Archive of Our Own ^beta

Vegas hated it here. The very entrance of the main family home made his stomach turn. It all looked like nothing had happened here three months ago - like there were no bodies lying around in puddles of their own blood, no bullet holes in the walls, no broken glass cracking under heavy footsteps. It all looked as prestige and shiny as ever and it made him feel even sicker. The main family never showed their weakness openly, never fully acknowledged the danger they were in - they always hid behind the facade of perfection and it was disgusting. And to think the 'new' minor family would be the same now. It was disgraceful. Like plastering all of the cracks in their very existence with playdoh.

"Vegas? Everything okay?" Pete tightly grabs Vegas'  hand, which he has subconsciously tightened into a fist by his side. His warmth travels from their hands right into Vegas' bloodstream and through his body with the most calming effect.

"Not really. I'd rather not be here, but I guess we have no choice," Vegas tries to smile, but he knows it comes out looking pathetic. Faking a smile no longer was as easy as it was before. There is a small sigh from Pete before he moves closer and presses a kiss on Vegas' cheek, his cologne, which is actually Vegas', swirling in the air. The shirt he was wearing was also from Vegas' wardrobe - a bit baggy on Pete but the deep blue looked amazing against his skin. It matched nicely with the deep burgundy Vegas had picked for himself too. Maybe going out wasn't that bad after all, just maybe.

"We were invited as friends. Mostly because we have been off the radar for more than a month. They just want to see if we are doing alright," Pete squeezes his hand tighter and Vegas relaxes a bit more, letting their fingers intertwine.

"As in you have friends here that worry about you. Doesn't really apply to me," he points out, his eyes looking at the wide-open front entrance waiting for them to go inside. The guards standing nearby, cameras pointing at the entrance. An annoying voice in Vegas' head questions the number of guards, but it felt like the main family didn't acknowledge any immediate threat in their direction now that there has been a leader change in the minor family that not everyone approved of.

"You do have friends here!" Pete protests and squeezes Vegas' hand again, and starts marching inside, pulling the other man a step behind him. The guards do not stop them as their arrival had been acknowledged before, it just took a moment to actually follow through and walk in.

"Like who?" Vegas can't really stop Pete now and just follows him, feeling the eyes of the bodyguards following him in particular. They have a good reason but it still felt unsettling. What could he even do now? He has no power left and the only person truly on his side is tightly holding his hand. He was even asked not to bring a gun. He was probably the most harmless person in the entire house right now.

"If Porsche finds out you don't see him as a friend he will kick your ass," Pete slows down and turns to Vegas. "Don't resist it. At least today, okay? Tomorrow we can go back home and, I don't know, go fishing or something. But today we are here for friends - both you and me." His smile is so sweet and genuine that Vegas can't say no to it. Who was he to argue with the angelic face before him?

"Alright," he nods and they proceed to head to the main conference room. Bodyguards follow them with their eyes from every corner, closely making sure they walk only to the place they are asked to. Some bow quickly towards Pete - he is their senior in a way - but they don't say a word. It is factual it's not even Pete they are staring at - it's Vegas. They must hate the very fact he is breathing, let alone him freely walking through these halls as if nothing had happened. On one hand, he feels guilt for all that happened, on the other - it's the life all of them have chosen. Is there any reason to hold onto guilt? Or maybe feeling some regret and guilt meant an actual change in Vegas.

The walk through the mansion and a quick elevator ride stops at the door leading to the conference room. It was an interesting choice, to say the least, and it made Vegas extra uneasy as that room never brought anything good for him. Loud arguments, drawn guns, threats, and the inevitable punishment for nothing when he got home from this room. It was by far one of his least favorite places. He feels how Pete squeezes his hand tighter and the unpleasant feeling fades a bit. They exchange quick looks before pulling the large door open and taking a step into the room.

Two loud pops rapture the air the second they step into the room and the first motion Vegas can think of is pulling Pete behind him - he rather gets shot again than let anything happen to him. He sees from the corner of his eyes as Pete reaches behind his back and his gun is out in a second. Right, Pete was still allowed to carry one and Vegas wishes he would have one with him too in case this is a trap, but being a human shield was a good enough position, if not Pete trying to pull Vegas back behind him and switch their positions. Only as the sound of the pops fades and colorful pieces of paper flutter onto the grey carpet does the situation become more clear and far less threatening.

There is a choked-up 'surprise' stuck somewhere in the air, several pairs of shocked eyes looking at the two battle-ready men at the door as the confetti from the two large confetti poppers the two bodyguards - Arm and Pol - are holding. The sudden fear and fighting response settle down along with the sparkling papers that land on their shoulders and hair, and Pete lowers his gun, stepping back next to Vegas. They were invited as friends, Pete said it himself, what were they thinking? But the loud pop was still a living trigger in their minds and that turned the entire situation sour instantly.

"I told you this will be a dumb idea!" Porsche exclaims, gesturing at flabergasted bodyguards and Tankhun behind them.

"The idea is fine!" Tankhun argues back immediately. "The execution is what ruined it! If these two would have yelled 'surprise' first they would have known!" he points at the two confused men who can just look at each other.

Vegas eyes look around the room - the two confused bodyguards in their black suits, Tankhun looking annoyed while wearing a ridiculous white coat, Kinn sitting in his chair hiding his face in his hand either laughing or being embarrassed in his usual white shirt, Porsche standing by the window looking annoyed but for different reasons sporting a casual shirt and jeans combo. No other bodyguards, no guns, no places to hide them if not Tankhun's coat which could probably hide a flame thrower underneath. A few colorful drinks were prepared on the table with silly little umbrellas, some of them now having confetti in them. "What is going on?" he speaks up and Tankhun's always angry eyes find him immediately.

"It would have been Pete's 5-year anniversary as a bodyguard, minus the months he's stuck with you. So it's for him. You're just the plus one," his distaste for Vegas has not gone anywhere. That was at least one constant thing Vegas could depend on in this house - Tankhun will never like him, which was in a way comforting.

"That is not what we..." Porsche tries to explain the reality outside of the eldest brother's world but he gives up quickly. "You know what, sure. " he shakes his head and looks at Kinn, encouraging him to say something finally.

"That is true, but we - Porsche mainly - though it would be nice to catch up a bit. We are not strangers and everything has been intense for a while," Kinn stands up from his seat and walks around the large table, stopping in front of Pete and Vegas. "If we want to survive in this world, we need to move on," he extends his hand toward Vegas, who looks at the hand for a second before, quite unwillingly, letting go of Pete's hand and accepting the handshake.

"I still strongly dislike you," Vegas says with a sarcastic smirk, giving Kinn's hand the tightest squeeze he can, receiving exactly the same back. Hate, perhaps, was a bit too strong of a word to use, but he absolutely did not have any warm feelings towards Kinn.

"That's mutual," Kinn responds and the handshake is becoming the world's most intense staring contest, which could end in broken fingers if they don't let go of each other. It is pure spite towards one another, the refusing to back down even despite the pain that starts to show on their faces.

"Damn, Pete, I guess we will need to hold hands from now on because these two are now glued together," Porsche saunters over, flinging his arm over Pete's shoulders. The two finally let go, letting another tense moment slowly fade.

