Chapter Text
Pete blinks, groaning under his breath when he feels an intense throbbing pain coming from the back of his head. Lovely, that’s all he needs on top of being kidnapped, a concussion. Even though he thinks those are going to be the least of his problems.
He opens his eyes and looks around, trying to move; no surprise, he’s bound to a chair by his legs with his hands tightly roped together behind the back of the chair. He tests the ropes but it’s good work, no room for movement at all.
Pete is sitting in the middle of what looks like an abandoned hotel room. The furniture is dusty and old, looking like it’s been years since anyone cleaned there. He sees two Japanese men sitting on chairs close to a window, keeping an eye out for any activity outside, another man laying on the disgusting looking bed and a fourth one appears right in front of Pete’s face from behind, startling him.
“Wakey, wakey,” says the man, his Thai sounds pretty alright considering he’s a full blooded Japanese native. “Are you comfy?”
“To be honest your hospitality has some room for improvement, but I’ve seen worse,” Pete answers him, voice groggy; the sound makes his head throb, but he still smiles pleasantly.
He has every occupant's attention but it looks like apart from the one man who spoke to him first none of the others seem to speak Thai since they look pretty confused at the words coming from his mouth.
His captor chuckles at that, before he backhands Pete so hard his head snaps to the side.
“You’re a funny one, aren’t you?” he asks, his smile matching the one Pete is sporting.
“I’m glad you think so,” Pete tells him, winking, which makes him even more nauseous.
His heart is racing and sweat begins to run down his back, but he refuses to show that he’s uncomfortable or scared. Vegas didn’t break him and these guys have nothing on him, Pete is going to be just fine. Good news is that they won’t kill him, because they need him alive if they want Vegas to show up; and really, if they wanted him dead he would already be six feet under.
The guys start talking to each other in Japanese and Pete tunes them out, focusing on any possible routes of escape, but it doesn’t look good. The room has only one door and one window, both are guarded, and there is no way in hell he will be able to get free from the ropes that have him trapped to the chair. He barely has any circulation left in his limbs because the ropes are so tightly bound.
“Our boss will be here in a few minutes,” one of the guys says in broken English, smiling nastily at Pete.
“Yay, I’m excited,” Pete answers back in English, grinning, because spending time with Vegas has only made him more crazy; he should just shut up and wait for this shit to end, but he just can’t help himself. He’s pissed at the group for trying to hunt Vegas down and wants every single one of them to suffer. “Is he as good looking as you guys?”
He gets another blow to the face for his effort.
“Shut up, you fucking faggot,” snaps the Japanese man in Thai, looking at Pete with disgust. “Filthy scum, you spread your legs for your boss like a bitch in heat.”
“Okay, now I’m seriously hurt,” Pete tells him, pouting and begins to feel uneasy at the mention of Vegas because, really, it isn't that widely known that they’re together. He thought that he was taken because he was in a vulnerable position, not because they were waiting for him specifically. “There’s no need to be so rude, we’re just having a pleasant conversation.”
’Shut up, Pete, just shut up,’ he thinks to himself, but it’s actually kind of fun to see how quickly these men get riled up. And, after looking at them closely, he would call them thugs not mafia. They’re the type that are content with cheap whores, selling drugs on the side and spending their days drinking and smoking shitty cigars. Pete would advise two of them on a better skin routine and a visit to the dentist, because it is not looking good for them.
Whoever the big shot Yakuza man brought with him, it’s not members of the mafia. Or if they are then they must be very low on the totem pole.
The Thai speaking man pushes his gun right under Pete’s chin, the cold feel of metal on his skin makes him shiver slightly, but all he does is grin, showing off his teeth.
“Careful,” he taunts. “The last guy that threatened me with a gun is now fucking me in the ass at least twice a week. Who knows what will happen between us if you follow the same path he did.”
He winks for good measure, enjoying the look of disgust on the guy’s face; he’s so fucking easy, honestly.
He’s about to get another blow to the face; at this point he will have a serious concussion; but the door to the room opens and a man aged somewhere in his fifties steps inside. He’s wearing a navy blue suit, well fitted and clearly expensive; he has a ponytail and slightly greying black hair, his face is impassive when he looks at Pete, assessing him.
“You speak English?” he asks him, his voice hoarse, probably from years of smoking.
“Yes,” Pete answers, because it won’t do him any good to act dumb. That’s the man that calls the shots and it’s better to play nice with him if he doesn’t want to end up dead in the next few minutes.
