The Double Agent and his Annoyingly Handsome Mark

by Mamalazzer

Summary:

What if Porsche was the mole that had been working with Vegas the entire time? An AU where falling for Kinn hadn’t been part of Porsche’s plan - he just couldn’t help himself.

Featuring feelings of betrayal, annoyingly endearing Mafia Overlords and Porsche genuinely forgetting the assignment because of a pair of rock-hard pecs.

Fic now complete!

Chapter 1: An Offer Porsche Can't Refuse

Summary:

Being part of a plot to betray the most dangerous man in Thailand hadn't been where Porsche thought his day had been going. His luck was just that bad.

Notes:

My first foray into KinnPorsche fic! I adore Kinn and Porsche so expect lots of embarrassing adoration over them. Also, I will update this fic every week so hope you stay with me on this.

Also, Kinn is in the next chapter so no worries, my gangster boi is incoming.

 

The first time he saw Vegas, Porsche thought that the guy was a pervert. 

The second time he saw him, Porsche decided he was definitely a pervert but a homicidal one who probably had a used-car business on the side. 

With his oily smile and his eyes flickering between affability and pure murderous intent, Porsche would have put money on this guy having the dismembered corpses of unruly customers stuffed in the trunks of his shady cars. 

Porsche would have put a lot of money on it. 

That is, if Porsche had money.

Which is how the reptilian psychopath came into his life in the first place.

It had all started with Porsche’s weekly underground street fight which, honestly, had been getting more and more theatrical by the day. 

With its wildly gyrating dancers (who looked seconds away from breaking a hip mid-thrust) to its fiery pyrotechnics that had once set a bartender’s head on fire, Porsche really did wonder sometimes if this is what the comedy section of hell looked like.

Even the fighters looked more and more like comic-book villains than actual combatants. 

His opponent today had even given Porsche a monologue and a tragic backstory that included an evil twin brother running off with his wife. It had been pretty entertaining really. Porsche had almost felt bad for kicking the guy in the face. That is, until the leotard-wearing divorcé threw a literal rock at him and forced Porsche to knock him out cold with a punch.

The impromptu attack from flying terrain had left Jom poking Porsche in the forehead every two minutes to check he wasn’t about to die from concussion. Porsche — who was pretty sure Jom’s heavy-handed bedside manner might be the thing that actually killed him — had kicked his friend playfully in the backside and asked him to be useful by getting them some beers instead. 

Jom had made a half-hearted case about drinking with a head injury but his thirst soon overtook his good sense and he bopped away, only to be replaced by someone new. 

Which was when he first met Vegas.

 

With cheekbones that could cut glass and a pantomime over-confidence that clearly indicated severe daddy issues, Vegas had looked Porsche square in the eye and, in doing so, changed the trajectory of his life forever.

“I have an offer for you.”

Vegas had been wearing a leopard-print jacket, a gold medalion and a pair of crocodile-skin shoes. The outfit choice teetered on the cliff between a bold fashion statement and the fittings of a 1970s pimp.

Porsche had just raked his eyes over him and grinned like a shit-heel, his teeth still bloody. It was the smile he usually gave his opponents to goad them into punching his head clean off. 

“Sorry, man,” Porsche had said, placing a cigarette in his mouth and lighting it, all while his lips were still stretched in a smirk. “You’re not my type. You might want to try Axel over there.” He pointed across the fighting ring at a gigantic man who was successfully bench-pressing a motorcycle. “See that tattoo of a swastika on his forehead? That means he likes cuddles.”

Vegas looked mildly irritated. Clearly, racist embraces weren’t his kink.

“Look, I don’t want to fuck you, you ass,” he snapped in English, both his charm and patience evaporating in the blink of an eye. It made Porsche raise his eyebrows, impressed with both the flawless accent and with himself for getting it to sound so murderous. He usually needed to work a little harder to rile people up to bloody decapitation. “I want to hire you as a bodyguard for my cousin.”

Porsche leaned languidly back against the railing behind him, almost cat-like. He did it partly to look casual but mainly because his ribs hurt like a bitch and he needed the support before he keeled over.

Porsche sized Vegas up as he took a slow drag of his cigarette, his lungs burning from cheap, acrid smoke. Vegas didn’t look like the type of guy who cared about his cousin’s protection. He seemed like the sort of person who would buy a houseplant just to pluck off all its leaves and piss on it when it needed watering.

“You’re worried someone wants to kill your cousin?” Porsche asked, curious. If Vegas’ cousin was even a tenth as likeable as him, he could understand the threats to his life. 

Vegas smiled in response. It was all teeth and very unpleasant. It made Porsche wince in sympathy with his own eyeballs for witnessing it.

“Oh, I want to kill my cousin,” he elaborated, which was an admission Porsche wasn’t surprised by in the slightest. This guy looked like he wanted to kill everyone. “But I need to keep an eye on what he’s up to first. I need information only he has. That is where you would come in. The only people he lets near him are his bodyguards. I need you to pose as one and report back to me on his schedule. What do you say?”

Porsche just snorted at this and saluted Vegas lazily.

“Sure, chief,” he said, taking another slow drag of his cigarette. It was like the beginning of every bad spy show Porsche had seen. He half-expected an old quartermaster with a suitcase to enter the scene and hand him an exploding tube of toothpaste.

Vegas looked like he had sucked on a lemon. 

“I’m serious,” he stressed vehemently. In his defence, Porsche could admit that the man looked more serious than a terminal disease. 

It didn’t make the situation any less ridiculous, however. 

“Trust me, this isn’t going to work out, sweetheart,” Porsche sighed overdramatically, patting Vegas on the arm like he was letting down an unwanted suitor. “I’m really not your type. Taking orders isn’t my style, unless they’re cocktails. Which, if that is the case, I can give him a Screaming Orgasm that will make him blow his-”

“You can fight and the mob doesn't know you exist,” Vegas shot back with breathless excitement, ignoring Porsche’s sex-based novelty drinks vocabulary. His eyes gleamed greedily at him, as though Porsche had literally been served to him on a platter with a side salad. “A bartender who can fight and beat the best fighters in Bangkok is no mean feat-” 

“Best fighters?” Porsche had choked out a laugh, cigarette smoke stuttering out of his nostrils like a dragon with a cold. “You know that last guy I fought wore a thong over his tights, right?”

Vegas frowned. He obviously disliked being interrupted mid-diatribe.

“In any case,” he said loudly, acting like Porsche hadn’t just spoken about inappropriate underwear. “Your background check would be squeaky clean. You’re the exact type of person Kinn would want.”

Kinn?

All the blasé cockiness inside of Porsche evaporated almost immediately. 

He felt the blood drain from his face and flood to his fingertips, as though it was desperately trying to escape his body in fear at the sound of that name. The breath in his lungs whooshed out of his chest for refuge and his armpits whimpered silently before wetting themselves with fright. 

And then Porsche noticed the ring on Vegas’ finger.

Fuck. He knew who this was. And that meant he knew who his cousin was.

The cold sweat that broke over Porsche made him feel like he had fallen headfirst into the Arctic Ocean.

“Kinn Theerapanyakul,” Porsche had said almost hoarsely, as though he had been screaming for hours in terror. Even his ears felt like they were ringing, making him wonder if that thong-wearing fighter really had given him a concussion. “You want me to spy on the Kinn Theerapanyakul, the fucking king of the underworld?”

Because that was who they were talking about. 

Everyone in Thailand knew Kinn Theerapanyakul. The Dragon. The Kingpin. The Devil Incarnate. The man so feared people barely spoke his name aloud, in case they summoned him to them like a vengeful spirit.

He was the monster the elders whispered about getting you in the middle of the night. The horror story to scare children to behave. The faceless demon few had seen but everyone had heard of. The man who made lamps from the skins of his enemies, who had eyes and ears on every street in Bangkok and had every police chief and politician in his pocket. 

There were rumours he filed his teeth into spikes to terrify his enemies and that he was covered head to toe in tattoos, one marking for every victim he had brutally murdered. 

The tales about him were almost too horrible to believe, from dismemberment and disembowlement to a literal side serving of cannibalism.  

And this… this was the cousin Vegas wanted him to spy on? Porsche might as well have crawled into one of the cages at Sriracha Tiger Zoo and tried to seduce a Sumatran in heat. There would have been less carnage.

“Do you think I have a deathwish?” Porsche hissed, trying to keep his voice down as he looked around nervously. Just talking about Theerapanyakul made him paranoid, as though the man himself would swoop down from the trees like some sort of supernatural bat. Porsche was even looking at nearby bushes suspiciously, as though mafia overlords might be crouched behind them with listening devices.

Vegas smiled that shark smile again at his reaction. Porsche really wished he wouldn’t. It made his stomach turn. 

“I’ll make it worth your while.”

Porsche let out a hysterical bray of a laugh. It was high pitched enough to call small dogs to him and make Vegas — who was the human equivalent of a bitch — wince.

“Yeah, nope, not going to happen,” said Porsche definitively. “Sorry, pal, no amount of money is making me take that up. Good luck with your insane plans. I hope your cousin doesn’t skin you alive and wear your ribcage like a hat. I’m out of here.” 

Dropping his cigarette to the ground and crushing it with finality under his shoe, Porsche was ready to turn on his heel, get Jom and hightail it out of there when Vegas’ voice purred out,

“You won’t even consider it for the two million your uncle owes me?”

Porsche froze.

Shit, he thought, squeezing his eyes shut with dread, fruitlessly hoping Vegas wouldn’t see him if he stood still long enough. 

It was at times like these that Porsche truly wondered if the fates hated him. 

It was bad enough that they took his parents away as a child, they then had to leave him in the care of a gambling reprobate of an uncle who was so bad with money that it seemed to have a permanent restraining order against him. 

Porsche almost marvelled at how bad Arthee had to be at cards to get himself into that much debt. The man must have had the worst poker face in existence. It would have been funny if it wasn’t for the fact he now owed millions to the earthly version of Satan. 

Porsche spun around back to Vegas, trying to look as charming as possible. 

“I can get you the money.” He had tried to smile winningly as he patted Vegas on the chest, lying thoroughly through his teeth. Because there was no way in hell he could pay that. He barely made enough from Yok’s bar and his fights to get Chay through school.  

As an accomplished liar, clearly Vegas knew a fellow bullshitter when he saw one. He even smirked, as though he was amused at how bad Porsche’s attempt had been. 

“I don’t think you can pay me, Porsche.” He grinned, his eyes glittering maliciously. “And then if we add the interest…” here Vegas sighed theatrically, like the hero in a Greek tragedy. Porsche hated him, despite the fact he could begrudgingly admit that Vegas could totally have a future on stage with that diction. “It seems like poor Chay will never get into that fancy music school you want to send him to. It’s a shame, really.”

Porsche may have feared the Theerapanyakuls but he would fight the entire mob, their armies and all their sociopathic little cousins for his brother’s happiness.

“Talk about Chay again and I’ll break your legs,” he promised Vegas, pointing at said legs just in case he was slow and didn’t get the hint.

Vegas let out a tinkling, playful sort of laugh. From his expression, he seemed to find Porsche’s threats quaint, like he was a yapping toothless puppy that couldn’t bite him even if he tried. 

“Look around, Porsche,” Vegas said, lifting his chin. He wore arrogance more naturally than any outfit. It sat on him like a second skin, comparable to the snake he clearly was. “The only thing you’re going to break here is Porchay’s heart when we send his brother back to him in a body bag.”

As if they were automatons that had suddenly been switched on, everyone in the place turned en-mass to look at Porsche. From the gyrating dancers to bloody Axel himself, still bench-pressing that goddamn motorcycle, they all glared at Porsche with nothing but single-minded violence on their faces. 

Jom seemed to be the only one there that was not part of Vegas’ entourage, because he just continued to drunkenly flirt with the bartender who was currently giving Porsche the stink eye. Jom’s lack of preception skills were almost impressive as the bartender made a slitting motion across her throat at Porsche. It made Porsche think that Jom wouldn’t notice danger unless someone quite literally stabbed him in the eye.

Porsche just swallowed hard. Like a fly caught in a spider's web, Vegas had him. And then Vegas decided to land the final blow.

“In any case,” he hissed, like a predator before it went for the jugular, “don’t you want to know what happened to your parents?”

Everything seemed to screech to a halt, from the leaves on the trees to the very rotation of the earth. Porsche couldn’t even hear the music anymore, it sounded muffled, like he was drowning deeper and deeper under the ocean.

Porsche had a feeling this was how it felt with when a literal bomb hit you.

“Listen, dipshit, my parents died in a car crash,” he said with as much surety as he could, trying to keep his head afloat from the memories pressing down on him. He could remember being in an enclosed space, he could remember his mother’s screams…

“Your parents worked for my family,” Vegas returned, punching the breath from Porsche’s lungs as though he had landed a jab on his solar plexus. “And I know for a fact my uncle was involved in their deaths. I just don’t know how. Maybe that’s something else you can find out while you’re helping me. Kinn must know, he’s the head of the family. You help me get information, maybe you’ll get some of your own. You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.”

Porsche really didn’t want this guy anywhere near his back, he had a feeling he would stab him right through it. 

Letting out a pained groan, Porsche lamented his luck again. He only came here to smack a few carnival characters around and make a bit of extra cash. Somehow he had been pulled into a goddamn suicide plot to destabilise one of the most powerful criminal syndicates in the world.

He hadn’t even had dinner yet.  

“Why come to me now with this?” Porsche asked almost desperately. Surely there were thousands of others who were better fits for something as outrageous as spying on the most dangerous man in Thailand. Surely there were crueller people out there who deserved to be puppets and pawns in Vegas’ fucked up chessboard. 

Vegas, being an asshole, just smirked. Porsche had never wanted to headbutt someone more in his life.

“Because you have just as much right to hate my cousin as I do. Besides...” here Vegas looked him up and down so filthily Porsche felt the shithead should have at least bought him dinner beforehand. “Kinn always has had a weakness for pretty things. I have a feeling you might be the exact sort of pretty thing I need to loosen his tongue. So, what do you say?”

”Fuck you,” said Porsche with miserable resignation.

Vegas looked like Christmas had come early.

“Back at you, partner,” he purred, making Porsche’s skin crawl at the way he made the last word sound like an unbreakable promise. “Now,” Vegas said, practically rubbing his hands together with glee like a fairytale villain, “let’s go over the finer details, shall we?”

Notes:

Did you like it? Hate it? Found it meh? Please let me know!

Chapter 2: The Most Terrifying Man in the World (and eventual love of Porsche's life)

Summary:

Porsche gets inside the compound and finally meets the Dragon himself. No one ever told him he would be so pretty.

After Vegas explained the intricacies of the undercover mission — which would most likely include sneaking, subterfuge and living in close proximity to both a megalomaniac and his trained army of trigger-happy killers — Porsche had come to a sound conclusion in his head.

He needed to get as far away as possible before his traitor head ended up skewered on a pike outside the Theerapanyakul mansion for everyone to throw produce at.

Not only was this plot a virtual death sentence, but Vegas had clearly lied about Porsche’s parents to manipulate him into agreeing to this insanity.

So Porsche decided ‘to hell’ with Vegas and his psychotic plan and ‘to hell’ with Arthee and his shitty poker face, too.

Porsche just needed to grab his brother and go somewhere else, anywhere else, where no one could find them.

They may have been broke but they still had each other. 

Porsche entertained opening that bar he had always dreamed of. A bar where Chay could warble out live music with his terrible voice and make people pay him just to shut him up, and Porsche could make those fiery novelty drinks that made Yok scream at him about health violations. They could just live freely — together — and not worry about anyone else.

This pipe-dream, unfortunately, got nipped in the bud as soon as Porsche came home after his shift.

Because Vegas and his men were already waiting for him, dressed in different varieties of tropical shirts and holsters and looking like the world’s most colourfully intimidating boy band. 

Chay had shakily poured them all juice and offered snacks because even when he was in the throes of abject terror, he was still unerringly polite (something he certainly didn’t learn from Porsche). One of the scarier guys, who almost looked too large to be allowed, had taken up the entire space on their outdoor swing. He had then proceeded to stare menacingly at Porsche, slurping his juice through a straw and holding a cookie almost daintily between his fingertips.

Vegas himself just smiled jovially at Chay and thanked him for his hospitality. Porsche felt like he looked like an alien trying to mimic human interaction. 

Once Chay had moved inside, the smile on Vegas’s face disappeared completely. It was a bit like watching a lizard person unzip out of their meat suit.

“When you get inside the compound, we can’t communicate freely.” Vegas’ tone was all business. Watching a man be this serious in zebra-print cowboy boots was a new experience for Porsche. “You need to note down anything suspicious you see - where Kinn goes, who he’s seeing, everything. Every week, you’ll report back to me. I have a man on the inside with access to a burner phone you can contact me on. He’ll make contact when you need to check in. Understand so far?”

“I didn’t say I would do this, asshole,” Porsche shot back, crossing his arms. He then looked at the bearded goon whose juice had left a ring of condensation on his table and snapped, “Hey, use a damn coaster, will you? Were you raised in a barn?”

Vegas lifted a placating finger up before the goon jumped Porsche and crushed his head between his huge, hairy hands like a large grape. 

“Tak, sit,” Vegas commanded with a drawl. It was almost fascinating to watch the giant lumbering goon stop, sit down and then, as a gesture of moody goodwill, slam his juice on a clay coaster, cracking it down the middle. 

It was almost like Vegas was a puppeteer pulling his strings. 

This was the kind of power the Theerapanyakuls had. Porsche genuinely found it a little terrifying. 

Vegas leaned forward, his undivided attention on Porsche. 

“You know,” Vegas said softly, his eyes doing that thing where they revealed just how unhinged he really was, “that brother of yours is a cutie pie. Tak here likes them young.”

Porsche had never felt so much rage flood through his body at one time. Liquid magma felt like it was rushing in waves through his veins, making his insides burn with trails of fire.

He moved forward, fully ready to take them all on with his bare hands and to hell with the consequences.

“You fucking dare-“

“No one will hurt, Chay, Porsche, as long as you behave,” Vegas said coolly, not even deigning Porsche with a blink. He eased back into his chair with the casual grace of a man who had never been refused a thing in his life, “This will actually be good for him. Being the generous man I am, I can arrange for him to get his entire tuition paid for. The house, too, so you don’t have to worry about keeping up payments. And as for Arthee’s debt?” Vegas clicked his fingers. “All settled. Chay’ll be set for life, Porsche. You have my word, Kinn can’t touch him if he’s under my protection. All I want… is you.”

Porsche wet his lips, looking back through the window of his house. He could see Chay puttering around in the kitchen, humming a song under his breath. A hole was visible on his t-shirt as he valiantly tried to make a paltry meal from the scraps they had in the house. He even managed to make it look somewhat edible as he, as always, put the choicest cuts of meat on Porsche’s plate.

Porsche felt his heart tug painfully inside him. He wanted so much better for him. He deserved so much more.

Vegas seemed to preen, as though he knew he had him. 

“So, do we have a deal?”

Porsche looked miserably back at his brother. God, he would miss him. But at least one of them would get to live their dream.

I love you, Chay. Please don’t hate me.

Closing his eyes with resignation, Porsche accepted his fate.

“Just… just tell me what I need to do.”

 

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 

 

Porsche barely had the chance to kiss Chay goodbye and pack a paltry bag of possessions before he was told it was time to go.

Chay had been tearful as Porsche explained he had a new job now, his wide, watery eyes moving to Vegas, who was remarkably good at pretending to be a human being. 

“He’ll be part of my security detail,” he assured Chay. He even smiled in a way that didn’t look too psychopathic. “Don’t worry, he’ll stay in touch.”

Porsche had allowed himself to sink into the comfort of having his brother in his arms, squeezing him tightly like he could transfer the warmth of him into his very bones like a memory.

And then he got to work. 

The next few days felt like a blur, with Vegas running through the technicalities of Porsche's information gathering like a man possessed. He made Porsche brush up on his fight training, memorise the floor plan of the compound and briefed Porsche on everyone he would come across. 

Apparently, Kinn had two brothers, a highly competent head bodyguard and a powerful father who had, for reasons Porsche didn’t understand, given most of that power to his middle son. Kinn also had an army of bodyguards who lived at the compound, and Porsche had spent the last few days memorising the faces, names and profiles of each and every one of his new colleagues. Vegas even had intel on their weaknesses, from secret children to shellfish allergies and, in the case of a man named Arm, a crippling addiction to Candy Crush.

Vegas had quizzed Porsche like a madman on his cover story, an ex-con called Lexus that Vegas had invented entirely. ‘Lexus’ had a birth certificate, bank records and a paper trail that was more legitimate than Porsche’s own identity. Lexus was from Chiang Mai and had (according to what Vegas had pulled out of his ass) done a stint in prison for possession and supplying illegal substances. 

As a staunch hater of drug dealers, particularly the ones who thrived on the vulnerable, Porsche loathed his fake self and was glad he fictitiously got caught. He hoped he had a terrible time in imaginary prison and got smacked about a lot by his imaginary cellmate.

“Ready?” Vegas had asked on Porsche’s official first day. The man seemed to have an excited energy about him, as though beginning the destruction of his cousin’s empire brought him nothing but pure and adulterated joy.

The Theerapanyakul family was seriously messed up. 

Porsche looked through the files he had been studying for the last few days, nervously committing them to memory as much as he could. Dour-looking faces looked back at him from the profiles. 

A very noticeable person’s picture wasn’t there.

“Why don’t Kinn and the other Theerapanyakuls have photos attached to their profiles?” he asked again, looking at the blank avatar that was sitting where Kinn Theerapanyakul’s terrifying face should have been. 

“Because anyone who sees their faces ends up dead,” Vegas said nonchalantly. He then smirked at the perturbed expression on Porsche’s face like the prick he was. “Good luck, ‘Lexus’. Try not to die. Don’t forget, I’m counting on you.“

 

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 

 

Porsche still didn’t have a clue how Vegas (the tiny amphibious sociopath) had got him into the bodyguard program without question but he barely had the chance to catch his breath before he was standing outside the grandest looking building he had ever seen. Everything seemed to shimmer in glass and gold and the doors were so gargantuan and shiny that they needed two strong men wearing sunglasses to open them. 

Intricate brass statues and half a dozen parked Maseratis glistened back at him. The feeling of opulence was so strong that it practically permeated the atmosphere. It honestly made Porsche wonder how much the air he was breathing was actually worth. 

He felt so out of his depth dressed in his plain white t-shirt and scruffy jeans that he genuinely expected a fussy butler to suddenly pop into existence and shoo Porsche away for ruining the aesthetic of the place.

And then the gravity of the situation hit Porsche again. He was here to spy on Kinn Theerapanyakul. The Kinn Theerapanyakul. The most powerful and most dangerous man in the country. The man who reportedly gutted his last lover after a betrayal and had their remains sent to their parents in a gift hamper. The man, if stories could be believed, who never forgave a disloyalty and had once eradicated an entire bloodline just because a distant relative had insulted the cut of his suit. 

This man would, quite clearly, destroy Porsche and and murder him agonisingly slowly when he found out why he was really there. Porsche just hoped he didn’t make it too bloody. Blood made him a little queasy.

Chay, Porsche had reminded himself, closing his eyes and repeating his name like a mantra. He was doing this for Chay. It didn’t matter if Porsche wasn’t around to see Porchay’s happiness, just as long as his brother was happy and safe. 

So, letting out a breath, Porsche walked up to the door and approached the two intimidating-looking doormen. Porsche had fought a whole lot of scary looking characters in his time but he was pretty sure both Tweedledee and Tweedledum here could kill him with a crook of one of their oversized pinkies.

Porsche wet his lips nervously.

“Um, I’m here to see Chan? I’m one of the new recruits.”

The boulder-shaped men looked at him stonily, like the rocks they clearly emulated, before the one on the right lifted a giant finger to his earpiece.

“Yes, sir. Understood sir,” he said as emotionlessly as a terracota golem, before turning back to Porsche. “Go in. Down the hall until you reach an archway. Big will meet you inside.”

Porsche winced, wondering how ‘big’ this guy was compared to these two and if everyone in this place had the muscle mass to beat him to death.

‘Big’, however, turned out not to be very big at all. 

He was a sour-faced, lithely-built sort of man whose name seemed a little ironic when you compared him to the literal hulks who worked there. 

Porsche vaguely remembered his irritable face from the dozens he had been forced to memorise, the slicked-back ponytail in particular coming back to haunt him. 

Big’s hair made him look even more uptight as it pulled his skin over a pair of pronounced cheekbones. He would have been attractive if he didn’t constantly look like he had a dead fish rotting under his nose. 

Big gave Porsche an unimpressed once over, pausing at his waist for some reason before mumbling,

“God damn it,” and looking irritable.

“What?” asked Porsche, feeling paranoid and looking down at himself, just in case his body had done something inappropriate without him knowing. 

“Nothing,” said Big, almost looking pained as he swept his eyes over Porsche’s features. Porsche wondered if he had something in his teeth.

 

 

And then a newcomer entered the room.

“This the new recruit?” It was an older, authoritative-looking man. His sharp eyes meticulously ran over Porsche with such focus that Porsche was sure he could work out his entire life story from the green curry stain on his sleeve. This man oozed competence to such a degree Porsche highly doubted he had ever made a mistake in his life. 

From the files in his briefing, Posche knew exactly who this was.

He also knew if anyone would catch him out, it would be this man.

“Khun Chan?” he enquired, already knowing he was correct. He had to be careful around everyone but Vegas had specifically warned him about Chan, Kinn’s most trusted advisor and guard. A man whose instincts were reportedly sharper than all the other guards combined.

Chan had apparently worked for the family for years, which surprised Porsche because he looked relatively young and fit considering he had known Kinn and his brothers since the Theerapanyakul boys were children.

Porsche could see the cleverness in Chan’s eyes as he took in Porsche’s apparel, obviously finding him as wanting as Big. It made Porsche lift up his shoulders unconsciously and puff out his chest, as though that would stop Chan noticing the wrinkled t-shirt and the rip in his jeans. 

It made amusement flicker over Chan’s eyes, as though Porsche’s effort to impress was quaint. 

“You must be Lexus,” said Chan. It wasn’t a question. The man spoke with so much authority, it felt stupid to question anything he said. “You came highly recommended by the Sampongs. Tharn tells me you helped his family with the Mandarin Hotel situation last year.”

Right, thought Porsche trying not to melt down with panic. The cover story Vegas had drilled into his brain. Porsche had practised it every night but he still felt his heart thundering in his chest and his pores trying to expel every drop of liquid out of his body. 

He let out a thin smile, hoping he didn’t look like his insides were cartwheeling inside him. 

“It was hairy but we got the family and their guests out without any casualties.” Porsche was amazed his voice stayed steady, especially with his heart bouncing around his ribcage like it was a gymnast going for Olympic gold. “Injuries were minimal, and both the Senator and his wife were extracted without incident.”

“Impressive,” said Chan, this time in English. He even sounded like he meant it. “I hear your hand-to-hand skills were useful. We do extensive training here for our recruits but it never hurts to have a Taekwondo champion in our ranks.” 

Porsche didn’t know what to say, so he thought it would be wisest to go against his very nature and just stay quiet and solemnly nod. 

This, apparently, seemed to be the right thing to do because Chan looked approving.

“Come,” he said, moving them out of the hallway towards a cavernous room that gave the Grand Canyon a run for its money. It was mirrored and luxurious, with marbled floors and chaise lounges that looked more like pieces of art than furniture. Sitting his backside on one of them would have felt sacrilegious. Every inch of the room seemed to gleam with money and Porsche just opened his mouth and stared, feeling like a heathen. He had genuinely never realised people could live like this. 

In the centre of this huge entrance hall stood an opulent glass elevator, which Chan coolly gestured for him to enter. 

“I’ll show you the living quarters and then we’re going to go straight into initiation. There is a lot to get you up to speed with. Oh, and Lexus?” The mild sense of security Porsche had naively fallen into ground to a halt the second he caught sight of Chan’s face, which could have been carved from ice. Chan then stepped forward, his every movement displaying sheer dominance. “If you even entertain the idea of betraying the family, it will be a one way trip into the Dragon’s personal torture dungeons. And trust me, his methods are too horrendous for even me to speak out loud. Do we have an understanding?”

The deadly stare made a genuine chill run up Porsche’s spine. This man made every other guard Porsche had come across look like amateurs in comparison. He didn’t even have to raise his voice. His quiet, almost conversational threats were more intimidating than a hundred battle cries. Even with his hands looking almost casual in his pockets, he exuded pure danger. 

If the Dragon’s head guard was this intimidating, how terrifying was the man himself?

Porsche swallowed hard. He was so fucked.

“I understand,” he said, more to himself. He really was never getting out of this place alive.

Appeased by whatever he saw in Porsche’s face, Chan carried on. 

“Now,” he said, pressing the elevator button coolly, like he hadn’t just threatened to have Porsche murdered in the worst way imaginable by the worst man in existence. “Let’s start with the common area.”

The heavy elevator doors closed with hard finality behind Porsche.

He really didn’t need the visual metaphor to know he was trapped here forever.

Chay, he whispered again in his head.

This time, it felt more like a goodbye.

 

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 

 

Chan hadn’t been wrong when he said Porsche had a lot to catch up with.

The compound was like a fortress before battle and the bodyguards were a gargantuan army. 

Porsche had tried to memorise the faces in his files but the sheer amount of people was staggering. Just from the numbers alone, Kinn Theerapanyakul’s security detail could compete with the size of entire police forces in some countries. 

Even their resources were mind-blowing, from countless weapon stores and gadgets to luxury tailors and the best-in-class medical care. Porsche had joked about being in a spy film but this was more fantastical than anything he had ever seen. Even John Wick was beginning to look like a documentary. 

The training was best-in-class, too. 

Men in grey tracksuits swarmed the underground practice rooms like the efficient, competent killers they were. From martial arts bouts, strategic thinking and weapons training at the gun range, everything was a competition and Porsche soon learned new guys were fresh meat.

“Nice job missing the target, loser,” said the guy beside Big, a strong Australian twang to his English. He was another one who would have been handsome without the sheer amount of dick-energy his face emanated. 

Porsche flipped him the bird, which soon devolved into Porsche getting stuck in a headlock and Mr Dickface getting his pants pulled down.

This had also ended with Chan catching them and punishing them both with enough push-ups to make a grown man puke.

The only saving grace in the place had been Pete, Porsche’s roommate, who snuck him delicious food his grandmother cooked and gossiped nonstop about everyone. He had a wide smile, a relatively slight build and, to Porsche's surprise, was the best shot in the entire place, taking down veterans with his speed and accuracy.

He was also a bigger gossip than the chattiest fishwife in Thailand, sharing everything from the history of the Theerapanyakuls to the finer details of his previous jobs. Porsche almost felt bad for asking him anything. He really didn’t want Pete catching stray bullets when Kinn Theerapanyakul eventually hung, drew and quartered Porsche in his bloody torture dungeon.

Although, two weeks into the job, Porsche still hadn't seen Kinn Theerapanyakul. The man was as elusive here as he had been on the outside. There were just the occasional rumblings of his name, and even the bodyguards who knew him seemed afraid of him.

Porsche had dearly wished it would remain that way, with Kinn being this sort of phantom who flitted around unseen. He had genuinely hoped they would never meet.

Which, of course, was when they finally did.

 

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 

 

When Porsche had dared to imagine what Kinn Theerapanyakul looked like, he had assumed he was a hulking sort of man monster.

He already knew about the spiked teeth and the tattoos but he had expected someone huge and probably snarling, no doubt with a scar across a milky white eye. If Porsche had been feeling particularly imaginative, he would have envisioned a set of long yellow nails and a laugh so maniacal that it made every person within a three mile radius literally shit themselves on the spot.

Vegas hadn’t helped sway this opinion much because during Porsche’s initial briefing with the man, he had responded to Porsche’s queries about his cousin’s appearance with,

“Eyes too close together. Pasty skin. Big bushy eyebrows. Fat chest.”

Huh, Porsche had thought once he had heard Vegas’ description. No wonder the mafia king was so evil. Any guy who looked that awful would naturally be resentful of the world.

Because Kinn Theerapanyakul, according to Vegas, was hideous.

This, however, turned out to be the biggest lie in the history of the world when Porsche finally met the guy.

It had started when Porsche had been punished into yet another round of push-ups in the gardens, this time for falling asleep during one of Chan’s briefings. 

In Porsche’s defence, it had been long and incredibly boring, especially due to most of it being about the financial intricacies of the Theerapanyakul family’s numerous legitimate revenue streams. It had all been very dull, although Porsche had considered it mildly curious that Kinn had a major stake in the largest vegan bakery in Korea. Sleep, however, was the more interesting prospect so Porsche had lowered his head onto his desk and focused on that instead.

Chan had given him extra push ups for the snoring and had left him in the gardens, severely unimpressed, when Porsche had finished his final rep by landing face-first in the grass and wheezing like he was dying.

It was only when Porsche had flopped breathlessly onto his back with the grace of a beached whale that a curt voice suddenly said, 

“You shouldn’t be lying here.”

“Jesus!” Porsche shouted out, almost jumping out of his skin as he got to his feet. Spinning around, he caught sight of a man not much older than himself, dressed in a crisp white shirt that was open to such a degree that the tailor needn’t have bothered with the buttons. The black trousers he wore also looked like they had been spray-painted on. Frankly, it was scandalous for a work outfit. Chan definitely would not have approved. The stranger wasn’t even wearing a jacket or a waistcoat. It was bad enough they didn’t wear bulletproof vests around here but the fact this one had his literal tits out as a target was just impractical. This bodyguard was clearly a floozy. 

Porsche could totally relate.

Were he a snitch (well, more of one than he clearly was), Porsche would have reported the buxom dude for indecent exposure. As it was he just appreciated the flawless chest (because, damn) before lifting his eyes up to take in the guy’s expression. The man looked curious as he stared back at Porsche. His face, somehow, was just as structurally perfect as his pectorals.

“You’re new,” said the perfect-looking man, looking down at Porsche’s shoes and making a face as though they had insulted his mother. Even his pronounced eyebrows recoiled. 

“Uh yeah,” Porsche admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “This place is intense. That’s like, my third punishment this week. Did you fuck up, too?” 

The man quirked his head at Porsche like a raptor, sizing him up. He almost looked amused.

“Do you fuck up a lot?” he asked, looking at the grass stains on Porsche’s shirt with sharp eyes and clearly making an assumption in his head. Which, if you asked Porsche, was a mean thing to do with someone you had only just met. 

Frowning at him, Porsche pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Taking a drag, he then pointed around his cigarette at the man accusingly. Just because he was handsome, it didn’t mean he could be an ass.

“Hey, man, it’s not my fault this place is like the Hunger Games. Even you have to admit it’s like a prison in here.”

The man opened his mouth but didn’t seem to disagree. He actually almost looked irritable about it as he shut his mouth with a miserable sort of finality. He frowned.

“Just… just give me a cigarette,” he demanded sort of imperiously, like Prince Charming with an attitude problem. 

“Rude,” Porsche muttered but handed one over anyway, not too surprised. Men this beautiful were generally dicks.

Leaning over so Porsche could light his cigarette, the man caught his gaze so intensely that, were it possible, Porsche was sure that one look could have knocked him up. It made Porsche’s insides flip for a reason he didn’t want to examine too closely.

Smoke curled around Mr Perfect, somehow making him look even more other-worldly. There was something intoxicating about this man that Porsche couldn’t put his finger on, a mesmerising look in his stare that felt impossible to look away from. 

The man leaned back and Porsche let out the breath he didn’t even know he was holding. 

“So you’re one of Chan’s new recruits?” the stranger asked, sounding genuinely interested as he took another drag.

Porsche winced, just thinking about Chan. He would be hearing his voice in his nightmares for the rest of his life. 

“He’s actually the most terrifying person I’ve ever met, and I once knew a biker who tattooed a portrait of Freddy Krueger onto his balls.”

Mr Perfect snorted around his cigarette, a twitch of a smile sneaking out into the corner of his mouth. Porsche knew cigarettes were a dirty habit but this guy looked like he was born to have one between his lips. 

“Chan’s a pussycat,” he informed Porsche, smoke billowing out of his nostrils, almost hypnotic as it swirled around his full mouth. “Just wait until you meet my father.”

“You know,” said Porsche, unable to stop himself from letting out a playful smirk, “you really should ask me out before introducing me to your family.”

The man choked on his cigarette. Porsche felt a weird sense of pride for getting someone so unruffled to break their composure.

“Are you flirting with me?” the stranger asked, looking at Porsche like he had grown an extra head. Which was strange to Porsche, did he not know what he looked like? Surely people were actively trying to get into his tight pants on a regular basis.

“I’ve been told flirting is my factory setting,” Porsche said honestly, grinning widely. Yok had once told him he could flirt with a microwave and convince it to elope with him.

The man looked flummoxed, as though Porsche was speaking to him in a foreign language. Porsche understood - the pretty ones were often a bit slow.

 

 

“I… what’s your name?” said the man, still staring at Porsche in awe, like he was some strange sort of space creature who had just beamed down.

“Po… Lexus.” Porsche somehow caught himself before he slipped up.

The man raised one of his mighty brows. 

“Polexus?” he repeated.

“No, just Lexus,” Porsche replied quickly, trying not to panic. “I sneezed.”

The man opened his mouth to question the insanity of that statement but, showing some remarkably restrained judgement, closed his mouth and decided not to dwell on Porsche’s unusual bodily functions.

“Well," he said instead, moving closer, his long limbs looking more and more graceful with every movement, "you’re pretty bold, Lexus, has anyone ever told you that?”

“Oh, everyone tells me that,” Porsche confirmed truthfully, because they did. He heard it on a weekly basis, even from people he hardly knew. But hearing it from this man… Porsche wanted to hear it even more. “So," he said, feeling almost nervous as he stepped closer, "what’s your name?”

Before the man could answer, a red laser dot landed on the middle of his chest, right next to his heart.

It all happened too quickly. One minute Porsche found himself teasing an uptight Adonis. The next, a gunshot whizzed with purpose through the air, causing instant chaos. Porsche had jumped on the man instinctively, his head falling right in his cleavage as they tumbled to the ground.

If Porsche was going to die this day, at least he was going out like this. 

“Lexus? Lexus, are you alright?” the stranger demanded, giving Chan a run for his money with the sheer authority in his voice.

Porsche didn't even bother to detach his face from the pair of human pillows he was pressed against. He just lifted a hand to give him a shaky thumb's up in response.

The perfect man was looking at him through furrowed brows, as though Porsche had been the one who had been stalked and almost shot by a murderous gunman.

“You saved my life,” said the man, staring at Porsche with astonishment, as though the idea that anyone would genuinely want to keep him alive was absurd. “You… didn’t hesitate.”

“They aimed for your chest,” Porsche said like that explained everything, finally lifting his chin to look at him. Clearly, Porsche was protecting a living work of art.

Before the stranger could respond, a scream suddenly sliced through the air. Porsche jumped on the man again in protection before he could stop himself. 

He needn't have worried, however. Instead of a shooter, a flamboyant-looking man entered the scene, dressed head to toe in a feathered dressing gown of some sort. He then flapped over to them like a headless chicken and screeched out,

“Kinn!” like he was the one who had almost been shot to death.

And then Porsche caught what the bird-man said.

Kinn.

Head spinning, Porsche felt like he was falling down a well of despair.

“I’m sorry, wait, what?” he croaked out, glad he was already on the floor because he was sure his legs would have given out.

This was Kinn Theerapanyakul? The fearsome, hideous butcher of Bangkok was beautiful Mr Buxom Boobs?

Before Porsche’s brain could fully compute what was happening, the hysterical feathered man pushed a confused-looking Porsche aside to grab the face of the gangster king like he was a precious doll.

“My darling Kinn, my baby brother, who is responsible for hurting you? They’re dead! Do you hear me? I’ll scratch their faces off, that will teach them!”

“Khun, you’re suffocating me,” said the Dragon, trying to sound as imperious and as dignified as he could with his cheeks being squeezed on either side of his face like he was three.

Porsche looked between the two brothers and felt like he was going insane.

“I feel like I’m going insane,” he said out loud, mainly to reiterate this point to himself. He then stared accusingly at Kinn, like the man had betrayed him horribly. "Please don't tell me you're who I think you are."