"I will get grey hairs after today," Pete sighs and is suddenly and immediately swallowed in a hug that pushes even Porsche away. No one else but Tankhun has made his way to the front door where everyone has now gathered, grabbing on Pete, both of them nearly disappearing in the coat.

"Ah, forget about it! Let's catch up! Let's drink! Enough!" Tankhun takes the lead and drags Pete to the table. The latter barely manages to look back at Vegas with an apologetic smile, but at this point, Vegas doesn't mind. He has had Pete almost entirely for himself for weeks now so he could share him for a day. Besides, he looks so happy being hugged by his friends, there is a different kind of light radiating from him and Vegas is fine standing aside for a bit if he can see this light.

"That is the most real smile I have ever seen on your face," Porsche's voice snaps Vegas back to the moment where both Porsche and Kinn are looking at him, their faces plastered with knowing grins. Even if Pete was nothing less than a blessing, he was definitely Vegas' biggest weakness too.

"Whatever," Vegas murmurs and walks to the table, grabbing a drink. The other two follow along and as everyone gathers at the table, Tankhun is the one who yells out a toast for Pete which Vegas doesn't pay a lot of attention to, focusing more on how radiant Pete looks. That becomes his main focus for the entire afternoon - enjoying how much fun Pete is having. He does have a rather dry but surprisingly not hateful conversation with Kinn - it's mostly about business things he would still like for Vegas to look after, about the move to the previous safe house, intel on those connected to the minor family they should look out for - but once that ends he steps back to the window. His gaze mostly focuses on Pete, sometimes looking at the city behind the window - a completely different view in comparison to the woods he had gotten used to now. Everything else is a bit of a blur - even that first cocktail he took from the table remains half drunk and now warm.

"I remember you being a bit more of a party person," Porsche as if appears from thin air in front of Vegas, but he knows he wasn't focusing enough to follow along with everyone's movements so the taller man could sneak up on him without even trying. It's not a good thing to lose his spacial awareness so much and feel this safe, not when he is still very much a part of the mafia life, but maybe just for today, he could.

"I guess I have changed," Vegas lets out a small laugh and takes a sip on the lukewarm cocktail, which tastes quite disgusting at this point but he doesn't feel like he wants a new one anyway. If he couldn't focus on the surroundings he would at least stay sober.

"Wanna go out for a smoke?" Porsche offers, noticing the heavy gloom radiating from Vegas that he himself feels as well. "I also have something I want to show you."

"Sure," Vegas nods and finishes the cocktail, placing the glass on the table. He sees how Porsche signs to Kinn that they will go out, the latter nodding and passing the information to Pete too, who looks away from his current conversation to smile at Vegas in approval. They make their way downstairs, all guards bowing to Porsche and it takes a second for Vegas to realize why. He was the new head of the minor family, Pete told him. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth and he can feel hundreds of most vicious thoughts attacking his mind at once but he does his best to remain calm at the same time. It wasn't in his control. Maybe it will be easier when the title of the minor family will stay behind him if he wants to start as fresh as possible with Pete.

The late afternoon is warm and a bit of moisture in the air promises rain later on, but it's pleasant enough to enjoy a bit of a light breeze as they exit the main door. Instead of staying there, Porsche turns to the right and heads around the corner where most of the cars are parked. Between the black cars with tinted windows stands what he wanted to show Vegas, without a doubt - a brand new, freshly matte-black wrapper Ducati V4S, a helmet on the handle, and keys lazily in the ignition - ready for a ride. "Pretty, right?" Porsche asks with a prideful grin as he fishes out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the pockets of his jeans, offering one to Vegas before putting one of the white nicotine sticks between his own lips, this time lighting his first and passing the lighter to Vegas. The minor family ring on his finger grabbed Vegas' attention but he chose not to focus on it too much. The two lit cigarettes flicker red in the upcoming twilight and they both let out a long trail of smoke into the air almost simultaneously.

"Very. Do you ride it too or does it just sit here?" Vegas walks around the bike and squats down at the side, taking a closer look at the details. He didn't even know where his bike was. Probably stolen or sold by one of the goons fleeing the house of the minor family when it all fell apart. The distant roads near the home could be fun with a bike, Pete could like it too. Maybe they could take a detour before going home and look at some - a date of a sort.

"Of course I ride it! Tried to do it alone a few times, but got caught. Now all my bodyguards have to learn how to ride bikes too. We could test their skill later for the good old times," Porsche laughs and squats down next to Vegas. There is no more than half a minute of silence until Porsche speaks again. "How are you doing? Honestly," he switches the topic of the conversation and turns to Vegas. "Pete says you are doing fine, but I have my doubts."

"And you are interested in that because...?" Vegas stands up and inhales deeply from the cigarette, Porsche standing up as well.

"Don't act like an asshole. It doesn't suit you," the taller man lets out a puff of smoke into the air. "I talk with Pete almost daily and I know you are everything but that. He has been so happy since you woke up I never knew it would be possible," he says with a smile and it's not like Vegas can deny it or prove the opposite. But letting go of a mask he has worn for so long is harder than one could imagine - it's stuck to his skin, grown into the layers of tissue, and become a part of him. Ripping it off is painful, leaving everything raw and bloody, and healing from that is excruciating, tiring and it's only the beginning. But if the way he was now made Pete happy, it just made it even better - it was a motivation to try harder, to push through the uncomfortable pain of this process of change.

"I am fine. It's not easy to change the way things have been all this time and I can't get used to a lot of things yet, but I am trying," Vegas admits, his eyes focused on the slick lines of the bike for a distraction. "I have never feared more things in my entire life than I do now. Nor have I cared for someone this much before either, excluding Macau, of course. So the overall feeling is... fear. No longer of failing but more so of disappointing, of not knowing what's next. Fear for those close to me getting hurt because of me."

"I understand," Porsche nods and turns around, resting against the bike. "I understand far too well, I think," another puff of white air escaped into the air.

Vegas' eyes focus on the ring once more, the cigarette resting between Porsche's fingers only drawing more attention to it. He has to let go of it. Nothing but pain came from that thing being near him - physically and mentally. "And how are you?" he asks, looking away from the distracting piece of jewelry, his cheek starting to sting the more he looks at it. Yes, he definitely didn't need it anymore. He could replace it with a different ring, matching with someone else and meaning so much more to him. He rests against the bike as well, inhaling the cigarette slowly.

"Just like you - fearful. Scared of disappointing others, and fearful about the people around me. So, yeah, the same," Porsche says with a smile, focusing on the edge of the roof above for a moment. "But we're both lucky we have someone next to us that keeps us going, to chase the fear away," he continues smiling ridiculously bright, obviously thinking about Kinn, and Vegas knows the feeling very well.

"That's true. If not Pete things would be very, very different right now," Vegas lifts the cigarette to his lips once more. "I'd probably be dead right now, by my own hand at that," he lets out a dry laugh. He feels a shiver go down his spine as the memory of the cold barrel of his gun pressing against his own chin comes back vividly, only Pete's voice stopping him. "How very different it is because of him..." his thought trails off as Porche's long arm wraps around his shoulder, pulling him in for a half hug. His grip on Vegas' shoulder is strong and reassuring and Vegas finally remembers that Porsche actually gives great hugs. Yet he also remembers how many times he has let those hugs down before. Porsche has forgiven him - somehow, miraculously - and Vegas won't take it for granted this time around. He can swear on it. If he indeed has somehow managed to gain one friend in this world he cannot ruin it again.

