Wicked Game (Vegas Pete) "English version"

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Vegas felt a void begin to fill him completely. Pete lay unconscious in his arms; he wasn't dead yet, but if Vegas didn't act soon, he could be within hours.

He had to get help immediately. He thought of turning to Kinn and the First Family with their doctors and hospital resources. 

Vegas didn’t mind asking for help, despite his reluctant disdain for his cousin; Pete's life hung in the balance now. But he hadn’t figured out how to get there or report back by any means.

He had secretly left the Mansion, but for what purpose? Now, the situation was even more complicated.

No phones, far from the city...

Vegas couldn't just sit back and do nothing at this point; he had to act, and quickly.

He ripped a piece from Pete's shirt and used it to stop the bleeding, although he knew it was only a temporary measure.

Carefully, he lifted Pete and cradled him in his arms.

—Hold on, Pete,— he whispered to his unconscious bodyguard. The tears had stopped, but his eyes were still misty. He cursed under his breath as he saw that his motorcycle had either disappeared or been destroyed by the mob men.

Deciding not to waste time or energy cursing them, he continued down the road when he heard gunshots in the distance.

It was those men again.

And so the chase began.

Vegas leapt across steep slopes. A branch blocked his path, making him trip and causing Pete to slip from his arms and roll across the ground. He scolded himself, cursing his bad luck.

He struggled to his feet, ignoring the branches scraping his skin. Pete was his priority. He spotted him ahead, motionless near a stream.

Ignoring the pain in his legs, he ran, leaving his pursuers behind.

Seeing Pete's face covered in dirt, a cut on his cheek, and sweat beading on his forehead, Vegas knew the fever would soon take hold.

—I have to hurry...

—You were such a fool,—he muttered, even though he knew Pete couldn't hear him. —If I'd been smarter, we wouldn't be here.—

He didn't want to take the blame, but losing his best bodyguard was not an option.

—Forgive me, Pete. I'm so sorry...—he whispered, hugging the unconscious young man. Vegas felt cold while Pete burned with fever.

Continuing onward, he was acutely aware that the mob men were still after them. He could not afford another encounter.

The forest was quickly darkening. The treetops filtered the cold, making Vegas shiver. He cursed again, shielding Pete with his black jacket, though his movements were clumsy.

He maintained a quick but steady pace, knowing it would take hours to reach the avenue and that he would have to make strategic stops. The worst aspect was the total absence of pedestrians or vehicles.

The thought of taking refuge in a cave with a weak fire urged him to quicken his pace. He preferred to rest for the night, but he wanted to be far from where they had been attacked.

Pete stirred in his arms.

—Relax, Pete. I'm here,—he assured him, wishing he had said those words much sooner.

Keeping his gaze fixed on the shadowy forest, Vegas avoided meeting Pete's eyes. It was not out of disdain or anger, but because an overwhelming feeling of guilt invaded him.