not,” he said. “Look at you. I can tell.”

Pete’s smile wavered a little. “It’s okay,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”

“You should really get out of here,” Tankhun said. “Take a break. Get some sun.”

Pete’s eyes strayed toward Vegas. “I can’t…”

“Pete,” Tankhun said. “Really! It’s not as though he’s going anywhere.” Pete didn’t look appeased, and Tankhun tried again. “Pol can stay here to guard him until we get back.” He didn’t like leaving him, but if it got Pete to go with him…sacrifices had to be made.

Pete still hesitated. He looked from Vegas to Pol to Tankhun and then back to Vegas.

“Please, Pete,” Tankhun wheedled. “I miss you.”

Victory, Tankhun thought triumphantly as he saw Pete cave, his shoulders slumping. “Okay,” he said. “But…but not for long. A couple hours?”

It was better than nothing. Tankhun nodded graciously, and Pete turned back toward Pol. “And you’ll call me if anything – anything – changes?” Pol nodded, and Pete breathed out slowly. He sort of twitched toward Vegas, glanced at Tankhun, then walked over and touched his hand, saying something under his breath. Tankhun strained to hear it, but couldn’t make it out.

“Okay,” Pete said, withdrawing. “We can go.”

Tankhun took Pete back to the house for lunch. Maybe it would help him remember where he was supposed to be.

Pete seemed uncomfortable for some reason, but Tankhun decided not to comment on it, since he’d probably only say he was fine. Other guards were looking at Pete funny, too, but they stopped when Tankhun narrowed his eyes in their direction.

He sat the three of them down together and considered his best approach.

“I still can’t believe you left me,” Tankhun said. Pete looked down.

“I’m sorry, Khun Noo,” he said.

“Why did you do it?”

Pete hesitated. It was a mistake, Tankhun willed him to realize. You’ve been brainwashed, my terrible cousin has gotten into your head and got you all turned around. “I don’t know if I can explain it.”

Tankhun tried not to sigh in frustration. “Of course you can’t, because it doesn’t make sense,” he said. Pete stiffened, but only for a moment before he relaxed and smiled his Pete-smile.

“I know you don’t understand, Khun Noo,” he said. “That’s okay.”

Tankhun frowned. “It’s not,” he said. “I want to understand.”

Pete glanced away, his hands in his lap. “I care about Vegas,” he said. Tankhun flinched, feeling that like a wound. How could Pete say that when the only thing Vegas had ever done was ruin everything he touched? The first thing he wanted to say was no you don’t, you just think you do, but he knew he shouldn’t.

“He hurt you,” Tankhun said. Pete’s shoulders hunched.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Pete said. Tankhun huffed, exasperated.

“Yes, you do,” he said. “When you disappeared and then came back, he did something to you, didn’t he?” Pete said nothing. “He got to you,” Tankhun pressed. “Messed with you, and now you’re–” He took a moment to look for the right word, and settled on, “confused.”

“I’m not confused,” Pete said.

“Pete,” Tankhun said, trying to be patient, “my cousin is not a good person.”

“I know,” Pete said.

“He’s not good for you,” Tankhun clarified. Pete nodded.

“I understand that you’re worried about me,” he said, smiling again. “I’m really okay.”

He wasn’t getting anywhere. Tankhun could see that. He cast his eyes ceilingward, shook his head, and waited for the food to arrive, reconsidering tactics. There had to be something he could say to get through to Pete, to make him understand the mistake he was making. He tried to remember if this had ever come up in any of his dramas, but he was drawing a blank.

What did he do to you, he sort of wanted to ask, but he also wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“Will you come back if he dies?” Tankhun asked. Pete stopped with a bite halfway to his mouth, something like panic flashing across his face.

“The doctors said he won’t,” Pete said, sounding a little weird. Tankhun hadn’t heard that but he hadn’t asked either.

“I’m just saying if,” he said. Pete glanced at Arm for some reason. He looked tense all of a sudden, and Tankhun recognized the look on his face as the one he got when he thought there might be trouble. Anxiety thrummed across Tankhun’s nerves and he looked around, trying to figure out what threat Pete was reacting to.

“Can I go?” Pete asked. He sounded calm, but Pete always sounded calm. It took Tankhun a moment to register the content of his question and then he blinked, confused.

“What?”

“Can I go,” Pete repeated. He’d set down his spoon and was sitting very still, his eyes focused and intent. Tankhun had the feeling he’d missed something.

“I…guess?” he said slowly. “But you just got here! You haven’t finished your lunch.”

“I’m sorry,” Pete said. He stood up and made a wai. “I don’t want to be rude. Thank you for inviting me, Khun Noo.”

And he left. Just – left! Tankhun stared after him, bewildered and hurt, and then swiveled toward Arm for an explanation.

“What was that?”

“I think he might’ve thought you were threatening Khun Vegas,” Arm said. He looked like it hurt him to say. Tankhun opened his mouth to say that was ridiculous, he hadn’t been threatening anyone, but if he thought about it he could sort of see why Pete might think that. Might think, maybe, that Tankhun had only asked him to come here to trick him into leaving his self-appointed guard duty.

It stung, that Pete would think Tankhun would lie to him like that. But he supposed maybe if he’d thought of it–

No, that was the thing, though. He hated his cousin, he wished he was dead, but he couldn’t actually imagine giving the order to kill him. And doing that to Pete would be – he didn’t think it would be a good idea.

Tankhun slumped in his chair with a heavy sigh. And now he’d probably ruined any chance he had of prying Pete away from Vegas’s side to talk to him alone.

He wasn’t going to give up, though. There had to be a way to free Pete from Vegas’s clutches. There just had to be.

Tankhun hadn’t always hated Vegas, and he knew that. He’d just hated him for a long time now, and a lot, and for very good reasons, just the most recent of which was that he would’ve killed Tankhun’s whole family if he hadn’t been stopped.

And now he’d woken up and seemed increasingly unlikely to just drop dead. Pete seemed to be stuck to him more than ever, and now Pete was hanging out with Macau, too, which just added insult to injury. He was treating Macau like a kid he had to look after instead of a little Vegas-in-waiting.

It appeared he was going to have to take drastic measures and talk to Vegas.

Porsche could get Pete to leave, for a little while. Tankhun waited for his opportunity, dressed his best, and steeled himself for both the unpleasant prospect of the hospital and the even more unpleasant prospect of interacting with his cousin. He brought Arm and Pol along because even if he was supposedly helpless and weak, Tankhun couldn’t trust that Vegas wouldn’t try something. He was wily. Maybe he was pretending.

He had Arm open the door for him so he could sweep inside without interruption, only to have his entrance somewhat spoiled by the fact that Vegas was asleep.

He did, Tankhun had to acknowledge, look helpless and weak. In Tankhun’s head he’d been a lot less…well. Pathetic.

There was a chair next to the bed. Pete’s chair, probably. Tankhun walked over and sat in it, frowning at Vegas. Maybe he shouldn’t wake him up.

“Vegas,” Tankhun said loudly. Vegas twitched, his face scrunching up before his eyes opened. He looked pretty out of it. He was probably on something, Tankhun realized belatedly, to help with the pain. He didn’t like thinking about Vegas in pain so he shunted it out of his mind.

Vegas’s eyes narrowed at him and he frowned. “What’re you doing here,” he said.

“I’m here to talk to you about Pete,” Tankhun said. Vegas stared at him and didn’t say anything. “You need to leave him alone.”

Vegas’s eyebrows rose a fraction. “I’m not exactly following him around,” he said.

“You know what I mean,” Tankhun said. “Whatever you did to him, you got in his head.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Vegas said. Tankhun hissed.

“You’re such a liar,” he said. Vegas turned his head so he was looking at the ceiling instead of Tankhun.

“Maybe you should have this conversation with Pete,” he said, like he didn’t know it wouldn’t work. Tankhun glared at him, which felt less effective when Vegas wasn’t looking at him.

“He won’t listen to me,” Tankhun admitted through gritted teeth. “That’s what you do to people. You twist them around until they can’t see straight.” He thought he saw something on Vegas’s face for a moment. Something that almost made him draw back. He pushed forward. “So – so whatever you’re doing that’s keeping him from realizing that you’re bad for him, stop it.”