"Exactly. You are here to stay. Maybe because of Macau, maybe because of Pete, maybe because of pure spite, maybe because you are meant to be here - but you are staying," Porsche talks almost too loudly, but there is something in his voice that resonates almost like a mantra - Vegas is staying, he is the one who will not leave others now, despite how many times he has been left before.

"You're right," Vegas nods, "I'm staying," his arm finds a resting spot around Porche's back, completing the hug. "They will need a backup once you quit the role of minor family leader," he continues, probably smiling truthfully for the first time in this conversation.

"Oi!" Porsche exclaims, shaking Vegas by the shoulder and both of them burst out laughing, the final specks of red falling from the cigarettes as they go out completely. There is no deceit, no hidden plans or agenda in the conversation or their actions and it almost feels foreign to be truthful. Maybe if their friendship started like this from both sides at the start things would have been so much different.

The moment is, however, suddenly interrupted by the loud screeching of tires and the sound of struggle coming from the front door, voices shouting and cursing. Just for a second, they exchange looks before throwing the cigarettes away and cautiously making their way to the front. Porsche is leading the way, his gun in his hand and now more than before Vegas wishes he would have one with him. There's a gunshot, more following right after and they speed up, reaching the corner faster than expected, meeting a scene they never thought they would, at least not today.

An unknown black car with no license plates has stopped in front of the main entrance. Four men are around it - masks covering their faces - two are struggling with someone who has a bag over their head, kicking and struggling to break free while one is already on the ground, grabbing onto his wounded leg, and the fourth keeping the guards at bay with a gun. As Porche starts firing at them from the side they seem to be in even more rush and they violently push the person with the bag on their head into the back seat, jumping in themselves - one in the back and the other taking the wheel. The tires screech again as they try to speed out despite the bullets hitting their car and their accomplice with the gun falling to the ground from a well-aimed shot. They speed right past Porsche and Vegas, both of them jumping to the side at the last second.

As the car takes a turn a face appears in the back window, the bag has fallen off their kidnapees head and Vegas can physically feel his heart sink to the bottom of his stomach. "Pete..." he first whispers, making Porsche look at him and then at the rapidly disappearing car. "They took Pete..." There is a level of shock, terror, and disbelief washing all over him before his legs move on their own and he runs back around the corner - his body reacting before he can even think about it. He can hear Porsche yelling orders to the guards rushing out and then calling someone as he is just two steps behind Vegas.

Without a second of doubt, Vegas gets on the bike, tossing the helmet to the side as he has no time for it now. As he turns the key, an extra weight adds to the back of the bike and he glances over his shoulder to see Porsche. "You ain't going alone," he answers the unspoken question, and as the motor roars, he grabs tightly onto Vegas' waist with one arm while keeping his gun in the other.

In under a minute they speed out of the parking space right after the car. It's gone to the sight, but there aren't many options where they could go and turn in that direction, especially if they are in a rush. Getting to the main street leading out of the city was probably their goal and that limited their route even more. If Vegas ignored the few red lights the best escape route has, they could catch up with them in under 5 minutes. This was a route Vegas had explored himself before - in case a quick escape from the main house would be needed at some point. It was a pure guess they would take the same one, but if they were in such a hurry to leave two of their own behind, it made the most sense.

The city flashes along the side of the road, gasps of pedestrians and swearing of drivers barely reaching his ears. Vegas sees nothing but the road before him, his mind mentally following along the maps he had seen so many times before. Snaking between cars, crossing lanes, speeding over the intersection when a red light hits - the adrenaline rushing from this could be deadly, but Vegas' heart was already beating like crazy with the single thought - of getting Pete back. At the back of his mind there is a tiny voice, oddly sounding exactly like Pete, telling him to be careful or else there will be no point in this rushing, and he wants to listen to it, but his own bubbling up rage is stronger. Sometimes being reckless could bring the best result and this was one of those times.

Surprisingly but at the same time not, the car without license plates emerges in front of his eyes faster than calculated which is a bit odd, speeding towards the outskirts of the city on the main road just as he thought. In the back view mirrors he can see that the main family cars are following close by, which is good if they will get the car to stop. The question was how to do it. All kinds of crazy stunts come to his mind - ramming the car, stopping right in front of it, jumping onto it, but he is not alone on the bike and if there will be even a scratch on Porsche, Kinn will end him. So their approach has to be effective and as safe for them as possible.

"I'll get us next to them," he yells out and Porsche nods, the plan very clear to him as he prepares the gun. "Just keep him alive for me," Vegas adds and maneuvers the bike between the cars, the honks are very distracting but they are so close to catching up that he can't lose his focus. He loses the correct lane twice, each failure making his blood boil, knuckles turning white as his grip tightens, but on the third go, he gets the bike next to the car. No doubt - it's the same car with fresh bullet holes, those are the same men and a third figure at the back. Everything is too unstable to tell if Pete is okay and Vegas still needs to focus on the road to make sure. He puts his entire trust in Porsche now as he did all he could for now.

The longest couple of seconds pass while Porsche aims and finally shoots, the bullet going through the side window on the driver's side and through the man's shoulder. The car swerves and goes off-road, hitting the railing at the edge of the road. Vegas brings the bike to near the front of the car while the main family vehicles block off the possible escape route from the back in just seconds. The guards jump out of the black cars, guns ready and aimed, Kinn moving in together with them.

"Vegas!" he calls out getting the man's attention and tosses him a gun. The familiar weight lies in Vegas' hands as he takes the safety off and aims at the car, slowly making his way to the back. His heart is beating insanely and he's breathing rapidly and he feels how anger flows through his entire being, but the sensation of fear and worry overshadows everything else.

"Get out of the car! Now!" he yells out, the bodyguards and Kinn securing the other side of the car while Porsche keeps the driver under a check. "I said now!" he repeats and the door finally opens. His hands twitch, almost falling to his sides as he sees the two people stepping out. He feels his jaw tremble and he has to clench his teeth to stop them from chattering. It's the same shirt, no doubt, but it is not him. "It's not Pete. They switched to a decoy," he pushed through his teeth, and as one of the bodyguards walked closer and pulled the bag of the kidnapee's head it reveals a man they have never seen before. They had been tricked. That's why they could catch up with the car so easily.

"Vegas..." Porsche looks a the man and breathes out rapidly and turns his attention back to the driver, his anger reaching a tipping point too. He throws open the driver's door and pulls him out to the ground by his wounded shoulder, making the man scream in pain. "Who the hell are you?" his voice is something between a hiss and a yell. "Answer! Now!"

"You won't get anything from us, but you sure can wait for a message about the Kittisawat kid soon," the man who played the kidnapee speaks up and launches forward, aiming to knock into Vegas but the latter pulls the trigger faster, the bullet digging into the man's knee and bringing him to the ground with a pained cry.

"Kittisawat?" Vegas looks at Porsche who looks as shocked as everyone else, several pairs of eyes looking at him now.

"They were trying to get my brother," Porsche clarifies, sounding surprised about his own words. There is an obvious shock on his face and in his voice with a light tremble. "They were trying to get Porchay but grabbed Pete instead... Why?"