The man nods and sits down on a chair in front of Pete.
“Good,” he says, then adds something in Japanese, making his goon stand down and take away the gun that’s been digging into Pete’s chin. “You know why you’re here?”
“Because you want revenge on Vegas,” Pete says, aiming for a bored tone. “He killed your nephew, who tried to kill him. Isn’t it a fair game, though? An eye for an eye?”
“Mmm,” the man hums, settling into the chair more comfortably. “Normally it would be, but Makoto was the son of my beloved sister and she’s devastated. I promised her I would bring her the head of the man who killed her son.”
“But is it wise to come to Thailand just for Vegas?” Pete asks him, raising an eyebrow. “You’ll start a war between the Yakuza and the Theerapanyakuns and it won’t be pretty. Just bring her the head of someone else, it’s not like she knows who killed her son.”
There’s a small sentence uttered in Japanese and a second later a gunshot rings out across the room, before a garish pain hits him full force, coming from his right foot. He screams because it fucking hurts.
He looks down and sees a hole in his shoe, followed by blood slowly oozing out of it but it’s not a fatal wound, far from it. It still hurts like a bitch, though.
“I would advise you to keep your mouth shut if you don’t want a hole in your other foot,” says the goon in Thai, smirking at him; the long sleeved shirt he has on rides up on his arm, showing off the tattooed symbol of Kyokutō-kai, one of the smaller groups in Yakuza that resides in Tokyo.
“I didn’t come here to listen to your yapping,” the boss says to him, his eyes hard and unyielding. “And remember, if I don’t get Vegas, I will have to satisfy myself with you, it will hurt him even more to see your dead body. Just like it hurt my beloved sister to see her dead son. Now, Akiko, call Vegas.”
The goon that was laying on the bed before quickly takes out his phone and dials Vegas’ number, putting it on speaker. Another man pushes a dirty looking cloth into Pete’s mouth, making him gag and unable to speak; Pete will have to bleach his mouth out after this whole ordeal.
The phone rings three times, before, for some odd reason, Tankhun’s voice answers in English.
“You’ve reached the beauty salon Diamonds & Roses, how can I help you?”
Pete has to do everything in his power to not laugh out loud; even though it would be nearly impossible to do so with the nasty ball of material in his mouth; because everyone in the room looks so baffled that he has to squeeze his eyes shut to not look at them else he will start chuckling.
This is good. Tankhun answering Vegas’ phone tells him that the man knows he was kidnapped and knows exactly where Pete is, ready to bust him out, since he’s not even trying to negotiate with the Yakuza right now. If Pere could, he would kiss Tankhun, because he’s the reason every single one of them is chipped; he had had quite the panic attack a few weeks ago and demanded someone put a chip in him to make it easier to find him if he were ever kidnapped again and everyone had come to the mutual agreement to do the same because it was a brilliant idea. Even Venice had received a chip.
“Cut this bullcrap,” snaps the boss, his face impassive, but his eyes betray the fury blazing in them. He clearly doesn’t like looking like a fool in front of his subordinates. “I want to speak with Vegas.”
“Vegas?” Tankhun asks, feigning surprise, channeling his best customer service persona. “Who’s that? Pol? Pol! Do we have an employee called Vegas? You might be confused, sir, we have Venice, he’s our best hairdresser if that’s who you’re looking for.”
Pete feels a sense of relief wash over him because that one sentence means Vegas brought Venice to the main family’s compound. It is the most secure place in the whole of Bangkok; his baby boy is safe.
The Yakuza man snaps another command in Japanese that sounds similar to what he’d said earlier and… yup, Pete’s other foot now has a bullet wound, his feet matching like a pair of gory loafers with the blood and the tissue scattered around them. He screams, voice muffled but still loud, clearly reaching Tankhun, because there’s a second of silence on the other line.
“So what it will be? A haircut or do you need your nails trimmed?” This time Tankhun’s voice sounds lower, more dangerous and Pete knows that when the Theerapanyakuns get their hands on these men they will have their limbs removed slowly and painfully.
Pete focuses on breathing deeply, trying to separate himself from the pain radiating from his feet; it’s a throbbing, nasty pain that makes it hard to concentrate on anything else. And it’s going to be a bitch when he’s finally out of here because he will be bed bound for some time after this.