Vegas didn’t say anything for a little while. Tankhun tried to read his expression but it was hard because it didn’t look like any of the Vegas-expressions he was familiar with.

“Or what,” he said eventually. Tankhun narrowed his eyes and Vegas turned his head to look at him again. “What are you going to do about it, if I don’t?”

Tankhun took a sharp breath through his nose. He drew himself up and glanced over his shoulder at Arm and Pol. His throat felt sort of tight so he cleared it before he said, “I’ll have you killed.”

Vegas didn’t look particularly concerned by this announcement. “That’s not up to you.”

“It could look like an accident,” Tankhun said, spitballing. “I don’t think my family would be very upset.” Vegas still didn’t look worried. Did he not believe him? Tankhun needed him to believe him. “It’s not like it’d be hard when you’re so weak–”

“Okay,” Vegas said.

Tankhun blinked. “What?”

“I said, okay,” Vegas repeated. His eyes went back to the ceiling and closed. “Go ahead.” Tankhun opened and closed his mouth, feeling like one of his fish removed from their pond. Vegas didn’t believe him, he thought. Vegas was calling his bluff, the bastard. Maybe he should’ve told Kinn to do this. Vegas would believe Kinn and back off and Pete would be safe.

“Right,” Tankhun said, off-balance and not sure what he was supposed to say now. “Right, then I will.” Vegas didn’t say anything, and Tankhun’s stomach turned nervously. “Don’t you care if you die?”

Vegas still didn’t say anything. Tankhun wondered for a moment if he’d fallen asleep, but when he leaned forward Vegas tensed. Tankhun’s throat felt tight again and he glanced over his shoulder at Arm and Pol but they weren’t looking at him either. Tankhun stood up, the chair scraping loudly on the floor.

“Just – just leave him alone!” he said passionately, and stormed out. He’d known that talking to Vegas would be bad but he hadn’t expected to feel like this. A weird tugging at something he’d mostly forgotten.

He didn’t like it at all.

Pete called him.

“Khun Noo,” he said politely. “How are you doing?”

Maybe, Tankhun thought hopefully, this was the long awaited cry for help. Maybe Pete was about to say I’ve realized I made a mistake, please help me. Tankhun had a feeling that wasn’t it. “I would be better if you were here,” he said.

“Arm and Pol will take good care of you,” Pete said, which wasn’t the point.

Tankhun sighed. “How are you, Pete?”

“I’m…” Pete trailed off. He seemed to be struggling with something.

“What is it?”

“I know you’re worrying about me,” Pete said finally.

“I am,” Tankhun said.

“Don’t,” Pete said. He sounded firm, definitive. The way he did when he gave orders, and it took Tankhun off guard. Before he could figure out how to answer, Pete went on. “Maybe you won’t believe me, but I need you to listen,” he said. “I’m not stupid and I haven’t been brainwashed. I made a choice and I know you don’t like it, but it was my choice and I’m not going to change my mind.”

Tankhun pulled his phone away from his ear and looked at the caller ID. It said it was Pete’s phone. “Pete–”

“I know you talked to Vegas,” Pete said. Tankhun straightened, indignant. Of course Vegas had told Pete. He’d probably made Tankhun sound awful. He opened his mouth to defend himself but Pete added, “he didn’t tell me, I checked the video.”

Tankhun’s mind went blank. He’d checked the video? Why? What would’ve made him think he needed to?

“I need you to respect my decision,” Pete said, his voice quieter, a little less…hard.

Tankhun took a shaky breath in. “Pete,” he said carefully, “he’ll just hurt you again. That’s what he does.”

“Maybe,” Pete said. “But it’s still up to me, and–” Pete took a deep breath, and said the next words like it was a fight to get them out. “--and if you can’t accept that then I don’t think I can talk to you anymore.”

Tankhun rocked back. Nobody had hit him in a very long time but he still remembered what it felt like and it was a little like this. Pete, faithful Pete, loyal Pete, and now here he was saying that he would give up on Tankhun if he didn’t accept Vegas.

“That’s not fair,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” Pete said. He sounded miserable. Tankhun wanted to argue, wanted to yell at Pete and shake him and somehow make him understand–

But he didn’t want Pete to walk away from him.

He slumped. “All right,” he said. “I’ll…respect your decision.” He felt a little sick saying it. Like he was betraying Pete, leaving him out on his own.

“Thank you, Khun Noo,” Pete said. He sounded relieved. “I’ll…talk to you later.”

And he hung up. Tankhun lowered his phone and wandered out onto his balcony.

It was better, he supposed. At least if he could keep Pete close, he could keep an eye on him, look out for him, watch for signs of anything wrong. Take care of him, even if Pete was making himself hard to take care of. It was something, anyway.

Better than nothing.

Chapter Text

Kinn remembered when Pete first came to the family.

It was after Khun’s kidnapping, when he was out of the hospital but refusing to leave his room for anything. Kinn remembered thinking he was young, maybe even a little younger than Khun, and didn’t look very intimidating. He looked very normal, and even though Kinn knew his father wouldn't, he felt like he must’ve made some kind of mistake.

His father hadn’t, of course. Pete proved that very quickly. The first important thing was the way he treated Khun, gently but not like he was broken and with an even kind of unflappability that seemed to settle Khun’s nerves.

It took a little longer for him to directly prove the second important thing, at least to Kinn. It took the ruthless efficiency with which he dispatched a man who’d managed to infiltrate their staff attempting to get to Khun. He’d earned Kinn’s trust a hundred times over since then.

He trusted Pete with his life. He trusted Pete with Khun’s life. And he had never, not once, doubted Pete’s willingness to die for the family.

The night of the attempted coup, when Pete resigned and then walked out on Vegas’s heels, Kinn was too preoccupied with everything else happening (his uncle dead, Porsche’s mother, his father alive in a secret room) to really note it. He noticed, but it was just another entry in the what the hell list, and not, by far, the most confusing one.

Then in all the chaos and the aftermath and the cleanup of the mess his uncle had made, he was very quickly aware of and alarmed by the fact that Vegas had disappeared (oh no you don’t, you little rat, Kinn thought furiously; whatever his father said he wasn’t going to let Vegas just waltz away without consequences). It took a little longer to note that Pete had also disappeared, but Kinn didn’t put those two things together. Eventually someone thought to do a security cam check to at least get some idea of Vegas’s flight path before he got too far, and that…

Well. He hadn’t gotten very far.

And watching Pete gun down one of the main family guards, collapse onto Vegas’s chest, and then stand up and remove his possibly-corpse from the property, Kinn had to face the fact that he had apparently missed something very important.

He shouldn’t have forgotten about Pete.

Kinn liked to think he took good care of his bodyguards. He tried, anyway, even as he tried not to be too sentimental about it. They were his people, and willing to lay down their lives for him, and that mattered.

He’d known he was sending Pete on a very dangerous mission that might well end in his death. Pete had known it too, and accepted it. He succeeded, got Kinn the information he needed. In return, Kinn took a text claiming Pete was taking a sudden, unannounced vacation at face value and put him out of his mind.

He wasn’t sure what he would’ve done differently, in retrospect. It wasn’t like he could set up a rescue mission for one bodyguard who he would, if he’d thought about it seriously, probably have given up for dead. And one dead bodyguard wasn’t, on its own, going to tip the balance on his father’s judgment of the minor family.

But Kinn still felt bad about it.

So Pete went into the minor family house looking for dirt on Vegas, disappeared, and turned back up looking like he’d been mauled. The part Kinn was struggling with was how that connected to his running off with Vegas’s body.

Nobody could get in touch with him, and he’d ditched his phone so the tracking was useless. It wasn’t necessarily urgent. There were four empty bullet casings by the dead bodyguard and no bullets, which suggested that all four of them were somewhere in Vegas, so if he was still alive at all he probably wasn’t going anywhere soon. Porsche was upset, though, and worried, and the whole thing bothered Kinn. It didn’t make sense and Pete had always been eminently sensible.

And Kinn didn’t like not knowing where even an incapacitated Vegas was.