An unsettling silence settles, only being broken by the passing cars. For Vegas, it somehow made sense but didn't at the same time. It did seem odd that someone would go after Pete, it wasn't even known he was there that day. It could have been a random grab - anyone from the main family would do - that's what Vegas first thought, but now it made more sense. It didn't anger him any less - Pete was still gone and probably in even more danger than they thought before as no kidnapper wants to have the wrong person.

"Clean this up and take them to the basement. They will talk, even if they think they won't," Kinn instructs and puts his gun away. He walks over to a spot around midway between Porsche and Vegas, the other two quite naturally walking closer to him as the bodyguards took care of the wounded men and the only kidnapper standing. "I'm going to send Porchay on a vacation with Tankhun, Pol, and probably the best person I can think of to protect him until we get to the bottom of this," he starts with Porsche who just nods silently. "And we will find Pete. They will talk, I can swear on that."

"They will talk," Vegas repeats, his voice cold and full of rage at the same time. "I will personally make sure they will talk," he looks at Kinn, the determination and overflowing fury taking the man back a bit and he nods with a bit of hesitation.

"Let's get back to the main house for now. We need a plan and fast, until they realize they got the wrong person," Kinn takes the lead again and turns to walk to the car, Porsche following him while Vegas walks in the opposite direction to the bike.

"Vegas, you will come to the main house?" Porsche stops and watches as Vegas gets on the bike. "Don't do anything stupid."

"I need the information to engage in stupid activities," Vegas smirks, but the smile is calculated and malicious - like old Vegas, which is unsettling, Porsche's face shows it well. "And to get that I will need to have a chat with the three lovely gentlemen you're taking with you." Vegas continues and starts the bike, taking off back to the main house even before the cars start. There is a plan already brewing in his head - each thing he can do to the captured men, each way he can make them scream until they give every last bit of intel that need, down to their blood type. Which tools to use, which gun to take, who to call for extra leads - everything forms a sequence of actions in his head as the city flashes past him once more. If anyone was a specialist in the planning, it was him, and this time, from all of the times, he would make sure the plan is bulletproof.

Vegas arrives back at the main house first, stopping at the front door, where everything is still in mayhem, new blood puddles gracing the marble floors. He gets out his phone and goes over the plan created in his head and chooses the first person to call. "Hey, Macau, are you at home?" he speaks as soon as his brother picks up. "Okay, good. I will need you to go to the office and take the silver suitcase from the third cabinet on the left, okay? You know which one." he instructs and as he speaks the cars start arriving at the entrance. "I will have someone from the main family go get you, someone who you know, so don't go with anyone else," he knows his words and the tone of his voice is already betraying him and he isn't coming across as calm and collected as he would like, "It's noth-..." he stops mid-word and decides to tell the truth. "Something happened to Pete," there's a shocked yell on the other side of the line and Vegas has to move the phone away from his ear. "I will explain when you get here. Be safe," he ends the call right as the guards drag in the two bleeding men and their accomplice, Kinn and Porsche following them.

"Kinn," Vegas stops the man, Porsche stopping as well. "Can Macau go with Porsche's brother too? I know we are probably not the targets, but I don't want to risk," his pride feels like a road-kill left at the edge of the highway, begging for help as he speaks, but at this moment he had to step over this feeling. Realistically, he needed all possible pieces for the plan in his head to work perfectly.

"Of course. I will get that settled, you two can go upstairs. I guarantee we will get this sorted as fast as possible," Kinn's hand lands on Vegas' shoulder, squeezing it tightly, reassuring that he means every word he says. "Pete is smart enough to hold out while we get to him. They won't break him," he adds.

"I know. He can take far more than you can imagine," Vegas knows exactly how resilient and ridiculously stubborn Pete could be, so he had no doubt he could buy them time to find him. He had faced the demons clouding Vegas' mind dead on with a wicked smile on his face - he could take on anyone. Those were the ridiculous straws Vegas grasped on while his heart was doing loops in his chest, drowning in worry and fear he had confessed to Porsche just half an hour ago. Pete was an integral part of Vegas' plan, and his trust in him was the only confirmation he currently had along with a quiet prayer for him to be okay.

~ - ~

"I'll go get them!" Pete volunteers the second dinner is mentioned. "I wanted to get some fresh air before we eat anyway," he smiles and wiggles his way out of Tankhun's embrace. In all honestly, he was nearing a stage of suffocation from the intense attention he was getting. Even if his smile was truthful - he was truly happy seeing the people he had been close to for so long - he felt like he was slowly sinking back into smiling only because he was expected to. It was all too much for him after being freely himself and hidden away from everyone except Vegas and Macau.

He bows quickly to the four men remaining in the conference room and goes downstairs, stopping at the main entrance. "Where are they?" he murmurs under his breath, seeing no one but a couple of guards at the door. "Did they go to the bodyguard wing?" he mumbles and takes another step out of the door to look around. As he does so a car pulls into the driveway. His reaction is too slow for his liking, the few drinks he had messed with his head, and he notices the lack of license plates too late, his hand missing his gun just by a millimeter and before he can grasp it, four men have jumped out of the car and a black bag has been thrown over his head.

Everything happens too fast and all Pete can do is resist with all his strength - throwing his body around and kicking in all directions to get out of the grasp of the two men, but the bag is soaked in something that makes him dizzy instantly, his eyes refusing to stay open, his breath getting caught in his throat. Gunshots echo in the air and his body gets flung into the back of the car, pair of arms holding him down as the car starts moving rapidly. Despite being disoriented, Pete manages to headbutt the man holding him down and throw the bag off his head for a breath of air. He moves his body towards the back window and his heart shrinks as his eyes meet with Vegas at the end of the driveway. His shocked, scared face is the last thing Pete sees before the bag is back over his head and his body shuts down.

When Pete wakes up he is no longer in the car. Everything around him is filled with a dim, rotten green light that only enhances the cold, moist, musty air around him. His knees are digging into cold, slightly wet, uneven concrete that slowly soaks through his pants, shoes gone so the cold would hit him harder. His shirt is gone, arms pulled behind his back and handcuffed behind an equally cold concrete pillar, which pulls them back at an uncomfortable angle. There's something, hopefully, water, dripping from above him, hitting his left shoulder, making him shiver before he forces his body to ignore it. There are no windows, only one rusty metal door right in front of him - there's nothing in this room but him, concrete in all shapes, and one miserable lightbulb, giving out the light as if mold is growing over it.

"Fucking great. Here we go again," Pete sighs and it almost makes him laugh out loud how he preferred Vegas' red room to this empty vault of a sort. At least it was warm there is his main argument, as it wasn't great at all. However, he was well aware this could become so much worse any minute. As the thought crosses his mind the door opens and two masked men walk in.

"Liking your new room, kid?" one of them asks in a mocking tone as he walks closer to Pete and squats in front of him. Pete doesn't lose a beat now, as his head has sobered up in the cold and moves forward with enough force he feels his shoulder sting, but he gets a hit on the man's nose so it's worth it. It might not be entirely worth the heavy boot landing on his jaw from the other man, but he can take it.