The call is cut off and his captors starts speaking in Japanese, the voices angry and high. The cloth is yanked out of his mouth and Pete gulps as much air into his lungs as he can, spitting out the saliva that had pooled in his mouth. There's a sense of panic in the room, which makes him feels very satisfied. They probably expected Vegas to threathen them, to show his weakness and beg for Pete's life, but that's not how that man works.
“I hope you brought a lot of your people with you,” he says, grinning, which earns him yet another backhand this evening; he feels a cut on his cheek from the man’s ring and blood pools in his mouth. Pete smiles, the grimace bloody, and then spits on the man’s suit, dirtying his clothes. “Hope you got your things in order, cause you’re not going back home in one piece.”
He sees a face filled with rage, hears another command and suddenly he’s jumped by two guys who start beating the shit out of him. Pete notices that one of the guys is taking a video of it all, before he loses consciousness somewhere between a tenth blow to his guts and a crack in his ribs.
~~,~~
The next time he comes into consciousness there are screams close to his head and gunshots so loud his ears are ringing. Everything hurts. There is not a single spot on his body that doesn’t feel an intense amount of pain right now.
He should have kept his fucking mouth shut, but the rage on the Yakuza guy’s face was worth every single punch he got.
Pete blinks, trying to fully come to consciousness but he would rather faint again just so he doesn’t have to feel the agony coursing throughout his body.
“Pete, Pete!” It’s Porsche. His best friend is cutting off the ropes, freeing his limbs and Pete almost falls from the chair when nothing holds him in place any longer; Porsche catches him at the last moment, making him moan in pain and try to get away from his touch. “Easy, easy, we have to take you to hospital.”
“Ve… Vegas?” Pete mumbles, his head dropping down; he doesn’t have the energy to keep it up.
“He’s fine,” Porsche informs him, trying to make him stand up, but Pete protests.
“Look at m… my fffee…” it's the last thing he remembers saying before he faints once more, blissful darkeness overtaking his mind.
~~,~~
The next time he’s conscious again, he is in the back of a car, laying down with his head pillowed on someone’s lap.
He must make some kind of noise, because the person starts petting his hair, shushing him.
“Ten more minutes,” Porsche says, before snapping at whoever is driving, “fucking drive faster!”
There’s a bump in the road and pain flares up in Pete’s body, before he’s out like a light once again.
~~,~~
“Shush, baby,” someone says, voice smooth and lovely, making Pete’s heart beat faster; a beeping reaches his ears. “See, papa thinks something is happening to you, you have to be a good boy and let papa rest.”
Pete would love to open his eyes and see them, but his eyelids are too heavy. He feels a tear come out of his eye, when he thinks of Vegas calling him Venice’s papa.
He wants to say something but there’s a tube in his mouth and down his throat, making him unable to do more than whimper pathetically, before darkness overcomes him again.
~~,~~
This time when he awakens he’s fully conscious, or at least he thinks so. There’s no longer a tube in his throat, the room is dimly lit by a small lamp on the bedside table and there’s light coming off the machines.
Pete groans quietly, trying to move a little and is glad that he can’t feel the pain in his body any longer; he must be on some good pain meds right now, probably morphine.
“Pete?” A sleepy voice asks and Pete looks to the side, where Vegas lies on a couch; he’s fully clothed and clearly tired. “Angel, are you up?”
“Yeah,” Pete croaks out, his throat hurts like a bitch and there’s zero saliva in his mouth. “Water.”
“Sure, of course.” Vegas jumps from couch and he’s next to him in a heartbeat. He opens a small cooler that stands on the bedside table. “I can’t give you more than an ice cube right now, baby.”
Pete just nods, unable to speak and sucks gratefully on the cool ice, closing his eyes because it’s taking a lot of energy to keep them open.
He smiles when he feels Vegas’ touch on his forearm, the other’s man hand is trembling slightly.
“How bad is it?” he asks, it’s kind of hard to assess what’s going on with his body when he can’t feel most of it thanks to the medicine running through his veins.
“Two broken ribs, a ruptured spleen, a bruised liver, internal bleeding, a concussion, two shot wounds to the feet and a hell of a lot of bruises all over your beautiful body,” Vegas informs him, his voice deadly calm, but Pete can hear the slight tremor and pain in it. “I have to call a doctor now. We will talk later if you are still conscious, it’s been a few times already that you’ve woken up and gone back under.”
Pete hums in agreement, sucking some more on the ice cube, the cold water soothing his throat, making him feel happy and relaxed.