Pete couldn’t keep Vegas hidden forever.

It wasn’t even that hard to find him, once they started checking nearby hospitals–or, well, not hard to find Vegas. Kinn decided to go himself, and did not, for the moment, mention it to Porsche. He did consider the dead man at the pool and brought an extra bodyguard. If Pete was there, Kinn didn’t want to think he’d hurt him but he had to face the fact that he couldn’t be sure.

Vegas was in the ICU, unconscious. Pete was sitting outside his door wearing someone else’s clothes (or at least, they weren’t the clothes he’d run off in), looking exhausted and profoundly miserable. He jolted to his feet when he saw them, his eyes widening. Kinn watched him do the split-second math of their numbers, his, the shape of the hallway and the lack of possible exits, and he stopped halfway through the motion of going for a gun. Like he really would’ve attacked Kinn if it weren’t for bad odds, and that honestly threw Kinn for a moment before he collected himself.

Not that a gun was the only way for Pete to be dangerous. Kinn knew that, and stopped well out of reach.

“Khun Kinn,” Pete said, nearly vibrating with tension.

“Pete,” Kinn said.

Kinn could see him still assessing, still calculating, and knew by the slight drop of his shoulders when he came to the (correct) conclusion that even if he could handle all of them, the only way he’d actually get away would be on his own. And apparently that wasn’t an option.

“Move,” Kinn said. Pete didn’t, not immediately. One of the bodyguards with him started to step forward and Kinn raised a hand, giving Pete a moment to think before he forced the issue. Come on, Kinn thought in his direction. Make the smart choice.

Pete’s expression set. “No,” he said, though he sounded almost apologetic about it. Kinn sighed.

It really wasn’t a fair fight. Pete was tired, worn out, and on his own, and all Kinn needed was enough space to get through the door, drawing his gun.

It took actually seeing Vegas to realize that he would never have believed he was dead without actually seeing him. For all the evidence he’d still sort of thought Vegas was faking it.

He wasn’t. He wasn’t dead, either, but there was a definite not yet to that sentence.

You could just finish it. His father had said…but Kinn kept thinking of Vegas with his gun pointed at Porsche, smiling. Kinn raised his gun, leveling it at Vegas’s head. One shot and he wouldn’t have to worry about Vegas ever again.

“Khun Kinn, please,” he heard Pete say behind him, anguished. Kinn sighed and put the safety back on, tucking his gun away and turning around. Line had Pete pinned on the floor with his knee in his spine and one arm twisted behind his back.

“Let him up,” Kinn said. He got one very quick dubious look, but a slight quirk of his eyebrows sufficed. Pete scrambled to his feet and Kinn gave him a deliberate and obvious once over.

“Have you slept?” he asked. Pete’s brow furrowed.

“Khun Kinn?”

“Have you slept?” Kinn repeated. “You look like you need it.” Pete’s eyes strayed past Kinn and then snapped back to him. Kinn closed the distance between them and put a hand on Pete’s shoulder. “Go,” he said. “Get some rest.”

Pete’s jaw worked. “Thank you, Khun Kinn,” he said, “but I can’t–”

“We’ll take it from here,” Kinn interrupted smoothly. “Tep will keep an eye on my cousin.”

The look on Pete’s face hurt to see. Wary and scared and defeated. Kinn squeezed his shoulder once and let go.

“Go on,” he said. Waited while Pete did another assessment – slower than he usually would, reflexes delayed by exhaustion. But Pete was smart enough to know when he was outgunned and out of options, and he had to know that if Kinn was going to go for a summary execution there was nothing he could actually do about it. “Call Porsche,” Kinn offered, gentling his voice. “He’s worried about you.”

“I’ll see if there’s an empty room nearby,” Pete said, his voice rough. Kinn gave him an encouraging smile and nod.

When he was sure Pete was out of earshot, he turned to Tep and said, “watch the door. Don’t let anyone in without showing ID. I’m going to talk to my father.” He paused, then added, “if Pete comes back, you can let him in, but tell him to leave his gun with you.”

He left the hospital and, as it turned out, didn’t go back for almost a month.

Pete, on the other hand, stayed.

Kinn asked Porsche at one point about what the deal was between Vegas and Pete. He made a strange face and said, “I can’t explain it, honestly.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Kinn asked.

“Can’t,” Porsche said. “But I’m pretty sure they love each other, so there’s that.”

If asked, Kinn would’ve said his cousin was incapable of loving anyone but himself and Macau. That it might not be the case was a troubling break in his conception of Vegas as a person.

Khun thought Pete had been brainwashed, but Kinn didn’t think that was it; Vegas wouldn’t bother putting in the effort for someone he couldn’t use, and Kinn couldn’t figure out how Vegas would think he could use Pete. Which didn’t mean there wasn’t something he was missing, of course. He could never completely rule that out. As long as Vegas was alive he was a potential threat.

And Vegas was alive. It’d been touch-and-go for a while there, but at this point it seemed like he was pretty much out of the woods. Conscious and everything. Not well, not by a long shot, but as far as Kinn was concerned that was for the best anyway.

There were plenty of things to think about that weren’t Vegas, anyway, and Kinn much preferred to focus on those. Unfortunately, as Porsche settled into the leadership of the minor family, it became clear that there were things they still needed from him.

Kinn could’ve left it to Porsche. He probably should leave it to Porsche. But he was going to have to face his cousin again eventually, and Kinn wanted the first time to be on terms where he could make their respective positions very clear.

Me: intact, strong, undefeated. You: helpless, beaten, vulnerable.

He didn’t knock. Three heads pivoted toward him. Macau’s eyes narrowed and his mouth twisted into a scowl. Pete, who was sitting on the bed and holding one of Vegas’s hands, looked briefly alarmed and then smiled, friendly and vacuous. Vegas’s gaze locked on him and the brief flash of something soft Kinn thought he saw was swallowed immediately by blazing hatred.

“You,” he said.

Kinn tucked his hands in his pockets. “Hello, Vegas,” he said. He turned toward Pete and smiled at him. “Pete,” he said. “It’s good to see you. I hope you’re doing all right.”

Pete let go of Vegas’s hand and stood up. “I am, thank you,” he said politely.

“Don’t talk to him, talk to me,” Vegas snarled. Kinn ignored him.

“Not too bored?” he said. “How’s your grandmother?”

Pete’s smile wavered. “She’s well, Khun Kinn,” he said. Kinn nodded.

“Do you need anything? I know you don’t work for me anymore, but in recognition of your years of loyal service–”

“Shut the fuck up and get out,” Vegas said. Kinn could see him struggling to sit up out of the corner of his eye. Pete’s attention swiveled in his direction, expression flashing with concern as he reached for him.

“Vegas–”

“Don’t,” Vegas said, turning his snarl on Pete, who froze. Kinn watched both of them closely, but Pete was only still for a moment before he took a deep breath and straightened, looking back at Kinn.

“Thank you, Khun Kinn, but I’m fine,” he said, level and calm. “I don’t need anything.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Kinn said. “If that ever changes, or you’re having any trouble…” He let his eyes flick in Vegas’s direction. His expression was tight with pain and fury. Kinn wondered if it was possible for someone to burst into flames out of pure temper. “Let me know.”

“I will,” Pete said. He reached for Vegas’s hand again and Vegas pulled away.

“What the hell do you want,” Vegas said. Kinn turned toward him only slowly and raised his eyebrows.

“It’s a good question,” Kinn said. “What could you possibly have to offer me?”

Vegas’s already wild eyes somehow got even wilder. “Nothing I’m going to give you,” he said, “so you can fuck right off and leave me alone.”

Kinn raised his eyebrows. “You are aware,” he said, “that the only reason you’re still alive is because my father thinks you can still be useful?”

It was heady, watching the shudder of rage run through Vegas’s body and knowing he couldn’t do anything with it. “I’m not going to do a single goddamn thing for you or your bastard father,” Vegas said. “So if that’s all you want–”

“Vegas,” Pete said, his voice tight and anxious. Macau stood up.

“Get out of here, you motherfucking prick,” he said in English. Kinn didn’t even glance in his direction, keeping his focus on Vegas.

“If you die,” he said evenly, “there’s always your brother.”