"Don't test us, kid, if you want to get back to your brother in one peace!" The man who received Pete's blow shouts as he stands up and grabs a fistful of Pete's hair, forcing him to look up. "Or would he prefer you shipped to him in separate boxes?" he continues yelling and it takes all of Pete's acting skills not to show the confusion on his face. He was not their target? Who were they after then? Macau? Why would he be at the main family home for them to wait for him? Any of the three brothers? Probably not. Porchay? It would make the most sense since Porche was now the head of the minor family. Whichever it was, he had to keep the act up if he truly wanted to get out of here alive. If he wasn't 'the kid' they thought he was, he would be killed instantly.

"Get fucked, old man!" Pete curses out following it up with a well-aimed spit at the man pulling on his hair. A punch lands on his already sore jaw and now he can taste blood in his mouth. "What do you even want from my brother?" he snarls, shamelessly looking at the man who is not gifted with patience at all. "Because whatever it is, all you will get will be a bullet between your eyes," Pete grins and this time the boot lands on his stomach, making him fold forward and cough.

"Annoying little brat," the man barks, and both of them leave the room, closing the door behind them with a thud. It takes a moment for Pete to get over the stinging pain, but in comparison it's nothing. He spits out the blood accumulated in his mouth and leans his head against the concrete poll behind him. The more bratty he was, the less the men would want to deal with him, it seemed. It was a fine line to walk and a very dangerous one, but maybe it was the lifeline he needed. A lifeline to hold on to until he was found.

Pete had no doubt in his mind he wouldn't stay here for too long. He gave it a maximum of 24h until Vegas would open those doors instead. Exactly him. No one else but exactly Vegas would be the one getting him out of here. Pete had no doubt about it, not even the slightest bit. "Oh how they all will regret this," he laughs and closes his eyes, trying to save his strength, even if his surroundings were made to drain it from him. He will need all of it to keep the bratty act alive.

~ - ~

The door of the conference room opens for who knows which time this day, people walking in and out with new information, analysis of the security cameras, and general updates, delivering them to three grim-faced men sitting at the large table. Kinn is in his rightful spot at the end, Porsche on his right and Vegas on the left, a silver-colored suitcase resting on the table next to him. The atmosphere is heavy and solemn, the pitch black darkness behind the window illuminated only by sparse city lights in the combination of the pale orange lights of the bar behind Kinn's back adding to the mood. Even the young man walking in is taken aback, and he rarely is.

"Why did I have to rush here?" Kim asks shutting the door behind him. "What kind of meeting is this?"

"I need you to go out of the country with Tankhun and a few other people for a few days until we settle something here," Kinn replies dryly. His eyes shift to Vegas, his phone starting to ring and the latter stands up from the table, picking up the call.

"I don't see why I should. Explain what's going on," Kim insists, remaining at the end of the table by the door.

"Someone is targetting the people in our family. There was a kidnapping today, they took Pete," Kinn explains glancing at Kim. "Just to be safe, we need some of the family members to lay low."

"Why would anyone target an ex-bodyguard?" Kim's interest seemed to peak, but he still doesn't sound convinced enough about his involvement.

"Their target was not Pete," Porsche speaks this time, "It was my brother - Porchay," there is a slight shift on Kim's face, a fire appearing behind his usually disinterested eyes. "They grabbed Pete around the time Chay usually comes home, only today he stayed out with friends a bit longer so instead of him Pete was at the entrance."

"Where is he now?" the question escapes Kim's mouth even before Porsche has finished talking.

"Packing together with Tankhun and Vegas' brother. We don't know who did this yet or what is their goal, so we don't want to take any risks, including you wandering around," Kinn takes over the conversation again, his eyes shifting to Vegas, who hangs up the call with an angry hiss, returning to the table and shaking his head. "Until we find Pete and get whoever is behind this, I would like to avoid any what-if situations."

"So I will have to babysit three people is what you are telling me," Kim seemingly had accepted the fact he is going quite quickly. "As if Tankhun isn't a handful alone."

"Macau doesn't need babysitting. If I tell him, he will help you no questions asked," Vegas looks at Kim, their eyes meeting probably for the first time with no interruptions. "If you don't treat him as a kid, that is. He doesn't like that from strangers," he continues with a smirk and there is a similar, arrogant expression on Kim's face. If there was competitive pressure between Vegas and Kinn at almost all times- like the one right before a tornado hits the ground, then the one between Vegas and Kim more so resembled the center of the storm - oddly calm and under control, as long nothing hit the edges.

"If you say so," Kim turns back to Kinn. "Fine, I have nothing planned anyway. Can't really defy the head of the family, can I? Send me the detail when you have them," he waves a sloppy goodbye before turning on his heel and walking out.

"Is there one normal person in your family?" Vegas sighs looking at Kinn.

"You are still related to this family by blood, so that answers your question," Kinn bites back quickly, earning at least a second of tension relief at the table. "I guess the informants have nothing yet," he turns the conversation to their main issue, they had no time for side talks.

"Not yet. I have gotten in contact with those people who still have their loyalty to me unchanged. I can't say I would trust them with my life, but I can trust the information they bring," Vegas explains. He had very little trust in people to begin with but the few that continued to support him for various reasons he could at least rely on when he need something. Not everyone went stealing and demolishing minor family properties after its fall, so that did speak volumes about them as well.

"That's probably our best bet now if the bastards downstairs won't speak," Porsche speaks with audible irritation in his voice. He had plenty of reasons to dislike this situation - brother targeted, friend abducted - so him being this remarkably calm was surprising. But Vegas knew well enough he was probably boiling on the inside just like he was. "Speaking of which," Porsche glances at his phone, "Arm says they are ready for you," he looks at Vegas. The latter breathes in deeply and stands up, this time taking the suitcase with him.

"Place bets, what will happen first - my informants call back, they talk, or, sadly, they see at least one of their partners in crime die," the expression on Vegas' face is a purely demonic grin, eyes void of all other emotion but fury. He had remained calm and rational for long enough, taking each next step on his plan carefully and adjusting it along the way. This was one of the two points where he could let his rage rule.

"Don't get too carried away," Kinn notes as Vegas heads to the door, earning the fakest kind smile he has ever seen even from the man before him.

"Do I ever get carried away?" Vegas asks back and leaves the conference room, his smile fading into an unreadable mask once more as he heads straight to the basement. If at the beginning of this day he had thoughts of guilt and regret, then now he was absolutely sure none of what he will do will become regret.

The 5 captured men were all placed in the single cell in the basement, as per Vegas' request. One of them - the one who wasn't injured - was handcuffed to a chair - each hand resting on its own armrest -  while others were placed directly in front of him, so they could see everything that was about to take place. A small table on wheels stood next to the chair, the white box of tissues standing out in the rather dimly lit room. "Wonderful," Vegas smiles as he walks in, glancing at the two bodyguards standing next to the stairs further away from the cell. "Are you staying for the show?" he asks and the two men are obviously uncomfortable.

"We are ordered to stay and help if needed," one of them dares to speak up, his voice shaking a little bit.

"Probably to be witnesses to whatever they say as well. Do listen carefully, I might not hear clearly while I'm in the moment," Vegas smiles and pats the closes bodyguard on the shoulder, feeling the cold shiver running over him. He had missed the uncomfortable fear so many felt in his presence. He didn't necessarily want to be loved by everyone, just a handful was enough, so having new stories of his cruelty traveling between main family bodyguards was quite delightful.