The two Theerapanyakul men turned to look at him, Kinn in particular with glittering eyes. For a man who had almost been assassinated in his own gardens, he seemed remarkably calm.

“Kinn Theerapanyakul,” he simply said in response, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement. "Welcome to the asylum, Lexus. It's good to have you here.”

Chapter 3: Porsche Finds it Hard Being Kinn's Bodyguard

Summary:

Porsche is now Kinn's personal bodyguard. When Kinn isn't murdering fellow gangsters, he's sneaking off to see pretty boys, which Porsche doesn't appreciate for reasons he'd rather not talk about.

 

If Porsche thought it had been pandemonium meeting Kinn Theerapanyakul, the manic flurry of activity after saving him was on a whole other level. 

Every bodyguard in the place suddenly seemed to be swarming the garden for the assassin, who appeared to have disappeared to the same mythical place that Kinn’s shirt buttons had gone.

Kinn’s men were examining every blade of grass with a fine tooth comb, which Porsche personally thought was a waste of time, unless their hitman turned out to be three inches tall.

For his part, Chan stalked the grounds like some sort of sharp-suited demon, his face like thunder. The fact that the whole affair happened on his turf made him take this very personally, as though the assassin had personally pulled down his pants in front of everyone. 

Luckily for Porsche, he was the only one Chan wasn’t terrorising and taking his frustration out on. Poor Pol had been reduced to a wobbly lip and at least three different guards had to surreptitiously hide behind the nearest tree to cry. 

Kinn, for his part, had been ushered away almost immediately by his whirlwind of a brother, no doubt to check he wasn’t injured.

“Honestly, Khun, I’m fine,” Kinn had coolly tried to assure him, although he had sighed and given up when Tankhun seemed to pull a thermometer out of thin air and unceremoniously stick it in his mouth. 

The elder sibling then shimmied out of his feathered robe to throw it around his brother's shoulders — making Kinn look like a flamboyant, Lady Gaga-inspired hospital patient — and frantically steered him back towards the house. Tankhun did all this while wailing about how selfish Kinn was to get himself shot and insisting he should think more about Tankhun’s feelings the next time he nearly died. 

“It’s all well and good you bleeding to death but what about me?! How can you be so self-centred?” Tankhun had demanded furiously, before patting his brother’s wayward hair back in place with an angry sort of affection.

Kinn winced with the heavy handed smacks to the head but said nothing. Going by the horrified looks of his bodyguards, clearly only Tankhun was allowed to get away with this sort of treatment.

Watching the literal king of the underworld be fussed over like he was a child was a little surreal and it made Porsche question if Tankhun knew what his brother actually did for a living. Apparently, even gangster overlords could be mothered.

Just before they left in a swirl of feathers, Kinn looked over his shoulder at Porsche one last time, their eyes immediately connecting. Porsche couldn’t decipher the dark intensity of his expression but it made his knees feel weak and his breath stutter as it took a wrong turn halfway to his lungs. Porsche had heard the term ‘sparks flying’ but this felt like the explosion of a nuclear warhead. His skin felt like it was sizzling off his bones from the excess radiation but he couldn’t bring himself to look away. It felt addictive and terrifying and Porsche found himself wanting to drown in it, even if it killed them both.

How Kinn turned out to be more lethal than all the weapons in his armoury combined, Porsche did not know. What he did know was that meeting this man and his stupidly perfect face made this entire plot with Vegas feel so much more complicated.

“Lexus?” someone called out, breaking Porsche’s train of thought. It was Pete, with his bowl-cut and his ridiculously kind smile. Porsche still didn’t understand how sweet, unassuming Pete was a trained killing machine but he had seen him take down five men in training with a pencil and a roll of sellotape, so he knew better than to underestimate him. “Khun Korn wants to see you. He asked me to escort you.”

Even though Porsche was outside, he still found himself looking for the nearest window to jump out of so he could escape this situation.

Korn. Kinn’s father. The one person more elusive than Kinn himself and the only man whose reputation was more frightening. 

If Kinn was notorious, his father was a living legend. When he had previously been the Dragon, he had been known for his ruthless reputation and his horrifying knack for making enemies disappear with a click of his fingers. Entire criminal enterprises were destroyed almost overnight, causing Bangkok to undergo the biggest power shift in the underworld for generations. Alliances shifted, the smaller clans gave up territories so their lives would be spared and the Theerapanyakul name became infamous.

Kinn had turned out to be a worthy successor but Korn had been the original architect of their empire.

And it appeared that the mighty Korn - somehow - knew who Porsche was.

If there was any moment for Porsche to shit his pants, it was now.

“Khun Korn wants to see me?” Porsche parroted back to Pete, double checking because it seemed so unlikely. He even pointed at himself and looked behind him, just in case Pete was addressing someone more important. 

“Immediately,” said Pete. He looked apologetic, like he genuinely felt bad about hurrying Porsche to his inevitable doom. Pete really was the best. Porsche would miss him when Korn eventually skinned him alive. “Sorry, he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Porsche would have gulped if he had any saliva left in his mouth. As it was, he simply nodded at Pete and followed behind him like a man being led to the gallows.

They walked away from the compound to the other side of the gardens, where a rather ornate, traditional-looking building stood. It was beautiful, with intricate carvings on the face of it and a handsome patio where two chairs sat on either side of a small chess table. Porsche would have appreciated the architecture a little more if he wasn’t busy wondering which spike they would place his head on. 

Meeting Korn was turning out to be far more terrifying than meeting Kinn had been.

Kinn had paraded around with the sort of chest that God created to motorboat, so Porsche couldn’t help but have been distracted when their paths crossed. Korn, on the other hand, reminded Porsche more of waterboards than motorboats, making him alert from the get-go.

When Porsche approached Korn, the elder man looked like a typical middle-aged gardener, idly watering his plants like a patriarch partaking in their favourite hobby. When he turned to face him, Porsche had half-expected a hideous face to stare back at him, with devil eyes and an evil grin. What he got was a man with a grandfatherly paunch of a stomach, greying hair and an extraordinarily ordinary face. He didn’t even have Kinn’s strong features or Tankhun’s creative dress sense. It was almost anti-climatic. 

There was something in Korn's eyes, however, that instantly put Porsche on alert. He had enough street smarts to spot danger when he saw it, and the keen intelligence behind the man's seemingly innocuous expression was dangerous. Korn didn’t look like the killing machine that he clearly was but, in Porsche’s opinion, this fact made him infinitely more menacing.

“I see I have you to thank for saving my son,” said Korn, breaking the silence with a paternal tone to his voice. He came across kindly and understanding but there was a steeliness to his demeanour that made it more composed than warm. Porsche tried not to sweat through his new waistcoat but he already felt like he had gone swimming in it. He gulped internally. If there was ever a man who could potentially detect bullshit from the slightest whiff of perspiration, it was this one. 

“It... it was nothing, sir,” Porsche tried to smile humbly. He was pretty sure he looked constipated. From the way his stomach was turning, he might be manifesting gut problems purely from stress. 

Korn looked at him thoughtfully, placing his watering can down as he did. His eyes gleamed with something Porsche couldn't identify.

“Don’t be so modest, a good deed deserves recognition. Sit.” With a sweep of his hand, Korn gestured to one of the vacant seats. His voice was so naturally commanding that Porsche’s ass was on the chair before the man even finished his sentence. Korn’s face was almost impossible to read but Porsche had a feeling he was satisfied by the obedience. “Now, Lexus," he said, almost conversationally, "as a reward for your loyalty, how do you feel about being moved to Kinn’s direct detail?”

Porsche tried not to look surprised. From what he understood from Vegas, this was a big deal. Pete — who was standing to one side — obviously agreed with this assessment because he looked shocked, dropping his jaw low enough to give himself turf burn.

Porsche understood why. Getting direct access to Kinn was a privilege few had. There was a reason why only a limited amount of people had seen his face; only the most trusted men were given the honour to be near him. 

Having only been in the job for a few weeks, it seemed like a reckless move to Porsche. It was also something that Vegas would have highly encouraged him to do.

This made Porsche want to reject Korn immediately because:

1) Vegas was a dick and making him unhappy would make Porsche smile and 2) Being close to Kinn would cause nothing but trouble. The man was like a powder keg and Porsche was good at unwittingly setting things on fire.

“I’m sure you could find someone else, sir,” Porsche tried to protest. “There must be a lot of trustworthy bodyguards to assign to Khun Kinn, ones who have worked here longer...”

“Not particularly,” Korn said bluntly, easing down to sit on the chair opposite with a smoothness few men his age possessed. Even sitting at similar eye-levels, Porsche could feel the strength this man wielded. Porsche might as well have had his cheek to the ground and Korn's boot on his neck. The power disparity was completely uneven. “The thing is, Lexus, everyone wants to kill my son. It’s an occupational hazard when you’re on top of the food chain. We've been through our fair share of moles. The fact that you saved him on instinct and put yourself at risk…” here Korn paused, sizing Porsche up again with those clever eyes. “Honestly, it’s what few others here would have done."

Porsche swallowed hard. He was very sure that being close to Kinn would be the end of him, in so many ways. 

“I’m sure you could find someone else-” he tried to implore again, feeling almost desperate. Maybe if he begged...

“Lexus,” Korn was smiling but his expression was as final as the apocalypse. “I insist .”

Porsche could almost feel a phantom arm twisting his behind his back. He had no say in this. It was decided before he even sat down.

“I’d… I’d be honoured sir,” he replied with resignation. This was going to be awful, Porsche could feel it already.

Korn just smiled placidly, clearly seeing his pain and not caring one iota.

“Excellent, I’ll inform Chan. You're dismissed.” And that seemed to be the end of the conversation because Korn stood up to start watering his plants again, as though Porsche had suddenly ceased to exist. Porsche genuinely wished he could disappear as he awkwardly stood up and bowed as respectfully as his clumsy limbs would let him. “Uh, thank you, sir. I appreciate your trust.”

Straightening his spine, Porsche had just turned to escape as fast as he could towards the compound when Korn's voice sounded one more time.

“Oh and Lexus?" Korn's eyes looked like chips of ice, freezing Porsche to the spot in way that put Medusa to shame. "I’ll be sure to keep an eye on you.”

The way Korn could make a passing comment feel like a death threat was almost remarkable. Porsche thought he had been scared before; he was thoroughly petrified now.

With a spasm of his back that could only be loosely deemed as a bow, Porsche stumbled away from the building like a newborn foal, trying to get his shaky legs as far away as possible. Making his way inside, he immediately loosened his tie and tried to catch his breath, fantasising about the cigarette packet he had left in his room like it was a long lost lover. God , did he need a smoke.

This was going to be an utter shitshow. How could things possibly get worse?

Which, of course, was when his number one problem found him.

“So, what did my father say?”

It was Kinn, leaning against the doorway of the room Porsche had bumped his way into. Even dressed casually, he looked expensive. Porsche didn’t know how the man managed to exude power in a pair of loafers and a top made of soft cashmere, but something about the way he stood, even the cock of his head, made you aware of his imperious presence.

Also, he filled out a sweater really, really well.

Porsche hastily gave him a bow. It was obviously another rubbish one because Kinn looked like he was holding back a laugh.

"Uh, Khun Kinn, shouldn't you be in lockdown?"

Kinn crossed his arms over his chest, looking at Porsche like he was a novelty of some sort. Porsche wondered if this is what chimpanzees at the zoo felt like.

"Oh, it's 'Khun' now, is it?" Kinn asked lightly, but his eyes glittered with mirth. He then lifted his eyebrows almost challengingly. "Where's the boldness gone?"

Porsche felt his face grow hot as he held his tongue for as long as his brain would allow. His brain then decided, in a fit of temporary madness, to just 'fuck it' and let him do what he wanted. 

"You know, that was a dirty trick," Porsche burst out, unable to stop himself. He even stepped forward and lifted his finger to point it at Kinn, who stared at it curiously, as though he had never seen such a thing before. "You really should tell people who you are before they-"

"Before they what? ” Kinn stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

Before they flirt shamelessly with you, you stupidly handsome dickwad, Porsche said vociferously in his own head. Looking like he had read his mind, Kinn’s lips twitched. They were horribly distracting and Porsche hated him for it. His life really would have been a lot easier if this man were less attractive. 

Porsche quickly decided to change the subject before his brain-to-mouth filter stopped working again and he said something scandalous he would regret.

“So, your father’s assigned me as your new personal bodyguard,” Porsche shared. Honestly, he was still trying to get his head around it himself. Considering what Vegas had sent Porsche here to do, Korn had terrible judgement. Porsche would have removed himself from the situation entirely if he had a choice but Korn was as pliable as a slab of concrete. 

Kinn looked at Porsche appraisingly, his eyes lingering on him in a way that left goosebumps in its wake.

“So, we get to spend more time together,” he said. His eyes twinkled darkly. “Lucky me.”

Porsche looked away before Kinn’s gaze bore a hole through his skull. This man should have come with a warning. Everything about him was dialled up to eleven. No wonder his reputation was what it was. There was something about Kinn that was unrelentingly captivating, like one of those sirens that lead you to your death and laughed while they watched you drown.

“I still can’t believe you’re Kinn Theerapanyakul,” Porsche muttered, almost to himself. “You’re nothing like how I imagined.”

Kinn furrowed his magnificent eyebrows.

“How so?”

“Where’s the filed teeth and the tattoos?” Porsche questioned earnestly. “And what about the rampant cannibalism? You know, people say you eat babies on the weekend.”

“Only on the third Sunday of the month,” Kinn shot back dryly, barely missing a beat. He then quirked his head at Porsche. “So, how else did you imagine me?” 

“Oh, hideous,” Porsche confirmed, happy to share. Kinn looked a little affronted. “With a milky eye, covered in scars, yellow teeth, long claw-like nails… and you don’t want to know what people say about your personal hygiene.”

“I sound like a catch,” Kinn responded curtly, although his tone betrayed he saw some humour to this. “It’s a wonder I’m still single.”

“Looking at you, it honestly is,” Porsche said without thinking. He then stopped to frown at his mouth, who wasn’t sorry in the slightest for being a giant dirty flirt. He wondered how much his brain and his mouth were conspiring together to try and get him laid.

Kinn just looked at Porsche. There was an intense sort of scrutiny to his expression before something almost hopeful came over his eyes. It was gone before Porsche could even decipher it, however, and he was left watching Kinn’s face become blank, as though he had caught himself having too many feelings and had turned them off like a tap. Or like a robot, shutting himself down. It was disconcerting, watching him cut his emotions off with such speed. Porsche almost got whiplash witnessing it. 

It was at that exact moment that he could finally see Kinn’s resemblance to his father. They both seemed to have the weight of the world on their shoulders.

“You should report back to Chan,” said Kinn, his voice now professional and clipped, with even his body language stiffening up. All familiarity between them seemed to have gone. “You’ll need further briefing before you can start on my security detail.” 

They were suddenly two strangers again and Porsche didn’t know why. Something inside him wanted to scream; he hated how it made him feel. His entire body felt full of a poisonous sort of feeling, ugly and resentful.

“Yes sir,” Porsche said with a tight smile and a mocking sort of bow that came across more like an insult than an honorific. Kinn’s vacant expression cracked slightly and Porsche wanted to crow with victory. For someone who wanted to live, Porsche had a terrible tendency to tightrope his way between life and death. He had a niggling feeling he enjoyed the thrill of it. 

“It's a wonder you haven’t got yourself killed,” said Kinn, clearly noticing Porsche’s lack of survival skills and sounding like he was amazed by them. Porsche couldn’t blame him. Even he marvelled that he had lived as long as he had, considering the mouth he had on him. “Which reminds me, be sure to pick up a bulletproof vest from the armoury. I get shot at every other day. You’ll need to get used to it on my detail.” 

“Oh come on, every other day?” Porsche snorted at the obvious exaggeration.

Kinn just turned to him. His face looked like it had been carved from stone.

“Everyone wants me dead, Lexus,” he said in a way that made the grin slip from Porsche's face. Kinn wasn’t smiling. "Get used to it. I know I have." 

Before Porsche could think of a response, Kinn had already turned away and left, leaving a hollow, melancholy feeling inside Porsche's chest as he watched him go.

 

 · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·

 

Being Kinn’s personal bodyguard was an eye opening experience - in a horrifying Clockwork-Orange sort of way, when you want to look away constantly but are forced to watch every awful thing that happens.

Porsche had barely been a week on Kinn’s detail but had had to witness a range of unsavoury things, from tense drug deals with Italian mobsters to exclusive parties with diamonds and grandeur, where Porsche bemusedly watched Kinn get embraced by the Prime Minister and then hit on by the Prime Minister’s horny drunk wife. 

But, worst of all, Porsche got to see firsthand how Kinn dealt with traitors. Watching him literally shoot a whimpering defector straight through the head made Porsche feel the phantom pain explode across his own forehead, like his body was already practising its inevitable demise.

“You okay?” Kinn had asked, watching Porsche closely as he wiped his bloody hands with the handkerchief Big had supplied to him. The handkerchief had been silken and beautifully embroidered, and Porsche felt a little ill watching blood seep into the fine thread. He felt just as sick watching the vibrant red covering Kinn’s flawless hands, tainting them in a way that couldn’t ever be washed away.

The dead man had been removed from the carpet but there was still a stain where he had been. Porsche couldn’t stop himself from looking at it numbly, as though his stare could will him back to life.

“Why did he have to die?” Porsche found himself asking before he could stop himself. The man’s sobs were on repeat inside his brain, grating on the inside of his skull. His name had been Type and he had begged Kinn for his life. Apparently, they had known each other for years. He had beseeched Kinn to think about his wife, his kids, all of whom Kinn had had regular dinners with.

And despite all that, Kinn had been unmoved as he pulled the trigger, barely blinking an eye. 

And Porsche wanted to know why.

Kinn had stopped wiping his hands to look at him. 

“He betrayed us,” he explained simply. 

“But you knew him,” Porsche pushed, trying to get something out of him. He knew Kinn was cold but he had to have some feeling, Porsche was sure he did. 

“Which makes the betrayal that much worse,” Kinn replied evenly, still wiping his hands. He then lifted his head to take a closer look at Porsche’s face. Whatever he saw made his jaw soften slightly. “You’re still new here, Lexus. People need to know what happens if you double-cross the main family. We can’t let our feelings cross into the business. Type chose to work with our enemies for more money. He put his family in this situation. His betrayal cost many lives and put both my brothers at risk. I have the occasional negotiable but if anyone dares threaten the lives of my family…” Kinn’s eyes swirled with a blackness Porsche hadn’t seen before. It made the air feel heady and charged and somehow managed to make Porsche feel both nervous and intrigued at the same time. “… well you can imagine what happens then.”

Porsche knew exactly what happened. In the back of his mind, he briefly hoped Kinn would be merciful when he eventually killed him. 

“Now,” said Kinn, turning back to Big and handing him the stained handkerchief. “I have a meeting I need to attend. Big, I’ll see you back at the compound. Lexus can escort me.”

Big looked like he was having an apoplectic fit. His eyes were doing this wild, rolling thing and twitched every time he looked between Kinn and Porsche. He looked like he was stuck in his worst nightmare.

“Khun Kinn,” he finally managed to get out when he could speak, “I don’t know how safe that is. At least let me send a few more men…”

“No, only Lexus needs to accompany me.” Kinn said, with a tone that had the finality of the grave. Porsche honestly felt more surprised than Big. He tried to convey that to Big with his eyes but the look Big gave him in response was so full of fury that it could have killed Porsche’s entire bloodline and then re-animated his already dead ancestors just to kill them again. 

Kinn appeared to be oblivious to the eyeball genocide going on between them as he headed towards the door, crooking a finger at Porsche like he was a wayward pet.

“Lexus, with me,” he commanded, like the pampered prince he was. Porsche would have usually rolled his eyes at the tone but he was genuinely curious about what Kinn was up to. It would also get him away from Big, who was giving him a glare that was radioactive enough to make Porsche infertile. 

It was only when Porsche had followed Kinn to the car and buckled his seat belt that he asked,

“So, go on, spill, where are we going?”

Kinn gave him an unimpressed look, like he didn’t know why he put up with Porsche’s impertinence. 

“Oh yeah, sorry, I forgot. Where are we going, sir?” Porsche returned, still not managing to make it sound respectful. Kinn had clearly given up caring because he just rolled his eyes and turned towards the window.

“Just drive towards Nonthaburi, Lexus. I’ll direct you the rest of the way.”

 

 · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·

 

The building they pulled up in front of was a run down twenty-story on the other side of Bangkok. It looked derelict and asbestos-ridden, with broken windows, an exterior that was more chipped than painted and a few people near the front who looked higher than Mount Kilimanjaro. 

The building looked like it had once been a motel, although Porsche couldn’t imagine why anyone in their right mind would pay actual money to stay in this shithole.

Feeling like he was in a spy film, Porsche kept a hand on his gun as he escorted Kinn through a dingy door and down a rickety flight of stairs. Around them, the occasional occupant of the building carried on with their own business, from a cleaner who really should have given up on the endless task and a middle-aged woman with fifteen cats who looked less domesticated than they did. 

She had wild hair and a pungent smell as she rocked back and forth, stroking one of her tabby cats obsessively. 

To Porsche’s great surprise, Kinn stopped in front of her and bent down at the knee, making himself level with her eye-line. He then softly let out one of his annoyingly infuriating smirks.

“At ease, Erika,” he said. 

Like a prone puppet who had suddenly been reanimated, the cat lady sat up straight with the posture of a fighter, all madness gone from her eye in an instant. 

“Khun Kinn,” she said, like the soldier she clearly was. She even saluted him, which made Porsche want to check he wasn’t the one going mad. Were the cats lieutenants, too?

“Mission report,“ said Kinn, all business, even as one of the random cats jumped on his knee and tried to lick his nose.

“He arrived early in the afternoon, sir,” Erika said, straight to the point. “No grave injuries but he is nursing a number of bruises and the occasional graze. He won’t say who did it but our intelligence tells us it was-”

“Chon,” Kinn finished, a fine thread of disgust in his voice.

Erika nodded briskly.

“Affirmative.”

“Was he followed?”

“Initially, but we helped him lose his tail. We’ve got him in room 304 for now, armed guards on every exit.”

“Thank you, Erika, I knew I could count on you,” said Kinn, sounding genuinely grateful. He put a hand on the woman’s shoulder, a real look of fondness on his face. “As always.”

“Anything for you, Khun Kinn, you know that,” she said, her naturally stern-looking face softening as she looked up at Kinn. “I’ve watched you grow since you were a baby, I’m not abandoning you now.”

“Was he a cute baby?” Porsche suddenly cut in, unable to stop himself from asking. He couldn’t help but imagine a tiny suited baby with a plunging neckline and eyebrows bigger than his face. Erika looked surprised, clearly never seeing a bodyguard who had the audacity to talk out loud in front of Kinn before, but she soon got over the shock as her irises glazed over, almost dewy-eyed.

“Oh, he was the cutest. I actually think I have a few of his bath photos somewhere. He had the deepest little dimples, right on his-”

“Thank you, Erika, that’s enough,” Kinn said loudly, cutting the conversation short with his usual formidable, brisk tone but Porsche could have sworn his cheeks looked redder. 

It made Porsche desperate to ask a few more questions, to see this softer side of Kinn he had only witnessed tiny glimpses of. But Kinn was already moving towards Room 304 and Porsche followed after him curiously, gun at the ready.

Porsche didn’t know what he expected in Room 304 but on opening the door and peering inside, the last thing he expected was a slim young man wearing a silk dressing gown.

He momentarily wondered if they had the wrong room but this theory was soon tossed aside when Kinn brushed by Porsche eagerly to get to the man, pure relief on every inch of his face.

“Mek,” Kinn breathed. ‘Mek’ appeared to be slight and pretty in a way Porsche definitely wasn’t. His skin was creamy white, his lips were rosy and, even in his robe, he moved in a graceful way that denoted a sense of class. Porsche felt a bit like a clumsy beanpole in comparison. 

The only thing marring that perfect complexion was a series of ugly bruises on his face and his chest, a cacophony of bright greens and purples

Porsche was still staring in horror at his injuries when Kinn enveloped the smaller man into a hug that Porsche hadn’t seen from the man before. He did it with a real sense of affection that Porsche had only ever seen Kinn use towards his older brother. 

He felt a bit like an intruder as he watched the two men embrace, Kinn’s hands running up and down Mek’s back as though just touching his warmth gave him reassurance. They looked like a perfect pair.

Porsche decided he hated it and that it needed to end right now.

“Sorry, do you want me to wait outside while you guys hug or whatever…?” he enquired, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder and trying not to look too obnoxious. The look Kinn gave him told him he wasn’t successful. He then turned back to the man in his arms.

“Mek, It’s good to see you,” Kinn said, sincerely relieved to see the other man.

“And you, Kinn,” said Mek softly, his voice just as soft and pretty as the rest of him. He was staring at Kinn with those wide, watery eyes like it was the highlight of his life. He looked downright besotted. 

Porsche narrowed his own eyes into slits. First, he wondered how much of an act this was and second, he wondered why he cared so damn much. 

Kinn pursed his lips, running his fingertips over a purpling cheek to survey the damage.

“I told you serving the Hand Clan would get you in trouble,” he said with a displeased frown. “It’s too dangerous to go back. You barely got out alive this time.”

Mek just smiled, his bruises somehow managing not to spoil how pretty a smile it was. Porsche didn’t think he could be this pretty and delicate if his life depended on it. “Chon likes to keep me around, he even bought me a ring.”

“And those bruises? He seems to have given you those as well,” Kinn said tersely, gesturing towards the nasty bruises blemishing Mek’s otherwise flawless skin.

“Careful, Kinn,” Mek said, biting his full bottom lip in a way that would no doubt distract most people. Porsche, personally, thought it was a bit much. “If you keep talking like that, a boy might dream that you care.” 

Kinn didn’t respond and it was so lengthy a silence that Porsche, who had been feeling petty for reasons he didn’t want to examine, almost felt sympathy at the sheer melancholy in Mek’s face at Kinn’s lack of reply. Mek was trained enough to swallow it down however before putting his game face back on.

“I’ve got something.”

“You found something out?” Kinn asked, his voice back in full flow with an excited sort of impatience.

Mek seemed to glow under his attention, like a sunflower basking in the sun. Porsche almost felt like an intruder, looking at something that wasn’t for his eyes to see.

“I got the information you were looking for,” Mek said in a hushed, breathless sort of voice.

Porsche immediately felt something twist in his stomach. Mek wasn’t just a booty call, he was an informant. Kinn was acquiring his own information without telling the rest of the family. Without telling Korn. What on earth was Kinn up to?

Kinn looked calculating, his eyes lighting up with Mek’s words. It was a good look on him although, if Porsche was honest, everything looked good on him. 

Which was when it hit Porsche - this was the information Vegas wanted. This is why he had sent Porsche into the Dragon’s den in the first place.

Porsche looked at the skinny man, earnestly pouring his heart out to Kinn. He told him everything he knew, from the secret back-routes of enemy shipping lines to all the double-dealing many of Kinn’s associates were doing behind his back. He talked for what seemed like hours, naming so many names and places that Porsche’s own head was spinning.

Mek then pushed a USB into Kinn’s hand, his soft hand firm in his grasp.

“This is everything I could get, Kinn, but I don’t understand half the encryptions on the files. Maybe one of your men could decode it?”

Kinn looked down at the USB with a soft smile. 

“Trust me, Mek, I know just the person who can do it.” Kinn then pocketed the USB, the gleam in his eyes almost blinding now. “I have to go now but I’ll be back. Be sure to stay here and don’t venture out without letting Erika know. She can get you everything you need.”

“Not everything, but I appreciate the sentiment,” Mek said softly. Porsche could see his heart breaking right in front of him, it was practically bleeding onto his slippered feet. Kinn either had to be blind or stupid not to notice. 

Porsche just watched silently as the men had one last embrace before parting, with Kinn leaving the building with so much purpose to his step that he looked like he could fly home. It was only when they were back in the car, with Kinn seated beside Porsche in the passenger seat when Porsche finally asked,

“Why did you ask me to come instead of Big?”

Kinn just looked across at him, still buzzing from the information he had been given. 

“Because I don’t trust anyone.” he said to Porsche simply. “And, if you do betray me, Lexus,” Kinn looked unforgiving, making Porsche’s heart clench. “I know exactly which piece of information you would have leaked. And I would know exactly who to trace it back to.”

“I won’t betray you,” Porsche whispered, genuinely meaning it. Vegas be damned. He didn’t want to do this stupid spy job in the first place.

Kinn stared at him, his eyes dropping to his lips briefly, before looking back into his eyes. Porsche stared back, almost daringly, like a game of chicken. Kinn was the first to look away.

“Drive, I have a meeting in the morning,” he said with finality, the conversation now over. 

What a brat. Porsche thought, buckling up his seatbelt, looking bad tempered.

“You know, you could say please,” he said irritably, checking his mirrors with enough force to snap one off. “It’s the polite thing to do.”

Kinn raised his eyebrows, clearly unused to being spoken to in such a way. Porsche blamed Korn. The man had clearly raised a spoiled baby.

“Is it really?” Kinn said warningly, as though cautioning Porsche that appendages may be removed if he kept talking.

Porsche never needed to be told twice to walk into a volatile situation. He did with his head held high, consequences be damned.

“Yes,” Porsche’s traitorous mouth flapped off again. “Tankhun is always so well-mannered whenever we cross paths. You grew up in the same house, I’m sure you were both taught manners.”

Kinn narrowed his eyes before a sliver of a grin slipped out, his teeth almost blinding, his cheek dimpling. A strand of hair fell over his eyes, making him look softer, less untouchable. Porsche had to clench his fists to stop himself from reaching out.

“The mouth on you,” Kinn murmured, not sounding like he hated it.

“What about my mouth?” Porsche shot back, unable to stop himself, feeling breathless. It was like he was playing with fire but the flames felt too good to stop.

Kinn leaned into his space, smelling like gunpowder and danger. Porsche wanted to soak himself in his scent. From this close, he could almost taste his breath, could almost feel how soft his lips would be.

Kinn’s eyes were piercing. They were deadlier than any gun Porsche had ever holstered against his hip.

“Drive, Lexus,” he said softly, his words making Porsche shiver. “Before I put that mouth of yours to better use.”

The drive back was excruciating. 

And if Porsche frantically put his hand down his pants the second he got into his room, no one needed to know that but him.

Chapter 4: A Party to Die For

Summary:

Kinn and Porsche go to a party, where dangers lurk at every corner. They also come across a pretty young man that Kinn can't keep his eyes off of...

 

Every time Porsche’s weekly phone calls with Vegas were scheduled, Porsche felt an ill feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was almost as though his body was trying to force itself to malfunction just to get him to skip it.

Looking at it objectively, Porsche couldn’t blame his organs for literally wanting to shut down instead of enduring a conversation with Vegas.

Firstly, because Vegas was the actual worst (and talking with him was as excruciating as gargling broken glass) and secondly, because he was betraying Kinn, and betraying Kinn was beginning to feel like betraying himself.

Vegas’ contact in the compound still hadn’t shown Porsche his face but somehow, like clockwork, the burner phone would end up in Porsche’s locker and then promptly disappear again when he didn’t need it.

Porsche had almost tried to do a stakeout on his own locker but Chan had looked at him like he was mad, so he hurriedly moved on before the man gave him push-ups just for the hell of it.

Whoever Vegas’ contact was, their espionage skills were impressive. It also made Porsche feel anxious because seriously, how many spies were in this place, gunning for Kinn’s head?

This week, when the phone popped up in his locker, Porsche had stared at it hard, wondering if he could just destroy it, cut his losses and never speak to Vegas again.

But he knew that wasn’t possible. Because, as much as Kinn was beginning to become a soft spot, the most important person in Porsche’s life always took precedence.

Chay. And Porsche didn’t want to think what Vegas would do to his brother if he defected.

So, hating himself with all his being, Porsche picked up the vibrating phone — as he had done on all previous weeks — and lifted it to his ear with trepidation, like it was a live grenade about to go off. 

“What do you have to tell me?” asked Vegas, sounding breathless with excitement.

If he could have, Porsche would have headbutted him through the phone.

“Well, Pete’s grandmother’s curry is getting better,” he said flippantly. “And Tankhun tried to dress me up as a mermaid the other day, which was pretty wild. Other than that, nothing much to tell.”

“Funny,” Vegas murmured, his voice slow and calculating in a way that immediately put Porsche on edge. “I was sure I heard you saved Kinn from an assassination attempt and became part of his personal guard.”

Fucking apparition spy, Porsche thought savagely. That mystery contact was the worst.

“You lied, you know,” Porsche shot back. “You said your cousin was ugly. The guy is like a Greek god. Except, you know, without the Greek part. The God part definitely applies though.”

Vegas made a noise. Porsche couldn’t see his expression but he sounded furious.

Good, thought Porsche viciously, hoping he choked on it. 

“He’s not that good looking,” Vegas spat, as though Porsche had called him hideous in the process.

Porsche thought back on Kinn, with his perfect skin and the upturned point to his nose and those incredible shoulders that were broad enough to carry a small continent. And those ridiculous eyes, that teetered between wanting to murder you to fucking you unconscious…

“No, he’s beautiful,” Porsche confirmed because he had eyes. 

“Oh shut up. You don’t need to drool over it,” Vegas said petulantly. At moments like this, he sounded like a petty little child, which reminded Porsche again how jealous Vegas was of Kinn. Not that he was surprised. Vegas was obviously stuck in his shadow and resentful of his cousin’s reputation, but he was clearly beginning to get more and more feral about it.

It made sense. After meeting Kinn, Porsche could see his poise, his capability and the way he wore confidence like a second skin. The Mafia crown suited him. If you asked Porsche, Vegas’ chicken neck would have crumpled from the pressure.

“Was there anything else?” Porsche asked, ready to hang up. Just talking to Vegas made him feel dirty, like he needed at least two showers to decontaminate.

“I hear you went on a road trip with Kinn,” Vegas said, like he was a clairvoyant. Porsche really wanted to find that contact and kick him up the ass. It was hard being a shit double agent when this mystery guy kept ratting him out. “Did you learn anything interesting?”

Porsche pressed his lips together, knowing there was so much he could relay. The existence of a bruised, skinny Mek and the veritable gold-dust of information that he had spilled from his pretty lips. The fact Kinn was going rogue and not informing the rest of his family about what he was doing. That Kinn knew there were moles everywhere and he didn’t trust anyone…

Kinn wouldn’t haven’t been surprised if Porsche was selling information. He didn’t expect loyalty from anything or anyone. It made Porsche smile with a vicious sort of purpose, like a gauntlet had been dropped at his feet, a challenge.

He’d show Kinn and his stupid eyebrows how God damn loyal he could be.

“No,” he said to Vegas, lying his proverbial pants off and not regretting it in the slightest, “I didn’t learn a thing.”

 

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·

 

If there was one singular truth about Kinn Theerapanyakul, it was that everyone wanted him dead. When bullets weren’t whizzing by his head, drinks were spiked, kidnappings were attempted and literal murder attempts happened right out in the open. Even poison darts were apparently a thing when one accidentally grazed Pol and knocked him out for two days, making Porsche wonder when exactly he had walked into an Indiana Jones film.

Porsche had always known of Kinn as an unknown faceless entity so he was genuinely surprised that there were people out there who were stupid enough to go after him. It just seemed like a one way trip to the grave. 

“This never used to happen, you know,” Pete had once told Porsche when they were back in their room, sharing one of his grandmother's delicious meals. Pete, who had slapped Porsche’s hand after he tried to steal the last bit of pork, had looked thoughtful, even as Porsche pouted and sucked on a stinging finger. “Only a handful of us knew what Khun Kinn even looked like. But in the last month, we’ve had more attempts on him than he’s had his entire life.”

Porsche stopped tending to his abused hand to look at Pete, feeling sick. Was this Vegas? Was this Porsche? He didn’t think he had shared anything too revealing with Vegas but if he had unknowingly been the reason Kinn was being targeted even more than usual…

One thing was certain; the attacks had been coming more frequently. 

Last month, a machete-wielding assassin literally tried to lunge at Kinn in the middle of a restaurant when he was tucking into a fancy looking crème brulee. 

Two weeks ago, a man painted head to toe in camouflage tried to stealth attack Kinn in the park, which had been a nightmare for Porsche because both he and Ken had been looking for the chameleon for a straight hour before realising he was standing right beside them. 

And yesterday, one of Kinn’s business associates — Mr Llong — had tried to pull a gun on him, which had only been thwarted because Kinn had stared at him so witheringly that the man had literally gulped and lowered his weapon. Porsche didn’t know what happened to Llong afterwards but he had a feeling the screams he heard from the cells were connected. 

Porsche had always thought the army of bodyguards had been excessive but he was beginning to realise that Kinn had enough attempts on his life that he genuinely needed to hire a small battalion of men to protect him at all times. He didn’t go anywhere without his constant armies of protection.

That is, until the party at Chon Romsinang's estate happened. 

The bodyguards had all been briefed about this party weeks beforehand, which was a private gala that was shrouded in secrecy. 

Porsche had immediately sat up when Chan had announced the name of the host, his visit to Mek coming back to him and Mek’s words repeating inside his head.

Chon likes to keep me around.

Chon was the one who had left Mek black and blue. The one Mek was technically betraying — whose secrets he was selling — to ally himself with Kinn. But most importantly, he was the sort of man even Kinn had looked wary of, and Kinn wasn’t scared of anything. 

Chan had walked them all through everything they had on Chon, whose fearsome reputation ranged from being one of the most influential men in the Asian arms market, to the rumours of his gruesome night time activities. Porsche had visibly felt ill as Chan clicked through slide after slide of the mangled corpses of lovers he had played with to their horrifying deaths. Porsche could almost imagine Mek's pretty face on one of those bodies and felt real fear run through him as to what could have happened to the man if he hadn’t escaped. Kinn obviously felt the same because Porsche could see his jaw tighten with a cold sort of fury.

"As a show of faith, guests can't take any bodyguards with them," Kinn had shared after Chan's presentation of horror. He was frowning, however, which was more emotion than he usually showed. "So I'll have to go alone."

The bodyguards all broke into anxious murmurs at this. Pol and Ken were hissing frantically about exit strategies while Big looked so horrified at the prospect that he might have suggested sneaking into Kinn’s tuxedo pants just to get in with him (although, if Porsche thought about it, Big always looked seconds away from trying to slip himself into Kinn’s pants. Porsche couldn’t really blame him though, the man was only human).

Pete was the only one who spoke directly to Kinn. He really had more bravery than almost everyone Porsche knew.

"Sir," Pete cut in, looking perturbed by the situation, “surely you're allowed to take one of us. It feels too dangerous."

“You are allowed a plus one,” Chan conceded, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Of course, they’ll have to pose as a date but we could potentially sneak one of our men in.”

Kinn shook his head, frowning. 

“Chon knows all my men. And I’m not going to drag some unsuspecting date into that hell.”

“He doesn’t know me,” Porsche found himself saying aloud before his mouth could confer with his brain. Everyone quietened to a hushed silence to stare at him. A few looked scandalised. Big looked like he was kicking himself for not thinking about volunteering earlier.

Chan, however, simply raised an eyebrow at Porsche. 

“Incredibly,” he said in a measured voice, “that might be one of the less ridiculous things I’ve heard come out of your mouth.”

“No,” said Kinn, strangely harsh in his tone. He wasn’t even looking at Porsche, which might have been a good thing because the fire in his eyes might have set the entire room alight. “It’s too dangerous.”

“I can go undercover,” Porsche cut in, no idea why he needed to push this idea. There was something about the thought of Kinn going alone to a proverbial lion’s den that just… did something to Porsche. “And if things go south, my hand-to-hand skills will come in handy. You said we weren’t allowed weapons, didn’t you?”

“Again, miraculously, he makes a good point.” Chan pointed out, looking shocked himself, as though sure that Porsche had been replaced by a pod person. He even narrowed his eyes, looking seconds away from checking Porsche’s temperature for delirium.

Kinn stood up with sense of finality. 

“Alright, that’s all for today. Meeting adjourned. Back to your stations. And Lexus?” here Kinn looked at Porsche, his expression one he couldn’t read. “Stay back for a moment.”