Who wouldn’t be very useful in terms of the knowledge they needed, but that wasn’t the point. In his peripheral vision Kinn saw Macau’s face go white. Vegas’s face went blank. Pete–

Pete moved smoothly between them, interrupting Kinn’s eye contact. “Khun Kinn,” he said, calm and steady again. “Can I ask you to leave? Please.”

Kinn probably shouldn’t’ve been surprised. He still was. Pete wasn’t doing anything, wasn’t making any threat, but it was clear he wasn’t going to move, either.

“Pete,” Vegas said, his voice dangerous.

“If this is about minor family business,” Pete said, “shouldn’t we talk to Khun Porsche?”

Technically, yes. “Minor family business is family business,” Kinn said. Pete nodded.

“I know,” he said. “But Khun Porsche should still be here, shouldn’t he?”

Solid as a wall, and still radiating that energy that declared, emphatically, everything’s fine, I’m nonthreatening. Even knowing better, even knowing Pete could be dangerous, Kinn could still feel himself relaxing.

You’re not going to get anywhere, a more reasonable voice murmured in the back of his head. All you’re doing is winding Vegas up because you can. You knew that was what was going to happen, you knew exactly what you were doing and you did it anyway.

He felt petty and a little stupid, suddenly. What was he doing here? Really. Bullying an invalid.

It might be what Vegas deserved, but he was upsetting Pete.

Kinn took a step back. Pete’s posture didn’t change.

“We’ll continue this conversation later,” Kinn said.

“The hell we will,” Vegas snapped. Kinn locked eyes with Pete.

“And I’d like to talk to you,” he said. “Privately.”

“Later, Khun Kinn?” Pete said, still impeccably polite.

“I’ll call you,” Kinn said. He walked out, closing the door quietly behind him, but stood in the hallway for a moment, listening. He heard Pete murmur something. Vegas’s voice, raised.

Ultimately, Kinn thought with a sigh, that had probably been counterproductive. He’d probably only made Vegas less likely to cooperate at all. It probably wasn’t worth the brief emotional satisfaction it’d given him.

Too late to take it back now.

Kinn gave it a couple days before he called Pete. They exchanged a few pleasantries before Pete said, “I’m not going to change my mind, Khun Kinn.”

“It didn’t seem like you were,” Kinn said. He didn’t have to wonder too hard who might’ve been trying to convince Pete otherwise. Khun had been heartbroken over Pete’s departure.

By Pete’s hesitation, he was surprised by Kinn’s response. “Why did you want to talk to me?” he said. Kinn tucked his phone between his ear and his shoulder and took a sip of whiskey.

“I wanted to make sure you were all right,” he said.

“I am,” Pete said promptly. Kinn made an mmhm noise. “Really,” Pete insisted, and this time there was something in his voice, not quite an edge.

“I’m trying to figure out,” Kinn said, “how this fits into everything.”

Pete went quiet. “What do you mean?” he said after a couple moments.

“I sent you to infiltrate the minor family house looking for intel on Vegas,” Kinn said. “You text me without reporting back to say that you’re going to see your grandmother. Then you come staggering back to our house, barefoot and bloody.”

“I got attacked by dogs,” Pete said.

“I read the report Chan filed,” Kinn said. Pete said nothing, and Kinn added, “including the medical report.”

Pete’s quiet was very loud. Kinn waited, letting the silence hang.

“Okay,” Pete said finally.

“Who assaulted you, Pete,” Kinn said.

“Nobody,” Pete said.

Kinn took another sip of whiskey. “All right,” he said. “Who had sex with you while you were a prisoner?”

He half expected Pete to hang up. Maybe it was just ingrained habit that kept him from doing it.

“Pete,” Kinn said, “are you sure you’re where you want to be?”

“Yes, Khun Kinn,” Pete said. “I’m sure.” His inhale sounded unsteady. “I have to go. I’m sorry.”

And then he hung up. Kinn exhaled slowly and set his phone down. He hadn’t really expected to accomplish anything.

Vegas was good at getting in peoples’ heads and making them do what he wanted them to do. He’d pulled it off with any number of Kinn’s ex-boyfriends (and ex-hookups and ex-flirtations). But again: it was always with a purpose, even if that purpose was just fucking with Kinn. He couldn’t see a purpose here.

So that left the inexplicable idea that Porsche was right. Or at least that Pete loved Vegas; Kinn wasn’t going to assume that went both ways. Porsche seemed to think so, but Porsche seemed to have a frankly alarming blind spot when it came to Vegas, in spite of everything.

It wasn’t really any of Kinn’s business. He had other things to do. But he liked Pete, and Porsche was friends with him, and Vegas was a parasite who sucked people dry.

At the very least it was something he was going to keep an eye on.

Kinn kept a distant watch on Vegas after he was out of the hospital, but he let Porsche handle him directly. Not alone, and Kinn wondered if Porsche knew that his bodyguards were reporting on him to Kinn, but Vegas would actually talk to Porsche, which he wouldn’t to Kinn. In the interest of accessing the information on minor family business that lived exclusively in Vegas’s head, it was the more effective option. Maybe Vegas could’ve pried it out of Vegas by force, but that wasn’t exactly a possibility.

And there was Pete. Pete stuck to Vegas like a burr. Sometimes it seemed like he was Vegas’s bodyguard, and other times it seemed like he was his boyfriend. Vegas certainly seemed to care about him, but Kinn didn’t take anything from Vegas at face value. He needed to know. Needed to understand, somehow, what it was about his cousin that had made sensible, loyal, even-tempered Pete change the trajectory of his entire life.

Kinn waited until he knew for a fact that Pete was out with Porsche before he went to the house where Vegas had been living since he got out of the hospital. After some consideration he brought one bodyguard and a bottle of wine.

Macau answered the door. His expression went sullen and resentful. “My brother’s not here,” he said, in English.

“I know you’re lying,” Kinn answered in Thai. Macau’s eyes narrowed.

“Okay, fine,” he said after a moment. “As far as you’re concerned he’s not here.” He started to close the door. Kinn caught it.

“I’m not here for a fight,” he said. Macau snorted.

“Sure you’re not,” he said. “Why’d you wait until P’Pete’s not here to show up?”

“I didn’t want him to feel the need to run interference,” Kinn said.

“That’s nice of you,” Macau said flatly. “I’m not–”

“Macau? Who’s there?”

Macau glanced over his shoulder. “Nobody!” he said. “They were just leaving.”

Vegas came into view in the hallway behind Macau. He stiffened, the color leaving his already pale face, his eyes moving from Kinn to the bodyguard next to him.

“Macau,” he said, voice even, “go upstairs.”

Macau twisted around, not moving from his post blocking the door. “Hia,” he said.

“Now,” Vegas said. His jaw was tight, his gaze fixed on Kinn. “Don’t argue with me.”

Macau glanced at Kinn, grimaced, and twisted back to Vegas. “I’m not going to go hide in my room while he shoots you,” he said.

Kinn decided there wouldn’t be a lot of point contradicting that. He doubted Macau would believe him if he denied it.

Vegas’s eyes narrowed. He said…something in French. Kinn was pretty sure it was French. Macau just stared at him and Vegas looked up at the ceiling, plainly exasperated. “Come on,” he said. “You were supposed to – whatever. Just do what I say.”

Macau looked on the verge of mutiny. Kinn directed his gaze over his shoulder at Vegas.

“I brought wine,” he said. Vegas eyed him.

“If our cousin decides to kill me, Macau,” he said, “you’re not going to be able to do anything about it.”

Macau stood very still for a moment. “Fuck you,” he said. “I’m calling Pete,” and went for the stairs.

Kinn stepped over the threshold and let Tep close it behind him. He held out the bottle of wine and, after a moment, Vegas took it.

“This better be good,” he said. Kinn wasn’t sure if he was talking about the wine or his reason for coming. Looking closely, he still looked weak, holding himself carefully like he was still hurting.

“You can sit down,” Kinn said. Vegas gave him a scathing look.

“Thanks,” he said. “Very generous of you to say so in my house.” But he walked into the next room and sat down on one of the chairs. “Just so you know,” Vegas said, “you have maybe thirty minutes before Pete gets back here.”