He walks into the cell and places the suitcase on the table prepared for it. "We won't say a thing!" the man on the chair barks at Vegas who gives him an emotionless but somehow deadly look back. He doesn't respond but instead puts on the clear raincoat he has in his 'expert kit' and the medical gloves in two layers before turning to the man.

"That's what you think," he smiles and the spite in the man's eyes seems to already falter. "Now, let's play a game - fact or loss! The rules are simple - either you tell me a true fact about who you are, who sent you, what you want, and where you are based, or you lose something. The audience can play as well," he turns to the men at the wall. "If I will think the fact is false, you will still lose something. I might do some fact-checking as well. Are we ready?" his smile falls and the flicker of fear in the seated man's eyes is the right motivation.

"Let me demonstrate, what loss will entail," Vegas picks a pair of pliers from his suitcase and grabs onto the man's hand, bending it upwards as far as it goes, which already causes pain, before pushing the pliers as far under the nail as possible, making the man already let out a pained scream. He doesn't stop just there but clamps on the nail with full force and pulls back with such strength, that the nail comes clean off, the man screaming in pain. "Now, does anyone has any facts to share?" he looks at the gasping man in the chair and then at the shocked men at the back. "No? Alright," he turns back to the pain-shocked man and grabs his hand again, pushing the pliers under the next nail. The man tries trashing and breaking free of Vegas' grasp but his attempts are futile and the second nail flies off just like the first one, the painfilled cries echoing around the basement. He glances at the men in the back, their eyes wide, but no one seems to be ready to talk yet, so purely for a demonstration he repeats the same action for the third time, the man's fingers a raw, bleeding mess now.

"Did you know, that other things can be lost too? " he places down the pliers and takes a smaller pair, his left hand grabbing onto the man's jaw, his fingers digging into his cheeks, prying his mouth open and not letting him close it. "We need variety in the loss category, as it seems to be your favorite from the get-go," he reaches the tool into the man's mouth, taking a firm hold of one of the molars, twisting it a few times, making the man kick around and whimper before yanking it out. It is so clear the man is just an amateur, not trained to deal with pain, as he starts sobbing when Vegas lets go of his face, but he still stubbornly doesn't speak. That could mean the one behind this was someone powerful or personally scary for the man. That doesn't stop Vegas from grabbing his face again and forcefully ripping another tooth out.

"Fact or loss?" Vegas asks, staring directly at the man with a devilish expression. He is close to speaking, his lips already forming words, when one of the men at the back yells out.

"Don't you dare say shit!"

Vegas turns to the speaker and it turns out to be the decoy who he shot in the leg. "So we have a leader in this group after all," he smirks and turns to the two bodyguards who already look lightheaded and it's barely the beginning. "Let's switch them out for a bit, shall we?" he steps aside and observes how the fake decoy is placed into the chair. He is still wearing Vegas' shirt - the one he took from Pete to make it more believable - and if Vegas thought that the anger level he felt couldn't rise any higher, he was wrong. He was seeing pure red before him, countless wonderful ways to enhance this game and get what he wants from it.

It takes a couple of hours - he doesn't rush the process or else the effect would be lost even if time is of the essence - to get them finally talking. Cut-off patches of skin with surgical precision, fresh burn marks, free 'dentistry' and 'manicure', a 'hearing check', and much more were on the list of 'prizes' they won in the game but Vegas got what he needed. The main 'mastermind', and Vegas is using the term very loosely here, turns out to be a business partner of the minor family with whom they broke ties a good while ago. He seemingly thought he could blackmail the new main family head into reconnecting. His research of the main family and current minor family was sloppy at best, his lackeys didn't even know who Vegas was, despite their boss doing business with him before, and the fact they needed to get Porchay was also gained just by observing the house, and even then it had failed. There, however, was an issue - none of them knew where Pete had been taken. They handed him to another car and their job ended there. Vegas tested this fact many times. But there was a start.

"You can do whatever Kinn says to do with them," Vegas speaks to the horrified guards, leaving the bloody gloves and raincoat on the table, and taking his suitcase. "We don't really need them anymore," he adds and the men being to vail to spare them he walks upstairs, thinking of the next step in the plan. He was a huge step closer to Pete, but he still had an annoyingly long way to go.

~ - ~

It's incredibly hard to keep time in the concrete vault with no windows. It could have been just minutes, it could have been hours - Pete couldn't tell. Counting didn't help much either, it only drove him more restless, the constant dripping from the ceilings was not helping at all. He had moved out of the way as much as possible, but some stray drops still hit his skin. His jaw was trembling from the cold, hands going numb for periods of time, shoulders and knees aching - the now soaked wet fabric sticking to his skin not helping. He was cold, shivering, in pain, and lost in a time pocket completely alone. This quickly became his worst experience to date.

He could argue with himself that he has had it worse - tortured, teased - but that he could withstand. The cold nothingness around him and the vacuum of any sort of information was what was getting to him right now. In a way, he was glad it was him here and not any of the actual kids - his bet being Porchay as the target they wanted. Pete could withstand this - no matter how much pain he was in, no matter how they could torture him next, no matter how mentally taxing this was. He could pull through and wait for Vegas as long as he needed, spitting curses to the bastards behind the door. A kid would break and that's what any kidnapper wants - the breaking point - even more than what they initially aimed for. Pete won't give them the satisfaction of witnessing that.

The door slowly opens again and Pete straightens his back, clenches his teeth to stop them from chattering, and stares directly at whoever is walking it, not faltering for even a second. He is unbreakable. He is unmovable. No matter how many punches and kicks land on him - he will withstand it all and wait for Vegas. He was on his way, Pete knew it.

~ - ~

The elevator door dings open and 4 bodyguards make their way out first, quickly taking out anyone in their way, avoiding any direct kills, the silencers on their guns making quiet pops in the over-perfumed air of the high-end office. Kinn and Vegas step out of the elevator next, guns in hand, as they march down the hallway to the main office hidden behind a dark wooden door. Porsche had remained behind to send the 'little brother group' to the airport. It seemed that maybe this 'enemy' was not as serious as they first thought, but plenty of security risks had already been allowed to this moment, and no one wanted to risk anything more.

"You first," Kinn gestures at the door they stop in front of, his smirk pissing Vegas off to no end. His pride will need at least 10 business days to recover from this if not more, but he had other priorities than keeping his pride unharmed right now.

"What an honor," Vegas returns a crooked smile of his own before loading his gun, taking an aim, and kicking the door open. Bullets start flying from both sides, the guards and Kinn taking care of the men in the room, while Vegas makes it straight to the man of the hour. With an effortless leap, he gets on the table, kicking the man sitting behind it straight in the chest making him fall over with his chair. His gun points down at the distantly familiar face as he towers over him from the table, the barely risen sun shining through the large window illuminates the room perfectly to see the shock in the middle-aged man's face.

"I think you have accidentally acquired something that belongs to me. I would like it back. Now," Vegas begins with a smile that slowly fades, his voice almost turning into a growl. "And you better not waste my time," he adds, the scared face before him only making his blood boil more. As if this man had any right to be this scared and shocked after the absolutely ridiculous plan he had come up with. A good scare was not enough for him.