The others all filed out, with Big giving Porsche a resentful glare as he left. Clearly, putting himself in reckless undercover danger where he could be tortured by a psychopath was worth it just for one night on Kinn’s arm. Once again, Porsche understood where he was coming from.

It was only when Chan shut the door behind the last straggler that Kinn turned to Porsche, his face deathly serious.

“Before you agree to this-

“I do,” Porsche said eagerly. Kinn glared at him dourly, clearly not appreciating the interruption. “Sorry, boss.” Porsche smiled his most winsome smile. He felt a pulse of victory ripple through him to see Kinn affected by it. “But go ahead, carry on trying to convince me otherwise.”

“Lexus,” it was Chan this time, looking grim. “This isn’t just an ordinary party. Chon is not someone to be trifled with. And this party isn’t one of the innocent galas you’ve been stationed at so far.”

Porsche felt puzzled. He felt like he was missing something important here 

“Meaning?” he asked.

Kinn and Chan shared a look that seemed to speak volumes. It spoke to their constant connection that they could have entire conversations with just a twitch of a cheek. 

“Chon has certain… tastes,” Chan put mildly, clearly trying to find the most delicate way to approach this conversation. Considering this was the same man who shackled people underwater for light training, this said a lot. “And almost none of Chon’s tastes are legal.”

Porsche’s forehead wrinkled with a frown.

“Okay…” he said, pretending to understand when he didn’t in the slightest.

Leaning forward, Kinn finally seemed to take pity on him.

“It’s a slavery ring.” he put bluntly and Porsche felt himself going pale at just the thought of it. Kinn’s eyes were unyielding as they looked at him dead on, as though he was willing Porsche to understand the gravity of this situation. “The man is a slave trader. Some of the victims are young, Lexus, do you understand what I’m saying?”

Porsche visibly recoiled, just imagining tiny wrists in chains, innocent faces younger, rounder than Chay’s…

“And you go to these parties?!” he raised his voice, jumping to his feet, feeling sick at the thought. He could feel the bile rising to his throat in revulsion. “How could you?!” 

Kinn jumped up himself, looking just as animated. Porsche had never seen him so worked up.

“Of course I don’t go!” he snapped, looking insulted, as though Porsche had called him the ultimate slur. “What do you take me for? I’ve been trying to shut it down, but could never get enough intel. You think I want that happening on my streets? Do you think I want people like Mek to stay enslaved?”

Porsche sunk shakily down to his seat, the adrenaline still pumping through his body. Even his fingers were tingling.

“Mek’s a slave,” he said with dawning realisation. It suddenly explained so much.

Kinn sighed, deflating himself. Sometimes Porsche marvelled at how much responsibility this man carried. He could practically see the weight of an entire city on his back, weighing him down. 

“Mek was a slave. I got him out but now Chon has men hunting him down. Mek knows too much.”

“Let me help,” Porsche said desperately. He needed to. Everything in him wanted to do something. 

Kinn looked sombre.

“We have to be careful, Lexus,” he warned darkly. “Killing Chon won’t end it. He’s one of many. I need to find who else is involved and then cut off the head of every snake that dared to defile my streets with this.”

“But... you’re the Dragon," Porsche said, reminding him who he was in case he forgot because Kinn? He was kind of a big deal. "Surely you could just click your fingers and stop this.”

Kinn smiled, looking at Porsche like his notions were quaint. 

“You have more faith in my abilities than is warranted. I’m still only one man.”

“If anyone can do it, you can,” Porsche said, believing it entirely, his faith in Kinn relentless. Kinn just stared back at him, his eyes wide.

“You really believe that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” Porsche insisted, feeling passionate about it.

Kinn continued to stare in awe, like Porsche was a crazy anomaly he couldn’t understand. He really did have the prettiest eyes.

“If we’re doing this, Lexus,“ Chan said, coughing loudly, ruining the moment, “you need to be briefed as well as we can brief you. We have exactly two weeks before the party. The best part for you to play would have been as a prospective buyer but Chon knows everyone important-” 

Rude , Porsche thought. 

“-so you’ll have to be an escort.”

“Oh,” said Porsche. He then paused. He wasn’t sure he was smooth enough to pull off being an escort. Playing someone who was an expert at telling people what they wanted to hear… it was the opposite of Porsche. He was contrary without even trying. “Can’t I just be a date?”

“I don’t date,” said Kinn, taking a slow sip from his glass of whiskey, as though daring Porsche to respond. “It would be suspicious.”

“Oh,” said Porsche. From the look Chan gave him, Porsche felt like that was a can of worms it was best not to open. “Okay. So I have to just stand there and look pretty?”

“Well, outwardly, you need to,” Chan confirmed. “But what we really need you to do is keep an eye on Khun Kinn. Be vigilant to external threats and covertly scope the place out. Check exits, bathrooms, look for bugs someone might plant. Talk to the contacts in the room for intel if you can. If anyone has gossip, it’s the other escorts there.”

“We need to know who’s involved with Chon,” Kinn said, troubled in a way Porsche rarely saw. The cold fury of it was absolutely terrifying. Kinn’s eyebrows were like slashes of black ink and his deathly white skin made Porsche gape at how someone so beautiful could look so warped and monstrous with anger. When Kinn looked this villainous, the Dragon’s imaginary wings suddenly seemed real enough to burst bloodily out from his back. He was like an otherworldly demon when he looked like this. Porsche found himself being more awestruck than scared. “Chon’s been getting more and more bold lately by encroaching on the other territories. The fact he is even considering people-smuggling near Theerapanyakul turf tells me he and I need to have a conversation.”

Porsche found himself gulping on Chon’s behalf. He may have been mildly infatuated with Kinn but he wouldn’t want to meet this version of him anywhere.

Even Chan, who had seen more than most, looked at Kinn’s mood warily. Clearly, even someone as stoic and naturally capable as him knew Kinn was terrifying like this.

He turned to Porsche instead, his jaw tight.

“Lexus, I’ll send you a more in-depth briefing packet by tomorrow,” he said, his voice neutral and remarkably cool considering the restless way Kinn was stalking up and down like a jungle cat. “We need to go over the finer details before you can even start prepping for the mission. For now, however, you’re dismissed.”

“Uh, yes sir,” Porsche responded, unable to stop his eyes from moving to Kinn, like he was hypnotised. Even when he was worked up – especially worked up – the man was captivating. “I’ll just get going,” 

Porsche was halfway across the room and had his hand on the doorknob when he caught one last hushed question between Kinn and Chan.

“You know,” Porsche had overheard Chan say in a low voice, clearly thinking Porsche couldn’t hear them. “Lexus is not your usual type. Do you think Chon will get suspicious?”

“Come on, Chan, you have eyes don’t you. Have you seen what he looks like?” Kinn had said, like that resolved the matter completely. 

Porsche would have turned around but the door shut behind him with finality before he could even attempt it, leaving him to stare at a lovely mahogany-stained finish. 

A weird thrill of pride ran through Porsche as he pondered on Kinn’s words.

Kinn thought he looked good.

He never knew objectification would make him feel so pleased.

This pleased feeling, however, disappeared the following day when Chan, the uncompromising lunatic, started their personal training sessions for the mission.

Training with Chan had always been an assault course of torture but, for this mission, he had been relentless to the point that Porsche wondered if simply dying would have been more enjoyable.

Chan had been more tyrannical than usual, testing Porsche by throwing names and faces at him at dizzying speeds. From dignitaries to pop stars, Chon’s guest list was so high profile and familiar that it made Porsche want to be sick. He had heard stories that these slavery rings existed but seeing celebrity faces he recognised — people he had unknowingly respected and had even wanted to meet — filled Porsche with revulsion. 

Chan had also pushed him relentlessly to study his undercover character ‘Niran’, who they had decided to pitch as one of the many boys that came from Kinn’s regular agency. It reminded Porsche so much of his training with Vegas that he was genuinely beginning to forget who he really was.

According to Chan’s description, ‘Niran’ was subservient, coy and his main character trait was, apparently, being too scared of his own shadow to speak to anyone. 

“Seriously?” Porsche had asked, looking down at his very minimal character notes. Niran didn’t just sound like a wet blanket, he was the entire flooded department of a bedding store. “I’m supposed to just be mute?” 

“If only you actually were,” Chan had sighed, more to himself. He even looked away for a moment, as though he was imagining this wonderful, noiseless world. Porsche narrowed his eyes, reminding himself to talk more than ever whenever they were alone. “But yes, Lexus, staying quiet is the best strategy. We need your sharp ears, not your loose lips. Now, go to the tailors to get fitted. We need you to look your best. Khun Kinn has a high standard in his choice of escorts.”

Chan then looked from the curry stain on Porsche’s tracksuit to the hair he hadn’t brushed all day and then rubbed his temple, as though he was clearly re-evaluating all his life choices.

“This is going to be a shitshow,” Chan murmured to himself.

Porsche couldn’t help but agree.

 

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·

 

When Porsche had first been briefed on Chon Romsinang's estate, he couldn’t help himself from admiring the beauty of it. The man had his own tropical island, with beautiful lush gardens and a grand, resplendent mansion right in the centre, perched on top of cliff-face. 

Looking at the splendour of the surroundings, Porsche had found it both incredible and grotesque that such unimaginable atrocities happened in a place so picturesque.

The fact that Porsche was going there gussied up like a willing participant in this depravity made him feel like even more of a fraud, his forest-green suit seeming all the more like a cheap costume. Porsche felt suffocated around the neck, even with his shirt buttons undone to the naval like they were competing with Kinn’s in a laziness challenge. Porsche’s hair had also been styled, swept up off of his forehead. It was neat and sophisticated and as unlike him as possible.

He had looked like a completely different person and as someone who had been straddling three different personas, Porsche was beginning to worry if he would ever remember how to be himself again. 

Kinn had obviously been surprised to see his new look because he had physically stopped when he saw Porsche, freezing in place and sweeping his eyes over him in a way that was thorough enough to be sex act. His eyes even lingered on his chest unabashedly, like a pervert at a bar who was trying to leer his way into someone’s bed.

It made Porsche shiver. If he met Kinn in a bar, he would have dropped his pants for him in a heartbeat. It reminded Porsche that as much as he hated everything else about this mission, being stared at by Kinn like he was his next meal was definitely a highlight.

Kinn, as always, looked unfairly handsome. He was also dressed in a suit, but his one was so fitted that Porsche was sure he could see a kidney. It was an unusual design, a maroon red on top that transitioned down the length of his torso to black, like a perfect gradient. The contrast with the stark white shirt he was wearing made Kinn look almost fiendish, as though the maroon material wrapping around his wide shoulders was a layer of blood, dripping down his body. 

He looked like sin itself. It was a good look on him. 

Chan, on the other hand, was channelling the anxiety of a father on prom night.

“Don’t look at anyone for too long,” he said sharply just before they headed off. He was looking sternly at Porsche but Porsche could see concern trying – and failing – not to escape into his eyes. “Don’t talk to anyone you don’t need to and try not to eat or drink anything they offer.” 

Porsche wanted to say something glib because paternal authority figures automatically made him want to roll his eyes and flip them the bird. But there was something in Chan’s demeanour that made him realise the older man was more scared than he was.

Strangely, it was comforting.

“Yes, sir,” said Porsche, as obedient and as respectful as he had ever been in his life. Chan looked even more perturbed by this.

By the time they arrived at Chon’s manor, Kinn had a pent-up sort of energy to him that seemed to crackle between his fingertips. He was like a prowling jungle cat in a sharply tailored suit, unwisely let loose into the outside world without a leash. Porsche would have felt sorry for every other person present before he realised that they were all slave-trading scum, and that he would happily watch Kinn tear them all to pieces. 

However, they didn’t need a bloodbath before they stepped through the front door so Porsche – who had grown quite fond of his suit and really didn’t want to stain it with brain fragments today – put his hand on the crook of Kinn’s arm instead.

“You know,” he said, faking an outwardly sweet-looking smile that would have fooled a passing witness into thinking they were being affectionate, “you look like you’re about to rip out someone’s throat with your teeth. Please don’t. It’ll cause a scene and then Chan will make me do so many pushups that my arms will snap off.” 

Porsche then put on a demure, coy expression to get back into character. He was pretty sure it made him look cross-eyed. 

Kinn’s high-strung posture immediately melted in the face of it, as though Porsche was too ridiculous to ignore.

“Stop that, you look deranged.”

“I do? Huh. I’m supposed to seem lovesick.”

“Well, sick is the optimum word.”

“Humph,” Porsche huffed again, pretending to be offended. “I’m never putting out now.”

“Liar,” Kinn murmured back, leaning his face close enough to Porsche’s that his hot breath tickled his eyelashes. It was sensual enough to make Porsche genuinely forget the mission and want to drag Kinn to the nearest bush. “Now, stop tempting me. The sooner we get into this place, the sooner we can leave. Everyone here is a snake, so keep your eyes open.”

So Porsche did just that. 

Being Niran felt strangely freeing as Porsche let Kinn lead him to the grand entrance of the house, where torches were merrily flickering on either side of the large doorway. They were fashionably late so the entrance already had a healthy crowd of party goers already present, wearing diamonds and silks so opulent that the price of the embroidery on one glove could have fed an entire village.

As they stepped into the entrance hall, Porsche suddenly felt all of Chan’s diligent training washing over him like warm rain. 

Kinn was his priority, and Porsche would genuinely give his life if that was what it took to keep him safe.

With that thought in his mind, Porsche immediately found himself counting the stoic-looking guards stationed all around the property, trying to memorise their patterns of movement. He even clocked the nearest exits, his eyes narrowing as he studied the window over the fireplace and wondered if both Kinn and his ego could fit through the opening if they had to make a McGuyver-like escape.

Porsche’s sharp eyes also caught the faces of the guests at the event, finding himself once again incensed by the amount of notable faces he recognised. Chay’s favourite radio DJ was leaning against an elegant bar with a thin, barely legal girl on his arm. And then Porsche noticed that the choker around her neck wasn’t a choker at all but a diamond collar, with a gold lead attached to it. She wasn’t the only one wearing it either. Porsche found himself staring with disgust at the numerous restraints attached to certain party goers, the ones who weren’t engaging in conversation or having a good time. One young man in particular was staring at a cheese knife by the buffet table, as though he was wondering whether to use it on his owner or himself.

Porsche felt impotent. Every protective instinct inside him flared up, which clearly must have shown on his face because Kinn’s hand was suddenly on his waist, as though holding him back.

“Not now,” he said shortly, although Porsche could see Kinn was clearly plotting in his head how violently these people would die.

That gave Porsche some solace.

The guests were instructed to move further into a grand room, where a staged platform stood right in the centre. If Porsche didn't know any better, he would have thought it was a fancy-looking gallows. A large, covered box sat on top of the platform, draped in a heavy black material, like a conjurer hiding their box of illusions. 

Before Porsche could turn to Kinn and ask what was happening, the lights dimmed and a man in a white tuxedo climbed the short steps to the platform. The crowd hushed as Porsche took in the sharp features and the thin scar on the newcomer’s cheek. He was a little older than Chan, with a few artfully white streaks of hair at his temples and clever, glittering eyes. Porsche swallowed hard. He had seen the reports - this was Chon Romsinang himself. Kinn’s hand on his waist had curled into a fist.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome, welcome,” Chon said amiably, walking up and down the stage with a self confidence that was almost envious. “It’s good to see you after so long. Some of you are dear old friends and some are new acquaintances I would love to get to know better,” here Chon stopped and, to Porsche’s immense surprise, looked straight at him, somehow spotting him hungrily in the dark.

Kinn’s nails dug into Porsche's waist. After what felt like an age, Chon looked away. Porsche released the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“And now,” said Chon, looking like the perfect host. He even put his arms out like a showman, charismatic and entertaining. “To the main event.” His smile was white and perfect, but his canines were sharp in this light. He then lifted his arm in a sweeping gesture, like a magician about to reveal a trick.

Except the trick, as Porsche soon realised, was more horror than magic.

As Chon moved to one side, the heavy material on the covered box on the stage was pulled away.

Porsche almost gasped out loud. 

A thin, shirtless young man in shackles was contained in a cage, looking like a prisoner of war. He was kneeling on the ground and his hair was matted as it fell over his face. His wrists and his ankles were bruised and bound. Porsche could hear the interested murmurs in the crowd, a few of them craning their necks forward to get a better look.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen,” said Chon, standing himself behind a grand-looking lectern, which ironically looked like the type a holy man would stand behind, “the first sale in our program is a rare delicacy. Don’t let the slight size fool you, this boy can take down an army by himself. Perfect for those looking for a decent guard. Or, if you like your bedroom companions to put up a good fight… ”

Chon winked perversely. The laughter that sounded with his words was uproarious.

Porsche’s heart was pounding like a jackrabbit against his chest. The slave up for auction was just a kid, still in his teens. Probably even Chay’s age. Porsche had to physically stop himself from storming the stage.

“Now,” said Chon, gesturing towards the crowd like a ringleader in a circus. It felt apt to Porsche, these people were nothing but clowns. “How much for a starting bid?”

The bids came thick and fast, with the bidders themselves ranging wildly in profile. Porsche witnessed a celebrity chef make a bid before being one-upped by a plump, older woman who could have been mistaken for a kindly grandmother.

People shouted crude, depraved things at the boy, laughing cruelly with one another as they leered at his body like it was fresh meat. Porsche could feel himself biting his lip until he tasted blood.

And then he felt Kinn’s hand on his waist again, but this time it was firm and grounding. Kinn wasn’t looking at Porsche but the thumb caressing his hip was almost comforting. For some reason, it seemed to help Porsche breathe.

The slave on the block then lifted his head, revealing doe eyes and a jaw that could cut steel. The soft caress on Porsche’s hip immediately stilled. Kinn even let in a sharp intake of breath, as though stunned. He couldn’t keep his eyes off him.

Get a grip, Porsche, Porsche snapped at himself. This is the most inappropriate time to feel jealous.

Kinn then did something Porsche didn’t expect. He lifted his paddle. 

“50 million baht.”

There were gasps around the room. Porsche spun his head to look at Kinn, feeling bewildered. This wasn’t part of Chan’s perfectly structured plan. What was Kinn even playing at? Fuck-ups of this magnitude generally ensured that Chan was going to make Porsche do push ups until they killed him. 

The slave on the block also shifted his gaze to look at Kinn in shock. His eyes looked huge in his face, as though even he had gathered how dangerous this man was and would have preferred one of the other bids.

Chon was clearly astonished too, especially when he realised who had made the bid. The smile on his face looked a little frozen, like a malfunctioning robot. Porsche knew only a limited number of people actually knew what Kinn looked like but judging by Chon’s panic-stricken reaction, the man knew exactly who he was.

Chon turned back to the crowd. Porsche didn’t blame him. Staring into Kinn’s eyes for too long actually gave you migraines from the intensity.

“Well… going once, going twice… sold! To the well dressed gentleman in the front. Please, uh… sir. If you could come around the back, we can organise the paperwork for you.”

Kinn’s eyes didn’t leave Chon’s as he steered Porsche through the crowd, which naturally parted in fear. A few people even tripped up to hastily make space between them, as though just being in Kinn’s orbit was too suffocating to bear. Even if these people didn’t know who Kinn was, the man oozed an aura of malevolence you knew to avoid.

This aura clearly worked on Chon’s staff as well because when Kinn rounded the corner and demanded they release the slave from his cage and leave them be, they did so before scuttling away like mice.

To Porsche’s great surprise, the young man didn’t look wary or scared. He just huffed, blowing his lank hair away from his eyes with the imperious nature of someone who had grown up with both power and money.

“What the hell are you even doing here?” demanded the slave, like Kinn was an inconvenience to his plan. His body language had also entirely changed. From a whimpering boy on stage with his bruised wrists and ripped clothing, he had suddenly transformed into a man who spoke with an insolent sort of authority. 

But Kinn didn’t seem to be listening. He just grabbed the young man firmly by the arm, his face thunderous with feeling. He looked like he was about to go on a murderous rampage and take everyone down with him.

“Are you hurt?! Did anyone touch you? Answer me!” he barked, sounding furious and, to Porsche’s great surprise, scared. Porsche didn’t think Kinn was afraid of anything.

Looking petulant, the boy pushed Kinn off with a bravery almost nobody had. Porsche didn’t know how to react, slowly lifting up his hands into a fighting stance that even he knew was half-hearted. For all of Chan’s training, Kinn getting sassed by a twink hadn’t been on the list of possible dangerous scenarios. Porsche honestly didn’t know which one of them needed more protection. The guy was skinny but mouthy enough to be able to hold his own.

“I can look after myself! You’re going to blow my cover!” said the boy furiously, unfazed by Kinn’s death stare in a way that was both fearless and miraculous all at once. He must have had titanium skin to withstand it.

Kinn twisted his mouth into an ugly shape, almost childish.

“I’m still your brother, you’re my responsibility. This is dangerous, Kimhan!”

And that was when Porsche’s eyes widened with realisation. Kimhan Theerapanyakul. The youngest of the three brothers. Porsche had memorised his file back when Vegas had been schooling Porsche on the family. Kim was the black sheep of the family who had left the compound a year back to make his own way in the world. Of all the places Porsche had expected him to end up, being a prisoner in a sordid slavery ring hadn’t been top of the list. 

“This isn’t dangerous for me, you ass,” Kim had scoffed, still arguing with his brother. Porsche could definitely see the resemblance. They were both as pig-headed as each other. “I’m exactly where I want to be but you? You need to leave right now, Kinn. For your own good. You’re not safe here.”

Kinn had stopped sniping for the moment to look inquisitively at his brother. From everything Porsche had heard, Kim was the smartest of them all.

“How are these auctions happening without my approval?” Kinn asked him, clearly guessing his brother had already worked it out. Kim just smiled grimly in response. Once again, Porsche could see the similarity between them. The brothers could tell entire monologues with a wiggle of a prominent eyebrow.

“Don’t you know? There’s a new Dragon in town, dear brother. They all defer to him.”

Kinn looked stunned. He had obviously not been expecting to hear that.

“That’s not possible,” he said, although Porsche could hear the concern lacing through his tone.

Kim just scoffed, sounding so much like a tetchy younger brother that Porsche’s heart panged from missing his own.

“Look around, Kinn, look at the powerful faces here. You think they would be here without backing from someone powerful? This was sanctioned by someone big, given the go ahead, and that person wasn’t you. You’re not the biggest dog in the pound anymore.”

“Do you know who it is?” Kinn pressed, looking ready to put his brother through a full-on interrogation.

For the first time since Porsche had seen him, Kim looked genuinely uncertain.

“No,” he said, irritated about it. He was clearly the sort of know-it-all kid who got into everyone’s business. “All I know is that someone is trying to replace you and that every person in this room follows their orders. P’Kinn,” Kim’s eyes were suddenly serious and beseeching, almost young. This was a younger sibling looking out for his older brother. Even in this low light, Porsche could see the fierce, anxious affection he had for Kinn as he urgently said, “You really need to get out of here now.”

That was all Porsche needed to hear. He had to get Kinn as far away from this place as he could.

“Sir,” he said firmly. “I think we should listen to your brother and abort. We can exit through the back stairs and make our way back to your car in under 6 minutes if we leave now.”

Kinn’s hand was back on his brother’s arm, but almost desperately, like he didn’t want to let him go. Kim looked down at it with an expression of sorrow, like he wanted to go with him but couldn't. There was clearly a story here that even Vegas’ extensive notes hadn’t covered.

“I’ll try and distract them,” said Kim softly. He then turned to Porsche and gave him a stern look, like he was entrusting his brother to him and would murder him painfully if he fucked it up. “Two guards are stationed by the stairs so you’ll need to take them out first but it should be clear after that. Get down to the basement, the coast will be clear then.” Kim then pushed Kinn away harshly, like doing so would be better for them both. “Now go, Kinn, now.”

With one last look at his brother, Kinn let Porsche grab his arm and pull him away. Porsche had barely got them around the corner and towards the door to the back stairs when a series of footsteps sounded behind them.

“Kinn, move! ” Porsche had said urgently, throwing open the door and sprinting with Kinn down the stairs, their hands tightly clasped. If it wasn’t for the fact they might soon be dead, it might have even been romantic. 

They had barely made it down a flight before two of Chon’s men entered the stairway, pointing their guns directly at Kinn. Without thinking, Porsche instinctively pulled Kinn aside and performed a spinning kick on the man closest to him. The man was swiftly knocked out, his gun falling to the bottom step with a clatter. The other guard looked spooked – as though he hadn’t expected to walk into a Taekwondo tournament – but he got over the surprise to let out a spray of gunshots that forced Porsche to jump protectively over Kinn, a bullet grazing his shoulder blade as they tumbled their way down the stairs together.  

After spiralling down what felt like infinite flights, Kinn and Porsche finally hit the ground floor in a scramble of limbs. Bruised, dizzy and aching, Porsche tasted copper in his mouth but that wasn’t the worst thing. The sound the back of his Kinn’s head made when it hit the ground on impact made Porsche want to scream with anguish. The man lay there limp, like a ragdoll, still and unconscious, with blood blooming around his head like a macabre halo.

It was like a sudden sort of rage overtook Porsche’s body when he saw this. He let out an inhumane sound before fumbling for the gun that had landed a few feet away from him and lifting it up, aiming with pinpoint accuracy. The guard fell to the ground almost instantly, dead before they even hit the floor.

Adrenaline rushing through him, Porsche was sweating and gasping for breath, his gun arm still in the air with paranoia, just in case either of the men came back to life like a horror villain.

And then Kinn let out a moan. Porsche had never heard a more beautiful noise in his life. 

"Kinn! Kinn? Can you hear me?” Porsche said anxiously, almost cheering with unadulterated joy when Kinn’s eyes blinked blearily open. Porsche felt a sob of happiness threaten to burst from his chest and he couldn’t even feel embarrassed. He would let Kinn tease him all he liked, as long as he lived . The relief washing over him was overwhelming enough to knock an elephant off its feet. “Kinn, you asshole, don’t do that to me again!”

Kinn, for his part, just blinked with confusion before looking up at Porsche. He then opened his mouth before closing it again. Porsche felt dread seizing every limb on his body. His fear were soon justified, unfortunately, when Kinn cocked his head to one side and curiously said,

“Kinn,” as though testing the name out on his tongue. He then furrowed his brows again, somehow managing to look handsome even when brainaddled. "I assume... that's me?" 

"Shit," said Porsche.

Notes:

Apologies for the day's delay, hope you enjoy!

Chapter 5: Safe Houses are Dangerous Places

Summary:

Kinn loses his memory and Porsche finds out safe houses are dangerous when you share them with someone you have a painful crush on.

Porsche had been in many a shitty situation in his lifetime. 

There was the time one of his one-night-stands had got a little obsessive and pulled a nail file on him in return for everlasting love. Luckily, Yok had knocked her out with a bottle before she could slice his dick off, which was something both Porsche and his future children were thankful for.

Then there had been numerous brushes with different loan sharks, where Porsche had been desperate enough to wear prosthetics to pretend to be an eighty-year-old man. Every now and then, a shark would enquire after his grandfather’s health and wax lyrical about how nice he was.

But being stuck in the headquarters of a slavery ring, with dozens of trained bodyguards on your tail while you had to deal with an injured amnesiac? 

It was the absolute worst.

As Porsche looked into Kinn’s confused eyes, he wondered if this was karma coming back to bite him in the butt.

"You... please tell me you remember who you are,“ he begged, more for himself than Kinn. 

Kinn cocked his head to the side slightly as if contemplating this, a drop of blood trickling down his temple. Both Kim and Chan were going to absolutely murder Porsche.

"Hmm, evidently not," said Kinn, like he had carefully considered the question. It was so damn typical of him to take even something like amnesia in his stride. He was so infuriatingly calm that Porsche would have shaken him, but he didn’t want to give him further brain damage.

Grabbing the handkerchief stuffed in his pocket, Porsche frantically tied it to Kinn’s head the way Pol and his obsessive first aid training had drilled into him. 

“Ow,” said Kinn, sounding like a baby. With the makeshift bandage around his head, he looked like a prisoner of war.

“Listen,” Porsche said, ignoring Kinn’s whine of pain as he desperately looked towards the door to the garage. Kinn’s car was just within reach. “We need to get out of here before they send more men after us. We have to head to the safe house for further instruction, which will probably include me getting fired - literally, in an oven, with Chan’s favourite seasoned vegetables on the side. Can you get up?”

“There’s two dead men up there,” said Kinn with mild surprise, ignoring what Porsche said to point at the one closest to them.  “Did you notice?”

Porsche tried not to pull at his hair but it was a close thing. 

“We will be the next two dead men in here if we don’t hurry up. We’re in danger, can you understand that? I’ll explain everything later but there are hundreds of people swarming this house who want to murder you right now!”

Kinn raised his eyebrows, His face had lost that layer of constant intimidation that clung to it. In fact, his powerful aura seemed to have disappeared to the same place his memories had. It made him look as intimidating as a mildly befuddled foal. Porsche had a feeling this is what Kinn would have looked like if he had been raised in a normal family. It was soft and endearing and undeniably appealing but Porsche really needed the calculating killer back pronto. 

"Well," Kinn said, frowning thoughtfully, clearly not fond of the idea of being hunted down by an army of assassins. "Being murdered isn’t ideal. We should go.”

He then got to his feet, taking the arm Porsche offered as support. He did so pretty smoothly, which was impressive considering half of the blood in his head was gorily painting the floor like a macabre Jackson Pollock. How Kinn was still capable of spotting danger and acting accordingly, especially when he was in danger of dying from blood loss, was commendable. He didn’t even know his own name but he still managed to get with the program. The man was born competent. 

“Let’s go then,” Porsche agreed eagerly, keeping hold of Kinn’s hand to lead them to the garage. 

You’re holding hands, a juvenile voice in his head crowed. It sounded suspiciously like Tankhun. Porsche promptly told it to shut up and stop distracting him.

Heart pounding as he nervously pushed open the garage door, Porsche lifted up the gun he had stolen from the stairway guard. The other gun was in Kinn’s hand, who stared at it with befuddlement for a moment before lifting it like a pro. Clearly, muscle memory was a thing.

The coast looked clear in the large concrete space, with nothing but obscenely expensive cars lined up beside each other like fancy, shiny sardines.  Porsche thanked the heavens and, more aptly, Kim for making sure they had a head start on the other guards.

Jumping into Kinn’s maserati with so much urgency he almost slammed his crotch into the gear stick, Porsche had barely waited for Kinn to climb in before slamming his foot on the accelerator, zooming as far and as fast as they could go. 

To his immense relief, no one seemed to be paying them any attention as they exited the garage onto Chon’s expansive driveway, which was long enough to be mistaken for a race circuit.

“Oh, that’s a nice house,” said Kinn in passing, like some sort of interior design expert. 

Objectively, Kinn was right, but now really wasn’t the time to admire the architectural choices of depraved criminal slave traders, so Porsche just grit his teeth and kept going.

He only let himself stop jumping at every slight sound when they were zooming down a quiet dirt road, both Chon and his manor a speck in the rear-view mirror. The weight pressing down on his shoulders eased slightly. 

“So, what’s your name?” said Kinn, making Porsche jump. He had been so quiet, he almost forgot he was there. “You called me Kinn, so I’m guessing that’s mine.” He then smiled in a way that was so open and genuinely self-deprecating that Porsche almost did a double take. He had never seen Kinn look so carefree. “You are?”

And then Porsche registered what he said. Kinn wanted to know his name.

Porsche, he so desperately wanted to scream out, wanting to hear Kinn using his real name for once. He wanted to know how it would sound on his tongue, even if he was half delirious from concussion. Porsche wanted the deception between them to disappear, he so badly wanted a new start. 

But Porsche knew he couldn’t. He was already in too deep. He only hoped that when Kinn eventually found out, he wouldn’t hate Porsche too much. Porsche didn’t think his heart could take it.

“Lexus.” The words tasted like sawdust in his mouth, almost as though they were tearing themselves out of his voicebox by force. Kinn wrinkled his nose. It was annoyingly adorable. 

“Strange,” he said. “It doesn’t suit you.”

You have no idea, Porsche thought miserably. 

“So, are we police officers?” 

Porsche nearly swerved into a passing tree at Kinn’s innocent question. Turning to look at him incredulously, he caught Kinn’s wide-eyed gaze. The man had bigger eyes than a toddler.

“Why would you think we’re law enforcement?" Porsche asked. The man’s entire brain must have dropped out of his head during that fall.

Kinn looked befuddled again, visibly proving Porsche’s point. 

“So we’re not on an undercover mission?” he asked. Porsche couldn’t even blame him. Considering the clothes they were wearing and the place they had snuck out of, he probably thought they were a pair of MI6 agents.

Porsche wondered how disappointed Kinn would be with himself when he found out what he actually did for a living. Porsche chose his words carefully.

“You’re a businessman. We came here to check out one of your competitors. But that’s not important now. How is your head feeling?”

“Oh, like shit,” Kinn said, wincing but giving Porsche a cheerful sort of shrug. The makeshift bandage seemed to be holding firm. “But I’ll live. I think.”

Porsche's heart suddenly panged with sympathy. Kinn looked happier as a badly injured, anonymous stranger with no connections than he ever did in his life as a mob boss. It was no doubt the most freedom he had ever had in his life. His memories had kept him a prisoner for decades.

Porsche shifted his eyes back to the road. Looking at Kinn was physically giving him pain. 

“We’re almost there. Don’t close your eyes. You might not remember why, but I need you to live, okay?”

Kinn looked at him curiously but didn’t argue back. He had that intense look in his eye again, the one he had when they first met. His gaze travelled down Porsche’s so intensely, lingering over his bare neck and his inner thighs, that Porsche felt like actual hands were sliding their way down his body. He shivered, willing himself not to get hard. 

Kinn licked his lips. Porsche had never wanted to taste someone more in his life.

“Okay,” Kinn said, the most obedient Porsche had ever heard him. It was both unnerving and a power rush all at once. 

It took another ten long minutes for the safe house to come into view. Porsche’s hands had only just stopped trembling with want when he pulled up in front of the dilapidated looking shack. It sat unobtrusively on an abandoned beach front, and looked so utterly unimportant that Porsche drove past it twice before realising this was the place.

 

He parked the car in a small, ramshackle adjoining garage, that perfectly hid the Maserati from outside eyes. Etched in the wall, Porsche saw the tiny crest of Theerapanyakul family, barely visible unless you were looking for it. 

Before Porsche could even ask Kinn for his ring, the man leaned over him with an outstretched arm and perfectly placed his ring in the groove. Almost immediately, the floor started to shake before descending, like a large service elevator.

“How did you know to do that?” Porsche asked in awe as he watched them slowly lower into the depths of the house. 

“I don’t know,” Kinn said honestly, looking a little startled himself. He looked even more surprised by the room they had descended down into.

Dilapidated and ramshackle were the last words you would have used for this place. This was a veritable luxury bunker, with gold fittings and marble furnishings similar to the main compound. Expensive furniture was dotted around the place, with an open plan kitchen and a huge circular skylight on the ceiling, bringing in daylight.

 

Porsche just stared at the intricate lighting plan, once again amazed by how much ridiculous wealth this family had. Even their barely-used bunkers looked classier than most five star hotels.

“Did you hire the same fancy interior designer to do all your safe houses?” Porsche asked, just imagining the logistics of it. He could almost imagine a person in an elaborate fur coat cooing at different samples of bulletproof glass. 

Kinn just pointed at himself.

“Amnesiac,” he reminded him, clearly not remembering, before reeling slightly on the spot. Panicked, Porsche sprinted to him and gently eased him down into the nearest chair. The chair was so fancy, Porsche probably could have paid off Vegas from just the upholstery alone. 

“Just stay here, okay? Let me find something to clean your wound.” 

Kinn nodded a little woozily, like a drunk puppy. It was terribly endearing and Porsche had to physically tear himself away to rifle around for a first aid kit. Luckily, he was able to find one in the kitchen, so he set it on the table in front of Kinn, as well as a bowl of warm water and a towel.

Porsche then diligently removed the stained handkerchief and settled into a soothing rhythm of wiping the blood from Kinn’s temple with the damp towel.

Even woozy, Kinn didn’t move his eyes from Porsche. 

"So,” said Kinn, “are we together?"

Porsche almost dropped the towel. 

"What?!" 

"I mean... we are, aren't we?" Kinn asked. He had a hopeful look about him, like he was praying for it. "I can't imagine I haven't hit on you with you looking like that unless... Oh." Here Kinn paused, looking a little heartbroken. "Are you straight?" 

"No!” Porsche shouted vehemently before coughing and controlling his voice. He couldn’t help it. It was hardly straight to want to ride your boss like a mechanical bull. “I mean... I'm your employee. It... wouldn’t be appropriate."

Kinn's eyes seemed to gleam, like he could see through Porsche’s act.

"So you do like me,” he almost crowed, like a self satisfied jerk.

"We're getting off the subject,” said Porsche, partially to preserve his own dignity and mainly because, even with Kinn injured, Porsche was the one who was weak. “Right now, there are about fifty men who might still be on your tail, so we’re going to lay low here until the morning. I’ve already let Chan know. Following protocol, he’s sending a team to extract us, just to be safe.”

“So, am I not very nice?”

Talking to a memoryless Kinn was like living in a permanent state of whiplash. He was constantly throwing Porsche for a loop.

“What?” Porsche asked quizzically.

Kinn made a face. If Porsche didn’t know better, he would have called it a pout.

“I mean, all these people want to kill me. I must be awful.” 

Kinn looked a little depressed about it. A killer mob lord had no right looking this adorable. Even his hair, which usually was perfectly styled, looked soft and fluffy as it fell over his eyes. Porsche’s fingers twitched from wanting to play with the strands.

“You… you’re a successful man. They always have enemies.”

Kinn raised one of his thick brows.

“I might not remember much but I do know most businessmen don’t usually have an army of hitmen on their tail.” He then looked alarmed, like a horrible thought had suddenly entered his brain. “Shit, do I work for Shell?”

Porsche tried not to laugh at the terror on his face. Kinn was ridiculous. 

“No, you don’t work for Shell. It’s hard to explain and you do have a bit of a reputation but… just trust me. You’re…” Porsche swallowed hard, his heart doing the talking for him. “... you’re really not awful at all.”

Kinn just stared back at him, his eyes glittering like a galaxy of stars. Porsche felt like he could see the entire cosmos in his irises.

“Are you sure we’re not madly in love with each other?” Kinn checked again, sounding wishful.

Honestly, thought Porsche to himself, staring at Kinn’s face like he wanted to memorise it and keep it safe in his mind, I’m not sure of that at all.

But he didn’t say that aloud. Instead he got to his feet and cocked the gun he had stolen from Chon’s security guard. There were only a few rounds left.

“It’ll be a few hours until Chan and his men get here.” Porsche informed Kinn, throwing his professional bodyguard persona around himself like a shield. “I’ll stay here and keep an eye on the exits. You should probably get some sleep if you can.” 

Kinn just narrowed his eyes and studied him closely. There was definitely something going on behind his eyes that Porsche couldn’t read and it was spine-chilling to him. 

Kinn then smiled; a wide, bright sort of thing. Somehow, it was even more disturbing than all his intimidating looks put together. Seeing his teeth made Porsche want to squeak. 

Two seconds later, however, Porsche did squeak but for an entirely different reason. Without even the slightest bit of warning, Kinn pulled off his jacket and started undoing the few remaining buttons that were connected by willpower alone. As Porsche watched this impromptu strip show, he wondered if he was stuck between heaven and hell.

“What are you doing?” Porsche’s voice was high enough to break glass. 

Kinn just casually continued to undress, undoing his cufflinks and loosening his cuffs with a suave assurance that couldn’t be taught. 

“Getting ready for bed,” he responded before pulling off his shirt entirely. Porsche’s traitorous, deviant eyes immediately zoned in on his pecs. They could have been carved out of marble. 

Patently noticing the lingering looks of appreciation, Kinn’s smirk was so smug that he should have been arrested for wearing it. He then opened his mouth and Porsche wholeheartedly feared what would come out of it. He was right to be scared. “So,” Kinn practically purred, his nipples staring at Porsche like a pair of temptresses. “Are you going to join me?”