Kinn leaned back, making himself comfortable. “It wouldn’t take me thirty minutes to kill you.”

“Not with that attitude,” Vegas said, one corner of his mouth tugging toward a smile that didn’t touch his eyes. Kinn didn’t dignify that with a response, and Vegas scoffed quietly. “I know. Are you going to?”

“No,” Kinn said, and because he didn’t want Vegas getting too comfortable, he added, “not right now.”

“Hm,” Vegas said. “Okay. What are you here for, then?”

“Pete,” Kinn said. Vegas’s expression was hard to read.

“What about him?”

Kinn had thought a lot about his strategy here. “What would you need from us to give him back?”

Vegas stiffened. “That’s not up to me,” he said after a pause. Kinn raised his eyebrows, and Vegas leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “You’d have to ask Pete. Like I told Tankhun, it’s up to him what he wants to do.”

“Is that so,” Kinn said, deliberately skeptical. Vegas tensed another notch.

“Yeah,” he said. “It is.”

“Don’t tell me you couldn’t convince him to do what you want,” Kinn said. Vegas’s jaw tightened.

“It’s not up to me,” he repeated, voice harder. “Pete’s not mine to give.” Kinn crossed one ankle over his knee.

“You haven’t answered the question.”

“Because it’s a stupid question,” Vegas said, close to a snarl.

“I’m giving you an opportunity,” Kinn said coolly.

“What would you need from me to give me Porsche?” Vegas said, his voice harsh, gripping the armrests of the chair like he was trying to strangle them. Kinn uncrossed his legs and leaned forward himself.

“Is that how it is?” he asked. Vegas’s expression closed off all at once.

“Don’t play with me,” he said lowly.

“Who’s playing,” Kinn said. Vegas’s lip curled.

“Don’t tell me you’re here because you care,” he said, voice nasty. “You didn’t when he–”

“When you took him captive?” Kinn said. “Did he agree to it when you fucked him?”

Vegas recoiled. His expression cycled through several emotions very fast and settled in fury. He lurched to his feet. “Get out of my house,” he said. Kinn stayed where he was.

“I don’t want to see Pete become another one of your casualties,” he said.

“He doesn’t matter to you,” Vegas said. “You’re here because you want to fuck with me.”

Kinn stood up. “It might be hard for you to understand,” he said, “but I do care about other people.”

“You can take everything else,” Vegas said. “You have everything else. Can’t I have one fucking good thing that you don’t try to take away?” Kinn just looked calmly back at him and Vegas’s shoulders fell even as he sneered. “Fine. Do what you want. I can’t fucking stop you.”

Kinn checked the time. He straightened his jacket. “That’s true,” he said. “You can’t.”

“But if you try to force Pete to do something he doesn’t want to do,” Vegas said, “I will shoot you and I don’t give a damn what happens afterwards.”

Tep shifted and Kinn made a gesture to set him at ease. “It’s fine,” he said. “I’m done here.” He walked over to Vegas, taking advantage of the little bit of height he had on him. “I take care of my people.”

“Pete’s not yours,” Vegas said, his voice almost vibrating. “Not anymore.”

Kinn stepped back and started walking toward the exit. “Enjoy the wine,” he said. Vegas didn’t answer.

Back in the car, Kinn leaned back and closed his eyes. He couldn’t know, not for certain. Vegas was still Vegas – dangerous, unpredictable, destructive. But maybe he was capable of love, after all. Or at least something like it.

And there was the colder, darker, thought, too: that knowing what mattered to Vegas meant knowing what Kinn could use to control him. He didn’t want that to be Pete. But when it came to managing the risk that was Vegas…if it came down to it, he’d use the tools he had.

Chapter Text

Porsche didn’t know the exact shape of the whatever-it-was between Pete and Vegas, just the vague outlines of it. Pete, rocking in a bathtub trying to smile saying I went home. Vegas, who was supposed to be in hiding, bargaining with Porsche just for a chance to see Pete. Pete, resigning and taking off after Vegas.

Pete in the hospital looking at Vegas like half of his heart was lying there comatose and he didn’t know if he was going to get it back.

“Pete,” Porsche said, “you should sleep.”

“I’m not tired,” Pete said. Porsche stared at him, incredulous at the audacity of that blatant of a lie.

“You’re not tired,” he repeated, just in case Pete needed to hear it back to register how ridiculous it was.

“I’m not,” Pete said. He was still looking at Vegas. Porsche rubbed his eyes and grimaced.

“Do you think Vegas would want you to wear yourself out like this?” he tried. That got Pete’s attention, as he’d hoped it might. At least, it got him a brief glance and a furrowing of the brows. Porsche pressed. “You’re not doing anyone any good right now,” he said. “You need sleep, food. He’ll be fine without you for a little while.”

The crease between Pete’s eyebrows deepened. “He could die,” Pete said. Porsche didn’t think it would help to point out that Pete being here wouldn’t stop that.

“You can’t just stay here constantly until he’s better,” he said instead. Pete got a little bit of a look that said just try me. “Seriously,” Porsche said. “Just…take a break.”

He did manage to pry Pete out of the hospital like peeling the shell off a shrimp. He coaxed him into eating, too, and then into taking a nap in their old room. Pete went out like a light and Porsche figured he was going to be down for a while. But Porsche couldn’t just leave him there to wake up by himself, so he sat down on his old bed and started scrolling absently through his phone.

The general consensus around the house was that Pete had lost his mind. Porsche was less sure. Or else, if he had lost his mind, it was mutual. Vegas had certainly seemed desperate. Of course, none of that would matter if Vegas died, which would probably wreck Pete.

Recent threats to kill him or not, Porsche really hoped Vegas didn’t die.

Porsche had a lot to think about. He was now running the entire minor family. Chay was upset with him. His mother still wasn’t talking, or even acknowledging he was there most of the time.

It was a relief to talk to Pete. Even if Pete couldn’t seem to decide if he should be calling Porsche Khun Porsche or not.

The difference in Pete since Vegas had woken up was remarkable. He seemed brighter, lighter, like a weight had lifted off his shoulders, the color back in his face. Like he was the one who’d been unconscious for weeks and was just now coming around.

“Should I visit?” Porsche asked Pete. Pete paused in gobbling his curry and made a face.

“Probably not,” he said. “At least, not yet. I haven’t…” He looked down. “I haven’t told him about you being the new head of the minor family.”

Porsche winced. He had a feeling that Vegas had guessed, but it was probably better for him to officially hear about it before Porsche actually approached him. “Why not?”

Pete shrugged, his expression going cagey. “Timing just hasn’t been right,” he said. Porsche frowned at him, but Pete either pretended not to or actually didn’t notice.

“You seem…happy,” he ventured carefully. Pete glanced at him sidelong.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “I am.”

“That’s good,” Porsche said. Pete’s expression turned a little wary and Porsche gave him a tired smile. “No, really. I’m glad you’re happy.”

“Do you think I’m crazy?” Pete asked.

Yes, Porsche thought. Sort of. But maybe I am too. “No,” he said out loud. Pete gave him a look of mild irritation.

“You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I can imagine you’re sick of people trying to tell you that you don’t know what you’re doing,” Porsche said. Chay had tried and Porsche had gotten close to losing his temper with him, which he didn’t – wouldn’t – do.

“I know people are just worried,” Pete said.

“Does that make it less annoying?”

Pete laughed. There was something different about it – about him, in general – but Porsche hadn’t quite pinned down what it was, yet. Maybe it was just the relief of Vegas surviving. “No,” Pete said after a moment. “Not really.” He gave Porsche a wry, rueful smile.

More relaxed, Porsche thought. Less…contained. Maybe that was it. For someone who’d just tossed the structure of his whole life out the window, he seemed remarkably at ease.

“What are you going to do now?” he asked. Pete’s brow furrowed.

“Do?”

“Yeah,” Porsche said. “You’re out, you can do anything you want.”

Pete looked blank, like he was confused by the question. Or maybe hadn’t thought about it. “I don’t know,” he said.

“Well, what do you want to do?” Porsche asked. Pete hesitated, then shook his head.