Pete stays conscious but it’s a hard battle he has to fight with himself before finally the doctors and nurses come into the room to poke and prod at him, asking him question after question that he answers to the best of his abilities. They seem satisfied and leave after what feels like eternity.
“Hey,” he whispers, still weak as a newborn baby. “Come sit with me.”
Vegas stops his pacing around the room, looking at the bed like he’s trying to figure out where it’s safe to sit, since there’s lot of tubes coming out of Pete’s body; finally he decides to sit near his feet.
“How are you feeling?” Vegas asks him, gently putting his hand under the covers to touch Pete’s tibia. “Does anything hurt?”
“Not really,” Pete says, a dopey smile on his face, he’s still a little out of it. “I’m drugged up as fuck, I can barely feel my body.”
“Good,” Vegas says, satisfied with the answer.
“Can you tell me what happened?” Pete asks. “I don’t remember anything, the last thing that is clear is the guys beating me till I passed out and then Porsche trying to free me.”
Vegas scowls at the mention of the Japanese men, fury in his eyes. Pete kind of feels sorry for the Yakuza, because he’s pretty sure they didn’t have clean, simple deaths. No. Vegas would have made sure they suffered for what they had done.
“I saw that you read my messages but didn’t answer, so I called you and when you didn’t pick up, I called Porsche who told me you went home,” Vegas explains. “I made Som check the car’s GPS and your chip and it showed that you were in two different locations, so I knew right from the bat that you were taken.”
“My clever man,” Pete praises him, smiling. “No one is as good at plotting shit as you, it’s no wonder they were caught so fast.”
Vegas laughs at that, shaking his head in disbelief.
“I swear you’re getting crazier and crazier with each passing day,” he says fondly, squeezing Pete’s leg a little harder like he wants to reassure himself that he’s really here. “But yeah, I took Venice and Macau and brought them to the main’s family compound since it was the safest place for them. Kinn and Porsche wanted to help, so after that it was only a matter of gearing up and killing those men. There were actually more of them than we suspected, but after about ten minutes everything was done and taken care of. I'm grateful that the chip thing works becasue it would have taken us ages to find you otherwise, they took you to an abandoned hotel and changed cars a few times to confuse us. Arm checked the city cameras to make sure your chip was showing the right location.”
“You killed everyone?” Pete asks, because he doesn't have much more energy to talk in detail about the situation.
“Nah,” Vegas protests, grinning at him. “I left two of them as a get well soon gift for you, they’re in our cellars.”
Pete can’t help but laugh at that, amazed at the complete lack of pain he feels right now; he knows it won’t be that comfortable when they take him off the good stuff.
“And you say I’m crazy,” he snorts and then yawns, his eyelids falling down on their own accord. “But can I ask you a question?”
“Hmm?”
“Why was it Porsche that came to get me and not you?” Pete asks him, frowning slightly.
“Because I would have fallen apart if I saw you like that and I needed to make those fuckers pay,” Vegas answers him and swallows, like the thought of finding Pete barely alive, bound to the chair is too much for him. “Sleep now, pet,” Vegas whispers to him. “I will be here when you wake up.”
~~,~~
Pete is eating a very light, very tasteless porridge, when the door to his hospital room flies open. The first thing that appears are a bunch of pink balloons, then a big bouquet of roses followed by Pol, then Tankhun who’s holding Venice; which makes Pete feel like his eyes bug out of his head; and Arm who’s carrying a bag with Venice’s stuff.
“Pete,” Tankhun says, handing the baby to Vegas, who’s beside him immediately, “you look like shit. You would do with some sun and a good make up artist.”
“Thank you, Khun Tankhun,” he says, smiling at his friends and former boss. “You look fabulous as always.”
And he does. He’s wearing a black and blue bodysuit and a white, fluffy fur coat over the suit.
“Of course I do,” the man says, sitting down on the bed with a dramatic sigh. “I’m exhausted taking care of your child while you’re here on vacation, you should be ashamed of yourself Pete.”
“You were begging me to let you take him,” Vegas says, but he’s smiling, his posture much more relaxed than it usually is in Tankhun’s presence. Pete was sure that Venice was with Macau, but it looks like the oldest Theerapanyakun brother finally got his wish to take care of the baby. “But thank you, you helped us very much.”
Pete almost chokes on his spoonful of the awful food, because Vegas thanking Tankhun is something else.
“How are you feeling?” Arm asks him, while Tankhun tries covering up his surprise at being thanked by saying some dramatic spiel about the smelly poop that Venice did and him having to air out the entire compound to get rid of the smell.