"Our... Our warehouse in the western docks. The older one. A large concrete building. The only one left between hangars." the man stammers looking up at Vegas, his eyes almost watering. "Please. It was my mistake, don't shoot. I swear it won't happen again," he switches to pleading and it does not put him in Vegas' good books. How pathetic could he be, pleading for his life while it is worth nothing at this moment.

"And why should I listen to you?" Vegas tilts his head to the side and aims straight at the man, the pop of the silencer sending a vibration in the air.

"Vegas!" Kinn calls out as the bespoken man jumps off the table, putting the gun away behind his belt at the back.

"Relax. It was his shoulder," Vegas replies passing Kinn, the man behind the desk starting to whimper in pain proving his words. "Are we going to the docks or you would like to take this kind gentlemen to the hospital or something?"

"I would really like to punch you right now," Kinn utters through a forced smile. "But that can wait. Let's go," he swallows back the annoyance and puts his gun away, leading the way.

The almost purely bloodlust-filled fog slowly begins to rise from Vegas' eyes, his heart still racing as he is just a step away from the goal. He can feel a new wave of adrenaline pumping as they get into the car and set straight for the docks on the other side of the city. The plan has worked out, at least so far, but so many of his plans have fallen apart right at the end he is so uneasy he could swear his hands are shaking. He clenches his hands together to keep them calm, closing his eyes, lowering his head, and taking deep breaths.

"Maybe I should knock you out so you could calm down," Kinn speaks next to him and Vegas opens his eyes just to glare at him. "We are getting him back in counted hours, so you losing it at this point more than usual would be one of the worst things that could happen. Pete is fine. You know how resistant he can be," Kinn continues seemingly trying to make the situation better but still finding a way to throw a mental punch.

"At least I wasn't the one who forgot about him for weeks," Vegas is fast with the reply and Kinn turns away from him instantly, crossing his arms on his chest, returning the car to its natural state of silence. He closes his eyes again, running over all possible courses of action, counting on Porsche and the backup meeting them at the docks, considering the already present itching need to just barge in and get to Pete as fast as he can. The final stretch of all plans was always the hardest one and from all schemes, he has ever pulled, from all ridiculous ideas he has ever brought to life this was by far the most important one as something - someone far more valuable than Vegas' own life was on the line here. No mistakes - the only rule is both simple and difficult at the same time and a true test for how far the strange new union coming to life only today could go.

~ - ~

Pete's jaw ached, the two heavy punches in the combination with the ones he got earlier really were not good for him. His cheek was probably bruised, his ear just stopped ringing and there will be bruises on his stomach and sides in a boot shape, but nothing was broken as far as he could tell. His knees felt raw and skinless underneath the wet fabric, and his wrists were definitely bruised as well. To his surprise, his shoulder had not dislocated despite the punches and kicks trashing him around. Was most of this his own provocation? Probably. Constantly cursing out the men that entered and trying to headbutt them did not make them very friendly. But their annoyance had started working in Pete's favor even faster than he thought.

After they left the door didn't close entirely and now Pete could at least partially hear what was going on outside, at least when he could stop his teeth from chattering. Several voices came and went, none bringing any useful information for Pete. No one talked about the weather or the time of the day, still keeping Pete in the information lockdown on how much time has passed. No names were exchanged, they even referred to Pete as 'the brat' and in a way hearing them talk and get nothing from it annoyed Pete even more. Maybe shouting for them to close the door would work, but it probably would result in another beating. Then again, he was already freezing to the core, so maybe he wouldn't feel it that much or it could warm him up a bit.

He is about to open his mouth, keeping the bratty teenager act up, but there finally is information that makes him shut up instantly and truly fear for his life for the first time. "What do you mean this is the wrong kid?" one of the men shouts at someone who just arrived.

"The one we needed just flew out to Bali with a group of people. The surveillance group checked the flight register for private flights," the response is clearly not well received as something is knocked over in rage and loud cursing fills the room, echoing into Pete's icy prison as well.

"Then who the hell is the fucker in there? Is he of any worth?"

"No idea. We could try and get information from him."

"Or just get rid of his annoying ass. I'm done babysitting a worthless fuck."

Pete's heart is racing more than it was before. He tries to stand up, but his arms won't move up, his legs are numb and it feels like the cold, wet air has finally settled in his lungs to the point he can't breathe properly. Perhaps it's panic, as he can't bullshit his way out of this situation even if he tries to. Perhaps it's the fear of his inevitable end here in the rotting concrete room as a 'worthless fuck'. Wasn't it ironic, that when he had finally learned his own worth he was knocked back down to nothing? There still is hope, no, trust in him that Vegas will show up. He still believes in that and that's probably the only thing that makes him look up and directly at the infuriated man pushing the metal door open, gun in hand and ready to end this miserable time of his.

~ - ~

"Wear this," Porsche passes a bulletproof west to Vegas, who looks at it quite skeptically. "Either you are wearing this or we are locking you in a trunk until we get Pete out," he sounds like a scolding and extremely stressed older brother, and even though the bulky and heavy west is a nuisance, Vegas takes it from Porsche's hands. "And don't do anything stupid," Porsche adds and Vegas has to smile despite the situation at hand.

"I won't. There is no room for error here," Vegas reassures the taller man and puts on the vest, securing it around his waist. "So when we get in I'm pushing forward alone."

"Vegas..." Porsche sighs but Vegas stops him before he continues.

"Cover me and nothing bad will happen. We've done this before, it should be easy," he places his hand on Porsches shoulder in an encouraging gesture - just like the one the man has used on him before - just to have Kinn clear his throat loudly next to him. "You can cover me too, so you wouldn't feel left out," Vegas turns to the head of the main family head with the most annoying smile possible.

"We could still luck you in a trunk, you know?" Kinn smiles right back and Vegas could swear his eye is twitching from annoyance.

"Could both of you just stop? How about that?" Porsche sighs and takes out his gun, checking the magazine and taking the safety off. The other two let their annoying act drop, preparing their guns as well and walking to the front of the only concrete building on the western docks.

"The perimeter is secured. All exits are covered and we have an ambulance on the way just in case. I did connect with the local law enforcement and they will gladly take them, it will make them look good to take out a mafia branch," Arm reports to Kinn. "They have already gotten in contact with their colleagues about the successful arrest they made this morning too."

"Good. Let's go in and out with no losses or injuries. Aim for non-vital spots... if possible," Kinn raises his voice, the commands reaching all of his men. "Cover Vegas as much as possible," he continues and looks at the man next to him who has a quite puzzled look on his face. "He will move forward faster," he looks at Vegas and nods. It's a wordless exchange of 'I'd do the same' and Vegas appreciates it.

"Remind me to thank you later," Vegas directs his words at Kinn as all of them raise their guns and make their way into the warehouse.

"You know I will," Kinn smirks taking Vegas' left side while Porsche sticks on his right. The warehouse is rather empty, not offering much cover but the large pillars keeping it up and walls between the rooms. The first floor looks completely empty and no one seems to be guarding it, which at first makes one think have been sent to the wrong place.

"Stop!" Porsche whispers and everyone freezes, listening carefully for a second, distant yelling coming from somewhere in the large building. "Do you hear it?"

