Trapped in Kismet [KinnPorsche] [Kinn x Porsche]

Part 13: Come & Get It

"We're losing him!"

Who was lost? Were they important?

"I need IV fluids now!"

Fluids. IV. Was the lost person lost and hurt?

"You drop everything and save my son – now!"

A flurry of 'yes!', 'of course!', 'we will save him!', echoed as a chorus that was conducted by the cruelest of conductors.

Ah. A booming voice that halted the inner workings of a clock, made the Earth stop spinning on its axis, caused every breath in the room to be halted till allowed to begin again, with its volume, its presence, and belonged to his father. Why was his father around? The man played absentee parent on a good day so why was Korn Theerapanyakun shouting with an urgency like a man about to go to war – a king whose general had fallen, took over the reins out of pure necessity, and a touch broken at having to do so. That last part was probably his own imagination. It wasn't that Korn didn't care, but his father preferred to leave them all to their own devices, never intervened or interjected to their defense or rallied to their side, even when they got hurt on the playground as children. It was always the expectation that they were Theerapanyakun heirs – invincibility, durability, and strength was bred into them since birth, raised up to be giants and captains of industry.

If they felt anything remotely close to weakness, then it was met with dutiful retribution: the toy tossed away, the lover dismissed, the bodyguard broken, it made it difficult for retention purposes when his father behaved that way. A lonely disposition that he, Kinn Theerapanyakun, was spiraling down same path similarly. He found that anything that was not of value to him, his family, or the business was expendable. A luxury that could be purchased, handled, and shuffled off when no longer important.

All of them were trained in youth, tested to proficiency with their skills and personality traits, told that they were just elite soldiers in a world that they had not chosen on their own. Nothing was selected by them – that was just how everything was. This continued until he was 10, his brother already a teenager, and then it happened. The perpendicular snap of a rubber band back against his father's face. The hint of vulnerability.

Tankhun had been kidnapped, the abductors on the brink of violating him when his father busted the door clear off its hinges, shot every single one he could get into focus, stormed the castle like Cerberus released from its leash by Hades to wreak havoc on those who dared to assault Korn and his children, hell hath no fury that day. Their mother had passed a year prior due to a similar incident gone wrong, Korn had vowed no repeat on them. After the absolute devastation of Tankhun's incident, his father loosened the chain on them, no longer tethered them to expectations and instead steered away from controlling them.

Well at least Tankhun and Kim were afforded the luxury; Kinn, was not. Someone had to take over, someone had to make the sacrifice of their self-worth to retain the dignity of the Theerapanyakun reputation – and honestly, he reveled in it.

His older brother always had a weaker mind (in his opinion) or was perhaps the most intelligent out of the three of them to be able to escape the insurmountable pressure of being the next heir apparent in the mafia business. It was still up for debate. Kinn just mentally let out a sigh, not realizing it had been expelled physically as his eyes were closed.

Then a word repeated again my son.

He said son. Was it Kim? Was it Tankhun? Who was hurt exactly? The endless barrage of questions that continued to fire like a machine gun in succession, carved a hole individually into his brain as if attempting to trigger a memory, a flashback, anything as to why either of his brothers were hurt and why his father was adamantly harassing the medical staff of the compound into action with his scream – attacked the forefront of his mind, it elicited his fingers to wiggle, a sigh to escape his lungs.