“It depends,” he said. “On what Vegas wants to do.”

“Okay,” Porsche said slowly. “But if it were up to you, what would you want?”

“I don’t know,” Pete said again. “I really haven’t…thought about it.”

“Really?” Porsche said. “Never? What did you want to be when you grew up?”

“A superhero,” Pete said. He smiled, but something about it struck Porsche as off. “I don’t need to do anything,” he went on. “I’m just…following my heart.”

What about a job, what about money, are you just going to follow Vegas around for the rest of your life, Porsche thought. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, right.”

Pete had been checking his phone obsessively all night.

They were at Hum Bar, the first time he’d showed up since everything had gone down, and he mostly seemed twitchy and nervous. Porsche plied him with drinks and tried to get him to relax, but when Pete smiled and laughed there was something off about it, something that rang a little false.

When Pete slipped away – I’ll be right back, just having a smoke – Porsche kissed Kinn on the cheek and followed him. He found him out back, phone to his ear.

“I have to go,” he said when he saw Porsche. “I’ll – yeah. Yeah, I know.” He hung up, looking obscurely guilty.

“Everything okay?” Porsche asked.

“Yeah,” Pete said, smiling. “Yeah, everything’s good.”

“You sure?” Porsche said. “You seem sort of tense.”

“Haha,” Pete said. “No, I’m good.”

Porsche wasn’t sure if Pete had gotten to be a worse liar or he’d just now started noticing the difference between real-Pete and bodyguard-Pete, now that he actually knew there was a difference. He hoped it was the former. It would make him feel better about not realizing earlier.

“Uh huh,” Porsche said. He gestured to the phone. “Talking to Vegas?”

Pete tensed, just slightly. Defensively, Porsche thought. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “Just checking in.”

Porsche raised his eyebrows. “Reporting back?”

Pete stiffened, looking for a moment like he was about to say something sharp, then settled. “Checking in,” he repeated. “I just wanted to…” He glanced past Porsche at the door, like he was worried someone else might be there. “Make sure he’s okay.”

Porsche blinked. “Is there a reason he wouldn’t be?”

“No,” Pete said, “not really.”

“You’ve been keeping half an eye on your phone all night,” Porsche said. “What are you so worried about?”

Pete glanced at him through the fringe of his hair. He looked like he was thinking about what to say, or maybe what he could say. It stung that he’d feel the need to filter it even as Porsche understood why.

“He almost died,” Pete said finally. Porsche nodded, but Pete shook his head. “No, like – really. I thought he was dead and I was just going to end up bringing a corpse to the hospital. And then after that it was still – bad. And even if he didn’t die because he was shot, someone else could kill him, I was the only one in the way and I’d already fucked it up once–”

“Hey,” Porsche said soothingly. “Hey, it’s okay.”

“No,” Pete said, his voice harsh. “It’s not. I should’ve heard someone coming. I was careless, I wasn’t paying attention, and Vegas took four bullets to the chest because of it.”

Porsche didn’t have to wonder how long Pete had been carrying this around without telling anyone. This whole goddamn time, blaming himself.

“I can’t fuck up again,” Pete said. He took an unsteady breath in, visibly pulling himself together. Porsche reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Pete,” he said. “It’s…not your fault.”

“Yes it is,” Pete said. He ground the heels of his hands into his eyes and started to turn away. Porsche grabbed his other shoulder and turned Pete to face him.

“It’s not,” he said. “Vegas and his father attacked the house. He made the decision to be there. He had to’ve known it was dangerous. It wasn’t your job to protect him then and it’s not your job now.”

“Of course it’s my job,” Pete said. “Somebody has to look out for him and nobody else is doing it.”

Porsche opened his mouth, then closed it. “You’re not his bodyguard,” he said. Pete gave him an aggrieved look.

“That’s what he says.” Pete exhaled loudly. “Look. It’s – it’s fine. I’m okay. I just…worry.”

“You could’ve told me you were feeling like this,” Porsche said. Pete’s mouth tugged at one corner.

“I know what people think,” he said. “It’s easier not to talk about it with anybody.”

That, Porsche thought, must be very lonely. He thought of Kinn inside, Tankhun, his friends. And Pete, not quite standing on the other side of a line. He’d probably never be able to invite his boyfriend to these get-togethers.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Pete shook his head.

“It’s all right,” he said. “It’s just the way it is.” He pocketed his phone. “We can go back.”

“Pete,” Porsche said. “It really wasn’t your fault.”

Pete detached himself from Porsche’s hands on his shoulders. “Even if it wasn’t,” he said, “if something happened now, I don’t think I’d survive it.”

And with that he went inside.

It became clear very quickly as Porsche settled into his new leadership that while he didn’t need him, his life was going to be a lot easier with Vegas on his side. Which meant he had to get Vegas on his side, but approaching him directly seemed like it’d just get a door slammed in his face. He needed a different in, a sideways approach, and he had the means via Pete.

And then Porsche realized that he was thinking about using his friend, which made him feel profoundly shitty, and then he remembered how he’d also sold out Pete to get information about his family, which made him feel shittier.

Sure, it seemed to have worked out all right, but it wasn’t like he could’ve known that at the time. All he’d really known was that Vegas had fucked Pete up, that Vegas wanted to see Pete again, and that Vegas had access to information Porsche wanted to know. He’d had leverage and he’d used it. Used Pete.

That was, he was aware, a fucked up thing to do to a friend, and punching Vegas in the face didn’t make that less true. But he’d still done it.

And he was about to do it again.

hey pete, Porsche texted. when are you going to invite me over to see your new house?

didn’t know you wanted to come over, Pete wrote back.

obviously, Porsche wrote. Pete didn’t respond for a minute, so Porsche wrote, come onnn i wanna see u in ur natural habitat

ok, Pete sent. is it ok if vegas is there?

i’m not going to kick him out of his house, Porsche wrote. i’ll bring a housewarming present

He asked the sommelier for a wine recommendation, because he had the feeling Vegas would judge him for what he chose. He brought a pack of beer for Pete. Then he left a note for Kinn, slipped his bodyguards, and headed over.

Kinn would hate it, but Porsche had a feeling that showing up with an entourage would set completely the wrong tone.

Pete opened the door. His smile was a little nervous but eased slightly when Porsche held out the beer. “I have this great series I think you should watch,” he said. “Probably at least four times.”

“How about we watch a scary move instead,” Pete said. Porsche laughed. It was easy, so easy, to be someone’s friend. And he was Pete’s friend. He was just also…a bartender, playing along so he’d get a good tip at the end of the night.

A mafia boss using his friend to get close to a target.

Porsche felt a little sick. He shoved it down.

“No way,” he said. “You can do that on your own.” Pete stepped back and Porsche came inside. It was a nice house. Not as nice as the one Porsche now owned, but nice. Comfortable. Very neat.

“Nice place,” he said. “Want to show me around?”

“Uh – sure,” Pete said. “There’s still stuff in boxes.”

“You should’ve told me if you needed help moving,” Porsche said.

“What,” said a smooth and very barbed voice, “you’d lower yourself to help?”

Pete tensed again. Porsche had hoped to have longer with him before Vegas showed up.

He turned toward Vegas and gave him an easy, relaxed, disarming smile. “Sure,” he said. “For a friend.”

Vegas’s eyes raked over him like he was assessing every inch of Porsche and finding all of it wanting. His gaze lingered briefly on Porsche’s hand and then moved back up to his face, not a trace of friendliness to be found.

Well. Porsche hadn’t expected this to be easy.

“Hey, Vegas,” he said. He pulled the bottle of wine out of his bag and held it out. “You’ve probably already got better, but I promised a housewarming gift, so…”

Vegas’s eyebrows twitched fractionally upward. “That’s nice of you,” he said flatly. “What do you want?”

“I’m just here to see Pete,” Porsche said soothingly. Pete, who was glancing nervously back and forth between them like he was trying to figure out who he needed to protect.

“Where’s your honor guard?”

Definitely a good call not bringing one. Porsche shrugged. “Left them at home,” he said. Vegas’s eyebrows twitched another fraction upward and Porsche gave him another one of his I’m friendly and you like me smiles. “You won’t hurt me and I get sick of having a tail.”