“I’m fine,” Pete answers him, but feels a pang of something deep down, like it’s not entirely true, but there’s enough drugs in his system to make him feel indestructible right now. “They’re still letting me have the strong stuff for one more day, before they will switch me to the prescription painkillers.”
“You looked awful when we got to you,” Arms says, scrunching his nose. “I thought you were dead for a minute when Porsche carried you out of that room.”
“You were there?” Pete asks, shocked.
“Of course,” Pol answers. “We went along with Porsche and Khun Kinn, but most of the guys that were rescuing you were from the minor family.”
“I coordinated everything by phone,” Tankhun butts in, side-eyeing Vegas who’s whispering sweet nothings to Venice. “Did you hear me playing a customer service representative? Maybe I should take on acting as a career.”
Pete laughs, nodding his head.
“That was the highlight of that whole situation,” Pete says, grinning.
Then they chat for some time, the conversation involving the latest drama that Tankhun had begun to watch; the man is trying to explain the plot to Pete, but keeps getting everything wrong so Arm whispers the correct bits to Pete, trying not to disturb his boss.
After a good hour of this, the door opens once again and Porsche and Kinn come in.
“I think it’s time for me to leave. Pete, get well soon,” Tankhun says, standing up from the bed, and addressing Arm and Pol, “I think we should rewatch that drama again, Arm seems to be confused.”
Both bodyguards groan at that, but wave at him in goodbye, following Tankhun out of the room.
Porsche comes to the bed and kneels on it, to be able to kiss Pete’s forehead.
“Never scare me like that again,” he says, his voice choked up. “I thought you were going to die on me.”
“Sorry,” Pete tells him, sending the man an apologetic smile, but it’s like he’s detached himself from it all, not really in tune with his emotions just yet. “I’ll try my best not to get kidnapped anytime soon so as not to worry you.”
“Good, make sure you do that,” Porsche says, patting his cheek.
“You look much better now,” Kinn comments, sitting down next to Vegas, who at this point was nodding off on the couch with Venice securely held in his arms.
“Thank you for rescuing me,” Pete says and adds, “Vegas, could you bring Venice to me? I would like to see him.”
“Sure.” Vegas stands up and puts Venice on the bed next to Pete; the small baby wriggles slightly in sleep and Pete is shocked at how completely different he looks.
“I haven’t seen him in two days and he grew so much,” he comments in bafflement.
“What?” Vegas asks him, furrowing his brows.
“Dude, you were unconscious for over a week,” Porsche tells him.
“Yeah,” Vegas hums. “They kept you in a medically induced coma for four days and then you were left alone to come back to yourself for another five days. We were all going crazy with worry.”
“Oh,” Pete gasps, because he honestly thought that he was out for two, at most three days max. “That would explain why Venice looks so different to me.”
“Looks like your sex life will have to suffer for some more time,” Porsche comments suddenly, smirking at Pete.
“Shut up,” Pete whines, remembering their conversation before he was kidnapped and looks at Vegas who’s staring at him surprised. “Don’t listen to Porsche.”
“We were supposed to take care of Venice so you two could fuck,” Porsche explains to Vegas, because he’s the worst human being in history and Kinn laughs at Pete’s embarrassment. Vegas raises an eyebrow at Pete, a smirk on his lips. “The whole operation ‘get Pete dicked down’ was ready to be put into effect, but he had to go and fuck it up.”
Pete shows him a middle finger, laughing.
“I hate you,” he groans, avoiding looking at Vegas. “Really, I don’t know how I ever thought that you’re a good friend.”
“And here I thought you went to talk shit about me, but really you were plotting a way for me to fuck you,” Vegas comments. “Naughty.”
“Oh, no don’t get it twisted he was talking shit too,” Kinn confirms. “There was something about you being an ass and you not fucking un…”
“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” Pete whines, covering his face; he wants to die, his former boss is sitting in the same room at him, joking about Pete’s sex life. It’s still baffling to him that Kinn acts like they’re friends now, like they’re equals. And Pete is pretty sure that he hasn’t seen him smile this much, he’s smiled more in the last month or so than he ever had in all those years Pete had worked for him.
And somehow when he closes his eyes, it’s incredibly difficult to open them again, his head swimming pleasantly and he hums lowly in the back of his throat when someone takes the porridge from his hands. He falls asleep to the low murmur of voices around him, feeling content and safe.