"The basement," Kinn confirms what everyone is thinking. "One team still checks the upper floors, the rest will head downstairs," he instructs and as quietly as possible they make their way to the stairs breaking into two. There is almost no light for the first flight of stairs going down, but a faint artificial light indicates someone at the bottom of the second flight. The formation quickly changes, Porsche covering the front the second they emerge from the stairs, taking out one of the 6 men in the room. Without losing any time Vegas pushes forward, taking out another on the way, a bullet whistling right past him and getting the third one. He doesn't have any more patience in him to waste time and look back, as he continues to move towards an open door at the end of the basement despite the exchange of bullets behind him.

"Drop it!" he yells out the second he is close enough to the room and sees a man with a gun standing barely over the doorframe. The man raises his hands in the air, the gun handing on his finger before falling to the ground with a loud sound echoing around the small, cold room. "Move to the side and turn around. Eyes on me at all times," Vegas instructs and the man follows, his face masked, eyes definitely filled with anger as he moves, keeping his eyes on Vegas as ordered. The latter move forward keeping the man in his line of sight, even though his eyes desperately dart to Pete on the floor.

He's covered in bruises and shaking, lips bluish and cut, cheek swollen and bruised, his big beautiful eyes watery and it takes everything in Vegas not to drop on his knees next to him and just hold him, just touch him and know he is as okay as he can be. "Are you alright?" he asks, taking up as much space as possible between the man and Pete.

"Could be better, to be honest," Pete responds, his voice shaking, probably from the cold or perhaps from the pain or both. Vegas' hands twitch, desperation winning over anger slowly.

"We will leave in a moment, don't worry," Vegas can't win against his urges and his eyes go to Pete for a second too long and the masked man uses it to launch at him, pushing him against the wall with full force, the gun falling from his hands.

"Vegas!" Pete calls out, pulling on the handcuffs with no result as the two men wrestle behind him. He can barely see what's going on over his shoulder and his heart is racing more than before.

The masked man continues to push Vegas against the wall with all his body mass, freeing one hand to grab a knife from his pocket, but that is exactly the momentum needed for Vegas to fight back. He knees the man in the stomach, following with a kick to get him even further away from him and stumbling backward. While the man tries to catch his balance and launch back with a knife in hand, Vegas dives forward on the concrete, grabbing the gun from the floor and shooting with no hesitation, the bullet piercing right through the masked man's forehead. There is a bone-chilling silence following the shot before the man sways and falls to the ground with a thud.

"The key..." Vegas scrambles to his feet, the impact of the dive shaking him up a bit, and saunters to the lifeless body. "Fuck it," he curses and grabs the knife instead, returning to Pete as fast as he can, kneeling on the floor and using the tip of the blade to fiddle the handcuffs open. The very second Pete's are free his body begins falling forward and Vegas barely manages to catch it. "Pete? Pete!" he calls out as he cradles the man close, his body ice-cold, lips trembling, hands shaking. He does open his eyes, a weak smile on his lips as he looks at Vegas.

"I knew you would come," he barely whispers and Vegas feels his heart tightening in his chest, the realization he was almost too late hitting him hard. He has to blink the watery mist away from his eyes. He still has no time for that - he has to take Pete to the ambulance as fast as he can.

"Of course," Vegas whispers back and presses his lips against Pete's forehead. He properly gathers him in his arm, and stands up, wishing the bulky vest would not be in the way of holding Pete close, but it didn't matter much. "Let's go home," he rests their foreheads together for a moment before making his way out of the disgustingly cold room where the sound of gunshots has calmed down. He pays very little attention to anyone in his way, but he recognizes the two footsteps trailing behind him as he rushes upstairs as the same footsteps have been helping him throughout the last 20 hours. He owed them more than just a thank you and he knew it very well. For now, however, his main priority - his entire world-  was in his arms and that was all he could care about as they stepped into the blinding afternoon sun.

~ - ~

Pete's eyelids feel like they are made of lead when he tries to open his eyes. Every muscle in his body aches - some even more than others - and he can barely move. Despite the unpleasant feelings, he blinks his eyes open, meeting a white ceiling above his head. There's warm, caramel brown light wrapping around him, the sun trying to break through the chocolate-brown curtains Pete had picked himself. A familiar earthy scent swirls in the air, and the quiet humming of the air humidifier on the nightstand is almost the only sound in the room. He is home.

As he slowly comes to his senses, his right hand seems heavier, and warmer than the rest of him even if he is wrapped in the blanket he slept in every night. His heavy eyes trail down to his left hand first - and IV tube piercing his skin, the stand with the bags that wasn't a design item he picked for the room next to the bed. It makes him frown so he rather looks at the other hand and without a surprise - it's tightly held by a hand he has come to love. He follows it up with his eyes, over the exposed forearm and the sleeves of the deep grey t-shirt, over the leaned back neck and the messy black head of hair resting against the headboard until he meets the seemingly calmly sleeping face of Vegas. A wave of calm washes over Pete and he smiles before lifting Vegas' hand to his lips and pressing a kiss on his knuckles.

"You're up?" Vegas' eyes open and he looks down at Pete, mimicking his action and kissing the top of Pete's hand in return.

"Just woke up," Pete can't help but smile as he gets lost in the gentle look in Vegas' eyes, that almost chases away the pain lingering all over his body. The feeling of safety washes over him, making his head light in the best way. "This is an interesting role switch, isn't it."

"It is. Only you are a bit less dramatic than I am," Vegas leans over, his free hand gently resting on Pete's cheek as he kisses his forehead.

"And now a proper one," Pete pouts, well knowing Vegas can't resist it. The pout works as Vegas carefully presses their lips together, which doesn't entirely work for Pete as he puts more pressure into the kiss, demanding more back even if his lips and cheek still sting. The kiss is returned properly - Vegas taking over - and it feels like a new breath of life is entering Pete's body through their joined lips. As if the core of his being that was frozen solid in that room finally melts and fully returns to the present moment.

"Now this is what I'm talking about," Pete sports a satisfied grin when Vegas pulls back, their eyes meeting again.

"I'm sorry," Vegas whispers in English, running his fingers through Pete's hair.

"For what?" Pete catches a chance to press a quick kiss on the base of Vegas' palm.

"I could have been there faster. I could have stayed near you and..." he doesn't manage to finish his sentence as Pete lifts himself up from the bed just enough to kiss lips and lay down with a small grunt, his body still aching.

"I knew you would come. And you did. That's it. Everything else we can leave for another time, okay?" Pete has a lot of questions and a lot to tell but right now he wanted just one thing and that wasn't talking. "I'm still cold," he pouts again and the shocked expression on Vegas' face is almost too adorable.

"Should I get another blanket or..."

"Hug me, dumbass," Pete laughs and the laugh escaping Vegas' lips is probably his favorite sound. Carefully, Vegas helps Pete lift his head, settling his arm underneath it and turning on his side, letting go of Pete's hand to wrap his other arm around his middle, mindful of the bruises, and pulling him as close as the IV allows.

"Better?" Vegas asks, rubbing the tips of their noses together.

"Perfect," Pete nods and settles in for probably the best nap in his life. Right now this - being at home in Vegas' arms mattered more than the details of the hellish 24 hours.