“Won’t I?” Vegas said. Pete winced. Porsche didn’t blink.

“You might hate Kinn but you like me,” he said, with confidence he didn’t entirely feel. He remembered Vegas holding a gun on him, nasty smile on his lips, and he’d certainly looked like he planned on pulling the trigger. But Porsche didn’t think Vegas was that stupid. Or suicidal.

Vegas stared at him for a moment longer, then shrugged and turned away. “Sure,” he said. “Whatever.” He vanished back into the next room. Not exactly a success. But hopefully next time he came to visit Pete, it’d be a little easier, and the time after that a little easier again, and eventually…

Pete exhaled, his shoulders slumping. “Sorry,” he said.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Porsche said. “He’s your boyfriend, not you.”

“Yeah, but…” Pete trailed off, then shook himself. “Right. You wanted to see the house?”

He did want to see the house. And he did want to see Pete. Both those things were true, and Porsche tried to tell himself that was what mattered, and not the fact that he was using his friendship with Pete to get Vegas used to him again. Like coaxing a feral cat into getting closer by pretending you were doing something else.

I love you, Chay had said recently, but I’m not sure I like the person you’re turning into very much.

Sometimes Porsche wasn’t sure he did either.

Kinn seemed to think Porsche wasn’t aware that Vegas was dangerous. Personally, Porsche thought he had more very personal reasons to know it.

The question was if he was dangerous to Pete. The question under that question was if Pete already knew that and had decided it didn’t matter. Porsche didn’t know the answer to the first one but he was pretty sure the second one was a yes.

Which was Pete’s call, and Porsche couldn’t throw all that many stones about dangerous boyfriends. What worried him more was how isolated Pete was.

Sure, he was still in touch with his former fellow bodyguards, but those relationships were tenuous and fragile. His only family was far away. And he had Porsche.

Pete had pinned his entire life to Vegas, and Vegas was possessive, jealous, volatile. If he ever did turn on Pete, there wasn’t much to get in his way.

Or if he, say, locked Pete in a secret room for decades. He could do that. Apparently that was a thing people did do.

Porsche’s mother still wasn’t talking.

So he worried about Pete, and watched him closely, because if anything happened, at least he wanted to think he’d be able to step in. Do something.

“Do you think he’d let you go if you wanted to leave?” Porsche asked Pete. They were at Pete and Vegas’s place again, smoking (outside, Vegas apparently didn’t like it in the house). Pete took a moment to tap the ash off his cigarette, glancing sideways at Porsche before he answered.

“I don’t want to,” he said.

“But if you did,” Porsche said.

“It doesn’t matter,” Pete said, “because I’m not going anywhere.”

Porsche sighed and looked up at the sky, exasperated. “It’s just a hypothetical.”

Pete stubbed out his cigarette on the sole of his shoe. “Probably,” he said after a long pause. Porsche frowned.

“Probably?”

“Yeah,” Pete said. “If I told Vegas I wanted to leave, he’d probably let me. I’d give it maybe 80/20.”

Porsche stared at him. “The 20 being what?”

Pete shrugged. “My guess would be shooting me and then himself.”

Porsche scanned Pete for any sign that he was joking. He didn’t seem to be. “You know that’s not a good answer,” he said.

Pete leaned back against the house. “If you wanted to leave,” he said, “do you think you could go?”

“Of course I could,” Porsche said, indignant on Kinn’s behalf. Pete just looked at him, gaze steady, and then shrugged again.

“Okay,” he said. Porsche narrowed his eyes.

“What?”

“Maybe you’re right,” Pete said.

“Of course I’m right,” Porsche said. “Kinn wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Okay,” Pete said again.

“You think he would?”

“I think you’re head of the minor family now,” Pete said. “Even if Kinn wanted to let you walk away, he couldn’t. You’re too big of a security risk.”

Porsche had, on some level, known that. Hearing it still sent a shiver down his spine.

“I don’t know what he would do,” Pete said. “But he couldn’t let you go.” He shrugged. “Honestly, even if Vegas let me leave I don’t know how good my chances would be. I’d probably have to hide for the rest of my life.”

Porsche’s cigarette reached his fingers; he yelped and dropped it. His mother had left. (His mother had tried to leave.) The look Pete gave him was almost pitying, and it rankled. Surely, Porsche thought, if he did want to get out, Kinn would help him find a way. Somehow, he would…

But when it came down to it, Porsche realized, his heart sinking, it wouldn’t be up to him. It would be up to Kinn. He might be head of the minor family now, but that didn’t make him an equal. Closer, but not quite.

He could almost hear Vegas sneer just figuring that out now, are you?

Porsche exhaled slowly. “Do you have another cigarette?” he asked.

“Mmhm,” Pete said. He tapped one out. Porsche took and lit it, taking a long drag.

“That doesn’t bother you?” Porsche said eventually. “Knowing you’re…” he wouldn’t say trapped. He wasn’t trapped.

Pete cocked his head. “That’s always been my life,” he said after a brief pause. “This, with Vegas…” He trailed off. “It’s different. It’s good,” he said.

“What’s the difference?” Porsche asked. “If you’re still not free–”

“Nobody’s ever free,” Pete said. “You just choose the cage you live in.” He smiled, small but warm and real. “I found one I like.”

Porsche stared at Pete, not sure how he was supposed to feel about that pronouncement. How worried he should be. How much he should actually believe that Pete knew what he was doing.

“Pete?”

Pete turned around, his face brightening. “I’m out here,” he called. The glass door behind them slid open and Vegas poked his head out. He looked at Pete first, which was a good sign as far as his increasing tolerance of Porsche’s presence. His smile didn’t look like it had knives in it.

“What do you want for dinner?”

“Curry,” Pete said. Vegas rolled his eyes.

“What kind of curry,” he said. Pete shrugged, and Vegas exhaled loudly. “Okay, guess I’ll just pick, then.” He paused, gaze moving over to Porsche, the smile fading. “Are we going to be four for dinner?” he asked after a moment.

Porsche considered it. Long-term it would probably be smart to accept, but if anyone hated him right now more than Vegas it was Macau. His relationship with Vegas right now was too fragile to risk something going wrong. He shook his head. “Nah,” he said. “I’ll let you guys enjoy your family dinner.”

“Suit yourself,” Pete said. “Vegas makes good curry. Even if it’s never spicy enough.”

Vegas scoffed, but Porsche thought he looked pleased. “Just because you want your mouth on fire doesn’t mean everybody does,” he said. Pete shrugged, Vegas shook his head, and paused.

“See you later, Porsche,” he said, and slid the door closed. Definitely progress. Porsche glanced at Pete, who seemed pleased.

It was all so…domestic. “You’re really…” Porsche started over. “You really think of this,” gesturing at their surroundings, “as a cage? And you’re okay with that?”

“If you don’t understand, that’s okay,” Pete said. “But it works for me.”

There was a massive bite mark shaped bruise right under Pete’s jaw where the collar of his shirt didn’t quite cover it. Porsche wasn’t sure if it was Vegas actually marking his territory or if that was incidental.

Pete didn’t seem aware of it, sitting upright and attentive and watching Vegas watch Porsche. Vegas, tapping his fingers on his leg with an expression that didn’t exactly look friendly. Even though he’d asked for this meeting in the first place.

“Is there something you need?” Porsche prompted him. Vegas sat back, doing at least a pretty good impression of comfortable.

“Right to business?” he said with a little quirk of a smile. “Okay, I can respect that.”

“I didn’t figure you were interested in making conversation with me,” Porsche said honestly. Vegas shrugged.

“I would if you would.”

Porsche eyed Vegas, trying to figure out his angle. What he was thinking. He honestly had no idea. “Okay,” he said slowly. “How’s your brother?”

“Busy with finals,” Vegas said. “How’s yours?”

Porsche wasn’t sure he knew. Chay didn’t talk to him as much about what he was thinking and feeling as he used to. “He’s good. Sorting out what he wants to do next.”

“Same here,” Vegas said. “Good luck to him.” The honesty of that took Porsche off guard. He wondered if it was meant to, if it was supposed to set him at ease and make him more receptive to whatever Vegas was here to say.