~~,~~
Everything that happened finally hits him full force in the middle of the night. He awakens, feeling a sense of dread in his stomach and gasps for air, tossing a little on the bed, but wills himself to lay still when Vegas mumbles something on the couch, pulling a blanket tighter around himself. The man refused to leave Pete alone in the hospital and gave Venice back to Tankhun, who apparently is very smitten with their kid; well, he does refuse to change nappies (Pol has the honor of doing so) and needs Arm to wake him up when Venice wakes up, but he’s pretty good as a babysitter. It warms Pete’s heart to know that the two families are finally coming together.
And looking at Vegas laying on the couch makes Pete tear up, because it hits him that he could have lost this. He was kidnapped, yet again in his life, and beaten almost to death and he's lucky it ended the way it did. He was reckless to taunt the Yakuza, reckless to go out alone just because he had a disagreement with Vegas.
And it’s hard for him to think about the fact that he will now be a burden for the next few weeks, unable to take proper care of himself or Venice, unable to protect Vegas.
Before he knows it, tears are running down his face and he’s sniffling like a baby. He must be much louder than he thought, because Vegas stirs and blinks his eyes open.
“Pete?” he asks, voice raspy with sleep and it only makes Pete cry harder. Vegas scrambles from the couch and almost runs to the bed, sitting gently at Pete’s side and grabbing his hand, squeezing it softly. “What’s happening? Are you in pain?”
“No,” Pete chokes out, trying to stop tears, but it’s not that easy.
The thoughts that he could be dead right now, that he could have never seen his friends and family again makes him want to scream.
“Then why are you crying, love?” Vegas reaches out and swipes his thumb gently across Pete’s cheek. “It breaks my heart seeing you like this.”
“I’m sorry,” Pete whispers, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, trying to get a hold of his emotions. “It just hit me… It finally hit me…what they did to me.”
“Baby,” Vegas breathes, looking at a loss for words. His eyes are round and filled with pain, but also anger, so much anger. “I won’t ever forgive myself for what happened to you because of me. I should have never told you to go, I should have dealt with the Yakuza earlier, instead of waiting for them to make the first move.”
“It’s not your fault,” Pete tells him, his chest heaving and chin trembling slightly. “I’m not blaming you. I just… It’s gonna be hard, these next few weeks for me. While I was in that room it was easier, I was trained to take pain, to cope with those type of situations, but now… Now I’m going to be fucking useless, I won’t be able to help with anything, everything will be on your shoulders and…”
“Pete, breathe,” Vegas cuts him off gently, rubbing soothing circles on the top of his hand. “First off, you won’t be useless, you will be healing and you can help me with all the boring paperwork I have to do if you really want something to do. Second of all, the fact that you were trained to cope with being tortured isn’t… It doesn’t mean you have to be alright with it. I know I fucked you up pretty badly the first time and I won’t ever forgive myself for it, but being kidnapped and almost beaten to death barely in the span of a year is… I can’t even imagine what you’re going through. It’s okay to cry, baby, I’ll be with you every step of the way, okay?”
“Okay,” Pete sniffles, smiling slightly. “But I’m really okay with pain, you know I’m good with it. The thing that’s hurting me the most is the thought that I nearly died when I have you, and Venice, and Macau, when I have people I want to live for. Thank you for coming to get me.”
“Of course,” Vegas says, touching his cheek again. “I would burn the whole fucking world to ground to get to you, pet. There is no place where they could hide you from me.”
Pete closes his eyes, the words washing over him like a balm; Vegas will always find him, no matter what.
“Do you know how they knew about me?” He asks, after he completely calms down. “Cause they talked about killing me to hurt you if they wouldn’t be able to get their hands on you.”
“Kinn and I think there’s a leak in the minor family,” Vegas says, scowling. “We’re going through everyone in there, looking for the asshole that sold the information to the Yakuza about you being important to me; it’s not a widely known fact that we’re together. You mostly stay at home, no one knows that we got together apart from our bodyguards and family. That’s why Macau and Venice are still at the main compound, they’ll stay there until I catch the motherfucker and make him wish he was never born.”
“Good,” Pete says, closing his eyes, tiredness overcoming him. “Can you stay in bed with me until I fall asleep?”
“Yeah,” Vegas whispers softly and curls up next to Pete on his side, careful not to touch any of the many tubes coming out of his body. “Sleep well, pet.”
“Goodnight,” Pete whispers, feeling something settle in him; everything is going to be alright.