Christ, thought Porsche, his hands sweating. I’m actually being seduced here, aren’t I?

Watching Kinn and his glorious backside sashay away as he headed towards the bedrooms, Porsche gripped the gun in his hand even tighter. He wondered if accidentally shooting himself might have been the safer option because, frankly, he couldn’t have pulled his eyes away from Kinn’s ass for a billion baht.

Kinn then turned one last time over his shoulder with a demure look in his eyes.

Oh God, I’m in so much trouble, Porsche thought desperately. 

But, against his better judgement, his feet ignored all prior information and followed Kinn anyway.

Chapter 6: Kinn is Secretly a Succubus in Disguise

Summary:

While stuck in the safehouse with his injured, amnesiac boss, Porsche comes to a conclusion - Kinn might be the most dangerous man in the country, but Porsche's feelings for him might be the thing that actually kills him.

The bedroom Kinn had wandered into was the epitome of opulence, from the wall-to-ceiling windows, the huge golden chandelier defying gravity from the ceiling and a bed big enough to fit four people.

It was any homeowner’s dream. 

But Porsche didn’t notice a single one of these things because the man occupying the room made all the hours of interior design spent on this palace entirely redundant. 

When Porsche entered the bedroom, Kinn was sitting at the foot of the bed, obediently waiting for him like a puppy would for their master. That is, if said puppy was chiselled like a Spartan and put on earth purely to torture Porsche into frustration.

Still shirtless, Kinn’s long legs were invitingly wide open and bent at the knee, his large feet flat on the floor. He was leaning languidly back on his hands, making his hips jut out in a way that was utterly shameless and unapologetically intentional. He may have forgotten everything else in his life, but Kinn clearly still remembered how to have game.

It was like God himself was testing Porsche’s willpower, which wasn’t good news for Porsche because his willpower was generally as strong as wet tissue paper in a blender.

Kinn looked like a veritable feast, sitting on silk red sheets like a present waiting to be unwrapped. He was like sin personified, a devil trying to steal Porsche’s soul and seduce him into hell. If Kinn was the devil, Porsche had a feeling he would have already volunteered to burn with him for eternity.

Porsche hovered at the doorway, almost scared to step in. He had a feeling whatever decision he made would be the biggest of his life.

“Are you coming?” Kinn asked in a sultry sort of voice, the innuendo in his voice as thick as cream. His eyes were twinkling playfully but there was an intense darkness to them, like Porsche would be trapped forever if he took another step towards him.

It felt heady and dangerous and completely out of his control. Porsche’s feet stumbled forward before he could even make a decision. It was like the man was a puppeteer, pulling at his strings and controlling him right down to his very cells.

Porsche felt like he was drunk. His head was spinning, his stomach was turning and his skin was stinging like it had been scrubbed raw. He licked almost nervously at his lips, which were throbbing almost greedily — achingly — for Kinn’s touch.

Porsche tried to get a hold of the situation. Despite the hormones in his body mutinously trying to overthrow his better judgement like a feral crew of pirates, he still had a thread of self-control, even if it was fraying by the second. 

“You… really shouldn’t go to sleep with a head injury.” Porsche could barely recognise his own voice. He had never heard it sound so feeble before, like a suffocated whimper. It was as though even his lungs had joined in on the plot to conspire against him.

Kinn just cocked his head, a strand of hair falling over an eye. Porsche internally asked himself when Kinn had turned himself into a wanton succubus.

“I’ve got a few suggestions for how you can keep me up,” Kinn returned teasingly and waggled his eyebrows, which was so distressingly goofy that Porsche wanted to scream into a pillow like a schoolgirl. This horny bastard was so exasperating that Porsche was torn between yelling at him and sliding down to his knees in a puddle of lust.

“How are you so relaxed?!” Porsche almost squawked with frustration, running his hand through his hair frantically enough to make it stick up like he had been electrocuted. “We’re hiding from certain death, you’ve got more blood on Chon’s stairs than in your body, and now you’re propositioning a man you don’t even know! For all you know, I could be one of the people that want to kill you.”

Kinn just looked at him appraisingly, like Porsche was an absurd sort of novelty that he was fond of, despite his obvious deficiencies.

“You saved my life,” he said simply, like that was enough for him.

“That doesn’t mean I’m a good guy,” Porsche stressed because it was true. Kinn shouldn’t have ever trusted a lowlife like him. “You might not remember it but the Kinn Theerapanyakul I know doesn’t trust anyone.”

Kinn just waved an unconcerned hand. In all the time Porsche had known him, he had never seen him look so carefree, so careless . It felt unnatural, like watching a dog walk on its hind legs and pretend to be a person.

“Your Kinn sounds like a stick in the mud,” Kinn said nonchalantly, sounding a bit like a brat.

“Hey, I’m sure he has his reasons!” Porsche snapped back, offended on Kinn’s behalf. He even opened his mouth and pointed his finger accusingly to defend Kinn some more when he realised who he was talking to. Porsche closed his mouth, his finger dropping like a limp noodle. Defending Kinn to himself was one of the weirder things that had happened this week. 

Kinn made a face, clearly bored of the conversation. He was so bored, in fact, that he let out a loud sigh – as though Porsche enjoyed being troublesome on purpose – and took matters into his own hands to direct this somewhere he preferred. 

So he sank down to his knees in one smooth movement, kneeling by Porsche’s feet.

Every thought in Porsche’s head promptly waved him goodbye and disappeared out of his ears.

“W-what are you doing?” Porsche stuttered, amazed he could even string a sentence together.

Unfortunately, the few remaining parts of his brain that still functioned also decided to check out, especially when Kinn leaned forward and pressed his face across the top of Porsche’s clothed thigh like an affectionate cat. Porsche could feel the tip of his nose run along the V of his pelvis, like it was reverentially tracing the join between his thigh and his crotch. Kinn then inhaled sharply, breathing the scent of him in like it was a religious experience. 

Porsche bit his own lip hard enough for it to bleed. If Kinn had asked Porsche for a kidney at that very moment, Porsche would have torn it out of his body with his bare hands, just to make him happy.

“Kinn…” he gasped. His name sounded like a plea on his lips. 

“Hush, I’m seducing you,” Kinn murmured with a purr, his hot breath right on Porsche’s dick, which was suddenly so hard it hurt. Kinn had clearly noticed because he looked at it almost triumphantly, obscenely proud of himself, like he had sculpted it himself. He may have been on his knees but he had all the power at that moment. He lifted his eyes, his irises swirling at Porsche. “So, is this for me?”

“Kinn, please…” Porsche murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t think he even knew what he was asking for but his head nodded stupidly at the question in Kinn’s eye. Porsche was so overwhelmed by his own body that it was actually terrifying how compromised it was. 

Porsche then found himself gulping, and almost climaxing early when Kinn – the gorgeous bastard – opened his mouth to almost delicately use his teeth to lower Porsche’s fly.

It was talented and ridiculous and if Porsche didn’t know he was head over heels for this man before, he certainly knew it now. 

Kinn looked like he was born to be on his knees, his cheeks flushed and his full lips almost watering to get Porsche in his mouth. Staring at him in dumbstruck awe, Porsche could feel Kinn’s hands curl themselves around the backs of Porsche’s thighs for leverage, just under his ass.

As Kinn pulled him impossibly closer, Porsche came to the realisation that he had never been this besotted with anyone in his life.

It was something about the richness of Kinn’s voice, the way his gaze could alternate between a magnetic sort of warmth to a sizzling electricity that made his skin feel numb. It was this tangible charge between them, like a crackling connection that Porsche could almost taste in the air. It made him so helpless for the man that Porsche was willing to give in to his feelings, even if they eventually killed him.

So Porsche surrendered, lifting his hand and gently combing it through Kinn’s soft hair to encourage him to go ahead with the task they clearly both wanted. And then Porsche’s fingertips brushed against the soft bandage on the side of Kinn’s head. 

It made him feel like he had been doused with cold water, his body freezing in place.

Kinn in his right mind would never have propositioned Porsche like this. He had always had a layer of professionalism between himself and his guards (something Porsche knew Big despised).

It was bad enough Porsche had been lying to Kinn the entire time but to even think about taking advantage when the guy was literally brain damaged… 

Porsche’s hand curled down to cradle Kinn’s jaw to gently stop him before he started, the warmth of it grounding him, giving him clarity. 

He would protect Kinn, even from his own feelings.

“We can’t do this,” Porsche said, hating himself for the abrupt look of rejection on Kinn’s face, like Porsche had struck him across the cheek. Porsche even stepped back, his body screaming as he tore himself away from Kinn’s warmth. Porsche quickly did up his fly, unable to keep looking at the hurt and shame on Kinn’s face. “It wouldn’t be right. When you have your memories back, you’ll regret this. And I don’t want you to hate me.” 

Well, more than you already will.

Before Kinn could even reply, a whirring noise suddenly sounded from outside making both men pause. 

Initially confused, Porsche soon realised what it was - the elevator. Chan and his men had finally come to extract them. Chan’s timing, as always, was the worst. 

Even though Porsche should have immediately gone out to meet him, Porsche couldn’t help himself from sliding his hand down to cradle Kinn’s jaw again, even if it was tight with rejection. Kinn was even avoiding Porsche’s eyes, as though embarrassed. His cheeks were pink and he was staring at the floor almost grouchily. He was endearing and crabby and Porsche honestly didn’t deserve him. 

“That’ll be Chan, let me just go meet him. Then we can go home.” Porsche moved to the door before Kinn could complain, the distance between them somehow making him feel both clear-headed and suffocated at the same time. This man always made him feel so many conflicting emotions that it almost gave Porsche motion sickness.

Letting out a breath, Porsche stepped into the hallway, ready to give Chan his de-brief. 

But it wasn’t Chan outside his door. 

A man in a balaclava and military gear stood there, holding a machine gun and looking as surprised to see Porsche as Porsche was him. They stared at each other for a minute – as though trying to work out the best course of action to take the other down – before quickly rushing into action.

Porsche, for his part, immediately kicked the masked man in the chest to drop him to the ground, just as the man himself raised his gun to aim towards the bedroom. 

Kinn. They were specifically bypassing him to target Kinn. 

This wasn’t an accident. Someone had given their location away and supplied Chon and his men with the layout and access codes to infiltrate the safehouse. Someone from the inside was conspiring against Kinn to assassinate him.

The protectiveness in Porsche roared like a tiger bursting out of a cage. He lifted his own gun and shot the man point-blank between the eyes. 

But the trespasser wasn’t alone. 

Before Porsche could even react, another assassin had entered the hallway and thrown a knife with almost accurate precision. Porsche felt like he was watching it in slow motion as it twirled with deadly speed towards him. Knowing his body wouldn’t be quick enough to dodge it, Porsche fleetingly wished he could have told Chay he loved him one last time.

Which is when he felt someone grab him and tug him behind them. 

And he knew exactly who that was.

“No!” Porsche cried out brokenly, watching with horror as the knife embedded itself straight into Kinn’s bare stomach. The arc of blood that sprayed across the white walls was gruesome. Kinn winced, gritting his teeth against the pain, even as he lifted the gun in his own hand to let off a series of shots. The assassin fell to the ground in a heap, clearly dead. 

And then Kinn fell backwards into Porsche, his legs giving out as he passed out. 

“Kinn!” Porsche cried out desperately, covered in blood as he shook the man with all the strength he had. “Kinn, don’t you dare die on me now!”

Kinn was impossibly pale and his lips were turning blue. Porsche felt around desperately for a pulse. Terror gripped him like a vice around his ribs when he realised that he couldn’t feel one. 

Porsche desperately pressed his lips against Kinn’s and blew, frantically doing chest compressions as he tried to ignore the slick blood under his palms, making his hands slide. 

As someone who had always imagined how Kinn’s lips would feel against his own, Porsche despairingly wondered if this was another twisted game the fates were playing on him. Throughout his miserable life, they had always taken the things he cared about and left him with nothing but memories. He didn’t think he could take it if Kinn became just another memory of his many losses.

Tears stinging his eyes, Porsche made a vow to the heavens that he would do anything – be a celibate monk, eat nothing but vegetables, even be nice to Big, anything – just as long as they could bring Kinn back to him.

And then Porsche heard the most beautiful sound - Kinn let out a haggard cough.

Eyes fluttering weakly, Kinn’s gaze was unfocused and confused until he looked at Porsche. And then an invisible shroud of powerful intensity seemed to slide over his features like it had never left.

“Lexus?” he said, like a prince. Porsche recognised that tone and expression. This was the Kinn who ran a criminal empire. This was the Kinn who terrified the whole of Thailand. 

And this was the Kinn that had his memories back. 

The feeling of relief that washed over Porsche was so intense it would have buckled him to his knees, if he wasn’t already on the ground. 

“Oh thank god,” Porsche found himself sniffling, not even caring how much of a wreck he appeared. 

Fuck Vegas and fuck Chon, he thought savagely. Fuck everyone. As long as Kinn lived.  

“Lexus…” Kinn said again, but he was slurring his words as he looked down at his stomach. Porsche could see the shock on his face at the bloody knife protruding out of it. Naturally, it should not have been there. “Lexus… I think… I think I’ve been stabbed.”

Porsche roughly rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, getting blood stains all over his cheeks with the motion.

“Kinn, just stay with me,” he begged, trying to sound resolute, even as he knew they were running out of time. “Chan is on his way, just hold on a bit longer.”

But Kinn was looking weaker and weaker as he looked up at Porsche.

“You stayed with me,” he said, sounding amazed, like he thought Porsche would turn tail and leave him there to bleed out alone. “You protected me.”

“Of course I did, you idiot,” Porsche returned through a sob because this man was infuriating and paranoid and always thought everyone wanted him dead. “I couldn’t let you go.”

“Because…. because you're… my bodyguard,” Kinn said weakly, his words beginning to get harder to get out.

“Because of the way I feel about you, you absolute idiot,” Porsche snapped back, even with tears streaking down his face. 

Kinn just stared at him through heavy-lidded eyes, seeming to be holding onto consciousness through sheer willpower alone. He then appeared to gather all his strength and pull Porsche towards him, by the collar. 

He smiled, a bloody, deathly thing, his teeth stained with blood.

 “Fuck it,” croaked Kinn weakly, “if I’m dying anyway…” And then his lips were on Porsche’s. The kiss was soft and tender. It was also clearly a goodbye, which proved to be the case when Kinn’s lips soon went slack and his eyes fluttered closed.

“Kinn?” Porsche whispered, his heart falling like a stone to his stomach. “Kinn, open your eyes. Please. Kinn? Kinn!”

Which was the exact moment Chan and his men chose to burst through the door.

Chapter 7: Heart Problems in the Hospital

Summary:

Kinn is in the hospital, clinging to life. Meanwhile, everyone in the world seems to know there's something between Kinn and Porsche. Chan, especially, has something to say about it.

Notes:

So, it's decided people - the story will be thirteen chapters long! I've got it all scoped out, hope you stick with me and enjoy!

By the time they hurried Kinn to a nearby underground clinic, Porsche was pretty sure he was in a severe state of shock. It was like Porsche was sleepwalking inside a nightmare he couldn’t wake up from.

He was in a daze, even as he was escorted gently by Pete into the waiting car to take him to be examined as well. He felt like he was being treated like someone’s elderly grandmother.

Chan, on the other hand, had barely looked at Porsche as he had barked out orders, carrying Kinn himself like he didn’t trust anyone else to do it. Porsche didn’t even realise he was desperately still clutching Kinn’s hand until their hands parted, Kinn’s warm blood deep underneath his fingernails.

Porsche wasn’t sure how he had managed to end up in the clinic’s waiting room but as he sat there numbly with a blanket wrapped around himself, he watched the bodyguards in an almost detached way. 

One of these men worked for Vegas. One of them was the one who gave Porsche his weekly phone call. 

Porsche looked across at the faces he thought he trusted, trying to work out which one of them could have been the traitor. 

It had to be one of these men, they were Kinn’s personal guard. They were the only ones who had access to the information that kept getting leaked.

Whichever one it was, Porsche would find them and make them pay. They had pushed Kinn to the edge of death. It was only right that Porsche returned the favour.

Porsche didn’t know how much time had passed before someone eased into the seat next to him but he wasn’t overly surprised to see it was Chan, looking more exhausted than usual. His white shirt was stained with Kinn’s blood, from when he had carried his lifeless-looking body to the car. 

Porsche had never seen Chan look so dishevelled. It made him look like an ordinary mortal. 

Porsche didn’t like it. 

Chan was always so put together - his suit freshly pressed and his hair always perfectly styled in place. He was like a sharply-dressed competence robot, whose unemotional disposition usually gave Porsche comfort that everything was going to be okay.

Right now, his very appearance told Porsche that the whole world was going to shit. 

When Chan turned to him, the first thing Porsche expected him to do was yell at him. After all, he had fucked up, Kinn was near-death because of him. 

What Porsche didn’t expect was a strong, paternal hand to land on the back of his neck, like this was Chan’s emotionally-incontinent way of giving comfort. It was strangely endearing, even if it felt like it could turn into a chokehold at any moment. Chan being bad at being a human was oddly the most human Porsche had ever seen him. 

“You need to see a doctor,” said Chan in that matter-of-fact way he had. It sounded softer than usual though. Porsche wondered if the trauma of potentially losing Kinn had addled his brain slightly.

“It’s not my blood,” Porsche said in a hollow voice. Kinn’s horrifically injured body flashed through his head again, red painting almost every part of him. Porsche pulled the blanket tighter around himself, feeling a chill right down to his bones. He didn’t think he would ever be warm again. “Is he dead?” he whispered, not wanting to know the answer. 

“He’s in surgery, survival rate isn’t high,” Chan offered briskly, pulling out a cigarette. If Porsche didn’t spend so much time with the man, he would have called Chan’s reaction cold. But he could see the grief in his eyes, and the way his hands were shaking slightly as he lit his cigarette.

Porsche recognised the gold lighter he was using. He had heard from Pete that it had been a present from a young Kinn to his most trusted general. It was engraved with the Theerapanyakul crest and was a custom-made one of a kind. Pol had told Porsche there were rumours Chan had almost cried when he got it.

Chan had always kept it with him, just like he always kept Kinn safe, since he was a kid.

As cold as he appeared, Porsche knew Chan loved Kinn and his brothers, possibly more than their own father did. Porsche remembered again how nervous Chan had been about the mission, how much he had drilled into Porsche that he had to keep Kinn safe, no matter what.

And Porsche had failed utterly. 

“So,” said Chan, blowing out a plume of smoke. His voice was almost conversational. It instantly put Porsche on alert. Nothing good happened when Chan sounded so pleasant. This was clearly a trap. Then he continued to speak, confirming all Porsche’s fears. “You and Khun Kinn.”

Porsche swallowed hard. If it was possible to outrun a room full of bodyguards, Porsche would have given it a go. 

“What about me and Kinn?” he tried to ask lightly, even with his heart pounding. He could still see Kinn on his knees, his teeth teasing his zipper…

Chan just stared at him shrewdly, like a human x-ray machine, looking so extensively at Porsche that he could probably see what he had for breakfast. Porsche didn’t doubt the man’s perception skills were keen enough to spot if he had a tumour. 

“First of all, you call him Kinn, which nobody usually does unless they want to lose a limb,” said Chan bluntly, still sucking on his cigarette and happily ignoring the disapproving eye of the waiting room receptionist. “And secondly, I’ve got eyes, Lexus. Did you sleep together?”

Had Porsche been drinking something, it would have come out of his nose. As it was, he choked and made a snorting sort of noise that made him sound like he was dying.

“Jesus, Chan!” he squeaked, feeling as exposed as he did when Kinn undid his pants. Chan, for his part, looked as calm as a yogi in the lotus position.

“I need to know these things,” he said simply, like a warped version of the ‘cool’ parent who talked to you about safe sex and condoms. “You might be compromised. Khun Kinn’s safety is my number one priority. I need to ensure your judgement isn’t skewed.”

“No one wants him alive more than I do,” Porsche shot back, his voice warbling with emotion. “You can’t take me off his detail, please…”

“You brought him back to me broken.”

There was a sharpness to Chan’s tone, like he was blaming Porsche. Porsche deflated. Chan was right. This was all his fault. He should have been quicker. There needed to be consequences for his failure.

“Are you going to kill me?” he asked in a small voice.

Chan rolled his eyes to the heavens, as though asking God himself why he had to put up with all this. 

“You’re so dramatic,” he said, flicking his cigarette ash into a nearby empty bedpan, making the receptionist's eye twitch with irritation.

“You’re literally the head of a mafia army,” Porsche shot back, reminding Chan who he was, just in case he had momentarily forgotten. “I’m allowed to be freaked out about this.”

Chan took another long drag from his cigarette, his sharp eyes examining Porsche thoughtfully. Porsche found himself straightening his spine, like this was an assessment. He desperately wanted to impress Chan, not knowing why it was so important he did. 

You want to make a good impression for your future in-laws, said that voice in his head again. Porsche told it to knock it off.

“I have to say,” Chan said, leaning back into his plastic chair with a wry, unamused smile on his face, “you’re not the sort of man he usually goes for.”

Porsche felt both offended and jealous at the same time, the two emotions fighting for dominance inside his chest.

“Who does he usually go for?” Porsche asked, morbidly curious, even if it did end up breaking his heart.

Chan just let out a smoky exhale. 

“Traitorous dickheads,” he said shortly, making Porsche hold in his breath. Chan then looked at Porsche straight in the eye, a warmth in his eye he had never seen before. It almost looked fond. “You might be the only person I haven’t loathed, Lexus. Congratulations.”

Porsche looked away, his heart clenching with guilt. 

He had never hated himself more than he did just then. He had built up so much trust with these people, knowing he was going to topple it all down the moment the truth came out. 

Porsche didn’t think he could sustain this, it was eating him up inside. A little part of him died every time he told Kinn a lie, or answered to ‘Lexus’ like he didn’t hate the name with his entire soul.

Porsche clenched his jaw, trying to blink back the tears prickling at his eyes. He just wanted all this to be over. He just wanted to be free. Which is when he opened his mouth, finally having enough.

“Chan… I have to tell you something…”

“Khun Chan,” it was Kinn’s physician, cutting through their conversation to look grave. Chan was on his feet in an instant, Porsche forgotten. “The surgery was went well but we need to see how he does through the night before we can say how successful it was. Injuries like his need time to heal and recover from. He’s extremely fortunate to still be alive, an inch or two to the left and he wouldn't have survived. Coupled with the head injury, it's almost miraculous he's still breathing. He’s currently still unconscious but when he comes out of it, he will be in a lot of pain.”

“Give him whatever he needs,” Chan said sternly, the unspoken ‘or else’ more than implied. The doctor looked a little pale as he bowed and scuttled away, his cap askew and a distinct squeak following his hasty exit. Chan then turned back to Porsche. “Now, what did you want to tell me?”

Porsche opened his mouth, the words on the tip of his tongue. But Chan’s red-rimmed eyes made him falter. 

Porsche needed to tell Chan about the traitor but Chan would never believe him if Porsche revealed he was working with Vegas. Kinn was in very real danger from this mole. Was now really the best time for Porsche to destroy all the faith the man had in him? 

Porsche swallowed hard. He couldn’t do it, not now. Not when another hit could fall on Kinn at any moment. So instead, Porsche — feeling like a coward — said,

“Someone on the inside fed Chon information on the safe house.”

Chan didn’t look surprised. Sometimes Porsche felt like Chan knew more than the FBI and MI6 combined.

“I guessed when Arm notified me someone had bypassed the security on the elevator,” he said. He didn’t look pleased however. It was as though he was slighted that someone would even dare to have the stones to betray them. 

“Does anyone else know the access codes?” Porsche asked, sure it could be traced back from there. He might have been on Kinn’s direct detail but even he wasn’t privy to the family passwords.

“Only Kinn and I have them,” Chan said, looking insulted that Porsche had dared to even question his extreme paranoia.

“What about the rest of the family?” 

What about Vegas? Porsche wanted to scream out. 

Something seemed to come over Chan’s face, like an option he hadn’t considered suddenly appeared before him. He didn’t look pleased about the revelation. He looked ill. He then pressed his lips together.

“Tell no one we spoke about this,” he said in a low voice before pulling a communications device from his pocket and putting it in Porsche’s palm, closing his hand around it. “Notify me if anything changes with Kinn’s condition.”

“Where are you going?” Porsche murmured, feeling fear in his stomach. 

“I need to confirm something. Stay here. And Lexus? Get yourself seen by a doctor. Kinn will kill me if anything happens to you.”

Porsche had opened his mouth to respond but Chan had already stormed off, like he was a man about to embark on a mission that he might not come back from. It worried Porsche enough that he followed after him out of the hospital doors to call him back.

But then he saw someone standing in the parking lot that made him stop in surprise.

“Mek?” Porsche was shocked to see the slight man, waiting nervously by the entrance of the clinic, surreptitiously standing behind a sorry-looking bush. “What are you doing here? You know it’s not safe.”

It was a chilly night and Mek wasn’t dressed for the weather. He was in a threadbare t-shirt that would have barely kept him warm in summer. He looked as delicate and pretty as always, but devastation was all over his face. He looked like he had been crying. 

“Lexus,” Mek moved forward with relief before gasping at the bloody state of Porsche. “Are you okay… is Kinn…?”

“He’s out of surgery,” Porsche said placatingly, putting up his hands to calm him down. “We think he’s out of the woods but we need to wait for him to wake up before we know more. How did you even get here?”

“One of the employees is an old friend,” Mek admitted reluctantly, like he didn’t want to give up his sources. Porsche wondered if it was the stuffy receptionist, she might have told him just to piss off Chan. “She knows what Kinn means to me.”

Porsche narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“Does Erika know you’re here?” Porsche asked, clearly noticing that he was alone. Kinn would never have approved of Mek being out and by himself in the open like this, not when he was wanted by Chon. Porsche even pulled him aside and further behind the bush, to keep him away from prying eyes. “It’s dangerous, Mek, nobody here can be trusted. You need to head back.”

“Just tell me he’ll be okay,” he pleaded, almost like a child, his huge eyes taking up most of his face. 

Porsche let out a sob he couldn’t help. He couldn’t promise something like that, as much as he wanted to.

“I don’t know that myself,” he said, trying not to fall apart as the gravity of the day fell back onto Porsche’s shoulders, weighing down on him like a cloak made of cement. What if Kinn didn’t wake up? What if something went wrong?

Mek looked at his face with a soft, melancholic sort of understanding.

“You love him,” he said. It wasn’t a question but a statement. 

Porsche blanched, feeling like Mek could see right through him. ‘Love’ was such a big word but his feelings for Kinn… he didn’t know how to label them. How was it possible to love someone else when Porsche barely knew who he was anymore?

“I… no- why do you think-” he spluttered, feeling like his tongue had swollen three sizes. 

Mek just tilted his head to the side, his eyebrow raised. He looked demure and playful all at once. Porsche could see why he had men tripping over themselves.

“Kinn loves you, if it helps.” Mek was smiling, even when it was clear his heart was breaking. Porsche didn’t know what to say. He could have denied it but he didn’t want to. Even if he didn’t think it was true, he desperately wanted to be. So much so that he whispered,

“Do you really think so?” with so much hope it was almost suffocating him. 

“Did you know Kinn used to come to me when he needed to unwind?” Mek asked, almost out of nothing. It threw Porsche a little but he shook his head anyway, going with it.

“Unwind?”

Mek shrugged a dainty shoulder, wrapping his arms around himself, like he was embracing the memory. 

“What, I have needs, too. And Kinn… well, you’ve seen Kinn. How could I not want to climb him like a tree? Kinn wouldn’t entertain it at first, he saw me as this poor traumatised little slave. I had to practically climb into his lap and tell him to let me make my own choices before he finally gave in. And then it became a regular thing. Oh, don’t pout.” Mek teased, because clearly Porsche’s face wasn’t reacting to the news of Kinn’s previous sexual arrangements cheerfully. “It was never anything romantic. Well…” here Mek smiled sadly. “Not for Kinn, anyway. That’s the thing, Lexus, Kinn doesn’t let himself feel anything for anyone. Not since…” Mek trailed off without elaboration, knowing far more than he wanted to disclose. Knowing Mek, Porsche had a feeling he did this to save Kinn’s dignity. “Well, not since his last relationship. Kinn vowed never to let himself fall for anyone again. And then he met you and he won’t even look at me. The last time he even tried to be with me... well, it wasn’t my name he moaned.”

Porsche’s stomach twisted at the information.

It wasn’t my name either, he thought miserably.

Mek looked at him like a confidante -- miserable but knowing -- like loving Kinn was something that couldn’t be helped, like it was a burden they both had to bear even if they didn’t want to.

Porsche swallowed hard. 

“I didn’t want this to happen,” he said honestly. Because he didn’t. Falling for Kinn had made this scheme with Vegas all the more complicated. Loving Kinn meant he couldn’t bring himself to move against him, but betraying Vegas put Chay at risk.

Just tell him, that voice inside his head implored. Kinn will forgive you if you tell him now, before he finds out himself. He’ll help you. 

“No one chooses to love someone who is born into the life Kinn is,” Mek said with sympathy, as though that was what Porsche was agonising over. The words pulled Porsche out of his thoughts but also put him on edge. 

He found his lip curling with anger. Porsche wasn’t the one who was suffering here.

“It’s not about me, it’s not fair on Kinn,” Porsche said, suddenly feeling furious. He hated Korn for forcing Kinn to live this way. He remembered how carefree – how happy – Kinn had been with no memory. He hadn’t been forced to run a criminal organisation, he hadn’t had half the psychopaths on the planet wanting to put his head on a platter. He had been free to be himself, to flirt, to love, to trust, all without his responsibilities hanging over his head like a guillotine blade. “Kinn doesn’t want this. Kinn never chose this life.”

Mek stayed silent but Porsche didn’t doubt he agreed. If there was one man who gave Porsche’s feelings for Kinn a run for their money, it was Mek. The man was so besotted that Porsche couldn’t dislike him. He was just as trapped as Porsche. 

He was also just as weak, and it put him in danger. 

Shucking off his blanket, Porsche wrapped it around Mek, rubbing his hands down the sides of his goose-pimpled arms to bring feeling back to them. 

“Mek, you need to head back, okay. I’ll tell Kinn you came to visit but he would kick my ass if anything happened to you. Do you have a safe way back? I’ll drive you. Give me your keys.”

“Lexus!” 

It was Big, calling Porsche from inside the waiting room. He was waving Porsche over, as though something had happened. Panicking, Porsche turned back to Mek to tell him to hide but the man was already slinking back into the car he had arrived in, starting the engine. He even gave Porsche a wave goodbye.

Porsche was impressed. The guy was pretty nimble and had manners. How could he blame Kinn for having a soft spot?

Letting out a breath of relief as he watched Mek safely drive out of the parking lot, Porsche made his way back inside towards Big. 

Big’s hair wasn’t as neat as usual. It was as though he had been running both hands through it with stress. 

For a man who was infamous for being a cold, monstrous criminal, Kinn sure had half his team falling apart in genuine worry for him. Porsche would have called that sweet, if it wasn’t for the fact these men were all cold-blooded killing machines.

“What is it?” Porsche asked Big when he approached, concerned. He didn’t think his heart could physically take another bad thing happening. 

Big looked at everything around them suspiciously, even the blinds, before leaning over to Porsche and lowering his voice.

“Khun Kinn is about to be wheeled to his new room and you and I need to guard his door,” he said, looking at Porsche pointedly. “Chan told me no one else but you and me, and that no one comes in except the doctor, not even family.”

So Chan trusted Big. Porsche still wasn’t quite there yet but he was more than eager to keep watch; protecting Kinn came as naturally to him as breathing. So he nodded his head and let Big lead the way to the private room where Kinn was sleeping.

Opening the door with both eagerness and concern bouncing around inside him like a rubber ball, Porsche got his first glimpse of Kinn in recovery. 

Staring at the pale, bandaged man lying in the hospital bed, Porsche decided Kinn looked far too good for someone who had been on the cusp of becoming a corpse. Machines beeped and whirred around him, as wires and tubes were attached to his torso and arms like he was some sort of cyborg being recharged. He was still too grey, with his skin camouflaging against the stark white sheets like a translucent ghost, but he looked good.

And he was breathing. 

That was all the assurance Porsche needed to collapse with relief into the chair beside the bed, drinking in Kinn’s features like he was dying of thirst.

For the next few hours, Porsche nervously waited by Kinn’s bed, watching the door suspiciously, as though armed ninjas would burst through to try and murder him at any given moment.

Porsche wasn’t the only one living in paranoia.

Big kept lifting his gun every time a noise sounded, almost taking Porsche’s eye out one time with his silencer when Porsche’s chair accidentally squeaked a little too loudly.

It was tense and silent and – after 18 hours – felt rather tedious but Porsche had Kinn to look at, so he had some entertainment at least. Big just clenched his jaw and stared at the muted television in the corner, that seemed to be showing re-runs of Downton Abbey. To Porsche’s surprise, Big seemed like a fan.

And then, finally, Kinn stirred awake.

Porsche jumped to his feet. Big, who was half-asleep on the other side of the bed, did the same, looking concerned enough to try and press the button for assistance.

“Water,” Kinn croaked, which had both men flailing and fighting over the jug to see who would manage to pour it first. More water spilled on the floor than the glass but Porsche felt a triumphant thrill at being the one to lift the glass to Kinn’s pale lips. It was worth it, seeing Kinn’s warm eyes slowly lock onto his own, even with Big’s elbow in his gut.

“Lexus,” Kinn murmured. Porsche tried not to melt with joy at hearing that commanding, insufferable voice but he couldn’t help himself. He let out a pleased sort of choke and said,

“It’s about time, you ass.”

“Jerk,” Kinn snorted, then winced as he tried to sit up. Porsche immediately tried to move forward to stop the idiot before he pulled his stitches but Kinn weakly waved him off. “You know, you can’t speak to your employer like that.”

Porsche just shook his head, trying not to fall any further but the man was like quicksand. Every time Porsche felt like he had solid footing, he was sucked under again.

“You know, I think I liked you more when you were unconscious,” Porsche lied categorically. Frankly, he hated Kinn when he was unconscious and he never wanted to see it again. Kinn could clearly spot the bullshit because a soft smile brushed the corners of his lips. It soon disappeared, however, as a pensive expression overtook it. It was like a dark shadow had passed over his face. 

Before Porsche could determine what had set him off, Kinn turned to Big smoothly. Porsche was surprised. He didn’t think Kinn had even noticed he was there. How the man was always alert for threats, even after surgery, was both impressive and depressing.

“Big, give us the room,” he said, his voice suddenly so stony that it was as though Medusa herself had been involved. Porsche hated it. Big clearly didn’t love it either because he opened his mouth to object but Kinn’s expression was icy enough to freeze lava. 

Pursing his lips unhappily, Big bowed his head and reluctantly departed, but not before giving Porsche one last sour look, like this was all his fault.

In Big’s defence, he was probably right.

“So, I kissed you,” said Kinn the minute the door shut behind Big. Porsche almost lost his footing, even though he was standing still. How could he forget how much of a whirlwind it was dealing with this man?

“You want to do this now?” he gasped in surprise, not seeing this conversation going this way. Kinn always managed to throw emotional hand grenades at him at the most unlikely of times. It was lethal for his nerves. “You just woke up from surgery, you could have died! We really don’t need to talk about…”

Kinn gave him a look like he clearly did want to talk about this now. It made Porsche gulp in both anticipation and fear. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to have this conversation now. He wasn’t sure if he ever wanted to have this conversation. 

“I… didn’t think you would remember the kiss,” Porsche said in a quiet voice. Because he honestly didn’t. Porsche had briefly hoped that Kinn might recall it but Kinn’s brain had seen more injuries than a wartime nurse. It’s a wonder Kinn’s head was still attached to his shoulders.

Kinn, for his part, wore a serious expression. He was so different from the carefree, flirtatious Kinn that Porsche had last seen that it was jarring. 

“I shouldn't have put you in that position,” Kinn said flatly, sounding like every HR department and celebrity apology video combined. Porsche could almost imagine a secretary sitting beside him, briskly transcribing his every word on a typewriter like it was a legal document. “I wasn't in my right mind. It was inappropriate and it won’t happen again.” 

Everything about the delivery of Kinn’s words grated on Porsche, like nails down a chalkboard. Porsche narrowed his eyes. If he was going to be rejected, he would rather Kinn be a human about it. 

“I kissed you back,” he returned insolently, unable to stop himself. Kinn blinked in surprise, so unused to anyone talking back to him that he genuinely didn’t know how to react to such blatant cheek. It made something stir in Porsche’s belly. He wanted to shake Kinn, make him break out of this unemotional husk he had unwillingly cocooned himself into. Jom had always told Porsche he had a death wish - he didn’t realise that extended to his taste in men, too. 

Kinn schooled his face again.

“I have power over you, Lexus,” he tried to stress in a measured voice, although Porsche could see he was testing his patience. “You couldn’t say no even if you wanted to.“

“Pretty sure I could,” Porsche returned stubbornly, feeling like a petulant child. He even crossed his arms over his chest. He refrained himself from sticking his tongue out, but only just. “I hardly ever listen to you anyway. So don’t think that you can just-”

“Lexus,” Kinn cut in, his tone direct and no nonsense. But his eyes... they looked just like they had the night in the safehouse, so full of want that they made all the hairs on Porsche’s body stand on end. Porsche’s mouth suddenly went dry. How did Kinn have this power to leave him a quivering mess in seconds? “Did you want to kiss me?”

Yes, desperately, but you don’t even know my real name and you'll hate me once you find out the truth. 

How could Porsche morally be with him when he was lying to Kinn about everything? When he wanted to give Kinn everything?

Kinn would hate him. But he couldn’t be with him and lie. He had to tell him. Maybe he would understand…

“I… Kinn...” Porsche started, his heart ready to thump out of his chest with dread.

He didn’t get to finish, however, as the door suddenly opened. Porsche pointed at it with his gun on instinct.

“Khun Kinn!” It was Big and he looked like he had seen a ghost. “Khun Tankhun just contacted us, you have a visitor at the compound. It’s… someone we all thought was dead, sir.”

Kinn initially looked irritated about being disturbed but now his eyes were wide and alert. 

“Who?” he demanded. 

Big swallowed hard, repulsion present on every inch of his face. 

“Tawan,” he said unhappily.

Chapter 8: Traitors Must Die

Summary:

Vegas visits the compound just as Tawan arrives and Porsche decides he hates them both with all his soul. Unfortunately, his bad mood isn't helped by the fact that Kinn is suddenly giving him the cold shoulder.

If there was one thing Porsche had guessed, it was that Tawan – whoever the hell he turned out to be – was going to be trouble. 

The look of abject disgust on Big’s face was telling enough but it was Kinn’s expression that convinced Porsche they were about to embark on some serious bullshit.

Kinn didn’t just look like he had seen a ghost, he looked like he had fallen headfirst into the bowels of hell itself. 

And then there was Tankhun’s reaction. Porsche had always known Kinn’s brother was high strung but he didn’t expect to hear a shriek of, “Tawan, that demon whore! How fucking dare he? Pol, where’s my gun?” the minute they escorted Kinn back to the compound.

Pol, to Porsche’s great relief, was holding the gun over Tankhun’s head, like he was denying a toddler a lollipop.

Sometimes, Porsche wondered if he worked for a mob family or a creche. 

“Kinn!” Tankhun had shrieked the moment he spotted his brother in a wheelchair by the door. Tankhun was dressed in a multicoloured geometric jumpsuit today, with a matching beret and what looked like red gogo boots. Porsche stared in awe at how the man somehow managed to make the outfit work, even if the clashing colours were beginning to give Porsche a headache. “I refuse to let you speak to that snake - that devil. He’s here to trick you, you know that! Don’t listen to a word that comes out of his lying mouth.” Tankhun then paused to take in his brother’s complexion. “Oh my God, you look awful. So ugly. Have you not been using that cream I bought for you?”

Kinn sighed, like a long-suffering wife, clearly used to his brother’s antics.

“Khun, I got stabbed,” he reminded him. Tankhun tsked and waved a dismissive hand, as though Kinn was being extraordinarily lazy, the tassels on his beret jumping.