He hated thinking like this. It was exhausting. He glanced at Pete, hoping for some kind of cue there, but Pete wasn’t giving him anything.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll, uh, tell him you said so.”

“Probably better not,” Vegas said. “He might think it’s a threat coming from me.”

This was the friendliest Vegas had been since he’d called Porsche to warn him about the coup. Porsche wished he could trust it. It would’ve been easier to if Vegas wasn’t watching him like a tiger sizing up potential prey. Or maybe, if he was generous, a tiger watching another tiger encroaching on its territory.

“Yeah,” Porsche said. “Fair point.” He shifted in his chair, glancing at Pete again. “How’re you doing, Pete?”

“I’m good,” Pete said. Alert, only a slight furrow between his eyebrows betraying that he might be feeling any unease. Porsche wondered if he knew why they were here. Briefly, he wished Kinn were here, because he would know how to handle this – only he probably wouldn’t, considering that putting Kinn and Vegas in the same room was like striking a match in a hyperbaric chamber.

“I’m making you nervous,” Vegas said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah,” Porsche said after a moment, because he didn’t think there was a point denying it. “Little bit.”

“You need to get better at not showing that,” Vegas said. “It’s a weakness, and you can’t afford those. Especially not right now, when you’re barely hanging on as it is.”

Porsche stiffened. “I’m–”

“The only reason things haven’t fallen apart is because you’ve got Kinn backing you,” Vegas said. “But that won’t hold people back from testing your limits forever. If Korn’s not going to consolidate all the businesses under the main family – and he won’t – then you need to show you’re a force to be reckoned with in your own right. Otherwise people are going to start nibbling at the edges and before you know it someone will have nibbled their way all the way to you.”

Porsche sat back, narrowing his eyes. He studied Vegas carefully. “Give me an example,” he said, “of where I’m coming up short.”

Vegas glanced at Pete. “Sirirat is skimming and selling to the Russians,” Pete said.

“Evidence?” Porsche asked. Like they’d choreographed this, Vegas pulled a thumb drive out of his pocket and tossed it on the table between them.

“I didn’t think you’d just take my word for it.”

Porsche picked up the thumb drive. “And how did you find this out?” Vegas shrugged.

“I’m good at my job,” he said, which was in no way an answer. If it was true, though…Porsche didn’t like the idea that he’d missed it. He was learning the various minor family businesses, but he’d been leaning on Kinn a fair amount while he was figuring it out, and the chaos following Gun’s fall had left a lot of things in disarray.

“What do you get out of telling me this?” Porsche asked. Vegas’s mouth quirked again.

“You are learning,” he said.

“Don’t be condescending,” Porsche said. Pete ducked his head like he was hiding a smile. “I don’t think you’re suddenly being helpful just because you like me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Vegas said, “which puts you one up on Kinn. If someone’s going to take over, I’d rather it be you than him, and I don’t want to see everything my father built crash and burn because you don’t know what you’re doing.”

Which all made sense, as far as it went. Porsche still wasn’t buying it. “What else?”

Vegas’s fingers drummed on his thigh again. “My brother’s under your protection,” he said after a brief pause. “Whatever happens to me, he stays out of it.”

Porsche blinked. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, sure, I would’ve agreed to that without you doing anything.”

“Pete, too,” Vegas said. Pete’s eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth; Vegas threw a sharp glance in his direction and Pete subsided, but he didn’t look happy. Vegas looked back at Porsche, his gaze intent.

“Pete’s my friend,” Porsche said. Vegas examined him a moment longer, then nodded.

“Good,” he said. “Okay.”

Pete looked on the verge of mutiny, glaring at Vegas, who appeared to be ignoring it.

“What else?” Porsche asked. Vegas’s shoulders relaxed and it was only when they did that Porsche realized how tense he had been.

“Sooner or later my uncle’s going to decide he has a use for me and reel me in again,” Vegas said. “I want a choice in how that happens. I’ll work for you, not for him. Give me a job and I’ll do it. But I won’t take orders from the main family.”

It was what he’d wanted. What he’d been working his way toward, carefully. He hadn’t expected Vegas to come and offer it to him on a platter. It made Porsche wary.

“You don’t trust me,” Vegas said. “That’s fair, you’re not stupid. I’m not asking you to. I’m just asking you to take my leash before Kinn or Korn does.” Porsche glanced at Pete, curious what he was thinking, but Pete was just still glaring at Vegas.

“I don’t want to have anyone’s…leash,” Porsche said slowly. Vegas’s mouth twisted.

“Too bad,” he said. “You’re going to have a lot of peoples’.”

I’d rather have their loyalty, Porsche thought. I’d rather have your loyalty, but that was probably asking too much. At least right now. Maybe he could work on it.

“What about you,” he asked Pete.

“Pete doesn’t work for you,” Vegas said. “He’s–”

“I’m Vegas’s head of security,” Pete interrupted.

Vegas’s head whipped around. Pete’s jaw set. Vegas’s eyes narrowed. “You are, are you,” Vegas said.

“Yep,” Pete said. Porsche watched the staring contest between them, amused in spite of himself. Pete broke it eventually, turning back toward Porsche. “If you want me to do something, ask, and I’ll decide if I can do it.”

“Okay,” Porsche said. “That’s fine. What else?” Pete nodded, looking satisfied. Vegas scowled at him a moment longer but when he looked back at Porsche his expression evened out again.

“That’s all,” Vegas said after a brief hesitation. He seemed surprised, and Porsche couldn’t help but find that satisfying. Probably it was just because he’d had low expectations, but Porsche was happy to prove them wrong.

“Do you want a contract, or something?” Porsche asked.

“No,” Vegas said. “That’s not necessary. I’ll take your word.”

Porsche smiled. “Thanks for trusting that I’ll keep it,” he said. Vegas sort of twitched. For some reason he looked at Pete, then shook himself.

“Yeah,” he said. “Well. When you need me, you know where to find me.”

“Pete,” Porsche said, as the two of them started heading toward the door. “Can I borrow you for a second?”

“Yeah,” Pete said, coming back over. “Sure.” Porsche waited until Vegas closed the door behind him.

“Was this your idea?” Porsche asked. Pete shook his head.

“No,” he said, “but I have been telling him for a while that he should work with you and not against you, so hopefully that helped.”

“I…appreciate that,” Porsche said. Pete gave him a little smile, though it faded quickly.

“Porsche,” he said, sounding cautious. “We’re friends, right?”

“I like to think so,” Porsche said, trying to make it a joke. Pete nodded. He seemed to be considering something.

“Would you do something? As a favor to me?”

Once upon a time, Porsche would’ve just said yeah, of course without even thinking. Here and now, he said, “what’s that?”

“If the…situation…with Vegas ever changes,” Pete said, “and something’s going to go down. Tell me first.”

Porsche wished he could say he didn’t hesitate. “I might not even know,” he said carefully.

“Yeah,” Pete said, “but you might. And if you do, tell me first.”

“It sounds like Vegas would want you to get clear,” Porsche said. Pete’s jaw shifted and he shrugged angrily.

“Vegas is stupid sometimes,” he said, startling Porsche enough that he almost laughed. He still hesitated, though. If Vegas did do something that put him in the firing line, Porsche didn’t want to put Pete there with him. If there was a way to keep him out of it, wouldn’t it be the right thing to do, for a friend, to save his life?

Pete was still looking at him, gaze steady and determined. “It’s my choice, Porsche,” he said, voice hard.

Porsche sighed. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s your choice.”

Pete smiled at him. “Thanks,” he said. “I really appreciate it. Was there anything else?”

“No,” Porsche said, though it felt like maybe there had been. “Not right now.”

“Cool,” Pete said. “I’ll talk to you later, then, right?”

When he was alone again, Porsche stared out the window. His phone buzzed and he picked it up to a text from Kinn: How was your meeting with Vegas?

Porsche hadn’t told him that he was meeting with Vegas. fine, he wrote back. I’ll tell you about it later.

He sat back down, picked up the thumb drive Vegas had given him, and plugged it into his computer. Scanning through the files on it.

It looked like he had work to do.