VegasPete- Be Honest with Me

Chapter 9

Everything the mafia head has been doing the moment he laid eyes on a pretty bodyguard has been against his better judgement. It had come to the point where it seemed like Vegas's better judgement didn't exist anymore. It was just one judgement.

The wrong judgement.

The judgement that always concluded that Vegas should stay close to the young bodyguard, which is exactly what the mafia head decided to do now as he left his balcony where he was standing and staring down at the bodyguard quarters and started walking towards the main door instead.

Nothing could stop Vegas this time. He saw Macau passing the hallway, looking rather out of it. Was he drunk? Vegas couldn't find it in himself to care as much as he would on a normal day. The first thing he decided to do after visiting Pete would be to have a serious chat with Mac. But not right now, he needed to see Pete.

As Vegas started getting closer to the bodyguard quarters, his anxiety was increasing. It almost felt like the more time it was taking for Vegas to reach Pete, the more was Pete suffering. He needed to reach for his pretty guard as soon as he could.

Vegas's footsteps were urgent and he didn't answer to any bodyguard who greeted him in his way. Although, no one dared to question the mafia head as to why he was here. No guard had a death wish.

The way Vegas's jaw was tight being annoyed with the fact that it was a long walk from Vegas's room and Pete's room was showing so clearly on Vegas's face that no one tried to talk to him, all they did was get out of his way.

To Vegas's surprize, he didn't immediately enter once he reached the said room, there was a hesitation in Vegas which, as a mafia head, was bad for his ruthless reputation.

'Get your fucking act together!' Vegas could clearly hear someone yelling these words, what he couldn't understand was why was the voices coming from Pete's room. Did he come to the wrong room? Who the fuck would yell at Pete? He was a head bodyguard, he had one hell of an authority. Who the fuck would yell at Pete? Was Pete the type to be a victim to work politics? Nah, he was better than that. Wasn't he?

Who the fuck yelled at Pete?

While Vegas was standing out the door witnessing all kinds of emotions topped with anger, someone from the other side of the door held the knob and Vegas immediately stepped aside, hiding from the person, whoever that motherfucker was.

What Vegas regretted was, in his attempt to hide from the said man, he failed to see his face, all Vegas could decipher was the uniform of a bodyguard, that too from the back, the same black suit which everyone wears.

Vegas knew it was a bodyguard. Who else could it be anyway, outsiders weren't allowed in the premises, be it the bodyguard quarters or the main mansion. Vegas wasted no time to knock on the door as soon as the way was clear, he needed to ask Pete who the fuck it was. However, there was no answer. He was starting to think that he was definitely at the wrong door.

He knocked again. No answer. He tried again. Nothing.

It was hard enough to be a man of manners for the man he cared so much for, considering Vegas fucking owned everything and he could just barge in. In Vegas's defense, he did knock thrice. It was time he checked if it was actually Pete's room. If he didn't find Pete now, Vegas was almost ready to break all doors of these damn quarters to find the one he was looking for, the one who alone had the ability to put him at ease with his presence, the one who looked like he could give the life to Vegas he didn't know he was looking for, the one whose eyes looked like his life was sucked out long ago.

All thoughts, whether sane or insane, vanished from Vegas's head as he opened the door forcefully, only to find the beautiful guard he was looking for curled up on the titled cold floor, his eyes closed, his eyebrows knitted together, his hands gripping his knees so tight his knuckles were turning white.