“That’s a terrible excuse,” he said. “I still did my full twelve-step routine when I had that bunion removed. Remember how much agony I was in? I couldn't wear platform boots for a month, it was a harrowing time. Anyway, stop distracting me with your hideous skincare. We're talking about Tawan, Kinn. I know what he’s like. He’s up to no good! He’s back to cause mayhem, I just know it! Oh, why isn’t he dead? I thought you said you killed him? I was so happy thinking he was a maggot-infested corpse and now look! He’s come back from the dead to annoy me and fuck things up for you, like he always does. Oh, this has totally ruined my day, I need some smelling salts. And a shotgun.”

Letting Tankhun finish his tirade, Kinn let out a heavy breath and reached out to put a grounding hand on his brother’s arm. Tankhun, still looking flustered, leaned into Kinn reluctantly, a distinctive pout on his face. 

“I’ll be careful, Khun,” Kinn promised, sounding as gentle as Porsche had ever heard him. The snort Tankhun let out almost made the crystals on the chandeliers jangle. Even the glass in Arm’s spectacles trembled.

“Oh, you’re never careful around pretty boys, don’t be ridiculous! Everyone knows! Just ask anybody here. Lexus, you know what he’s like, you have to back me up.”

Kinn raised an eyebrow at Porsche. There was a quirk to his mouth.

“Oh? Pray tell, Lexus, what am I like?” he asked, a soft warning in his voice.

A gorgeous cocktease, that’s what, Porsche wanted to shoot back but talking about cocks might not have been the most appropriate response for a professional work setting. So instead, he schooled his face as best he could and said,

“We really should get your physicians to examine you, Khun Kinn, before you begin to tackle any meetings.” Porsche then paused and, because he couldn't help himself, added, “Be they pretty boys or not.”

Tankhun made a howling noise of delight, putting his arm through Porsche’s and clinging to him.

“See, this is why I like him the most! Why won’t you give him to me, Kinn? I’ve asked a hundred times. Why do you always say no? You're so possessive with your things, it's annoying. I already told you that you can have Pol. You like Pol.”

Pol looked offended to be traded like cattle and even opened his mouth to say something when a voice cut in.

“Khun Kinn?” 

It was Chan. Porsche felt a wave of relief seeing him but there was something in his disposition that Porsche couldn’t place. It was as though Chan had seen something that had irrevocably haunted him, the trauma digging deep into every wrinkle and crevice on his face. Porsche felt bile rising up his throat. For anything to affect Chan, it had to be bad. What had he found out? 

Chan seemed to notice Porsche's anxious attention because he briefly caught Porsche's eye before jerking his head softly, as though he would tell him later. Porsche didn’t know if this made him feel better or worse.

“We’ve placed Tawan in the cells, sir,” Chan said, back to his stoicism as he directed his words at Kinn, “but he says he has urgent information you need to know that cannot wait.”

“That traitorous skank,” Tankhun spat with pure venom. “Tell him to rot.”

But Kinn wheeled forward towards Chan in his chair, his still-sickly face determined.

“I want to hear exactly what he has to say.” he said in a dark voice, ignoring Tankhun’s outraged pterodactyl screech. “But I’m going to see my father first. So tell Tawan he can fucking wait. Lexus,” Porsche jumped at being addressed in such a rough voice. Kinn pursed his lips, almost looking contrite, like he didn’t mean to take it out on him. “Come with me.”

So Porsche did, bowing his head deferentially and taking over from Big to push Kinn’s wheelchair.

He guided them out and across the compound to Korn’s part of the house, looking intensely at the back of Kinn’s head as he did, as though doing so would give Porsche some insight into what was going on inside it. Sometimes, Kinn felt like an open book. Other times, he was a complete enigma.

“Are you okay?” Porsche found himself bursting out with concern, unable to keep quiet. Kinn had discharged himself far too early and it had turned Porsche into an unsexy sort of mother hen. “Because you really should be recovering. You only just got out of surgery." 

Kinn turned his head slightly, his profile more grey than usual. Tankhun had been right, he didn’t look good.

“I’ll live,” he said curtly, which seemed to end that conversation like a slammed door in the face. Porsche tried not to feel hurt as they made their way outside Korn’s office but he couldn’t help it. With Kinn, it always felt like one step forward, twenty steps back. They went from potential lovers to strangers so fast that Porsche could barely get his bearings. Did Kinn even care about him? 

It took a few more minutes for them to get to their destination, stopping outside Korn’s office door.

Meeting with Korn was never high on Porsche’s list of fun (it sat between waxing his scrotum and swallowing razor blades whole) so he was more than relieved when Kinn asked him to wait outside for him in the hallway. 

So Porsche waited, and soon twenty aimless minutes passed by, like the speed of treacle.

Porsche stood up, sat down, paced the hall, examined boring bits of art until his brain hurt and stared for ten minutes at a stain on the carpet, trying to determine if it was red wine or blood. Considering where he worked, the latter was the more likely.

It was only when Porsche had started to prod curiously at a rather phallic-looking statue in a window alcove that the door to the office opened, startling him. Porsche straightened immediately, grabbing the statue by the suggestive-looking shaft before it toppled off the ledge.

And then he saw who it was that had exited the room. Porsche nearly dropped the ceramic dick entirely.

“What are you doing here?” Porsche demanded almost angrily as Vegas walked out, looking as smug as ever. Porsche hadn’t seen him in the flesh since his first day all those months back. He somehow looked smaller and less impressive than before, dressed in a red silk shirt that was the colour of blood. It made his skin appear even paler as he swaggered towards Porsche, looking like a short vampire with a very large attitude problem.

Porsche glared. It really wasn’t pleasant to see Vegas at all.

“Ah, there you are. I thought you’d dropped off the face of the earth. Why else would you have ignored my last few calls, Porsche?” Vegas asked pleasantly, slapping Porsche hard enough on the shoulder to bruise it. He then let out a laugh, as though he had made an innocent mistake. “Oh, my apologies, Lexus. You know how difficult remembering names can be. Sometimes, I get them all mixed up.”

Porsche tightened his jaw hard enough to almost dislocate it, feeling it pop from the strain. He flickered his eyes around the hallway, making sure no one was around to hear them.

“Why. Are. You Here?” he grit out under his breath, his teeth clenched.

“I missed you,” Vegas said simply, his canines flashing like a demon ready to feast. “You, on the other hand, don’t seem happy to see me at all. Which is funny, your brother was delighted when I saw him this morning. You know, he really is such a handsome boy…”

Porsche felt terror flood him. Nothing scared him more than the thought of Chay alone and in danger. Just the idea of it made ripples of fear pulse through Porsche’s body like a shockwave.

“You… you promised to keep away from him,” Porsche reminded him, his voice warbling. Porsche would happily die a slow and horrible death as long as Chay was free to live. That was the only thing that mattered.

“You promised to give me information,” Vegas reminded him, his voice low and threatening. “And I have to say, Lexus, you’ve been doing a piss-poor job of it.”

Porsche couldn’t lie, he had been doing an intentionally shitty job. Vegas obviously knew this because he leaned forward, his eyes looking crazed and viciously malicious. He looked seconds away from tearing out Porsche’s throat with his teeth. Kinn was terrifying with power but Vegas… the man was frankly psychotic. He could go from amiable to deranged in the blink of an eye.

“You better not be thinking of betraying me, Porsche," Vegas hissed, his tone sinister to the point of manic. "Do you remember who has your brother's life in his hands?” 

As though to emphasise his words, Vegas lifted said hands to suddenly grab Porsche’s throat before he could even think of responding, taking him by surprise. With a grip violent enough to make Porsche’s throat bleed, Vegas dug his nails in cruelly, strangling Porsche with a ferocious proficiency that couldn’t be taught.

Choking, Porsche felt himself get slammed back against the wall of the hallway with a force that knocked the oxygen from his lungs. He scrambled to get a grasp on the brute hands crushing his windpipe but the sheer unhinged fury in Vegas’ grip made it feel impossible to prise him off.

Porsche began to see spots in front of his vision, unconsciousness falling over him like a warm blanket, sliding over his eyes like a death shroud.

Porsche felt his eyes slip closed, ready to let go.

And then Vegas’ grip was yanked off him with enough force to pull Vegas’ arm out of its socket.

Heaving and coughing as the air rushed back into his lungs, Porsche blearily blinked through the spots and the blurry vision to witness Kinn pointing a gun straight at Vegas. He looked more murderous than Porsche had ever seen him, and Porsche had literally watched Kinn murder dozens of men in front of him.

Kinn was on his feet and absolutely crackling with fury, his hand shaking with pure, unadulterated rage. It was utterly terrifying to witness.

“Do you see the ring on my finger!?” Kinn screamed out, his eyes gold and ablaze with hellfire. “Do you?!”

Porsche had never seen Vegas look so meek, so scared. He nodded his head silently, as though knowing not to speak back when Kinn looked so thunderous. He even allowed Kinn to grab his face aggressively, his cheeks going numb under Kinn’s fingers as the gun pressed against his mouth, pressing cold metal against his teeth. 

“If you ever put a finger on him again, if you even look at him the wrong way, you're dead, Vegas. Do you understand?! I will rip you apart!” Kinn bellowed. 

Vegas whimpered, cowering in the shadow of Kinn’s looming presence. 

“You’d… you’d kill your own cousin for a bodyguard?” Vegas squeaked back around the gun in his mouth, far braver than Porsche expected. Porsche, who was half cowering himself, wouldn’t have dared speak a word in the face of Kinn’s ire. Even his features looked monstrous with wrath.

Kinn then smiled a horrible, depraved sort of smile. It made Porsche shudder, every inch of his skin crawling.

“I’d kill you for less,” he said to Vegas, like an ancient promise. “So stay the fuck away from him.”

A light seemed to go off in Vegas’ eyes, as though he finally understood what was happening here. 

“I see,” Vegas said, looking between Kinn and Porsche, his scared face suddenly knowing, cunning. Porsche didn't like it at all. “I understand completely.” Vegas then licked his lips, the look in his eyes making Porsche’s worry that he was going to say something. 

But he didn’t. Instead, Vegas straightened his lapel, stepped back away from the gun and nodded at them both with as much dignity as he could scrape together after such a severe demasculation. His cheeks were pink and his hair was a mess as he turned away to leave. 

He stopped dead however when Kinn’s voice lightly said, 

“Oh and Vegas? A parting gift.” 

Which was when Kinn lifted his hand and backhanded Vegas so hard that a spray of blood exploded from his lip. The Theerapanyakul crest sat branded on his cheek from where Kinn’s ring had left its mark, like a permanent reminder who Vegas belonged to.

It was almost cruel but Porsche didn’t think it could have happened to a better person. 

Grabbing his cheek, Vegas slinked away with shame but not before throwing one last black look at Porsche. Porsche would have gulped but his throat was burning with agony, making it hard for him to even breathe. He knew this wasn’t over.

“Are you okay?” Kinn demanded once Vegas had gone, checking Porsche’s wounds with a strange sort of urgency to him. He looked frantic and angst-ridden, his still-bloody hand ironically soft as his fingertips brushed over Porsche's raw-looking collarbone. His touch was cold and soothing and Porsche wanted his fingers on him for eternity. He had never seen Kinn so obviously worried, or gentle. 

It made the coldness and insecurity in Porsche's chest from earlier melt away. This was the Kinn he knew.

“Ha,” Porsche croaked with victory. He tried not to look like a besotted fool but he had a feeling that ship had sailed all the way to the North Pole. “You do care.”

Kinn looked like he wanted to smack him.

“Of course I care, you absolute idiot. Now what the hell set him off?” he asked.

Porsche didn’t know how to explain it, unable to form words. What could he even say?

He’s pissed because I’m doing a shit job spying for him? And he probably just worked out that I’m more than a little bit in love with you?

Porsche was saved from responding by Chan however, who chose that moment to pop his head into the hallway.

“Sorry to interrupt, Khun Kinn, but Tawan is asking for you again. I could keep stalling but Ken looks inches away from putting a bullet in his skull.” Chan then stopped to frown at Porsche. “What happened to your neck?” he said in a voice that clearly conveyed the message, Who do I need to kill?

Porsche’s insides panged again with pain, like his very organs were protesting being in his body while he lied so shamelessly. Porsche agreed with them. He knew he didn’t deserve Kinn or Chan's concern.

“Nothing. It’s okay,” he said in a gravelly sort of voice, wanting to drop it. Guilt churned like acid inside his gut. It made Porsche lift his collar to hide the marks on his neck, especially because Kinn was beginning to get rolling, crazy eyes every time he looked at them. "We should go."

Kinn looked like he wanted to argue but in the end he nodded reluctantly, realising there were more pressing matters at hand. 

“Alright, Chan," he said, like he was readying himself for his own funeral. "Let’s go see him.”

 

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·

 

As they walked down the stairs to the cells, Porsche felt a strange mixture of dread and anticipation rushing through him. 

Kinn had replaced his wheelchair with a snazzy-looking dragonhead cane but he leaned far heavier on it than Porsche liked as he slowly, almost trepidatiously, made his way down.

He shouldn’t even be up, Porsche thought with anger, looking at how pale and drawn Kinn looked, his jaw clenched with pain. He’s going to tear his stitches. 

Chan, who was usually the epitome of distant professionalism, lasted a few seconds before caving completely and reaching out to support Kinn’s weight with an arm around his waist. Kinn didn’t even complain, he just nodded almost reluctantly at Chan and accepted the help, which told Porsche all he needed to know about how bad he felt. That confrontation with Vegas had taken a lot out of him. The guilt in Porsche's stomach was rising to his throat and up his nostrils, trying to asphyxiate him.

Kinn looked so thin and so young in Chan’s grip, that Porsche felt anguish overwhelm him again. Kinn had nearly been killed. And yet here he was, still having to deal with family bullshit. Even if he died, Porsche had a feeling Korn would prop his son’s corpse on a stage and still use him like a puppet. 

The cells were all empty, save for the one in the middle, where Ken was standing guard. It gave Porsche time to brace himself to see what this Tawan – this apparent harlot and hussy – looked like, and why Tankhun hated him down to the depths of his soul.

Tawan, it turned out, didn’t have the face of a viper or the aura of a monster. As he stood in the middle of the cell, he was a slight, good looking young man with a sharp nose and wide, innocent-looking eyes.

Tankhun was right about one thing, he was a pretty boy.

Tawan then smiled when he saw Kinn, like Kinn was everything he ever wanted. It was a simpering, pathetic sort of face that immediately made Porsche bristle with irritation. And then Porsche heard his voice, which was a high, nasally sort of sound. It made him dislike him infinitely more.

“Kinn,” murmured Tawan, like a prayer. Like Kinn was his saviour. Considering he was locked in a cell, Porsche reluctantly figured he had a point. Tawan then made a face as he took in Kinn’s weakened appearance, like he was crushed by it. He even theatrically put a hand to his mouth. And here Porsche thought Tankhun was the most dramatic person he had seen.  “Oh Kinn, my darling, you look so unwell. Have you been sleeping?”

Ken, who was still standing to attention outside the cell, silently rolled his eyes. Porsche had never liked him more in his life.

Kinn’s eyes flashed at Tawan with a darkness that could have killed a man on the spot. Even weakened, he still managed to pull off ‘terrifying tyrant’ with aplomb. But there was something else to Kinn’s expression as he looked at Tawan, like a wound that hadn’t quite healed.

Tawan had been important to Kinn. Tawan was surely the one Mek had alluded to Kinn being in love with, the one who had betrayed him and broken his heart.

The jealousy rushing through Porsche’s veins felt like toxic sludge, ugly and radioactive. 

“You’re supposed to be dead,” said Kinn to Tawan, his voice deadpan and devoid of emotion as he pulled a gun from his holster. He then cocked his head. Porsche shouldn't have found it as sexy as he did. “Do you want me to make that a reality?”

Tawan’s sycophantic, dimpled smile dimmed a little as he took in the handgun. It was Kinn’s lucky gun. He never used it for idle threats. Tawan clearly knew this because he tried another tack.

“Kinn,” he said, his voice imploring and almost cloying with sweetness. He even pressed up against the bars, as though trying to get as close as possible. “Tawan came back to help you. You might not trust my words but Tawan never wanted you dead, you know that.”

Kinn raised the gun in his hand, his other hand white as it clutched the handle of the dragonhead cane almost too tightly. 

“You have ten seconds until I blow your head clean off,” he said, a cold finality to his tone that chilled Porsche down to his bones. “So you’d better talk fast.”

“Kinn!” Tawan cried out, as though offended. Porsche had to admit he was either extremely brave or extremely stupid to sulk at Kinn when the barrel of his gun was inches from his forehead. “That’s cruel.”

 

 

 

“Ten,” said Kinn shortly, taking the safety off the gun. Chan barely blinked, his hands in his pockets. “Nine. Eight…”

Porsche could see Tawan strenuously thinking through his eyes. It was fascinating to watch. This man truly was a master manipulator. No wonder Tankhun thought he was more dangerous than an atomic bomb.

Tawan then seemed to realise he didn’t have much time left because he suddenly burst out,

“For God’s sake, Kinn, there’s a mole trying to kill you!”

Kinn briefly stopped counting.

“I know that,” he said coolly. “So unless you can give me a name. Five. Four. Three…”

“I know the name,” Tawan said simply, his voice barely ruffled.

He then turned to look straight at Porsche, a conniving, knowing look in his clever eyes.

He knew.

Porsche could feel it down to his toes. Tawan knew he was the spy. And the only way he would know that would be if he was working with Vegas. 

Vegas and Tawan both showing up on the same day was too much of a coincidence. It made a cold sweat wash over Porsche, threatening to drown him in his own fear. His heart thumped wildly inside his chest, ready to burst out from behind his ribcage at any moment and land itself at Kinn’s feet for forgiveness. 

Porsche suddenly wanted to cry.

He never wanted Kinn to know like this. He never wanted Chan to hate him. He never even wanted to help Vegas. He just wanted to protect Chay and keep him safely in school, and he couldn’t even do that right. His baby brother deserved so much better than him. He just hoped Kinn would keep him safe. Porsche knew Kinn would hate Porsche forever, maybe even kill him, but Chay… Porsche had enough faith in Kinn to know that he wouldn’t hurt him. 

Kinn’s eyes narrowed. He was practically vibrating with intimidation as he stared at Tawan’s infuriating face.

“Tell me the name,” Kinn demanded, his voice so commanding that even Chan looked mildly fearful.

Tawan just smiled.

“Kinn, Tawan still loves you,” he said, making Porsche want to throttle him just so he could stop speaking in the third-person, “and I know you still love me too so I’ll tell you.”

He then paused for enough dramatic effect that even Chan got impatient.

“Tell us the name!” he barked, lifting his own gun.

Tawan just smiled softly, his eyes twinkling. But before he could open his mouth, Big, Arm and Pol rushed into the room, looking concerned. 

“Khun Kinn, we’ve found a body on the grounds.”

Kinn looked back at Tawan, who smiled at him almost serenely, like he clearly knew this was going to happen. Kinn turned back to Big, his face pinched.

“Show me. Ken, stay with Tawan. Chan, Lexus, with me.”

With a speed that defied his injury, Kinn rushed up the stairs, his guards at his heels. Porsche followed right behind them, a feeling of apprehension hanging over him, like a dark cloud. He had a feeling something awful had just happened.

And he wasn’t wrong. When they got to the gardens, there was a body, hanging from a tree by Tankhun’s koi pond. A very familiar looking body.

Porsche could feel the bile rising in his throat as grief hit him like a freight train, more painful than Vegas' hands around his neck ever were. Shaking his head with denial, Porsche's watery eyes ran painfully over the sweet, soft face that had died frozen in fear. He didn't want to believe it. This had to be nightmare.

“Mek,” Porsche murmured in horror.

Notes:

Yeah, I want to apologise for being a murderous bitch. Forgive me?

Chapter 9: This is Officially a Love Story

Summary:

Mek is dead, Tawan is up to no good and Kinn and Porsche finally give in to each other.

Notes:

Massive apologies for my lateness but this chapter kept getting so long I had to split it! Please forgive me for being over by a week…

Also, you might have seen the rating changed. So... enjoy the p0rn? As my apology gift? It's by far the most explicit thing I've ever written so... you're welcome? :D Also, said p0rn kind of ate up this chapter so we have 14 chapters now XD

Kinn’s jaw was tense in a way Porsche had rarely seen before. If it was clenched any tighter, Kinn would have shattered his teeth from the strain. 

“Cut him down,” Kinn said tersely to his men, not even looking at Mek’s face. Porsche had a feeling Kinn’s entire facade would have cracked if he did. And, if Kinn was anything, he was the king of pretending to be an emotional ice-block in front of everyone, including himself.

Porsche couldn’t look away from Mek. He looked even thinner and younger in death but it was the noose he had been hung with that chilled Porsche to the core. 

It was the blanket Porsche had given him at the hospital, the pale blue material clearly displaying the loose thread an anxious Porsche had pulled from it while he waited to hear news of Kinn’s condition.

Mek’s face was also painful to look at. He hadn’t died peacefully, proven by the way his features were distorted into a silent scream. It made Porsche’s stomach twist at what he had to go through in his final hours. 

Porsche could hear a pounding in his ears, like his ear drums were mimicking the insane rate of his heartbeat. 

Tawan, Chon, Vegas… they were involved in this together. They had to be. Screw Porsche’s secret identity. This was bigger than his own pride. He needed to tell Kinn before this deception destroyed them all. 

“Kinn…” Porsche began, turning to Kinn with pleading eyes. “There’s a plot here. I know it. Tawan-”

But Kinn had already turned on his heel, fury coming off him in violent waves. Even the guards jumped a step backwards, as though they could feel Kinn’s anger and did not want to be caught up in his upcoming tour of terror. Pol, in particular, showed his survival instincts by surreptitiously trying to hide behind Arm and bending his knees so he didn’t catch an overhead stray. 

Porsche shared a quick look of concern with Chan at Kinn’s abrupt exit before hastily following after him. He didn’t know what Kinn was about to do but Porsche didn’t have to be a seer to know it wouldn’t be pretty.

Kinn was heading back down to the cells again, the heels of his shoes cracking against the concrete floor like gunshots. 

He stood in front of Tawan’s cell, his anger still radiating off him. It was almost tangible, like the air around him was pulsing and flickering the way it did around a fire, burning all the oxygen in the room.

It made Porsche feel lightheaded.

“Ken,” Kinn said, his jaw like granite, “unlock the door.”

Chan stepped forward with concern. He had clearly seen the same thing Porsche had, that Kinn’s famed self-control was hanging by a thread. He was like Krakatoa, on the verge of erupting and taking them all down with him.

“Khun Kinn…” 

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Kinn said to Ken, who withstood his ire as well as most mortal men would. He looked like he had just soiled himself. 

He still managed to fumble the door open however, even with a pantful of shit, only dropping the keys twice. Porsche thought this was pretty commendable considering most people burst into tears (or mild nervous breakdowns) under Kinn’s scrutiny. 

Porsche didn’t know what he expected when the door opened but it wasn’t Kinn pushing Tawan violently against the wall, his teeth bared like a feral dog. Kinn’s legendary control was suddenly nowhere to be seen. It was terrifying to witness.

“Why did you do it!?” Kinn demanded with a crazed look about him. It wasn’t even a question. Kinn had a hand pressed against Tawan’s delicate throat, like he was seconds away from breaking his neck clean off.

Even with his breath stifled, Tawan looked pathetically eager. With his sharp features, he looked like a cat that had brought in a dead canary for its owner and was waiting for a treat. He seemed to enjoy being pressed against Kinn, like the fingers crushing his throat were Kinn’s arms, wrapped around him in a loving embrace. The look of satisfaction made Porsche want to knock him out. Then again, Porsche wanted to knock him out no matter the face he made.

“Kinn, baby,” Tawan sighed, his voice more saccharine than molten syrup. It raised Porsche's hackles up so high, they were halfway to the sun. “Mek was betraying you. Tawan is sorry you had to find out like this. Tawan did it for you.”

Kinn clenched his hand around Tawan’s throat, crushing his Adam’s apple tight enough for it to almost pop like a balloon.

“Explain,” Kinn hissed in warning, raising his other hand to put his gun against Tawan’s temple, as though a single wrong word would end with a bullet straight through his skull. Porsche didn’t even notice when Kinn had lost the cane.

“He was a double agent for Chon, Kinn,” Tawan said in a beseeching, breathless sort of voice, his words sounding far too truthful for Porsche’s liking. It even made Kinn loosen his grip. Tawan’s tongue really was dangerous, like a siren that compelled you to follow their honeyed song until they drowned you. “Mek was pretending to be this sweet, innocent, abused little slave but it was all a lie. He and Chon were partners from the beginning. Mek was told to seduce you from the start, it wasn’t real, any of it. It was all part of his plan to gain your loyalty. All the information he gave you was false.”

“No,” said Porsche, realising he had spoken aloud without even planning to. It was as though his tongue just couldn’t hold still at hearing such blatant lies. 

Tawan widened his eyes before a look of mild irritation came over his face.

Not such a good actor now, are you? Porsche thought viciously. 

This thought was short-lived when Tawan looked over at him knowingly again, remembering exactly who Porsche really was.  

“Sorry, and you are?” Tawan asked, a devious look embedded deep in his irises, like malevolence was part of his very DNA. “Something to do with a fancy car, right? A Porsche?”

Porsche swallowed hard, ignoring the fear that swept over him, making the hairs on his body stand on end. He needed to step up, no matter what poisonous truths tumbled from Tawan’s forked-tongue.

“Mek would never betray Kinn,” Porsche shot back, throwing caution to the wind, consequences be damned. Mek might not have been protected enough in life but Porsche would fight his corner tooth and nail in death, even if his own loomed ever closer. “He cared about Kinn more than he did himself. He would have rather died.”

“Well,” said Tawan with a tinkling sort of voice that grated its way down Porsche’s very soul, “he looks like he did die, didn’t he, smartass?”

Porsche jumped forward, adrenaline spiking through him like a shot of acid into his bloodstream, ready to tear Tawan apart with his bare hands. Tawan’s smirk fell from his lips, looking genuinely worried about the rearrangement of his face but luckily for him, Chan stepped in to put a hand on Porsche’s chest to restrain him. It was a half-hearted effort, as though Chan secretly hoped Porsche would push him off and kick Tawan in the head anyway.

Porsche wasn’t the one Tawan had to worry about, however.

Because Kinn seemed to fly into a rage at Tawan’s flippant words, pressing the muzzle of his gun so mercilessly into Tawan’s right eye that he could have blinded him.

“Don’t. Speak. To. Him,” Kinn spat with pure malice, the pause after each venomous word feeling like a stab wound to the bone. Porsche held his breath. Kinn was angry for Porsche. Even now — half dead from both blood loss and grief — he was trying to protect him.

Tawan also noticed this uncharacteristic shift in Kinn’s behaviour because his one visible eye widened again. Throwing a look at Porsche, he almost looked jealous.

“You’re sleeping with the help?” he asked Kinn petulantly, emulating an entitled brat as he glared at him with betrayal. Porsche had a feeling Tawan was more affronted by Porsche being a measly employee than just being competition. Clearly, he thought Kinn was slumming it.

Kinn didn’t respond to this, either to confirm or deny it. Instead he just pressed his gun deeper against Tawan’s eye, gunpowder residue brushing his eyelashes. 

“Why should I believe you?” Kinn asked, looking far less homicidal than Porsche would have been in his place. Tawan’s corpse would have already found Nemo deep under the ocean if Porsche had a say in things. “You’ve betrayed me before. I’d be a fool to fall for it again.”

Tawan’s face seemed to crumple in on itself like a paper bag. Porsche assumed he was trying to look sympathetic. Personally, Porsche thought he looked a cross between drunk and constipated.

“Kinn, Tawan is only here to help you,” Tawan pouted. “Tawan can even get you the evidence to prove it. Special files are hidden at Chon’s main hideout. Tawan can take you there in person but only you-”

“Absolutely not,” Porsche interrupted, not entertaining this idea for a millisecond. Porsche was Kinn’s bodyguard and he had decided that Kinn’s body wasn’t going anywhere with this liar, even if Porsche had to physically tie the mobster to a chair himself. “This is obviously a trap. Kinn,” Porsche stressed, looking at him beseechingly and hoping he was avoiding being an idiot today. “Please tell me you’re not falling for it.”

Before Kinn could respond, Tawan cut in. For a prisoner who was apparently there against his will, he seemed suspiciously content behind bars. It was like he was exactly where he wanted to be.

“Kinn, sweetheart, you know what you’re like when someone pretty shows you attention,” Tawan said in a light sort of voice that still felt incredibly cruel, like an intentional dig. “You know it’s your biggest weakness. Why do you think Chon knew to send you someone who looks so much like me? They knew Mek would be the perfect spy you would fall for.”

Kinn didn’t respond but his expression told Porsche how much those words hit him. It made Porsche want to jump at Tawan again and finish the job this time. No wonder Tankhun wanted him dead. Tawan just had one of those faces you wanted to asphyxiate.

Kinn lowered his gun, his jaw twitching with an energy that was desperate to burst out. 

“Watch him,” he said curtly to Ken, his eyes as black as coal. “Shoot him in the head if he tries to escape.”

Ken bowed and nodded fearfully as Kinn made his way back up the stairs again with purpose, like a whirlwind of destruction on its way to cause havoc somewhere else.

Chan immediately followed and Porsche trailed after them both, feeling like a puppy at Kinn’s heels, anxiety eating at every bit of him. Kinn immediately beelined towards the nearest lounge and Porsche had barely stepped through the door after Chan to find Kinn had already managed to pour himself a giant glass of whiskey from a decanter. He then downed it like it was oxygen, before immediately pouring himself another.

He looked like he was determined to get wasted. The pain in his face made Porsche step forward, determined to stop this spiral of intoxication. Kinn already drank far too much. Porsche would see him wake up most mornings with nothing on his breakfast tray but a drink. It was like he was slowly trying to kill himself, pickling himself in alcohol to numb his mind. He was turning into the perfectly preserved gangster puppet his father always wanted him to be.

Porsche couldn’t stand watching it.

“Tawan’s lying,” Porsche said, not a doubt in his mind. He looked at both Chan and Kinn, expecting to see the same confidence in their faces but found that neither of them looked as convinced as he was. The fact they both looked uncertain made Porsche’s chest pang with sympathy. 

Kinn really didn’t trust anyone.

“Come on, you can’t believe that snake,” Porsche insisted, staring at them both like they were mad. “Tankhun’s right, he’s a liar.”

“I don’t believe a word Tawan says,” Kinn replied in a measured voice, making Porsche feel a bit better. And then Kinn pursed his lips. “But I can’t discount it.”

“Kinn, come on. Mek would have moved the heavens for you,” Porsche reminded him because he knew Kinn had eyes. He would have to be blind, deaf and dumb not to notice the infatuation. “You know how he felt about you.”

“Romance breeds resentment,” Chan put forth, backing Kinn up. Porsche glared. He was not being helpful at all. They were paranoid together, it was no wonder they got on so well. They were a miserably single pair.

“Kinn, Mek loved you,” Porsche put forth, stepping closer until Kinn was just an arm-reach away, not letting this go. “He would have never sold you out. They killed him, and now they’re trying to frame him.”

Kinn chuckled humorlessly, downing his refilled glass.

“Love,” he snorted, like the idea that someone could love him was laughable. 

If anyone knew this was untrue, it was Porsche. Because he was in love with Kinn, there was no two ways about it.

Kinn was the softest man with the worst reputation. A man who was so alone, who had no one to trust. Porsche wished they had met in a different way, in a different lifetime. No Vegas, no schemes, no mafia families or impending death. Just them, with no lies between them. Maybe they could have been two strangers at a bar, or met on a stupid online dating app. Whichever alternate universe they ended up in, Porsche knew he would choose Kinn, every damn time.

“Sometimes, Lexus,” Kinn said softly, looking at his empty glass thoughtfully, as though wanting to drown himself in the amber liquid clinging to the bottom, “… sometimes, I feel like you two are the only people outside my family I can trust.”

It was like Porsche had been hit through the gut with a spiked knuckleduster, tearing through the lining of his stomach. Porsche's guilt always felt like it was burying him alive but at that moment, he was miles underground, worms nibbling at the flesh from his bones.

Kinn reached for the decanter again and Porsche couldn’t take it. Without thought, he grabbed it and held it to his chest, as though trying to shield it away from Kinn’s desperate fingers. 

Kinn looked angry, like he usually did when he was denied anything, stepping forward to grab at it, his fingers closing over Porsche’s on the neck of the bottle.

His hands were freezing, like they were made out of blocks of ice.

“Kinn, don’t,” Porsche said firmly, not sure where this bravery came from. It made Kinn stop struggling and stare. Even Chan had frozen because Kinn was never refused anything in his life, but Porsche suddenly found himself not caring one iota about the status quo. He had always been fiercely protective over those he cared about, even – especially – when they hurt themselves. 

Kinn stepped impossibly closer as he stared hotly at Porsche and the remaining breath in Porsche’s lungs seemed to dissipate. His knees felt weak, like any moment now he would be reduced to falling to the floor in worship. No one had ever looked at him with so much feeling, so much want, so much intensity before. Porsche felt like he could see every filthy fantasy running through Kinn’s head. He could practically feel his hands on him, like a phantom touch, gratuitously sliding over his entire body.

Porsche had never got so hard from just a look in his life.

Porsche wanted to hide. He also wanted to bask in Kinn’s unrelenting attention for the rest of his life, even if the power of it burnt him to a crisp. He wanted to bend, to break and curl up at Kinn’s feet. But he also wanted to fuck Kinn up the way the man had been fucking him up since the moment they had met.

Kinn licked his lips and Porsche followed the movement of his tongue like he was hypnotised. Their fingers on the decanter intertwined, Kinn stroking his thumb down Porsche’s index finger with the intimacy of a sex act. It made Porsche’s entire body shiver.

“Chan,” Kinn’s voice was deeper and rougher than Porsche had ever heard it, “leave us for a moment.”

Chan. Porsche almost forgot he was still there. He should have been more mortified by the sheer horniness he was emanating but he could barely think about anything but Kinn Kinn Kinn. 

It felt like hours for the door to open and close behind Chan — Porsche could barely register it over the sound of his own pounding heart — but the second it did, Kinn was on him.

The decanter between them fell to the floor with a crash, Kinn’s lips so desperately pressed against Porsche’s that Porsche had to clutch blindly at the back of his suit jacket for purchase, just so they didn’t both topple over from the force of it.

“You want me,” Kinn panted through rough, bruising kisses down Porsche’s neck. Porsche almost whimpered when Kinn’s tongue licked a stripe up to his ear like a brand, claiming him. “I’m not imagining it, am I?” Hot breath blew into Porsche’s ear, making his head spin. “You’re mine.”

“I‘m yours,” Porsche returned almost deliriously, wanting to cry because it was true. He was scared out of his mind that he would never get over this man. He was also terrified that he would have to do so soon, when the real truth came out. But Porsche couldn’t lie anymore about his feelings. How could he? Kinn was everything. Porsche needed to let him know that at least once, before everything went to shit. “Kinn… you’re it for me, do you understand what I’m saying? No matter what happens you need to know… you’re the only one I want. You have been for so long now.”

Kinn licked from Porsche’s chin up to his mouth, sliding his tongue over the seam of Porsche’s lips like every inch of him belonged to him.

It does, Porsche thought euphorically.  

“I want to see,” Kinn murmured, before sucking hard on his bottom lip.

Porsche swallowed hard. At that moment, he would have scooped out his organs and gifted them to Kinn in a gift hamper if he asked. 

“What do you want to see?” Porsche whimpered, ready to give him anything. He felt wanton and needy and completely out of control.

Kinn wet his mouth again. Porsche wanted to drink it like a man dying of thirst.

“Strip,” Kinn said softly, the words making the hairs on Porsche’s entire body stand on end. “I want to see how much you want me.” 

“Kinn,” Porsche whispered, lust rushing through his blood so fiercely he felt dizzy. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Porsche knew they didn’t have time for this. Tawan and Vegas were up to something, Kinn was in danger, Chan could probably hear them outside and Porsche still needed to come clean. But Kinn was vulnerable after that conversation with Tawan and needed to feel genuinely wanted. And as for Porsche… well, Porsche was only human.

And he was so weak for Kinn that sometimes he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

So instead of holding back like he should have, Porsche was more than eager to comply, and couldn’t seem to take his clothes off quick enough. His hands trembled with anticipation and almost seemed to move on their own, like Kinn was a puppet master pulling his strings.

Kinn’s face looked relaxed, almost playful as he watched Porsche’s clothing come off in record time, the waistcoat, the shirt and his white vest soon lying in a pile by their feet. 

By the time Porsche’s shoes, socks, trousers and briefs joined the pile, Porsche was so lightheaded from desire that he was starting to see stars. 

Standing there in the nude, his desire rock hard, swollen red and leaking profusely against his stomach, Porsche had never felt more seen in his life. Goosebumps pebbled up all over him and his nipples hardened from both the chill of the room and the sheer need he had for Kinn, making him feverish with want. 

Kinn stepped forward, still not touching him, circling him like a tiger deciding which part of him it wanted to devour first. He could feel Kinn’s eyes burning up his thighs, his ass, his genitals. Porsche’s skin was aflame with yearning, as though he would simply perish and die if Kinn didn’t touch him soon.

When Kinn lifted a finger to run it down the veiny length of Porsche’s cock, the velvety feel of it made Porsche’s entire body twitch like a burst of static electricity. Kinn looked breathless but approving, like he was looking at a majestic piece of art.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he said, making Porsche moan at both the praise and the hand that was now almost lovingly fondling his sack. When Kinn’s other hand decided to alternate between savagely twisting one nipple after the other, Porsche cried out at the over-sensitivity, even as he greedily looked down to watch himself being played with like Kinn’s instrument. His entire body ached to please him, to be used by him. “Have you even seen yourself? Look how you react to me. How was I ever supposed to resist you?”

“Kinn, please,” Porsche was babbling, not sure what he was asking for, so painfully turned on that he needed release. Kinn just smiled like a shark. 

“Don’t worry, darling,” he hissed softly, the endearment melting Porsche’s insides. “I’ll take care of you. Now, hold onto the edge of the desk. That’s a good boy.”

And then, before Porsche could register what was happening, Kinn had dropped down to his knees and swallowed down his length in one go.

Porsche threw back his head and almost screamed at the ceiling, clutching the edge of the desk so hard he could feel the wood groaning under his grip. 

Chest heaving, pleasure spiking, legs shaking, Porsche couldn’t believe he got to have this. It almost felt like it was too much all at once, like his body physically couldn’t handle all these feelings bursting inside him. Porsche felt like he was floating above himself, watching this happen to someone else; some lucky bastard called Lexus who got to have all this happiness and then leave, taking everything good with him. 

Taking Kinn with him.

And as for Kinn… of course he would be perfect like this.

Kinn Theerapanyakul, the Dragon of the Thai Underworld and the most powerful man in the country was on his knees for Porsche, his mouth obscenely stretched around him with so much pleasure on his face that it looked like it was all he wanted to do.

Porsche had been in this situation countless times before, with far too many women to count. Behind Yok’s bar, a stream of endless, faceless people had featured in his sexual history but none of them could compare to how Kinn made him feel at that moment. He was in a league of his own. The unrelenting suction of his mouth, the violent pistoning of his fist over the base of Porsche’s shaft, so frenetic that it made black spots dance in Porsche’s vision… it was as merciless and overwhelming as Kinn was himself. Kinn’s hands were rough and brutal and his eyes glittered with feeling as they pinned Porsche in place. Porsche almost couldn’t take this constant wave of arousal, sweat dripping off his body, his head spinning like a cyclone.

Porsche knew, at that moment, that he would never get over Kinn. He would never forget this moment. The connection of their eyes — their bodies — as Kinn’s mouth worshipped him… it would stay with Porsche forever. He would dream of this experience every day after.

Porsche had always thought he had the worst luck in the world but right now, with this man between his legs, Porsche was the most fortunate bastard in the whole of existence.

Which Kinn proved once again when his hands curled under Porsche’s ass and he impossibly opened his jaw even wider to take Porsche right down to the base. Nose deep in Porsche’s pubic hair, Kinn’s throat felt like a silk glove around him, like he was put on this earth just to keep Porsche’s dick warm.

Kinn then grazed him purposely with his teeth, his sharp eyes still locked teasingly on Porsche’s, making him nearly buckle over. Porsche almost bit through his own lip at the sensations this man was making him feel. Because, frankly, Porsche didn’t even know his body could feel half the things it was feeling. It was like a religious experience.

Kinn suddenly pulled off him with a pop!, Porsche’s cock shining with spit and painfully red as it bounced under his nose, begging for his attention. It made Porsche whine from deep in his throat like a dog in heat, frantically undulating his hips for relief. But Kinn ignored his feeble whimpering to grab Porsche powerfully by the hips and expertly flip him around so he was now facing the desk instead, Porsche’s hands flat on the desk’s surface. Before Porsche could make another mewl of protest, Kinn used his clever thumbs to run purposefully up the cleft of Porsche’s backside and pull back his cheeks, exposing his hole to the cool air. 

An anticipation and shame like he had never felt before convulsed through Porsche, making him gasp. The humiliation of it made his cheeks redden as a sick, demeaning sort of excitement made his cock leak all over the paperwork on the desk. 

He had never felt so exposed, so degraded and so turned on in all his life. No one had ever seen him so intimately before. And, he realised with shock, he wanted Kinn to look. 

So, intoxicated with desire, Porsche reached behind him and placed a hand over the one Kinn’s had on his ass, helping him pull his cheek back to reveal his winking hole even more. Porsche even lifted his leg to place his knee on the desk, stretching himself out even further and brazenly exposing so much of himself that he was sure Kinn could see all the way up and inside him.

“Kinn, please…” Porsche begged, not sure what he wanted as he circled his hips almost deliriously, drunk with want, fucking himself on thin air. 

Kinn let out a hitched sort of breath from behind him, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. 

“Fuck, Lexus, love,” he said, his throat still gravelly from being used as a sheath. “I am going to wreck you.”

And true to his word, Kinn did, diving forward to mouth gluttonously at Porsche’s hole like it was a meal, licking and sucking on Porsche’s rim with merciless persistence. Somewhere in the small part of his mind that wasn't short-circuiting at being eaten out like a banquet, Porsche realised that this might be the thing to actually kill him.

Falling headfirst into the table, Porsche bit his lip and felt like a bit of a harlot because he simply rolled his face into the wood grain, pulled back his cheeks even more and pushed his bottom up so Kinn’s tongue could slip in completely.

Porsche made a noise that wasn’t human, the desk beginning to creak and shudder due to their thrusting, especially when Kinn did this curl of a thing inside him and made Porsche see stars.

“Kinn! I’m going to…!”

Like a rushing crescendo, Porsche could feel his climax coming.

Noticing he was close, Kinn removed his tongue with one final, salacious slurp of a noise. He then stood up to wrap a strong hand around Porsche’s waist, yanking him up from where he was flopped on the desk. 

The sheer feeling of Kinn’s strong clothed chest against Porsche’s naked back was frazzling Porsche’s brain, his sweaty head lolling back on Kinn’s shoulder. 

Kinn then slipped two fingers where his tongue had been, sliding them past Porsche’s soaking entrance and crooking them so expertly inside him that it made Porsche let out a stuttered scream. The scream soon turned into a series of punched out sobs as Kinn thrust his fingers in and out ferociously, rubbing against a sensitive nub inside him Porsche never even knew he had. 

“Come on, sweetheart, let me see you fall apart,” Kinn murmured hotly in his ear like the carnal devil he was, both of them looking down to see Porsche’s painful-looking cock bouncing and splurting at the tip, on the precipice of climax. It was so filthy that Porsche felt overwhelmed, especially when Kinn’s other hand soon wrapped around it, jerking it so mercilessly that Porsche’s body didn’t know what to grind against, the fingers inside him or the fist expertly getting him off.

Feeling out of control as pleasure assaulted him from every angle, Porsche turned his head wildly to catch Kinn’s lips again, his mouth starving as he messily sucked on Kinn’s tongue like he would never have another chance.

Porsche was so wrapped up in the moment that he could barely remember his own name but even out of his mind with lust, he knew he needed to make sure Kinn knew one last thing; the most important thing he could have ever told him.

“I… I love you, Kinn,” Porsche panted like a prayer into Kinn’s mouth, tears slipping out of the corner of his eye with over-stimulation and raw emotion. There was so much devotion in his voice that he was choking on it. “I’ll… always love you.” 

Porsche then arched his back and came all over the desk, practically howling as Kinn milked his release out of him in what felt like a never-ending stream of white. Porsche shuddered violently, almost blacking out as Kinn continued to massage him through it, the oversensitivity almost too much to bear. If three quarters of the human body was liquid, Porsche had a feeling the majority of it had just erupted out of him.

It was like every last bit of strength he had inside him left his body with his ejaculation, leaving Porsche feeling weak, slack-mouthed, shivering and vulnerable in Kinn’s arms. His skin felt like it was buzzing with a dying electric current, like the energy that had been coursing through him had been switched off, leaving a low hum in its place.

Porsche was half-awake as Kinn scooped him up and carried him to the closest sofa, kissing Porsche's temple with a fierce affection that pressed warmth right down Porsche’s body. Porsche had never felt more safe and cared for in his life, especially when Kinn cleaned him up with a wet towel, wiping his spend away with a care and devotion Porsche didn't know he possessed.

"Kinn," Porsche murmured softly, trying to reach for him. A kiss was dropped on his hand briefly before a throw was wrapped around Porsche's shoulders to keep him warm. It was a soft, expensive cashmere material that felt like heaven against his skin. Porsche closed his eyes, feeling warm and content and full of love.

Kinn.

He wanted to be like this with him forever.

Which was when the handcuff fell on his wrist. 

Opening his bleary eyes in befuddlement, Porsche frowned down at the metal bracelet encircling his wrist, still trying to work out how it even got there.

And then he looked at Kinn, slowly beginning to realise what was happening.

“Kinn. What are you-”

But Kinn had already moved back, wiping his hands with the towel before shifting his clothes back into place and smoothing his hair. Other than the healthy sheen of sweat making his skin glow, Kinn almost looked like nothing had happened between them. It made Porsche feel ill.

And then Kinn spoke. 

“I need you to stay here, Lexus,” he said, no negotiation in his voice.

Porsche felt dread sinking in his stomach. Was this a trap?

“Kinn, what the hell?!” Porsche demanded, trying to wiggle the handcuff off his wrist but to no avail. Kinn had connected him to the decorative metal handrail on the bar behind him. 

Kinn almost looked guilty as he stepped closer, trying to look placating. 

“I’m going with Tawan,” he said, making Porsche’s blood run cold. “And you’re not coming with me.”

“Kinn, no!” Porsche cried out, betrayal filling him, despite him knowing he didn’t have a leg to stand on in that respect. “You can’t trust him!”

“I know,” Kinn said, a droll sort of smile on his face that didn’t look amused in the slightest, “and I know it’s no doubt a trap. But they killed Mek. And knowing Chon, you’re next. And I won’t let them go after you. I won’t.” His eyes blazed with pure ferocity, exuding a darkness that was so terrifying that it was hard for even Porsche to hold his gaze for too long. 

Kinn then placed a hand on Porsche’s cheek, so tender that it made tears well up in Porsche’s eyes. 

“I’m going to kill them all,” Kinn said softly, like it was the most romantic thing in the world. Porsche had a feeling it just might have been. “And then I’ll come back to you.”

“Kinn, please,” Porsche sniffed, clinging onto Kinn with his one unrestrained hand, desperate to keep him safe and next to him, “you have to listen to me- there’s something I haven’t told you. About me. This is all to do with Vegas. He and Tawan-”

But Kinn swooped in to kiss Porsche before he could finish, like a final goodbye. Porsche wanted to sob. He had a feeling if Kinn left now, he would never see him alive again. 

“Wait for me,” Kinn said against his lips, his hands cradling Porsche’s jaw like he was precious. “Chan will let you out in an hour. Don’t come after me.”

“Kinn, no, don’t…” Porsche tried to protest but it was no use.

Kinn had already gone.

Chapter 10: The Truth Will Set You Free...?

Summary:

Kim decides to reappear just when everything goes to shit. And finally the truth comes out...

From an outside perspective, recovering from the most intense orgasm of one’s life while wearing handcuffs might generally be considered a good thing. 

For Porsche, however, he genuinely felt like he was spiralling into a black hole he couldn’t climb himself out of. It was like being trapped at the bottom of an insurmountable well; bloodied fingertips clawing at the slippery bricks desperately for purchase while rising water started to fill his lungs.

A fear he could barely comprehend ate through Porsche like a parasite. It felt like it would feast on him until every last bit of happiness Porsche had was consumed, leaving a hollow shell of a person in its place.  

Porsche was terrified — petrified — that the next time he saw Kinn again, he would be looking at his corpse. Or what was left of it. Porsche honestly wasn’t sure if he could even survive if Kinn didn’t. Their lives were so intertwined that he was beginning to question if there had ever been a time when Kinn wasn’t in his life, when he didn’t take up Porsche’s every waking thought. And now Kinn was gone, walking straight to his own death.

Chan will let you out in an hour, Kinn had said.

An hour might have already been too late for Kinn. Porsche needed to get out of here and he needed to do it now.  

So, pulling frantically at the handcuff on his wrist, Porsche tried everything he could think of to get himself free. 

First, he tried to do a Houdini and wiggle his hand out, which was not only unsuccessful but almost dislocated his wrist in the process. Then Porsche tried to break the metal pole he was attached to by smashing it with the ball of his foot, which soon led him to the discovery that metal was fucking hard and repeatedly hitting it with your foot was a stupid idea. 

Porsche even, in sheer desperation, tried to break the numerous links of the chain with his teeth. But other than getting a chipped tooth for his trouble, nothing came from it. 

It all felt hopeless. 

Which was when a pair of keys dangled in front of his eyes like a miracle of God. 

Porsche blinked. He didn’t even hear anyone come in. And he definitely didn’t expect his saviour to be the person who had just entered the room. 

“Kim?” he asked in confusion, wondering if his post-sex haze was making him hallucinate. 

Kim looked much better than when Porsche had last seen him at the slave auction. Instead of the emaciated, bondage-chic aesthetic he had previously gone for, he now looked like the very epitome of a reality-show boyband member. Dressed in a studded leather jacket and white pants, his long hair was now artfully pulled into a man-bun, with the few escaping tendrils framing his face like even those rebelling strands still knew assignment. If Porsche didn’t know any better, he would have said that Kim was on his way to headline a fan meet for a bunch of screaming, pre-pubescent girls. He even had the pout ready to go, his jaw sharp enough to cut through glass.

In contrast, Porsche felt severely underdressed, which was proven when Kim quirked his eyebrow and looked at Porsche in his fluffy blanket cocoon like he must have made a series of terrible life choices leading up to this moment. In his defence, both Kim and his eyebrow had a point. 

“So, you fucked my brother,” said Kim conversationally, the coarse, unsurprised words sounding harsh coming out of his angelic-looking face. Idly pulling out a switchblade, there was a dangerous yet casual grace to him. It was a bit like watching a foal expertly brandish a katana. “And now you’ve got Vegas trying to murder you because you fell for Kinn instead of spying on him properly. I have to say Porsche, you’re not what I expected at all. You’re like the main character in a telenovela.”

Porsche paled. 

Fuck. Kim knew. He knew everything . 

Vegas had been right; Kim really was the smartest of them all.

“I love Kinn, you have to believe me!” Porsche burst out earnestly, the words rushing out of him in one breath, as though he couldn’t get them out fast enough. “I never wanted to hurt him. I only wanted to keep my brother safe.”

Kim just cocked his hip against the back of the nearest couch, twirling the switchblade between his fingers like a cheerleader with a baton. How he managed to look effortlessly cool with tassels on his jacket and a literal man-bun was nothing short of miraculous.

“I believe you, why else do you think I haven’t put a bullet in your skull?” Kim said simply, before a slow, deranged sort of smile overtook his face. It was so perturbing to witness that Porsche physically winced. 

A strand of Kim’s hair chose that moment to fall over his eye, so perfectly timed it felt strategic. Porsche wouldn’t be surprised if it was, Kim seemed to plan everything in advance, why would the placement of his follicles be any different? 

This kid was truly unnerving with his chilling competency. It proved he was definitely a Theerapanyakul. It made Porsche shake his head in awe. Kinn turning out to be the most well-adjusted of the brothers really was a plot twist he hadn’t seen coming.

But Porsche didn’t have time to dwell on the psychological defects of the three mafia heirs. 

Kinn. All he could think about was Kinn.

“Kim, we need to go after your brother,” Porsche insisted with a helplessness he didn’t know he had in him. He moved forward with such urgency towards Kim that he temporarily forgot he was still handcuffed, his hand snapping him back to the sofa hard enough to make him groan. 

Shit, that was going to bruise. Damn Kinn. He had broken Porsche irrevocably. 

Throughout his life, Porsche had never liked asking for help because his pride usually didn’t let him. But since Kinn, he was finding himself breaking so many of his own rules that it was probably a good thing he answered to another name now. He was becoming a completely different person.

Nerves twanging with anxiety, Porsche tried again. He needed Kim’s help and he would beg if he had to.

“Kinn’s gone with Tawan - he’s walking into a trap. We need to stop him before they kill him. Please, Kim. He’s in danger.”

“I know,” Kim sighed, like this was all very obvious and Porsche was an idiot who talked too much. He had such younger brother energy that it was unreal. “That’s why I’m freeing you. Get with the program, brother-in-law. You’re good with a gun, right? Because we probably need to fight through a shit ton of men to get him back. We might die in the process, get tortured, electrocuted by our balls…” Kim cheerfully counted off the many ways they could die with his fingers like he was in Sesame Street. “We might even get blown to smithereens because those dickwads love dynamite. You up for that?”

“I’d die a hundred times for Kinn,” Porsche shot back defiantly. 

Kim rolled his eyes. He looked utterly disgusted. 

“People in love are so gross,” he said to himself, before putting on a pair of designer shades as though he wanted to dim the nauseating devotion streaming out of Porsche. “Also, I appreciate the sentiment but it makes less of an impact when I can see one of your balls hanging out of the blanket. Here,” Kim threw the keys at Porsche, who caught them with his free hand. “Unlock yourself and get dressed. I’ll be outside. We’ll go after Kinn together, I have a feeling I know where he’s going. Also? Ew, this place is disgusting. I’m never using that desk again. Why can’t Kinn have sex on a bed like normal people.”

And then Kim was gone, moving so quickly out the door that Porsche wouldn’t be surprised if witchcraft was involved. He was like a skinny, deadly-looking pop idol who could kill ten men with his pinky in between singing the occasional cheesy love song. 

Porsche didn’t know if trusting him was smart or the dumbest thing he could do but he knew one thing; this boy loved Kinn too much to let him die.

And that was one thing Porsche could totally relate to.

So, hurriedly unlocking himself, Porsche threw his clothes on with so much haste that he almost broke off his zipper. He was still pulling on his waistcoat as he stepped out of the door, both Kim and Chan waiting for him in the hallway.

The look Chan gave him looked like every mother who had accidentally walked in on her kid getting their rocks off. Porsche didn’t know if he was going to clip him around the ear or give him a box of condoms and explain where babies came from. He hoped it was the former. He would rather undergo violence than a mortifying paternal sex talk.

Thankfully, Chan was just as uncomfortable about it and shortly said,

“I don’t need to know,” before turning to Kim and cocking his gun with purpose. “What’s the plan, boss?”

Somewhere in his structured outfit, Kim managed to pull out a map bigger than his entire body. It looked like an old floorplan, covered in annotations, connected threads and post-it notes like a stalker’s corkboard. It made Porsche do a double take and narrow his eyes at Kim again, just in case he was a serial killer. “We need to go to Ram Inthra. I’ve been keeping an eye on Chon and Tawan’s movements for a while and a lot of unusual activity is coming from this warehouse in particular. Large shipments, people smuggling… this looks like the main headquarters.”

Chan nodded.

“Makes sense, last time Arm checked Kinn’s tracker, it was going in that direction. I’ve already sent a squad of men ahead to check.” 

“You put a tracker on Kinn?” Porsche stared at Chan in surprise. Independently defying Kinn’s orders wasn’t something he expected from such a company man. Especially since Kinn would have a fit if he knew. “And he let you do that?”

Chan blinked coolly, his face like steel. Porsche could see where Kinn had learned it from.

“I do a lot of things for Khun Kinn he doesn’t know about, Lexus,” he said, not even slightly abashed to reveal this. Porsche couldn’t help but respect a man who broke the rules so shamelessly for love, recklessly putting his job and livelihood at risk. There was actually very little he didn’t respect about Chan. Which is why hearing the name ‘Lexus’ made guilt twist his insides into knots again. He needed to tell Chan the truth. This had gone on far too long.

But Kim, seeming to notice Porsche was about to open his mouth and let out the equivalent of a nuclear bomb, stepped in smoothly. 

“Chan, you should go ahead with Arm. Lexus and I will grab the Maserati and meet you there,” he spoke in a voice that didn’t expect a reply. Folding the complex map back again with deft hands, he slipped it into his back pocket in a way that defied the laws of physics.

Chan differentially bowed his head at Kim, not questioning his orders for a second. He didn’t even make a facial twitch of confusion; he was simply happy to be his willing servant, which was fascinating considering how much authority Chan wielded with one finger. It was evident that Kinn and Tankhun weren’t the only Theerapanyankul brothers he had a massive soft spot for.

Watching Chan walk briskly out the door, Porsche had a horrible feeling he had missed an opportunity he would regret not taking.

It made him whirl around to glare at Kim, good behaviour be damned. Chan might have been a kiss-ass who didn’t question orders but Porsche wasn’t rolling over for a K-Pop Ken doll. 

“What the hell are you playing at? I need to tell Chan before it’s too late!”

Kim whipped off his glasses, his eyes cold.

“No, you need to not distract my brother's rescue mission because of your guilty conscience. I don’t care about your peace of fucking mind. Newsflash; it was too late the minute you accepted Vegas’ offer and walked through the front doors. None of them are going to forgive you. Not Kinn, not Chan, none of the bodyguards. You’ve done too much. So either focus and help us get Kinn back or get out the way. We don’t have time for you blubbering about your betrayal.”

It felt like he had been slapped around the face. Porsche had never felt so small before. Getting a dressing down from a kid Porchay’s age was a new low, especially since said kid made a good point.

Kim was right, this wasn’t about Porsche. This was about Kinn and getting him home safe.

So clenching his jaw, Porsche nodded, blinking away the irritating tears that were trying their damndest to make an appearance. He wouldn’t let them, he wouldn’t feel sorry for himself. Everything Kim had said was correct. Porsche had made his own bed, he had to lie in it now - even if all he wanted was Kinn to lie in it with him. 

Cracking his knuckles, Porsche put on his game-face. He would save Kinn, even if he never wanted anything to do with him again.

“You’re right,” he said, determination coating every decibel of his voice. “Let’s bring him home.” 

Kim looked at him with reluctant approval before leading the way. Hurrying to the Theerapanyankul garage with a feline-like speed, Kim guided them to a familiar-looking car. Porsche frowned, even as he opened the door of the car, slipped in and buckled himself in.

“Isn’t this Kinn’s car?” he asked, remembering the moment months ago when Kinn had leaned into Porsche and permanently broken his brain so it couldn’t focus on anyone else.

“Yup,” Kim said, his foot flat on the accelerator as he radiated the reckless entitlement of a younger sibling when they swiped their brother’s things without asking them. It made Porsche’s heart hurt for Chay again. He really needed to make sure his brother was safe from all this.

“My brother, Chay,” Porsche found his voice stumbling over his name as the scenery zoomed by in a blur around them. “I need him to be looked after if anything happens to me. I need you to promise me that.”

“I‘ve got people watching him,” said Kim, surprising Porsche into silence. “He’s been looked after for a while. Don’t worry.”

Porsche opened his mouth before closing it again, genuinely stunned.

“What do you mean he’s been looked after for a while. By who? ”

If Porsche didn’t know any better, he could have sworn that Kim was pointedly avoiding his eye. It was hard to tell with his shades on but there was definitely an air of shiftiness about him that Porsche didn’t trust in the slightest. 

Before he could ask, however, Kim turned a sharp corner that made Porsche worry if they would even survive the journey, let alone last the fight on the other side. The boy drove like a maniac - which was something Porsche had some knowledge about because he was decidedly worse on his bike.

“So,” Kim raised his voice conversationally over the powerful engine, the open window artfully tousling his hair, “you know Kinn is never going to forgive you, right?”

Porsche swallowed hard. He knew. 

“Is he going to kill me?” he asked, even though he had a feeling he already knew. Dying at Kinn’s hand would be one of the better ways to go out.

Kim looked pensive, as though he was giving the question a decent amount of thought.

“Honestly? Probably,” he said, almost a little sympathetic. For Kim, Porsche knew that was a huge show of emotion. That would have been a full-on breakdown for most other people. “He was in a relationship with Tawan for years and still shot him twice in the chest with no hesitation so… yeah. Sorry. If it helps, he makes it quick.”

Porsche knew the answer to the question but it still hurt, like those two bullets were already embedded in his ribs, slowly poisoning him. He was the walking dead. Somewhere, there was an unmarked plot of land that had been ready for Porsche to fall into for months. The minute he shook Vegas’ slimy hand, he was a corpse. His life had ended with that street fighting tournament and he hadn’t even realised it.

Strangely, Porsche was feeling quite zen about it. Kim had promised to take care of Chay and Kinn would eventually get over him. Porsche didn’t want to die but he could come to terms with it if it gave Kinn at least a little closure. It felt like it was the least Porsche could do. 

They were quiet for the rest of the journey, which was faster than expected with Kim’s chaotic driving. Somehow, the car managed to get to its destination in one piece, although the scratches on the trunk, the cracked wing mirror and the chicken blood and feathers on the tyres told a story all by themselves.

But Porsche didn’t have time to dwell on those as he jumped out of the car anxiously.

The warehouse they had pulled up in front of was almost stereotypically run down. It was the sort of headquarters a set designer in a Hollywood movie would destroy simply to make it look more nefarious. Porsche was almost embarrassed for Chon for being so unimaginative. If a police car passed, they would probably stop and arrest the entire building itself for looking so damn suspicious. 

It was gargantuan in size, sprawling in both width and height, with a grey, brutalist architecture that was as welcoming as head lice. With boarded-up windows and tasteful graffiti adorning the walls, Porsche thought there might as well have been a sign reading “illegal activities active here.”

Kim obviously agreed because he made a face, as though the visuals were genuinely hurting his delicate eyes. He lifted a finger to his ear.

“Chan, are you here? Good. What’s the status?” Kim tilted his head, listening intently for a moment before swearing profusely. Whatever he had heard, clearly it wasn’t good news. “What do you mean ‘locked down’? We must be able to sneak someone in. We need intel he’s still alive before storming in there. What about the technique we used in Budapest? Yes, yes, I know it was a bloodbath but it was effective, wasn’t it? What? We only lost two jets and a government tank…”

Watching Kim argue strategy with his ear made Porsche begin to lose his patience. They didn’t have time to plot every last detail when Kinn could be dead inside. 

Stuffing his own ear piece into his ear, Porsche pulled out his gun and cocked it. 

“I’ll going in to find him,” he said shortly, not bothering to ask for permission, “I’ll keep you updated on comms.”

Kim frowned, like he didn’t know if Porsche’s heroics were brave or simply idiotic. The lines on his forehead indicated the latter.

“Porsche, that’s suicide,” he said. Porsche closed his eyes. It was nice to hear himself being addressed by his name, even at a moment like this. Opening his eyes, he smirked his most frustrating smirk, the one that made even Chay want to poke him in the eye. It had the intolerable power to make a collected guy like Kim look annoyed. 

Ha, thought Porsche with triumph. He totally still had it.

“I’m already a dead man, remember?” Porsche reminded him. “Just… just let me save him.”

All the subterfuge, all the lies, all the clandestine phone calls with Vegas… it all had to be worth something. 

Kim seemed to see the need in his eyes because he sighed and relented, like Porsche’s weakness was so pathetic he felt sorry for him.

“Try not to die too early, Porsche. Who knows, Kinn might intentionally miss when he tries to kill you,” he said, which was as good a pep talk as he would get. Kim then pursed his lips, stone-cold serious again. “Just remember to stay on comms, okay? And don’t draw attention if you can help it.”

Porsche gave Kim a smug salute before moving towards a loose board covering a window opening, making the boy roll his eyes like he truly regretted ever meeting him. 

Porsche found himself being terribly fond of Kim in the short time they had together, despite him being a total gremlin. Porsche had a feeling his partiality for the Theerapanyakul genes might have had something to do with this soft spot. Chan must have had the same defect, those brothers seemed to know how to run rings around him, too.

Climbing himself through the window opening, Porsche landed cat-like on the other side, trying to be as silent as he could. 

The inside of the warehouse was, somehow, even more haggard than the exterior, with unsafe exposed piping and flickering lights that would have been at home in a haunted house. It was dusty and ramshackle, with chairs and tables upturned or broken into splinters. Boxes were piled in all corners of the vast room, stacked one on top of the other, full of contraband that Porsche didn’t even want to imagine. He had a feeling it was worse than anything Kinn and his family had ever smuggled. There was also strange-looking machinery dotted around the place, some looking ancient, others like modern torture devices. Porsche, honestly, didn’t want to look too closely, especially when some of them seemed jammed with bits of old flesh.

Men with machine guns were patrolling around the room, making Porsche duck for cover as quietly as he could from object to object. Concealing himself as stealthily as he could, Porsche frantically wondered for the hundredth where on earth they could be hiding Kinn. The guards were huge, muscled and looked like the type of men who had killed thousands of people between them for the fun of it. One of them in particular looked like he was more ape than man, with his bloody knuckles practically dragging across the floor as he walked.

Panic hit Porsche again at the sight, making him pray that blood wasn’t from Kinn. 

He hoped he wasn’t too late.

Watching nervously as the men patrolled to the other side of the room, Porsche swiftly made it through the door they had previously exited, entering another large chamber.

The contents of this one, however, made him do a double take.

Because there, strapped right in the centre of a large machine, was Kinn, head bleeding and half-unconscious. He looked like he had been beaten to an inch of his life, his cheek bruised and his lip swollen. He looked whiter than a corpse and from Porsche’s vantage point, his breathing was laboured.

A rage he didn’t know he could feel hit Porsche so hard, he was almost knocked off his own feet. Whoever it was that had touched him would pay with their life.

“Kinn!” Porsche cried out, all his training out the window as he sprinted towards the other man. He could practically hear Kim rolling his eyes at his spontaneous idiocy and Chan demanding he do a hundred push-ups for being a moron but he didn’t care. And he especially didn’t care when Kinn jolted at the sound of his voice, lifting his bleary, broken face to look blindly at Porsche.

“Lexus?” he murmured in surprise, somehow still beautiful even mangled. “How did you… find us?”

Which is when Porsche noticed that Kinn wasn’t alone.

Immediately lifting his gun, Porsche pointed it straight between Tawan’s eyes. Tawan, for his part, looked genuinely surprised to see Porsche.

Porsche clenched his jaw.

“Let him go,” he demanded, ready to hit Tawan with the butt of his gun if he didn’t comply. 

God, he hoped he didn’t comply.

But Tawan just smirked, his sultry, infuriating mouth curling at the corners as he put up his hands in mock surrender. Porsche was moments away from ripping his hair out.

“Well, well,” Tawan said softly, his sensuous, obnoxious tone making Porsche want to just shoot him and be done with it. “What a lovely surprise. I don’t think we expected visitors, did we Kinn, baby?”

Porsche stepped closer, the muzzle of his gun resting between Tawan’s eyes threateningly.

“I said, release him. Now. Or I’ll shoot you,” Porsche spat out, more than willing to do it. It was actually taking everything in him not to pull the trigger.

Tawan just cocked his head, vindictiveness dancing in his eyes as he let out a faux pout. 

“Oh, but I want to spend a bit more time with Kinn. We have so much to catch up on, don’t we, precious?” Tawan purred, grabbed a fistful of Kinn’s hair to pull his head back, exposing his throat. Kinn, to his credit, just glared hatefully in silence. Porsche, on the other hand, felt feral enough to want to annihilate Tawan with his bare hands, especially as he kept talking in that babyish, asinine voice. “You see, Kinn, there is so much you don’t know. The fact I've been working with Vegas the entire time, that we’ve been plotting all your assassination attempts for months... but it hasn’t just been us betraying you, handsome.”

And then Tawan looked right at Porsche, his smile deranged as Porsche felt like his whole world was spiralling out from under his feet. Drenched in sweat, Porsche wanted to scream. He wanted to drop at Kinn's feet and beg for forgiveness. He wanted to pull the trigger and shut Tawan up before he could continue. But he was paralysed in terror, especially as Tawan's next words rang like a death knell, his eyes glittering with glee. “‘Lexus, dearest, why don’t you explain to Kinn how you’ve been working with us the entire time. Or, should I say, Porsche.”

Chapter 11: Reality Bites

Summary:

Kinn finally knows the whole truth about Porsche. Safe to say, he doesn't take it well at all.

When he looked back at his life, Porsche would be the first to admit that fate had served him a never-ending, steaming pile of crap.

The accident that had killed his parents had been bad enough but the fact it was the catalyst for every lousy thing that had ever happened to him… it was like a chain reaction of perpetual bullshit that Porsche just couldn’t stop. Every time he tried to plug one hole in the sinking ship of his life, another leak came along and threatened to drown him.

No parents had meant no money, and no money equated to Porsche leaving school at ten and sacrificing his future, just so his brother could have a life.

Meeting Kinn had been the happiest Porsche had ever been. For once, Porsche got to have something for himself. Something that was his . He finally got to be selfish, like a dragon hoarding treasure. Porsche had suffered and bled and grieved for so much of his time on earth already. Surely, he deserved something good?

But at that moment, with the truth finally out and Kinn staring at him with so much disbelief, so much raw devastation and betrayal on his face…

Porsche realised that fate had long since decided he wasn’t ever allowed to be happy. 

It felt like Porsche was sitting in his parents’ crashing car, but he was the one steering them into the tree. Porsche was losing someone he loved all over again and this time it was all his own doing.

Swallowing hard, Porsche tried to stumble forward. He needed Kinn to forgive him. He needed to find a way to keep him. He couldn’t let him slip away. He couldn’t.

“Kinn…” Porsche murmured beseechingly, his gun hand shaking, willing him to understand. Still tied to the machine behind him, Kinn eyes were in so much pain it made Porsche want to turn the gun on himself for ever putting that expression on his face. “He’s lying, it’s not like that. Let me explain…”

“Explain what?” Tawan interrupted with a cackle. He was enjoying this with a perverse amount of glee. “How you gave Vegas weekly updates? How you both worked together on creating ‘Lexus’ and his fake cover story?” Tawan then turned to a white-faced Kinn, biting his lip in fake befuddlement. “I don’t know, Kinn, this seems suspect to Tawan.”

Tawan then put a consoling hand on what looked like Kinn’s dislocated shoulder, making him let out a reluctant noise of pain, his nostrils flaring as he grit his teeth.

Porsche’s entire vision turned scarlet with fury.

“Don’t touch him!!” he positively roared, his voice thundering in a way he hadn’t known his lungs were capable of.

Unfazed by it, Tawan laughed.

“Oh, now you have a conscience?” he asked. “You weren’t so noble when you were sneaking off on your secret meetings with Vegas, feeding him information."

“That’s not true! Kinn…” Porsche said desperately but his voice broke when he looked at Kinn’s face. He had never seen such despair in his eyes before. He looked utterly lost, like he didn’t know how to act. For someone like Kinn, who usually controlled every muscle and micro-expression on his face, this went against every natural instinct he had. It was like Porsche had permanently broken him. 

Tawan looked between them with delight.

“Oh, ho! I see what this is now. God, Kinn, no wonder you weren’t interested in Tawan this time around. You’re so pathetic, you always fall for the wrong person, don’t you? You’ve always been so starved for affection. It’s no wonder you gullibly fall for the first pretty face that shows you any attention. How haven’t you realised how hard it is to actually love you?”

Porsche had never felt rage hit him so viciously, so overwhelmingly before. It made black spots dance in front of his eyes, as though his brain was so focused on anger that it made every other part of his body malfunction.

How dare he. How dare he. Kinn was the easiest person to love. Porsche couldn’t stop himself, despite how hard he tried. 

Jumping forward, Porsche grabbed Tawan by the throat, his gun muzzle pressing so hard into his forehead that the pressure could have cut into his skull. 

“Talk to him like that again and I’ll blow your head clean off!” Porsche shrieked, spittle flying, his voice so hateful he barely recognised it. His hand squeezed tight enough to choke. 

Porsche felt unhinged, untethered. Like he could skin Tawan alive and enjoy it. It both terrified and exhilarated him how little there was he wouldn’t do for Kinn.

A touch of fear entered Tawan’s eyes - clearly, Porsche wasn’t acting like he had anticipated. Wincing, Tawan tried to put on a brave face. It looked a little comical with his skin turning bright red and his expression looking like he was seconds away from wetting himself.

“Let me guess,” Tawan tried to wheeze out valiantly, his breathing more and more laboured with every crush of his larynx, “you fell for your mark? Darling, you’re such a cliche.” 

Porsche, impossibly, tightened his hand even more. Tawan’s eyes visibly looked like they were about to pop out of his head, like one of those stress toys Porsche saw at the fair.

“Where is Vegas?” Porsche hissed, his voice so menacing that he frightened himself. He didn’t know if Chay would even recognise what he had become. “Vegas has been working with Chon this whole time, hasn’t he?”

Tawan had an infuriating look of arrogance to him, like a person who knew a juicy, salacious secret that no one else did. He reminded Porsche of those gossiping aunties at the fish market who knew about everyone’s business. Even choking on air, Tawan somehow managed to radiate smugness. If Porsche were more objective, he would have been impressed. The man could barely breathe but still managed to sound like this much of an asshole. It was a gift. 

It also really made Porsche want to smack him in the mouth.

“You… don’t… know… anything,” Tawan panted back, pure self-satisfaction in his tone. 

“What do you mean?!” Porsche demanded, his patience on a knife’s edge. Tawan’s bones felt brittle under his fingertips, like a tiny bit more pressure would snap his neck clean off. “Who’s in charge?! Who is the new dragon?! Vegas?”

Tawan just smirked, infuriating and knowing, his eyelids beginning to flicker closed from a lack of oxygen. Porsche tried to let go but his hand felt vice-like and clumsy, clamping down like it was made of a solid block of metal. By the time he finally let go, Tawan slumped to the floor in a heap, unconscious and silent. 

Breathing hard, Porsche stared at the man’s crumpled form, feeling like he was missing something important - the most valuable piece of the puzzle that finally made the picture clear. 

But none of that mattered because Kinn was still tied up and injured and there were still dozens of men just outside this room ready to shoot them dead. So, tucking the gun hurriedly into his waistband, Porsche reached out desperately to run his hands over Kinn’s bruised wrists, carefully untying the ropes he had been bound with. He looked over Kinn’s body anxiously, categorising the cut on his lip, the bruise on his cheekbone, the horrible, limp way his left arm was hanging. 

Kinn had been through hell in the last few hours. It made Porsche want to turn back to Tawan’s prone form and shoot him in the head.

In fact, Porsche was so consumed in his worry for Kinn that he didn’t even notice the calculated look on the other man’s face. And he definitely hadn’t clocked that the gun from his waistband had been swiped until Kinn had pushed Porsche hard enough to land him on his ass, pointing the weapon directly at Porsche’s head with accurate precision. His gaze looked arctic and, unlike Porsche, his gun hand was steady. 

Grief flooding him, Porsche didn’t even try to stop Kinn. Miserably, he put his hands up in surrender. It almost felt appropriate, Porsche being at Kinn’s feet for this. It was the perfect place to beg for forgiveness.

“Kinn,” he whispered, trying to convey through his tone how remorseful he was, how much he regretted everything. “Kinn, just let me explain, please.”

Kinn cocked the gun, his face like marble under his wounds. But his eyes… he couldn’t hide the hate in his eyes. Kinn had never looked at Porsche like that before, not in their entire time together. Not with this sort of disgust. It was like something had permanently died between them. Like they were strangers. It felt like a knife in the ribs, twisting so deep inside him that Porsche was scared it would never stop hurting, like the blade would be in him forever. 

“Kinn…” he tried again, his words sounding soft and pathetic even to him. Trying to withstand Kinn’s glare of loathing was actually breaking his heart. He had seen Kinn give that stare of death to people seconds before he killed them. Porsche fleetingly wondered how long he had left.

Kinn tightened his jaw

“What’s your real name?” he demanded, his voice like ice.

Porsche wanted to cry. He could feel tears brimming in his eyes. His vision was blurry, distorted and warped. It felt appropriate; his world was falling apart around him. 

“Porsche,” Porsche said desolately, trying not to sob, resignation weighing down on him. “My name is Porsche.”

The gun in Kinn’s hand dropped down by an inch, like he had been genuinely caught off guard. 

“So Lexus… it really was all a cover,” Kinn said, more to himself than Porsche. He spoke in a low, disbelieving sort of voice, like he couldn’t fathom he hadn’t seen this earlier. “It was all a lie.”

Kinn was already so pale. Now he looked almost translucent, like a ghost, his veins stark under his complexion. He looked like he was dying right in front of Porsche. Like he might cave in on himself and wither away entirely.

“Nothing was real, was it,” Kinn murmured under his breath, still in communion with himself. His voice was quiet but full of a hopeless sort of acceptance, like he always knew this would happen. Like he always knew he couldn’t trust anyone but himself.

Porsche felt like he was internally screaming,

“Kinn, no, everything was real!” he insisted desperately, shuffling so he was now on his knees in front of Kinn, literally prostrating at his feet for forgiveness. “You have to believe me! Other than the name, it was me! It was us .”

“You must have found it hilarious,” Kinn spat, bitterness dripping from every word. He sounded so acerbic, so miserable, that it made Porsche want to pull out his own hair. “You must have laughed with Vegas about what an idiot I was. The mighty dragon, just another love-blind fool.”

“That isn’t true!” Porsche insisted, feeling despair and panic rolling off him, making him stumble over his own words in his veracity to reassure Kinn. “I hate Vegas! I never wanted to work with him. Kinn, I wanted to tell you. Everyday, I wanted to confess it all!”

“Did you ever even care?” Kinn asked, his voice suddenly small. It was like he was a boy again, the boy who had lost his childhood and never had anyone he could trust. Porsche couldn’t stand seeing this, the fact he had brought all of Kinn’s insecurities back to the surface... it was tearing him to pieces. 

“Of course I- how could you even ask!? Kinn, I love you!” he cried out, shuffling forward on his knees, begging Kinn to see the truth. Hadn’t he been obvious enough with how embarrassingly besotted he was?

Kinn raised the gun again.

“Don’t fucking lie to me!” he bellowed, his eyes blazing. He was vacillating from lost to furious to confused at such an alarming rate that even he didn’t seem to know which one to land on, the muscles in his face twitching without control. It was so unlike him. He was always the epitome of cool composure. Porsche was terrified he had destroyed something in him that he couldn’t get back. 

“I’m not lying, I promise, please believe me,” Porsche continued to plead, all shame out the window as he kneeled in the dust by Kinn’s feet. He was ready to put his face in the dirt if he needed to. “Vegas… I never wanted to work with him in the first place. I don’t even talk to him anymore, I tried to cut him out…”

But Kinn was too busy lost in his own thoughts, a look of realisation slowly dawning in his eyes, like he had come to a horrific discovery. 

“You… you killed Mek,” Kinn croaked. Porsche felt like Kinn had physically punched him, the wind knocked out of his lungs. It felt like he had hit him so hard that the planet itself had slipped off its axis, making Porsche feel unbalanced and off-kilter. It was like he was looking at the earth from a different angle, one where everything was wrong. One where Kinn would never trust him again.

Porsche knew he had lied, he knew he had ruined Kinn’s trust in him but the fact Kinn believed Porsche could do such a thing…

Every happy memory they had, every kiss, every fond word… it all felt like it had been put through a proverbial meatgrinder. He and Kinn were broken. And Porsche didn’t think they could ever be put back together again.

“How could you even think I would do that to Mek?!” Porsche gasped out, hurt ringing through him and spreading through his blood like a poison. Internally, Porsche ached, like his organs were shutting down, one after the other. “I could never hurt him, I wouldn’t ever do such a thing. I never wanted anything to happen to him, I liked him!”

“You never liked him,” Kinn shot back with betrayal, which was unfair because Porsche had liked Mek, despite the fact they clearly both loved the same man. “Chan mentioned the noose around his neck looked like your blanket but I refused to even entertain… but it was you. All along. You told Vegas he was the informant.”

Porsche adored Kinn. He really did. But at that moment, he wanted to shake the idiot until sense knocked back into his beautiful, empty head.

“Kinn, for God’s sake, I tried to hide Mek from Vegas…  I was being blackmailed by him. My brother…” Porsche swallowed hard, just thinking about Chay. “Kinn, please, he threatened to kill my brother!”

“Snake, liar,” Kinn spat out, pure venom in his voice. “I can’t trust a word from your mouth.”

It was like Porsche was having an out of body experience. Porsche felt like he was looking down at himself and Kinn as he detached himself from the agony of this moment – the emotional trauma – like it was happening to someone else. He had done this when his parents had died.  

And if Porsche was honest with himself, he had been subconsciously living like that for years. He had always isolated himself and refused to have meaningful relationships just so he wouldn’t need to depend on anyone. So he couldn’t get hurt again.

And then he met Kinn.  

Porsche tightened his jaw, a resolute brokenheartedness rippling through him as he pulled himself back together. He truly did love Kinn. Which meant he needed to let him go.

“You’re right, I broke your trust,” Porsche said, staring as earnestly as he could into Kinn’s eyes, willing him to understand. “I know you, Kinn, you won’t ever forgive me for it. And I don’t deserve your forgiveness. So do it.”

Porsche then reached up to unbutton the top button of his own shirt.

Kinn’s emotions whiplashed across his face, from fury to confusion.

“What… what are you doing?” he demanded, raising his gun like every inch of revealed skin was a threat of violence.

Porsche just smiled softly. Sadly.

“I know what you do to traitors, Kinn,” he said, not even bitter about it. How could he be bitter when he always knew where this would all end? Porsche opened his shirt, giving Kinn full access to his heart. It belonged to him anyway. “I won’t make this hard for you. I just need you to know… nothing I feel for you is a lie. I lied about my name but every moment between us… it meant everything to me. You mean everything to me. I just don’t want to die without you knowing that.”

Porsche then closed his eyes and held his breath, waiting for a gun shot to sound, for a pain to tear through his chest.

What he didn’t expect was a bored buzz in his ear.

“Sorry to break up the romantic suicide attempt,” said Kim, sounding slightly exasperated, like Porsche’s grand, noble gesture was tiresome to him, “but there are at least twenty men on their way to your location in the next few minutes. Chan and I are inside now. So if you could let my brother kill you another time, that would be appreciated. We need every fighter we can get.” 

True to Kim’s words, a commotion could be heard outside the room, making Kinn pause from gawping at Porsche to spin his head towards the flimsy door instead. Footsteps, angry voices and the distinct sound of gunfire and fighting could be heard. Porsche was even sure he heard a grenade exploding. The minor family and the major family were having an all out war out there. Porsche needed to make sure Kinn made it out of here alive.

That was incentive enough for Porsche to jump to his feet with cold competency, surprising Kinn with his sudden change in mood.

“We need to get you out of here, now,” Porsche said, his voice suddenly stern. They didn’t have time to argue this. “Hate me, shoot me in the head afterwards, I don’t care. Just let me save you. Please, Kinn, don’t make me watch you die.”

Kinn tightened his jaw, his eyes flickering between the door and Porsche. After what felt like an eternity, he let out a curt, reluctant sort of nod.

Porsche could have cheered but he didn’t have the time for it. Instead he reached for his ankle, where he had stashed his emergency handgun, making Kinn gawp.

“Did you have that the entire time?” he demanded.

Porsche cocked the gun.

“Of course I did. Why?” he asked. When Kinn didn’t reply, Porsche rolled his eyes skyward. This man was such a pigheaded idiot. He absolutely worshipped the ground he walked on. “Of course I wouldn’t have used it against you, you moron. Did you miss the giant declaration of love I just gave you? I literally gave you permission to shoot me dead. I swear to God, this fucking man…” Porsche shook his head, lamenting that he had such questionable taste. Why did the universe have to make this cold-blooded killer so endearing? “Now come on, there has to be another exit here somewhere. Kim, do you have an idea how we can escape from your weird serial killer floorplan?”

Kinn looked puzzled.

“Kim?” he asked but Porsche abruptly shushed him to tap on the earpiece in his ear. To Porsche’s surprise, Kinn immediately shut up, though he did look grumpy about it, his hair mussed. Porsche looked away, trying not to be distracted by how unintentionally sweet he looked.

Kim’s snotty voice soon crackled in Porsche’s ear.

“I’ll have you know that that floorplan was months of reconnaissance work,” he huffed, a series of gunshots sounding as he did. Porsche had a feeling the guy had just done a ridiculous aerial flip before taking down a battalion of men. “And check the corner of the room, by the generator. There should be a hidden door. I’ll send some men to pick you both up when you reach the other side of it. It might take them a while, so keep my brother alive in the meantime.”

“Roger,” Porsche returned. “Try not to die yourself.”

Kim just scoffed, like such a thing was physically impossible before he cut communications. He was such a brat. Porsche was amazed Tankhun, Kinn and Kim had made it out of childhood without murdering each other. Kim seemed like the kind of kid who played with a switchblade as a toddler.

Pointing his gun in front of him with caution, Porsche moved swiftly towards the door Kim had mentioned. Pushing aside a table to reveal the hidden passageway, Porsche almost cheered when the wooden panel moved under his hand, opening to expose the bright sky of the outside world. It felt like stepping through a portal, taking them into the sorry-looking garden of the building. A discarded, hideously torn-looking sofa sat in the middle of it uninvitingly, more stuffing and springs than anything else. Kinn, who soon followed after Porsche, had his own gun raised menacingly at the three-seater, like it was Vegas in disguise. Porsche couldn’t blame him, not only was the thing an attack on the eyes but it was a crime against furniture design, too. 

Now they were out, Porsche took in his surroundings, making sure there were no threats in sight. Once he was sure they were at least temporarily in the clear, he turned back to look at Kinn, who still had his injured left arm tucked against his chest. It looked grotesque, hanging bonelessly, like a limp puppet.

Porsche felt ill just looking at it.

“Kinn, let me fix your arm,” he pleaded. Suit bloodied and streaked with dirt, Kinn opened his mouth to agree when he remembered he was still furious at Porsche. Pursing his lips, Kinn simply held his lame arm even tighter to his chest, pointing his gun hand at Porsche again. 

“Why, so you can twist it behind my back?” he sneered, although his complexion was green. He wasn’t doing well at all. Kim’s men needed to get here fast.

Porsche sighed hard through his nose. He shouldn’t have been surprised by Kinn’s aggression but it still hurt.

“I just want you to be okay,” Porsche tried again, meaning it with all his heart. It was all he ever wanted. “I just want you to be safe.”

Kinn scoffed; it was a cold, ugly sort of noise. Porsche hadn’t heard it from him before and he never wanted to hear it again. It sounded defeated.

“You’re a fool if you think I’ll ever be safe,” Kinn snapped at Porsche. His tone felt harsh, especially cruel. “I’m never going to be safe. And you are the perfect embodiment why that is. They’ll never stop sending people after me. They’ll never stop planning my death.”

“Who?” Porsche whispered, hating every word out of Kinn's mouth.

“Everyone,” Kinn said simply, pure resignation in every line of his body. “So save me the flowery fucking speeches, Porsche.” Kinn had said his name like it was the ultimate slur. Porsche had always wanted to hear it on Kinn’s lips, but he never imagined it would sound like this; like the ugliest word in existence. “You’re just like everyone else - I should have known it from the start.”

“Kinn…” Porsche stepped forward, trying to argue that he was wrong but Kinn just turned his head away fiercely, like the very sight of Porsche sickened him.

Porsche felt despair rising up his throat again, like bile was burning a hole through his oesophagus. Kinn was right. He wasn’t safe. He never would be. Vegas would never stop sending people after him. He wouldn’t stop until he took everything Kinn had, until Kinn was nothing but bones in the ground. Until Kinn was nothing at all.

A wave of determination washed over Porsche, like he had had a spiritual awakening, a new purpose in life. It washed over him like a balm, making him see clearer than he had in years. He knew what he had to do.

Which was the moment Pol and Arm approached with their guns aloft. 

Seeing them both, Porsche snapped into action. 

“Pol! Arm!” he called, waving them over. “Take care of Kinn. He’s injured. Dislocated shoulder, a broken rib or two. Possible internal bleeding and a concussion, he won’t let me near him to check. He needs to go to the infirmary. Take him back to the compound and find Tankhun. Make sure he’s safe, too.” Porsche then turned to look at Kinn, who suddenly looked so soft, so breakable. It only made Porsche’s resolve even stronger as he tightened his hands around his gun. “Kinn, I’m going to make everything okay. No one is ever going after you again.”

Kinn blinked in confusion, like he was startled out of his annoyance with Porsche by his cryptic words. He looked utterly thrown. 

“What are you talking about?” 

Porsche took a step forward. A small victory burst in his chest with celebration when Kinn didn’t immediately step back. It was progress. Barely baby steps. But it meant everything.

“I’m going to do something I should have done from the very beginning.” Porsche said simply before drinking in Kinn’s features one last time, keeping the memory of him safe in his head. Kinn’s sharp cheekbones, his thick eyebrows, his full mouth, his emotive eyes that could tell you nothing and everything within the blink of an eye. Porsche wanted to carve his face into his brain so he didn’t forget. 

Lifting his hand, Porsche tried to put a hand on Kinn’s cheek. He got to trace the softness of his skin, the roughness of his stubble and the swell of his lips against his fingertips before Kinn flinched and pulled away. It hurt and Porsche deserved every second of it. Biting the inside of his cheek until he could taste copper, Porsche dropped his hand back to his side and tried to school his face into a blank expression. 

“You need to go.”

“Lex- Porsche,” Kinn said, stumbling over his name. The look of constant betrayal he had been wearing was suddenly gone, now filled with tension and mild concern. “Whatever you're planning, don't. Just... don’t do anything stupid.”

“Who, me?” Porsche asked cheekily, a wide, reckless smile on his face, like a man about to walk into death without a care in the world. “Why do you think I’d do something like that?” 

Kinn glared, ready to open his mouth and make some sort of bossy decree when a gunshot suddenly sounded from the other side of the garden, this one much closer than the others. 

Porsche dropped his smile and barked at Arm. 

“Get Kinn out of here now.”

“Porsche, you idiot, what are you going to do…!?” Kinn yelled, sounding urgent this time but he had already been pulled away by the others, the panic on his face the last thing Porsche saw before he was bundled away in a waiting car.

Porsche watched him go with a strange sense of peace, the screeching tyres sounding as soothing as a rainstorm. Kinn was alive. He was a little broken and likely to never forgive Porsche again but he was alive. 

And there was only one way to ensure Kinn would stay like that. 

Porsche checked his gun barrel again, making sure he had enough bullets to do what he planned to do. 

He did. Which was good. 

Because, frankly, he was going to need them and much, much more when he finally killed Vegas.

Chapter 12: Showdown with the Family

Summary:

Loving someone means you need to let them go. It also means destroying the entire underworld if you have to just so they are safe.

If there was one universally accepted thing Porsche knew about himself, it was that he wasn’t a very good planner.

He didn’t have the feral boy-detective aura of Kim or Tankhun’s startling ability to smell bullshit (and knock-off perfume) from ten miles away.

Half the time, Porsche barely knew what he was doing. His life had always been the instinctual, fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants sort, with his main goals being daily survival and cobbling together a good future for Chay from the scraps he could gather. Throw in loan sharks, bartending, fight clubs and a useless uncle who spent money like water, Porsche was genuinely impressed he was still alive considering how little he planned for anything.

So plotting to murder a man from the most powerful family in the country (who also happened to have a battalion of psychotic guards with more loose screws than a hardware store)...

It honestly wasn’t really Porsche’s forte. 

So Porsche did what he always did when he had to face certain death; he was going to smash headfirst into it, consequences be damned. Which meant walking straight into the minor family’s compound itself, like a lamb ambling into a butcher's shop, and going out in a literal blaze of glory.

Standing outside the front door of the lion’s den, Porsche’s gun felt heavy inside his jacket, like a barbell weighing him down. As he stood there, looking up at the grand yet worn-looking building, he briefly wondered with mild hysteria how many people he would manage to take out before he was killed himself.

One thing was for certain; the minor family compound was as much of a maze as the main family’s. But that was where the similarities ended.  

Where sleek, modern sophistication oozed from every crevice of Kinn’s abode, Vegas’ was as overcompensating and loud as he was himself. The building was old and sprawling and clearly had a charm to it but had been painted in garish colours, like the owners were trying to improve it but were colourblind and clearly had no idea what they were doing. The exterior walls were the colour of spoiled milk and with the secondary green trimming and terracotta roof, it was like someone had just thrown a bunch of shit at it, crossed their fingers and hoped it worked.

It was little wonder Vegas was so spiteful about life when he had to live in a place like this. 

Not that he would be living for too much longer.

Buoyed by the thought, Porsche took a deep breath and lifted a fist to knock on the front door, quite literally announcing himself to the entire place. After a few moments of waiting, the door opened and one of Vegas’ mohawked guards stared at him like he must have been lost. 

Quite aware he was dusty, streaked with blood and wearing the now unkempt uniform of the major family, Porsche glared at the man and simply said,

“Tell Vegas I’m here,” with the sort of reckless entitlement Kim would have been proud of. Porsche even pushed past the guard to plop himself down imperiously onto one of the couches in the entrance like he owned it, his legs open as he took up as much space as he could. Getting dirt all over it without giving it a second thought, Porsche then stretched his arms out on the back of the sofa, like a king presiding over his loyal subjects.

Floored by the sheer audacity of his behaviour, the bodyguard looked like he was about to open his mouth to complain (or ask for tips) when Porsche shot him with a death stare one could only master by being in close proximity to Kinn. 

Porsche had never seen a man visually shit himself before but he had a feeling this is what it looked like. Even the guard's bleached mohawk seemed to go a paler shade. Visibly baulking, the man shakily lifted a hand to his ear and murmured a few words under his breath. Whatever he said seemed to do the trick because barely a few seconds later, he was ushering Porsche to the nearest side door and down a narrow, severe-looking hallway. They soon ended up at an elaborate, gaudy sort of door that Porsche didn’t doubt belonged to Vegas. The guard then practically threw Porsche through it, like he couldn’t wait to be rid of him. 

Entering the room, Vegas sat behind a desk on a high-backed, carved sort of chair that could have been a throne. It made Porsche want to roll his eyes at his sense of importance. 

Porsche had never imagined what Vegas’ office looked like but as he ran his eyes over the dark, horror-themed room he had been pushed into, it seemed the perfect sort of habitat for a reptile like Vegas to hibernate in. 

It had red lighting like a strip bar, strange satanic symbolism on the walls and so many torture implements dotted around the place that Vegas could have opened a BDSM museum. There were also one too many skulls, which all seemed to be staring back at Porsche like ghoulish, headless henchmen. 

Even with all this serial-killer paraphernalia, the only thing that really threw Porsche was the random appearance of a sickly-looking hedgehog on Vegas’ desk, who looked dourly at Porsche like he was interrupting his nap time. 

It made sense that even Vegas’ animals were shitheads.

“Porsche,” said Vegas, who was sitting at his desk with his fingers steepled together like some sort of Bond villain. All he needed to do was shave his head and put the pissy hedgehog on his lap to complete the look. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

Porsche looked him straight in the eye, crossing his arms. 

“I’ve been compromised,” he said shortly, lifting his chin. “Kinn knows I’m a mole. I can’t go back.”

Vegas cocked his head, his clever eyes taking in Porsche’s expression. Porsche tried not to sweat.

“That’s funny,” Vegas drawled, his words elongated and slow, like he sadistically liked drawing this out, “the last time I saw you, you didn’t seem so happy to see me.”

“You were about to break my cover, what was I supposed to do!? I was worried about Chay,” Porsche snapped, trying not to lose his temper but it was hard. Vegas had the type of face that the God's had sculpted to be slapped. “Besides, it doesn’t matter anymore. Kinn wants me dead. I’m screwed.”

“Kinn looked more like he’d screwed you,” Vegas shot back, a greasy tinge to his smile. His teeth looked sharp. Vicious. “Well, according to my sources.”

Porsche tightened his jaw, telling himself not to react. Vegas’ snitch was a nosy asshole and Porsche hated him.

“I did what I had to do so he wouldn’t catch on,” he spat back, the words like vinegar in his mouth. Pretending not to be ass over heels for Kinn almost felt sacrilegious, like he was denying the most important part of himself. “In any case, I’m just here to tell you I’m through. It’s done. I’m out.”

Vegas chuckled softly, shaking his head like Porsche's words were absurd.

“Porsche, Porsche, Porsche…” he said, a teasing lilt to his tone. “I’m disappointed in you. I really am. Did you really think you could try to terminate our contract and get out of here alive?”

“Nope,” Porsche said easily with a shrug before pulling out his gun so fast that even Chan would have given him a standing ovation. Vegas’ smile fell from his face. “I planned on taking you out with me.”

Vegas eyed the gun pointed at his face curiously, as though he was wondering how far Porsche would go with this. He didn’t look scared. He almost looked impressed.

“Are you going to kill me, Porsche?” he asked teasingly, like the shit he was.

Porsche cocked his gun, his aim pinpoint in accuracy.

“Who is the new Dragon?” he demanded, making Vegas’ amusement drop from his features. Porsche felt a thrill of victory. Clearly, Vegas didn’t expect him to know so much. He also suddenly had a new look on his face, like genuine fear had gripped him.

He was terrified. And, from what Porsche had heard, only one person could terrify Vegas to the point of catatonia. 

“Is it your father?”

Vegas sneered, as though just hearing him mentioned had thoroughly ruined his day. It made Porsche reevaluate his theory immediately. It can’t have been Gun. Vegas looked more disgusted than scared. 

And then it seemed to hit Porsche, like a bullet to the brain. An idea so ludicrous but also so obvious that he was amazed he hadn’t considered it before. There was only one man more powerful than Kinn. There was only one man who had the resources – the power – to try and take down the Dragon of Bangkok. It made no sense, but it had to be him. Who else could it be?

How hadn’t Porsche seen this before?

“Korn,” Porsche croaked, everything suddenly stitching together like an ugly patchwork. It all fit but so much was missing, so much of it was grotesque. “You're working with your uncle, aren’t you? Korn made you hire me.”

Vegas tilted his head, sizing Porsche up for a second. He then lifted his hands and clapped them together, letting out a mocking round of applause. It echoed off the walls, hollow and loud.

“My, my, Porsche,” he said, his words quiet and cruel. “You’re not as stupid as you look, are you?”

Porsche ignored this. He had heard much worse. He knew he was pretty and was used to everyone either underestimating him, being jealous of him or wanting to sleep with him. Sometimes, they did all three at the same time.

“Why would Korn do this?” Porsche demanded, stepping forward, his gun still raised threateningly. “Why would Korn do this to his own son? Kinn’s been a perfect heir.”

Vegas let out a scoff so disgusted, so repulsed, it was a wonder he didn’t cough out a lung.

“Kinn? He’s weak! Pathetic,” Vegas sneered. “Trying to destroy decades of business with Chon’s family because he's soft. Did you know Uncle Korn was the original founder of the trading ring? He built it from the ground up. He turned it into something organised, sophisticated, with backing from men with authority - with real power. He built a solid foundation for our family to thrive from. It’s the main reason we’re so successful. But Kinn wanted to tear it down the minute Korn introduced it to him. He was disgusted by it, vowed to remove all forms of human trafficking from the Theerapanyakul portfolio. And Uncle Korn… well, he's worked too hard on building it to let anyone destroy it. It wasn’t about the money but the information he had on all the buyers; all those politicians and their sordid secrets. He has enough dirt on the elite to drown them. He has almost limitless power. And then Kinn decides he doesn’t want it anymore?” Vegas scoffed and shook his head, like Kinn was a thankless fool. “Uncle Korn might love Kinn but he has a family to maintain. Even if it means getting rid of one of them for the greater good.”

Porsche’s heart felt like it had stopped. 

“Korn doesn’t just want to remove Kinn, he wants to kill him,” Porsche said faintly. The idea was sickening to most parents but Korn wasn't most fathers and the Theerapanyakuls definitely weren't most families.

How could Porsche have not seen it before? 

The attempts on Kinn's life when the other bodyguards were busy stationed elsewhere. The way Chon’s assassins broke into their underground lair when only the family had the code. Even that first day when Porsche saved Kinn, it had been Korn who had ‘rewarded’ him by putting him on Kinn’s detail. He and Vegas had plotted together to put Porsche in the ultimate position to gather intel. 

And all to betray his own son. 

Kinn. Who had sacrificed his entire life and happiness for his father… who was being punished because he had a heart, because he was still a decent man. Kinn, discarded like he was nothing when he was everything. 

Porsche felt like the room was spinning in his fury.

“And what do you get out of all this?” he demanded, snarling at Vegas. “Did Korn promise you Kinn’s place? Because you’re an idiot if you think he won’t kill you too once you stop being useful. If he’s willing to kill his own flesh and blood, what makes you think he’ll give a damn about not putting a bullet in your head? And I thought Kinn had daddy issues…”

Vegas jumped to his feet, grabbing what looked like a machete from his desk of macabre tools. Clearly, Porsche had pressed on a weak spot.

“You don’t fucking know anything!”

“I know daddy doesn’t love you,” Porsche sneered back, cruelty washing over him as a black, tar-like poison expelled out of his mouth. He wanted to rip. To break. To hurt Vegas like he had tried to hurt Kinn. “You’re so starved for his attention that you’ll look anywhere for it, even his own brother. But it won’t change the fact he hates the sight of you. He probably wishes you were never born. Tell me, Vegas, would he even notice if you died?”

“SHUT UP!” Vegas screamed, launching over the table as he pulled his arm back to deliver an almighty swing with the huge knife. 

But Porsche was a three-time Taekwondo champion.

Spinning on instinct, Porsche raised his leg and knocked him clean out of the air with a perfectly timed sweep kick right in the face. Nose exploding with blood, Vegas gurgled with fury as he landed at Porsche’s feet. Before he could make another move, Porsche stamped his foot on Vegas’ hand immediately, the machete just out of his grasp.

Lifting his bloody face up at Porsche, Vegas looked unhinged.

“Your brother is dead, Porsche, do you hear me?!” he snarled, blood and spit flying from his face in all directions like a sprinkler. “I’ve already given the signal to my men. They picked him up this morning and have been watching him all day. Little Chay will have his brains painting the walls of his cell because of this. Do you hear me?!”

Porsche’s insides plummeted, his skin numb with fear at the thought of his brother – his precious, gentle brother – being taken. It couldn’t be. Kim had promised to take care of him. This had to be some sort of nightmare. 

It distracted Porsche enough that he hesitated, which was all Vegas needed to throw off Porsche’s foot and grab his machete from the ground.

The wayward, vicious swipe caught Porsche’s thigh, making him let out a sound of pain. Vegas scrambled to his feet, his knife shining with Porsche’s blood, his face twisted. He then lifted his wrist to his mouth, where a watch sat.

“Kill him, now!” he instructed into it.

A moment later, the doors of Vegas’ room slammed open and half a dozen armed men barrelled through. Porsche took one look at them, loudly said “Shit!” and then leapt behind Vegas’ desk, turning it on its side before the shower of bullets could hit him. He profusely thanked the carpenter who made it for the solid mahogany finish - it had singlehandedly shielded Porsche from resembling Swiss cheese. 

It was like being in a warzone, bullets whizzing over his head and gunpowder smoke filling the room as Vegas’ guards continued to shoot at him. Even the hedgehog had somehow rolled itself into a ball for protection by Porsche’s knee. And he wasn’t the only thing that had landed there. Vegas’ awful tools of torture, which had been proudly displayed on the desk, were now all over the floor. Shooting until he ran out of bullets, Porsche eventually picked up a particularly nasty-looking implement, aimed it at the tallest guy by the door and threw with all his might. A loud thump! to the floor told him he had hit his mark.

And then it was a free for all. Porsche continued to lob the terrifying devices like they were grenades, internally whooping when they hit their intended target. From spiked paddles that knocked out a man bigger than the hulk to a pair of nipple twisters that embedded into the mohawked guard’s neck, Porsche kept throwing until he had nothing but his empty gun left.

Peeking over the desk, there were still four targets remaining, including Vegas. 

Porsche was fucked.

Vegas seemed to realise this too because he lifted his hand to stop his men shooting, a vicious glee in his face.

“Looks like you’re out of options, Porsche.” he called out. His smirk was bloody, like a hyena who had proudly torn out the throat of a lame gazelle. “Any last words before we kill you?”

Porsche had a lot of suggestions, most of them colourful, full of obscenities and detailing exactly which hairy orifice Vegas could stick his questions into. Before he could open his mouth to explain exactly which one however, a very familiar voice buzzed from the walkie talkie sitting on Vegas’ desk.

“Ugh, Vegas,” it said, sounding so unimpressed it was a wonder the device didn’t collapse in on itself in pure shame. “You really are the absolute worst. I cannot believe we’re related.”

Confusion and joy wrestled about in Porsche’s stomach without a definitive winner. Hope like he didn’t dare to believe bloomed inside his chest. 

He knew that uppity voice. 

And then the doors slammed open with such force they literally came off their hinges, crashing to the floor like giant dominoes. A veritable army of suited bodyguards streamed through like the cavalry, armed and all wearing the gleaming badge of the major family on their chests. 

And there was Tankhun leading the charge, holding a diamond-encrusted gun. He looked resplendent in a camouflage-jumpsuit that made him look as conspicuous as a showgirl in a nunnery.

“Tankhun?” Porsche gasped out. If Kinn’s brothers weren’t careful, he was going to confess his undying love to them as well. “How did you-”

“Hush, you. Not now, I’m insulting my cousin,” Tankhun said shortly, using that voice he usually used before he hit someone with a tray. It was actually pretty intimidating and immediately made Porsche close his mouth with its menacing power. “Now where was I… oh yes. Vegas.”

Tankhun turned to his cousin with nothing but pure revulsion on his face. He then raised his gun and pointed it straight at Vegas’ crotch. Vegas paled, his chance of children diminishing with every second. 

“We have the building under our control. Some of your men bolted. The rest, we captured and a chatty few happily gave up information on you. Apparently, you’re a shit boss and don’t pay them on time. Seriously, Vegas, we might be in the mob but not giving them dental? We’re not savages. It’s embarrassing. I’m embarrassed.” Tankhun threw back his head dramatically, like he was physically pained by Vegas’ supreme ineptitude. His voice was as sharp and unrelenting as his dress sense.  It was actually frightening to witness him like this, eccentric, armed and completely unpredictable. He was like a ticking timebomb that had a faulty timer and could blow at any moment. It reminded Porsche that Tankhun wasn’t just a spoiled little rich boy. He had no doubt seen and done more than Porsche could imagine. He had always been the one raised to take the throne from Korn. It made sense that some of Chan’s 101 training on ‘How to be a Cold-Blooded Megalomaniac and Still Look Stylish’ must have stuck. All the brothers must have passed that class with flying colours.

Vegas’ face morphed into something ugly. 

“You have no idea what you’re getting involved in, Khun,” he sneered but there was respect there. Porsche didn’t blame him for being deferential — Tankhun with a gun was scary. 

“I know you’re trying to kill my brother,” said Tankhun shortly. “Which means you need to die. Slowly. So, cousin, which ball first? Did you know it can take a week for you to bleed out from your testicles? Arm, that’s right, isn’t it?”

“Approximately, Khun Tankhun,” Arm responded coolly without taking his eyes or his gun off Vegas’ head.

“Excellent!” Tankhun almost clapped, like it was his birthday. “I’ll go for the right. Well, if I can find it…”

“Wait!” Porsche cut in, just as Tankhun pressed his tongue to his teeth and closed one eye to aim. “Porchay, my brother! Please, you can’t kill him until he tells me where he is!”

Tankhun blinked at the interruption, seeming to have forgotten Porsche was even there. Vegas, whose complexion was grey at this moment, closed his eyes in momentary relief.

Unfortunately for Porsche, Tankhun’s ire turned completely on Porsche, making the latter visibly perspire. Walking into certain death had been easier to deal with than facing Tankhun’s wrath. Especially when he put his hands on his hips like that. “Oh ho, Not-Lexus, don’t think you’re off the hook! I should blow your balls off, too! I’m very angry at you for the lies and fake names! You need to buy me a dozen cocktails from Yok’s bar to make it up to me -  that is, if ‘Yok’ is even her real name!”

“Tankhun,” Porsche beseeched, gulping. He knew he had a lot to answer for but there was only one person on his mind. “Kick my ass all you want after but my brother…”

“Is safe,” Tankhun sighed, waggling his gun at Porsche like it was a finger of disapproval, the diamonds glimmering. “We broke him out of a cell in the basement. He’s now with Pol and about four other guards in a car outside. He’s adorable and I’m totally keeping him. And so well-mannered, he certainly didn’t get that from you! Oh, and just so you know, he’s annoyed with you, too. Which isn’t surprising because we’re all annoyed with you, especially Kinn. He’s absolutely apoplectic with rage because of this kamikaze stunt of yours. You should have heard the way he barked at me on the phone to save your sacrificial ass - yelling at his own elder brother! I thought I raised him better. Love always makes him such a bitch.”

At Tankhun’s flurry of words, happiness soared inside Porsche, like he could barely contain it from shooting out of him. Chay was safe and Kinn still cared. Kinn had felt angry, hurt and betrayed by Porsche but he still sent his brother here to get him.

And then Porsche remembered Vegas’ words. Kinn had sent his men here to save Porsche when he was the one in danger from his father. Kinn could be dead right now for all Porsche knew. Korn might have already got to him.

“Tankhun, where is Kinn now?” Porsche asked frantically, panic eating away at him. “Is he with your father? Is he safe? He’s not alone, is he? Does he have protection?”

Tankhun cocked his head, looking puzzled by the reaction, like Porsche had forgotten he was the one who had almost just died.

“He’s back at the compound with Chan, why?” Tankhun asked, his perfectly plucked eyebrow puzzled.

“It’s been Korn the whole time,” Porsche let out in a rush, trying to get this out as fast as he could. He needed to get to Kinn yesterday, he needed to make Tankhun understand. “It’s been your father from the beginning, he’s the one that has been trying to get rid of Kinn. Korn is the new Dragon. Vegas was working with him to remove Kinn. I didn’t even realise it but he was the one who originally hired me.”

Tankhun looked lost. His eyes were wide and disbelieving. It made him look like a child again, one who loved his father and couldn’t believe he could do this.

“I… no. He wouldn’t. Papa… he loves Kinn.”

“Please, Tankhun, we don’t have time for this,” Porsche begged, almost on his knees. Precious seconds were being wasted. “We need to get to the compound now. We need to check Kinn’s okay.”

“Why is it that one of you lovebirds is always sending me to rescue the other?!” Tankhun huffed petulantly, looking annoyed that he was a rescue service and a glorified messenger boy rolled into one. He even stamped his foot with annoyance. “It’s bad enough he’s obsessed with you, but you’re just as obsessed back. It’s irritating!” The look of pure despair on Porsche’s face made Tankhun back down, however. He sighed with frustration one last time before pouting and tapping his ear. “Pol, get the car started, we need to head back to the compound. Arm, get a team ready to transport a hostage, we’re taking my sweet cousin with us for leverage. And Pete, get my smelling salts ready. I have a feeling I’m going to need them.”

 

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 

 

By the time they pulled up in front of the major family’s compound, Porsche felt like his agitation was making him crawl out of his skin. The vehicle had barely stopped when Porsche pushed the door open and jumped out, leaving Tankhun to tsk about safety and bad manners.

But Porsche didn’t care. He had never felt such an overwhelming feeling of dread take over him before. Kinn was moments away from death, he could feel it. Whether it was that invisible red line that connected them or sheer instinct, Porsche knew that it might be too late if he didn’t hurry.

So he sprinted through the house, Tankhun and his men lagging behind as they tried to keep up. He didn’t know why his feet moved towards the back of the house and through the garden but somehow Porsche just knew that was where he would find Korn. The place where they had first met, the traditional brick out-building, where the chess game was almost completed.

And he was exactly right.

There was Korn, standing tall, his gun pointed down at Kinn, who was kneeling at his father’s feet like he was praying. His head was bowed, his cheek was bruised and his eyes were red, like he was unhappily volunteering the back of his head for his father to shoot through.

Kinn looked like he was willing to do whatever his father wanted.

Porsche wouldn’t stand for it. 

Lifting up his own gun with purpose, hatred coursed through Porsche like it had infected his very blood. “Korn, get away from him!” he snarled.

Korn flickered his eyes towards Porsche, barely surprised. Korn had this horrible knack of planning every step in advance. Porsche wouldn’t have been surprised in the slightest if the man had this moment planned from the very beginning, Porsche being yet another pawn on his chessboard, expendable and unimportant. 

Kinn, on the other hand, jolted in surprise, seemingly drinking Porsche’s appearance in with relief. He ran his eyes over him like it was a miracle he was still alive. In Kinn’s defence, it sort of was.

“Ah, the double agent.” Korn said almost conversationally, kindly, like he wasn’t holding a weapon of death at his son’s head. “I must say Porsche, you did a stellar job. You convinced almost everyone. Even my boy over here. But, then again, Kinn’s always been weak for a pretty face. Haven’t you, boy.”

“Yes, sir,” Kinn said emotionlessly, looking down at the ground again. 

Porsche wanted to shake him and tell him to come back to himself. To remember who he really was, not this cowering servant who could barely make eye contact with anyone. 

Instead, Porsche just cocked his gun and kept it pointed at Korn, even as he tried to shrug with bravado. If Kinn couldn’t save himself, Porsche would have to do it for him.

“I don’t know about how smart I really was,” Porsche returned flippantly. “I fell in love with my mark, so it didn’t exactly go how you planned. It’s your fault for having such a hot son.” 

Kinn lifted his chin to look at Porsche again. His eyes looked so broken but there was a hint of hope, a longing so raw that Porsche felt like falling at his feet and shielding Kinn with his entire body. He wanted to save him from everything and then watch the world burn around them. Porsche knew he had a lifetime of grovelling to do. He just hoped Kinn would give him the chance to make it up to him.

“Catching feelings was foolish of you,” Korn said, sounding disappointed in Porsche, like he had honestly expected better.

“No, actually,” Porsche shot back although his eyes were fixed on Kinn. Just catching his gaze made him lose his breath. How did Kinn manage to destroy him with just a look? “Falling for Kinn was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Korn looked mildly repulsed. Clearly, the hormones of twenty-somethings didn’t amuse him. He also finally seemed to lose his patience as he turned to the man behind him. Porsche had barely noticed who it was but now that he saw it was Chan, Porsche felt betrayal sting the inside of stomach, like a hive of bees were in a vicious frenzy. Was Chan really helping Korn do this to Kinn?

“Chan,” Korn said brusquely, nodding his head. “Take Porsche’s gun.”

Chan clenched his jaw, looking almost contrite but he moved forward obediently. It was like watching a wayward marionette being controlled into moving their limbs.

“Chan,” Porsche said softly, imploringly, stumbling backwards in surprise. He knew Chan cared, he knew he couldn’t approve of his. Chan couldn’t be on Korn’s side, he couldn’t. “Chan, don’t. This isn’t you.”

“I’m sorry,” Chan said, looking at Kinn with a look Porsche had never seen before. It was so naked, so raw and full of love. And then Chan lifted his own gun to point it directly at Korn as he stood, side by side with Porsche. “But I can’t do that, sir.”

For the first time since Porsche had known him, he saw Korn look taken aback. Chan had been a loyal servant for so long and had never gone against a single order in almost thirty years. Korn hadn’t factored in that Chan loved Kinn more than upholding his duty to Korn. Korn didn’t understand love. And he didn’t seem to understand that sometimes it superseded everything.

Korn’s clever eyes sparkled darkly.

“You would betray me?” he asked, his voice quiet. It was menacing enough to make shivers run up Porsche’s spine. 

Chan swallowed. It looked like he felt the same way as Porsche. It appeared to be taking all his strength just to stand his ground and not fold under the intimidation. 

“I won’t betray Kinn,” he almost stammered. For a man as strong as Chan to cower because of the sheer presence of Korn was astounding. Korn could command armies with a strategic lift of an eyebrow. It was insane to Porsche how mild-mannered and benevolent Korn appeared, especially since he was closer to resembling the devil himself.

Korn pressed his lips together, clearly disappointed in Chan. He looked at the man with a stark coldness, like he was dead to him. The way he stared at Chan – like he was nothing – it was as though he had disappeared from the earth entirely. If anyone had the power to erase someone with a thought, Porsche had no doubt it was Korn.

But he couldn’t erase everyone. Because, not a moment later, Tankhun, the guards and Kim had arrived, their many bodies taking over the lawn. Guns raised, the guards looked nervously at each other, as though none of them had a clue who they were supposed to be pointing their guns at. Pol, in particular, kept alternating his aim with bewilderment, from Kinn to Porsche to Korn and back again until he looked a little dizzy.

Tankhun and Kim, however, soon made the decision for everyone when they spotted Kinn, looking broken and battered by their father’s feet. The two brothers barely blinked before lifting their weapons and aiming them at Korn. 

Korn kept his own gun on Kinn, even as he looked between the dozens of weapons that were now pointed at him. It made him chuckle darkly.

“Soft,” he said, shaking his head, like he had made a small miscalculation somewhere along the way. “I made you all too soft.”

Kinn looked up at his father, a visceral sort of pain in his face that Porsche felt all the way down to his toes.

“Father, why?” Kinn questioned, misery clinging to every muscle in his face. His hair looked a mess, with a strand of it hanging over his eye and making him look like a teenager. “Why are you doing this? I didn’t even want to be in charge, you pushed me to be the Dragon. I never wanted this.”

Korn looked down at his son icily, not a single hint of affection on his face. It made Porsche ache for Kinn. Porsche’s parents were dead but he knew they loved him. Kinn had lived with this man his entire life and had been discarded by him the minute he stopped being helpful. Kinn had been birthed for a function, like cattle raised simply to be slaughtered.

And now, Kinn was no longer useful.

“I thought you were ready to take over my legacy,” Korn said, looking severely disappointed, like it was Kinn’s fault Korn was the worst father in existence. “But destabilising the very power structures that brought us to the top? You’re destroying our legacy. And I won’t have that.”

Kinn looked confused by his words before realisation slowly dawned on his face. He had finally figured out what this was really about. He narrowed his eyes, his harsh eyebrows fierce and ink-black against his face.

“I won’t condone slavery,” Kinn said, his voice as strong and authoritarian as his father’s. It made the very air sizzle, like two unstable elements were about to impact and take down the world with them. Everyone present seemed to shiver, like they knew something awful was about to happen, like the quiet before an apocalyptic storm.

Korn had clearly noticed this change in Kinn’s tone because he looked at his son with a touch of wariness, holding the gun in his hand a little tighter. Kinn was not only weaponless but still on his knees. The fact the power seemed to have shifted to him felt unreal, but there was something about the hard stare up at his father, the unforgiving shape of his mouth. 

Kinn was naturally terrifying without even trying.

Korn tightened his jaw, trying not to lose the upper hand that seemed to be slipping between his fingers like sand.

“Slavery is what paid for everything you have, boy,” Korn’s voice snapped, showing more anger than he usually displayed. “Do you think these riches and power just magicked themselves into being? Our very existence was born from the trading ring. Every drug deal, every square metre of turf we carved our name into, all of it stems from it. And you want to erase it? You think you can just walk away, that our partners will let us? You’re naive. And I won’t allow it. You’re soft, Kinn. Weak. You always have been. Just like your mother.”

Something wild flickered across Kinn’s face. It made Porsche hold his breath. It looked like a dragon awakening. 

“Don’t talk about her,” Kinn said. His voice was soft but it wasn’t gentle. He sounded like barely restrained fire as he rose fluidly to his feet. Even Kim looked nervous, readjusting the grip on his gun. It felt like something inside Kinn was about to ignite. Like a fuse was about to spark in a gas-filled room. 

Porsche felt like one small trigger could make the entire building collapse in on them. Kinn was beautifully horrific like this. Porsche couldn’t draw to save his life, but God, did he wish he could capture him like this. 

Korn just smiled softly in response at his son, so kind it almost looked cruel. Porsche also felt there was a small hint of desperation in it, a twitch of his mouth, like he knew the higher ground was crumbling under his feet. 

Korn wasn’t even looking at the guns trained on him. The only real adversary he paid attention to – that he acknowledged to be a threat – was the man he had raised, the man who was now standing up to him.

“Kinn,” Korn said, paternal softness cushioning the sharpness of his voice. “Sit down. We can come to an agreement.”

“No,” said Kinn, all fear and submission evaporating out of him. Now he just looked powerful. Like the Kinn Porsche had always known. The one with so much presence it made the air around him look thin, like just sustaining his aura sucked up the energy all around him. 

Korn looked angry. Insulted. Shaken.

“Do you remember who you’re talking to?” he hissed.

“Yes.” said Kinn simply, his voice barely above a whisper but somehow feeling powerful enough to shatter glass. It seemed to ripple around the watching crowd, who shivered. “And I know who you’re talking to. I’m the Dragon of Bangkok. And you? You, old man, are extinct.” 

Korn almost reeled backwards at the words, the insult winding him. It also made him suddenly look old, his wrinkles more defined than Porsche had ever seen them. He looked weak. Past it. A has been. He clearly felt it too because a look of fury, of insecurity, tore through Korn’s face like an injury. He knew where he was in the food chain. 

Which was the reason, in rage, he took one last look at his son, put his finger on the trigger and shot at him.

But Porsche had already moved across the room before Korn had even let out the shot. 

Without thinking twice, Porsche had jumped in front of Kinn, the bullet tearing through his chest with such impact he felt like he had been hit by a freight train. Porsche fell backwards limply, right into Kinn’s waiting arms.

Head spinning, Porsche felt like he was falling in slow motion, dropping like a stone to the bottom of the ocean. It was like water was filling his lungs as seaweed encircled his ankles, yanking him deeper into the black. Porsche could hear a maelstrom of gunshots like they were miles away, muffled and distant and synchronised, like a symphony of gunfire. 

Korn fell to his knees. Tankhun was shouting something. Chan was barking orders.

But all Porsche could focus on was one person.

“Porsche!” Kinn cried out, cradling him against his chest. Porsche blearily looked down at himself, his limbs feeling like they were moving through black treacle.

Blood. That was a lot of blood. Porsche wet his mouth weakly. His lips were already going numb. He didn’t have much time.

“Say… say it again,” he whimpered almost urgently, fingers clutching at Kinn’s collar to bring him closer.

“What!?” Kinn cried out in a stricken voice, more panicked than Porsche had ever seen him. Kinn’s hands were pressing down on Porsche’s chest to stem the bleeding. His shirt was soaked, more crimson than white. “Kim, get the medic here, now!”

“Say… say my name again,” Porsche murmured tiredly, pulling Kinn closer, just to taste his breath against his mouth again. He could barely see him from his angle, his sight beginning to disappear under spots of black.

For so long, all Porsche had wanted was for Kinn to know the real him. To hear his name on Kinn’s lips reverently, without anger or loathing.

Kinn looked like he was going to cry.

“ Porsche ,” he said, his voice breaking. With Kinn’s arms around him like this, Porsche could almost imagine they were in an embrace, in a universe where Kinn loved him back. A world where they met, fell in love and stayed together, happily ever after. It seemed like a nice place. Maybe Porsche would wake up there after he was done in this place.

Eyelids heavy, Porsche let the fantasy pull him under. It was wonderful. And he didn’t want to wake up from it.

“Thank you,” Porsche hummed with a soft smile, feeling at peace, Kinn’s nose pressed against his, drops of warm wetness falling against Porsche’s cheeks. 

And then blackness began to overtake him.

From somewhere far away, Porsche could hear Kinn desperately screaming his name but Porsche already felt himself slipping into unconsciousness and, as cheesy as it sounded, he couldn't imagine dying anywhere better.

Notes:

I promise, this fic does end happy! Also, so sorry for the longer delay posting, work has been kicking my butt.

Chapter 13: Call Me By My Name

Summary:

Porsche wakes up in hospital, where he and Kinn finally decide their future (or the potential lack of it).

When Porsche woke up, he was pretty surprised to find that he wasn’t already dead. He even frowned and considered checking his own pulse, just in case the big guy upstairs had made a mistake.

The last thing Porsche remembered was passing out while bleeding to death in Kinn’s arms. For all intents and purposes, he should have been a corpse and Kinn should have been a heartbroken mess without him (and preferably sobbing uncontrollably over Porsche’s cold, attractive body as he vowed never to love again).

It had all seemed so final that Porsche had even readied himself to enter a set of pearly gates. Or, considering the downright filthy things he let Kinn do to him in his fantasies, the more inevitable fiery pits of hell.

Porsche had truly embraced death like an old friend, ready to let it take him away. But now, as he looked around at the luxurious hospital room he was lying in, he wondered who the hell he had been snuggling up to all that time. 

Lifting up his hand, Porsche studied the IV jammed into the back of it with drug-addled bemusement, as though wondering if that had always been there. 

One thing was for certain - ghosts didn’t need to be on a drip.

“Hia, you’re awake!” cried out a familiar voice. A lithe figure practically threw himself at Porsche, thin arms wrapping around Porsche’s neck like an eager python. 

If it was any other person, Porsche might have assumed this was the world’s most affectionate assassin. But Porchay… Porsche would recognise his brother even if he was a blind amnesiac.

“Chay,” Porsche’s voice croaked from disuse, his heart almost bursting with relief, with joy.

Porsche had barely managed to get his bearings but hugging his brother tightly came to him as naturally as breathing. Burying his face in Chay’s soft hair, Porsche inhaled his familiar scent and tried not to sob. Chay was still alive, still safe.

Porsche’s chest ached, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the debilitating gunshot wound or the amount of guilt eating away at him. He had failed his brother in so many ways, he didn’t deserve him. The fact they had both come out of this alive was a miracle. 

“I’m so mad at you right now,” said Chay, completely contradicting what he was saying by hugging Porsche even tighter to him. His words were muffled against Porsche’s shoulder. “Joining the mafia, betraying the mafia, getting shot… it’s like you got a checklist of all the things that could kill you and then did them all! What were you thinking?!”

The kid had a point.

Porsche chuckled, then winced in pain because even laughing hurt. As much as he appreciated the hugs, his wounded chest was throbbing. 

“Easy, Chay, don’t yell too loud, I’m a recovering patient here,” Porsche said, before letting out his best pout for sympathy. “I got shot and everything.”

“Don’t remind me!” Chay exclaimed, pulling back to look at Porsche with those huge, watery eyes. They were a bigger weapon than anything in the Theerapanyakul armoury. “I thought I lost you.”

“Chay, look at me. I’m here, aren’t I?” Porsche replied back gently, serious again as he tried to placate him. He cradled his face between his hands like he was the most precious thing in the world, because he was. “I’m sorry I’ve been away for so long but you’re my priority. And you’re safe, that’s all I wanted.”

Which is when Porsche quickly realised who else wasn’t there. His smile dropped, urgency filling him at such a rush of speed that the medical equipment attached to him began to go haywire.

“Wait, Kinn, do you know if Kinn-” 

“You mean that bundle of blankets over there?” Porchay asked, pointing at the corner of the room where an exhausted-looking Mafia boss was sleeping, a suit jacket placed over him like a blanket. The crest on the chest pocket told Porsche it was Chan’s.

Kinn looked pale, bruised and troubled in sleep. His hair was sticking up in a hundred different directions and the dark circles under his eyes made him look like he had gone twelve rounds with Mike Tyson. His usually pressed suit was rumpled beyond recognition and he had his arm in a sling. He looked a mess, like he had somehow stumbled himself out of an extreme car crash. Tankhun would have probably disowned him if he saw him like this, or at least wailed about it as he tried to clean him up.

Porsche, for his part, had never seen Kinn look so rough. Porsche had also never seen anything in the world that looked any better.

Just drinking Kinn in made Porsche’s heart sing so loudly in his chest that he was amazed it hadn’t woken up the entire place with its lovesick warbling. Honestly, even Porsche was embarrassed by how enamoured his individual body parts were with Kinn. It appeared as though every piece of Porsche was a sucker for him, including his internal organs.

“Kinn,” Porsche murmured, feeling comfort just having his name around his tongue. Porchay looked between them, realisation slowly climbing across his soft features.

“I’m not the only reason you stayed here, am I, hia?” he asked with a knowing expression, like an old man with a lifetime of worldly experience under his belt.

But Porsche couldn’t respond, not when Kinn was stirring awake from their voices. Porsche held his breath, feeling like time itself was standing still as Kinn’s bleary eyes blinked into consciousness. It took barely a few seconds for them to search out Porsche's but when they did, Kinn latched onto his gaze with possessiveness, like he owned every part of him.

It made Porsche’s stomach clench with emotion. 

Porsche had already thought it a thousand times but Kinn really did have the prettiest eyes. And they were especially pretty when they stared at him like this, as though no one else on earth existed. 

“Are you okay?” Kinn demanded, like there would be hell to pay if he wasn’t. Kinn made his way over to Porsche with concern, looking like the walking dead as he did. He even had a limp. Porsche couldn’t see a mirror but he was pretty convinced Kinn looked far worse than Porsche did, and Porsche had almost died. “Are you in pain?”

“Oh, an excruciating amount.” Porsche smiled winningly, pointing at his chest, where his bandage was, to highlight this fact. “I got shot, you know.”

“I know, asshole,” Kinn returned but there was a fondness in his voice that made Porsche beam at him stupidly. He couldn’t help it. Kinn made him act like a lovestruck idiot. This was something even Chay had noticed because he coughed before covertly slipping himself out of the room for a cup of coffee, as though he couldn’t handle witnessing Porsche be this lame. Clearly, the secondhand embarrassment was too much for even a saint like him to endure. 

Porsche knew he should have been more ashamed of his needy behaviour but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Kinn was ridiculous, dangerous, infuriating and adorable. Porsche wanted to climb him like a tree and then ride him into the sunset.

Without knowing he had done it, Porsche had raised his hand to Kinn, greedy and craving his touch against his fingertips. When Kinn bit his lip and hesitantly took it between his own hands, Porsche didn’t have words for the happiness that overtook him. Maybe they would be okay. Maybe they weren’t broken beyond repair.

“What happened?” Porsche asked, trying not to be mesmerised by the way Kinn’s thumb was rubbing circles against the back of his hand. “I heard gunshots and then… nothing. Is everyone else okay?”

“Kim shot my father,” Kinn said, his forehead wrinkling like he was recalling a traumatic memory. “He’s in a coma right now. Vegas has been captured and he’s in the cells. We’re not sure what to do with him. Tankhun keeps visiting him and lecturing him about his life choices. I have a feeling he would have preferred being in that coma with my father.” Kinn then pursed his lips together, a darkness falling over his face that made the dark circles under his eyes look almost black. Kinn looked almost skeletal, like death himself. “We still don’t know if Pa will pull through. I don’t know if I want him to pull through.”

“Kinn…” Porsche said, squeezing his hand as he watched Kinn clench his jaw tightly. “He tried to kill you. You’re allowed to be pissed about it. I’m pissed about it for you.”

Kinn just raised his head, a haunted look behind his eyes.

“He’s my father,” he bit out, the words sounding like they were scraping off his oesophagus. Porsche could tell they hurt to say. He knew even now, Kinn still didn't want to believe them. It was the ultimate rejection by the man whose opinion had meant the most to him, a man who had shaped and controlled his entire life.

Porsche sighed with understanding. If anyone was the expert on shitty parental figures, it was him.

“Yeah, but Kinn, your father’s a dick,” Porsche replied candidly, because Korn was the fucking worst. The fact his sons had grown up better people was a testament to them, not him. When Kinn frowned at the bad language, Porsche just shook his head. The man could shoot a hundred people but drop an F-bomb and he looked outraged. “What, he is. What kind of man betrays his own son? He doesn’t deserve you, Kinn. He never did.” 

Kinn just raised one of his impressive brows. The fact he still managed to look imperious when he was dressed like he had walked out of a homeless shelter was impressive.

“And what about the man he hired to betray me the entire time?” Kinn shot back, his hand stilling in Porsche’s as he stared at him so sharply Porsche felt like he was cutting through his flesh to see his bones. “What does that sort of a traitor deserve?”

Porsche swallowed hard. He deserved nothing, he knew that. But what if saying that aloud made Kinn agree with him? Porsche was selfish. He had lost so many things. Kinn was something he couldn’t handle losing. Just the thought put the fear of God into him.

“Will you ever forgive me?” Porsche murmured, terrified about the answer. 

Kinn looked away. That was never a good sign. Porsche’s insides felt like they were squirming like snakes.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” he said softly, staring at one of Porsche’s heart monitors. It felt appropriate, since he controlled everything it did. “You lied to me the entire time. Even now, I can’t trust anything you say. You were the only person I grew to trust, to love and it wasn’t even real.”

It felt like a dagger in the ribs. Porsche should have known this was coming but it still hurt, and far more than that gunshot ever did. Kinn had actually loved him back. And now everything was ruined. Porsche felt like he had destroyed his one shot of happiness.

“Kinn, it was real,” Porsche stressed, his hand clinging to Kinn’s almost bruisingly, like he wanted to permanently attach them together. “You have to believe me. I love you, too…”

“I know,” said Kinn, finally lifting his head to look him in the eye. His eyes looked red and exhausted. He looked cried out, resigned. “You stormed into the minor family compound like a madman, you jumped in front of a bullet for me… I know all that, Porsche. I know Vegas was holding your brother hostage, I know you didn’t have a choice. But it doesn’t mean we can be together. I’m better off alone. I always have been. The fact that even someone like you can be forced into being a spy… no one can be trusted. And with my father now out of the picture….” Kinn tightened his jaw at the thought. “I have to reorganise the family. And I can’t have distractions. I can’t form attachments in the job I have. It gets people killed. It almost got you killed.”

Porsche felt like Kinn was miles away, even though their hands were connected. He felt so distant. So cold. Like he was closing himself off from everything and everyone. Porsche tried to hang on, even as it felt like the tides were trying to pull him away. He felt like if he let go now, Kinn would be the one lost at sea forever; alone and resentful for the rest of his time, just like Korn.

“Can… can I at least stay in your life? Be a bodyguard? Please?” Porsche wasn’t above begging. He might still be recovering but he could get on his knees if he needed to.

Kinn hardened his face. It was like he was turning to stone in front of Porsche's eyes.

“That’s not a good idea,” he said, a brittle look about him that Porsche hated passionately with every fibre of his being. It made him look cold. Inhuman. “I need to… not see you for a while. I can’t think rationally when you’re near.”

Porsche felt like his heart was breaking. He knew, deep down, he deserved every bit of pain he was getting, every agonising shard that pierced through him.

But Porsche was also a cocky little shit who was as stubborn as a mule. So he swallowed hard, lifted his chin and boldly – shakily – asked,

“How long?”

Kinn looked puzzled by the question, his brows quizzical.

“What?” he asked like he had misheard, his eyes squinting. It was far too cute a look for a man who had killed as many people as Kinn had.

“How long do you need me to stay away?” Porsche repeated, looking moments away from pulling a notebook out to make notes. He was going to do this right, even if it took his entire lifetime to get Kinn back. “Because I will. I’ll wait as long as it takes you to be ready to give me a chance again.”

Kinn opened his mouth then shut it again. Clearly, he wasn’t used to people negotiating emotional terms with him. For a man who hired escorts and barely kissed anyone, talking about relationships probably confused the hell out of him. 

“I might never be ready,” Kinn shot back, almost like a ‘So there’ in response. It was childish and petulant. Considering he was such a powerful man, Kinn could be such a brat. He must have got it from Tankhun. Porsche had seen firsthand how snotty the eldest Theerapanyakul sibling could be when Porsche had once badmouthed his favourite drama. Tankhun didn’t talk to him for a week and only communicated to him through scrawled notes that he made a dutiful Arm read out like his lawyer.

It looked like Tankhun wasn’t the only baby in the family.

“Okay,” Porsche accepted patiently, talking to Kinn like he was a kid. It made the man pout even more. “No matter the case, I'll still wait for you, regardless.”

Kinn looked irritable faced with Porsche’s endless stubbornness.

“Why?” he demanded with frustration, like Porsche’s undying worship for him was annoying. 

Porsche just shrugged. It was Kinn’s own fault for being so endearing.

“Because I’m in love with you, stupid,” he said brusquely, not caring how blunt it sounded. Kinn almost looked offended. “I’m in love with your giant eyebrows and the love you have for your brothers and your unbuttoned shirts and your frankly illegal chest. I am so stupidly in love with everything about you that it’s shameless, Kinn. So, because of all that and a million other things, I’ll wait for you. I’d wait for you forever if I had to because you’re worth it. 

“I hate Vegas for blackmailing me into this but he brought me to you, and I can’t ever regret that. I’d do all this again — the shootings and the crazy training and the lunatic assassins — just for a chance to meet you again. To be in your life.” Porsche paused his tirade to stare Kinn straight in the eye, who looked like he had stopped breathing to listen to his words. Porsche then let out an ironic laugh, shaking his head. “Did you know that I always wanted to have my own bar by the beach? I had a whole plan mapped out. Me and Chay, living the easy life, opening when we wanted to. Serving the best drinks in Thailand. Chay chasing people off with his terrible live singing... We imagined it all. And you ruined that. You ruined all of it. Because since I met you, I can’t imagine my life without you in it. Damn it, Kinn, even my lifelong dreams have changed because of you. Now I think, ‘What about Kinn? Does he even like sand? He’s so pale, he’ll probably burn too easily. Can he even swim? Do I need to teach him? Will he get pissed if I buy him floats?’ Can’t you see what you’ve done to me? What you've turned me into?”

“Porsche…” Kinn said, but he didn’t seem to have anything else to say after that. He looked speechless. Dumbfounded.

Porsche, on the other hand, was not. His mouth couldn’t stop itself from carrying on. Everything he had kept pent up for all these months was now flowing out of him like a fountain.

“Kinn,” Porsche said gently, pouring every bit of devotion into his voice, his hand still clasping onto Kinn’s like he was his lifeline. Which, if he was honest, he sort of was. “I’ll never get over you. And you might not trust me again but trust this - I’ll never stop loving you. I’m not capable of it. I’m a pigheaded asshole. So if it never happens – if we never happen – I’ll take it. Even for a sniff of a chance with you, I would still risk it all. I know we met in the worst possible way. I know I lied and betrayed you and I’m sorry. I don’t deserve you. But I’ll spend every day making you see what you mean to me, that everything we had was real.” 

Letting out a deep sigh, Porsche ran his eyes over Kinn’s expression. He couldn’t read his face at all. The hope he was desperately clinging onto seemed to be dissipating with every second. Porsche let out a shuddered breath. If Kinn wanted to leave, he needed to let him, even if it ripped him to pieces. 

“Look, you should go,” Porsche said with resignation in his voice, desolation making his shoulders droop. “You’re busy and you’ve got an empire to run, after all. You checked on the traitor, I didn’t die, yay. You did your duty, your conscience should be clean. I’ve already made you stay here longer than you wanted to. I know you have better places to be. Hopefully, I’ll see you soon, when you’re ready to let me back into your life. Just… please let me in. Okay?”

But Kinn didn’t move. He just stared at Porsche, his eyes glittering and intense, like the storm of the century was raging in his irises. He looked ferocious and treacherous, like he could take out the entire hospital wing with just a word from his lips. And then Kinn opened his mouth, making Porsche tremble with apprehension at what would happen next.

Whatever he predicted, it wasn't what happened. 

“You dick,” Kinn said, his voice so harsh it made Porsche flinch. “You monumental shitheel. You are the absolute worst and I hate you forever.” And then Kinn surged forward to kiss a surprised Porsche so fiercely that they fell back against the hospital bed together, Kinn’s knees on either side of Porsche’s hips on the mattress. It was like he belonged there. 

Porsche felt light-headed as Kinn’s tongue traced his teeth. Head spinning, Porsche grasped the front of Kinn’s shirt collar, initially for balance, and then to urgently pull him in closer. He could feel the material groan under his hands but he didn’t care as he sought out Kinn’s mouth desperately, like he needed it against his own to survive. Kinn’s lips were soft even as they lit a fire throughout Porsche’s mouth, like an uncontrollable inferno spreading across every inch of skin he had. 

The universe felt like it was reeling out of control. It was chaotic and wonderful and Porsche had no idea when the ride would end, but he was happy to hold on for as long as he could. 

As long as he and Kinn were together, he felt like they could take on the entire world. 

It was only when Porsche got dizzy that he reluctantly pulled back. Pressing his forehead against Kinn’s, he breathed hard through his nose as he tried to get the earth to stop spinning. Just inhaling the scent of Kinn quietened the mad beating of Porsche’s heart and the pounding rush in his ears. Porsche’s world slowly tilted back onto its regular axis again, like a drunk who was beginning to sober. Kinn’s proximity was grounding, keeping him tethered to the moment like an anchor.

It was like Porsche’s body knew he was home. And now it had found home, it wasn’t willing to let it go for even a moment.

Weakly pulling Kinn into the space beside him, Porsche rearranged the man perfectly on the bed so he could curl comfortably around him. Lying there pliantly, Kinn let Porsche reconfigure the placement of his limbs without complaint, letting him treat him like a human pillow. The fact Porsche had this much power over a man this influential felt absurd, especially when he began to snuggle into him like an oversized cat.

They were silent for a moment, just basking in the enormity of what just happened, still pressed against each other from head to toe. It was only when Kinn dropped a kiss to his shoulder that Porsche lifted his head.

“So,” he murmured as he perched his chin on Kinn’s impressive pectorals (also known as Porsche’s favourite place on earth). “Am I forgiven?”

“Not even slightly,” Kinn returned, his hard words sweetened by the fact he sucked gratuitously on Porsche’s tongue a moment later. “You’re going to be making up for this for years. But first things first, you need to get better. After that, I’m taking it out on your ass. Slowly. For days. By the time you leave my bedroom, you won’t be able to walk.”

Porsche shivered. That wasn’t a threat. It was a promise. Every hair on his body rose with interest, as though each and every one of those follicles was gagging to get railed by Kinn. Porsche couldn't help but match their enthusiasm. Just the thought made him tingle with anticipation. 

“I’m looking forward to it,” Porsche said breathlessly, excitement quivering through every part of his body. And then, because he was a natural-born prick, “That is, if you can even keep up with me, old man.”

“Porsche,” said Kinn warningly, his voice threatening enough to make the majority of the planet wet itself en masse. Porsche just preened when he heard it, trying not to get delirious from want. Kinn was hot when he sounded both horny and murderous.

“Yes, baby?” he replied teasingly, waggling his eyebrows. Porsche expected a slap on the ass or a smirking reply but Kinn’s face suddenly seemed to change, mellowing at the sound of Porsche’s endearment. It made him look so soft, so young. It knocked the air from Porsche’s lungs. The duality of this man was frightening. He could go from fearsome to adoring quick enough to give a person whiplash.

Cradling the back of Porsche’s neck, Kinn then leaned forward to kiss his forehead gently, almost reverently. Porsche closed his eyes and tried not to melt.

“Porsche,” Kinn said again, but this time his voice was so full of affection it made Porsche want to cry. “Tell me about yourself. The real you, not the bullshit story Vegas made you tell me.”

Opening his eyes, Porsche beamed, his eyes shining with happiness. This was all he ever wanted. For there to be no secrets between them.

Porsche then opened his mouth and started from the beginning. Wrapped in Kinn’s arms, he recounted the story of his life and didn’t stop until the sun came up.

Chapter 14: Epilogue: The Couple Who Slays Together, Stays Together

Summary:

Epilogue - Years have gone by, Kinn and Porsche are still together and they have one final score to settle.

A few years later

The Chon estate looked more weathered than it had the last time Porsche had been there.

It was like the building had been pickled in time, preserved in a murkiness that made everything look like it was faded and drowning underwater. Porsche didn’t doubt cracks ran through the hidden foundations like a cancerous sort of gangrene, slowly rotting from the inside out. The thought of the building itself decomposing like a dead rat made a vicious sort of happiness balloon inside Porsche’s chest.

If anyone’s failing empire deserved to be compared to a maggot-infested rodent corpse, it was Chon’s. 

And it was failing.

Even the once grand driveways looked more beaten up, with the fancy cars lining them spitting their owners out of their innards like they were vomiting out toxic sludge. 

As Porsche stepped through the entrance, he was greeted by the same roaring torches as before but they flickered obnoxiously now with false grandeur, so offensively try-hard that it bordered on embarrassing. The building seemed to be clinging onto happier years like an old beauty queen trying to unsuccessfully claw back her youth with botched facelifts and poisonous lip fillers. 

It was all just… sort of pathetic really. Like curdled milk that no amount of sugar could turn fresh. 

Porsche took in the pitiful surroundings with relish, inhaling the air deeply as he did. He could practically taste the desperation of the place in the air and it was delicious. 

Even the guests looked like faded versions of their previous incarnations. There was the same pop star Porsche had seen before but they had since fallen from grace due to a leaked drunken video where they had uttered a racist slur. Beside them stood a politician who had been caught (and released) for a case of embezzlement he had clearly been guilty of.

Some of the other guests were newer but if Porsche looked closer, he could see the ugliness in the party. These weren’t the shiny new celebrities he had seen previously. These were the ones riddled with scandals, the ones polite society turned their noses up at. Chon had had to resort to a different sort of clientele now, ever since Kinn had actively — ruthlessly — decided he was going to tear this slavery ring to the ground. 

Porsche had always been ridiculously attracted to his man but watching Kinn maliciously destroy this institution piece by piece with calculated relish and aplomb? Porsche was so turned on by his competence that he ached .

It was, to put it plainly, simply glorious to witness. 

And they weren’t done yet.

“Well, hello, handsome,” a familiar voice suddenly whispered from behind Porsche, hot breath against the shell of Porsche’s ear. Porsche shivered. Even after all these years, Kinn still managed to make him tingle from head to toe. It was infuriating. “Do you have plans later? Because you would look perfect bouncing on the end of my-”

“We’re supposed to be undercover, you pervert,” Porsche hissed out of the corner of his mouth, even as he tried not to laugh. Kinn’s pick-up lines were so lame it was endearing. “We’re not supposed to know each other, remember?”

“What, I can’t approach a handsome stranger?” Kinn murmured, his breath still tickling the side of Porsche’s face. “By the way, you look divine in that suit. Need any help getting out of it?”

Porsche bit his lip and tried to repress a smile. 

He didn’t need to turn around to know what Kinn looked like that evening. Porsche had dressed him himself before they had left the compound and he knew his mob boss looked good .

A few hours back, Porsche had almost reverently buttoned up the navy suit Kinn was currently wearing, which was so snug it was a wonder he could move in it at all. Kinn’s plunging neckline was also obscene enough to practically put his nipples on show, and it had taken all of Porsche’s willpower to not stick his face in his chest.

As the person who felt ownership of said nipples, Porsche didn’t know whether to be annoyed they were being flaunted in public or stare at them like a letch. 

He decided to do both. 

“You know,” Kinn purred, trying to put on his most seductive voice. It was annoyingly effective. “I think I remember them having an empty cloakroom here that we could slip into...”

Porsche barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes affectionately. When Kinn got like this, Porsche was torn between smacking him for being insufferable and dropping to his knees to unzip his pants. 

“We’re literally in public,” Porsche reminded Kinn in a low voice. Kinn’s warm chest was flush against his back and a familiar hardness pressed against Porsche’s ass in a way that made him feel giddy and lightheaded. It also made him half-curse Kinn for getting him riled up when they were on a mission. 

They were supposed to be here for work, after all - they were here to meet an old acquaintance. It didn’t help Porsche keep his head in the game when all he wanted was for the man behind him to bend him over and rail him until he could barely breathe, until he was choking on him.

Which was a little ridiculous because they had literally just screwed each other senseless a couple of hours ago, after a particularly volatile meeting with Don.

The meeting had concluded with Don making several unsavoury comments about Porsche being Kinn’s whore and Kinn shooting him right through the face for it. Porsche had been so turned on that he had barked for the guards to remove the body and leave before throwing Kinn on the huge table and riding him like a man possessed. Kinn had dug his nails into his sides brutally as he pistoned his hips into him like a jackhammer. His hair had fanned out around him on the table like a dark halo as he savagely thrust into Porsche, looking more like a demon than an angel. It was fitting, because Porsche had always known loving Kinn would condemn him to an eternity in hell. He was just happy they got to burn in the flames together.

In the afterglow afterwards — as they lay together on the tabletop bonelessly and drank each other in — Porsche knew he would never top this moment. That it was him and Kinn until the end . 

It didn’t mean, however, that he wanted to re-enact his horny table sex from earlier in front of a party full of people.

“Sir,” a voice crackled from Porsche’s earpiece, pulling him back to the present. It was Chan, sounding like he knew what they were doing and was professionally telling them to cut it out. Chan had done this a lot over the years. The man had walked in on the most compromising situations and still managed to make Porsche feel like a naughty schoolboy. His disapproving voice at that moment was no exception.

Porsche slapped Kinn on the hip to get him to stop distracting him. Kinn gave him one last grind of the hips before retreating to the other side of the room, where he began to mingle. 

“Fucking tease,” Porsche muttered, ignoring Kinn’s smug smirk before clearing his throat. “Chan, I read you. Have you found him?”

“Target has been spotted,” returned Chan crisply from the earpiece. “East wing of the house, fifth floor.”

Porsche pursed his lips, suddenly all business. Chon was here. Finally, after years of eluding them, they had him where they wanted him. 

“Do we have eyes on him now?” Porsche demanded, his voice sharp. 

“He’s with Khun Vegas,” Chan explained, as prompt and competent as always. “Khun Vegas’s tracker is on and the camera on his lapel is giving us a live feed.”

“Let’s hope Vegas doesn’t blow his cover this time,” Porsche said under his breath, trying not to sound too doubtful. 

Working with the shamed cousin of the family still felt surreal to Porsche, even after all the years that had passed. Kinn still held a grudge larger than Jupiter but no one knew the ins-and-outs of Korn’s secret alliances better than Vegas did, especially since Korn was still in his coma.

It also became apparent that no one could work undercover better than Vegas could either. Not only was he an excellent liar but he was friends with every shady asshole in the land and could get into places no one else could. Porsche still fondly remembered the face Kinn had made when Vegas had categorically told them he was friends with every living assassin that had tried to kill Kinn at some point. Vegas was apparently still in a WhatsApp group with most of them and caught up with them every weekend to play golf and call Kinn mean names. 

Kinn hadn’t been impressed. Luckily for Vegas, Pete vouched for his trustworthiness. And everyone — including Kinn —  loved Pete.

“Pete would vouch for a serial killer if they cooked him a hot meal.” Kinn had once remarked, face dubious.

“Pete’s smarter than that,” Porsche had argued back, genuinely believing it . “I have faith in him. So I guess I have to have faith in Vegas, too.”

The fact Vegas was the ‘double agent’ now wasn’t lost on Porsche. It felt like an ironic sort of justice, one of those jokes the universe liked playing. This time, it was laughing with Porsche and not at him. 

Personally, if you asked Porsche, the fates owed him this. He had been the butt of the joke since birth.

Chan’s voice buzzed in his ear again.

“Khun Vegas has given the signal.”

That was all Porsche needed to hear. Placing a hand over the concealed weapon in his jacket, Porsche wove his way innocuously through the bustling room, knowing Kinn would be following right behind.  

Because if there was one thing Porsche knew with as much certainty as breathing, it was that Kinn always had his back. 

They made their way silently up several flights of stairs, moving in sync, like they were a single entity. Sometimes even Porsche struggled to know where he ended and Kinn began. They weren’t just partners. They were one unit. 

The pair silently made their way to the door Chan had directed them to before stopping outside it. It was ornate and so overly-embellished that Porsche irrationally hated it on sight. They could hear muffled voices behind the door. Now was the time to strike. 

Gaze laser-focused, Kinn turned to Porsche. There was a dangerous sort of glee in his eyes. 

“Ready, baby?” Kinn murmured, his voice soft but sinister, his eyes gleaming like black diamonds. 

Pulling out his own gun, Porsche cocked it. Even with his heart thumping like crazy, he had never felt more ready in his life.

“Together?” he prompted breathlessly. 

Kinn smirked, before swooping in to briefly peck Porsche on the lips. 

“Always,” he said like a promise. He then raised his lucky gun, lifted his leg and kicked the door down. 

Vegas and one other man were inside the room, with the latter jumping to his feet in alarm as the door flew off its hinges, leaving splintering wood chips flying in its wake. Before the man could react, Kinn and Porsche lifted their guns in sync at his head, leaving no doubt in anybody’s mind about the seriousness of the situation. 

Vegas, for his part, just picked up a discarded, slightly dusty drink and took a sip, watching the scene play out with mild interest. 

Ignoring his cousin, Kinn let out a small, terrifying smile at the other occupant. Porsche had seen many a grown man evacuate his bowels in the face of that face. 

“Hello Chon,” Kinn said almost conversationally, his gun perfectly aimed between his eyes.

The years hadn’t been kind to Chon. He looked like the physical embodiment of what his pitiful life had been reduced to - cheap, debauched and falling apart. His suit looked as weathered as his furnishings and he had far more grey in his hair than he did before. His wrinkles were also deep enough to give the Grand Canyon a run for its money. Clearly, times had been hard.

Porsche felt satisfaction wash over him. It couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.

“Ah, Khun Kinn…” Chon spluttered nervously. His greasy hair fell over one eye, as though even his follicles were trying to bow at Kinn's feet. “I didn’t expect to see you at our function today.” 

Chon took an agitated step forward. 

Hackles rising, Porsche instantly moved between them despite Kinn rolling his eyes. No one was allowed near Kinn, not on Porsche’s watch. Even without the official title, everyone in the compound knew who Kinn’s head bodyguard really was.

“Move away from him,” Porsche warned coldly, his words as final as a funeral. He’d had years to perfect his pants-wetting tone. Kinn had been a good teacher.

Chon hastily stepped back, an apology ready on his lips until he properly took in Porsche’s face. Recognition flickered over Chon’s haggard features, like a sputtering lightbulb on the brink of running out of energy. 

“The pretty escort, I remember you,” he said, momentarily distracted, like he was recalling a fond memory. Chon then smiled a bitter, oily sort of smile that immediately made Porsche want to take a shower. “My lord, the price you would have fetched at one of my stables…”

Kinn cocked his gun. Porsche was impressed he hadn’t just shot him. Porsche knew he was Kinn’s biggest weakness, as well as his biggest strength. 

Kinn let out a hard exhale through his nostrils, fiery enough to produce flames like the Dragon he was.

“Talk to my husband like that again,” he warned Chon softly, like pebbles that gently trembled on the ground before an earthquake, “and I’ll pull your fingernails out with my bare hands.”

If there was a colour paler than white, Chon had turned it. 

Porsche tried to smile placatingly, shrugging with good humour. 

“Apologies for the ball-and-chain over here,” he said through a wide smile, not sounding sorry in the slightest as he jabbed a thumb cheerfully at Kinn. “He gets a little jealous when gross dickheads say stupid shit to me. Ever since we got married, he’s been getting steadily more psychotic.”

“Married?” Chon remarked with disbelief, looking at a murderous Kinn and clearly looking shocked that any sane person would want to be legally bonded to that . 

Which Porsche thought was rude. When he wasn’t channelling a psychopath, Kinn was a catch.

“Oh, it was a small ceremony,” Porsche quipped, his gun still trained ruthlessly on Chon. “Loved ones, lots of cake. His brothers did speeches, the bodyguards got drunk and did a strip show. Vegas over there made an offensive speech and almost got shot. It was great.”

Vegas smirked into his glass and gave them a lazy salute from his chair. Kinn’s eye twitched, like he was debating whether or not to turn the gun on his cousin and shoot him instead.

Ordinarily, Porsche would have let him but they had unfinished business here. 

So Porsche took matters into his own hands, smiling charmingly at Chon the way he had perfected during his bartending days. It hadn’t failed him yet. 

“You know,” Porsche said conversationally, his smile alluring. “We’ve been looking for you for a long time, Chon. You’ve been good at evading us over the years, I’ve got to give you that. But you got sloppy. Deciding to throw a private party and hoping Kinn and his men wouldn’t find out?” Porsche paused for dramatic effect. “That was stupid. And as for reaching out to Vegas…”

“Moronic,” Vegas cut in, idly crunching on an ice cube.

“Idiotic, really,” Kinn agreed, gun-hand steady, his face like stone.

Sweat ran down Chon’s temples like a waterfall, his face red and panicked.

“Khun Kinn, I can give you a cut,” he insisted desperately, his words tumbling out of him with fear. “You name what you think is fair! Have it all, it would be better in your hands… just let me go. I won’t bother you again. I’ll disappear, you won’t hear from me again.”

“You’re right, I won’t hear from you again,” Kinn agreed. He then put his gun away, his face giving nothing away. “Porsche?”

Porsche moved forward, the muzzle of his gun on Chon’s forehead. His eyes were unforgiving.

“It was never about the money, you shit bag,” he spat, raging filling him as a soft, sweet face filled his thoughts. It made Porsche curl his lips with anger. “Just so you know, this is for Mek.”

“Mek?” Chon let out a laugh, like he couldn’t help himself. Like his fear couldn’t hold back his contempt. “That useless whore? Why would he be worth anythi-”

Porsche’s finger pulled the trigger before Chon could say another cruel word. The gunshot rang loudly throughout the room, echoing off the gaudy walls. Chon staggered backwards, confusion on his face, the sizeable hole in his head letting out a curl of smoke and a trickle of blood. Chon then slumped to the floor like a puppet that had its strings cut, falling in a heap at Porsche’s designer-clad feet. 

The room was silent for a moment as Kinn, Porsche and Vegas watched Chon bleed out, stark red liquid blooming into the carpet around his head. 

Porsche’s smoking gun was still held aloft, his fist trembling with an overwhelming emotion he couldn’t describe. Wherever Mek was, he hoped he had been watching. 

“Porsche?” Kinn said softly, sounding like he was far away, his voice bringing Porsche back to his body. Kinn’s hands gently prised the gun from Porsche’s fingers. Porsche let him, heaving a sigh when Kinn placed a long kiss on his temple, grounding him and slowing the throbbing vein beating under his lips.

This man. Porsche couldn’t help but smile. There really was nothing he wouldn’t do for him. 

Everyone knew about The Dragon but Porsche was happy to remind the world that Kinn now had a Phoenix by his side, a Phoenix who was just as unhinged as Kinn was when it came to protecting what was his.

The criminal underworld was still reeling from their first few years together - it really wasn’t prepared for what the future was going to bring.

Porsche couldn’t wait for him and Kinn to meet it together.

“Let’s go home, handsome,” Porsche said, purring under Kinn’s attention. “I need you to screw me so hard I see stars.”

“Gross,” said Vegas from the other side of the room, wrinkling his nose at them. They both chose to ignore him.

“Likewise,” Kinn said, pretending not to hear Vegas’ gagging noises. “Think you’re up for the challenge?”

Porsche lifted Kinn’s hand and kissed the back of it, right on his wedding ring, like he was making an ancient oath.

“You can count on me,” he promised, his tone unwavering.

Kinn just smiled, clearly trusting every word.

“I know I can,” he said.

 

Finis

Notes:

And it's a wrap! Please forgive me for the huge wait for the epilogue, I got ill and then had to get back into writing - hope it didn't disappoint!