Tanned Leather & White Lace [+18]

14

The night before the meeting

Pete had developed some kind of sixth sense when it came to Porsche and Khun Kinn fighting.

He could tell almost immediately, like something invisible was floating in the air that only he could feel. And every time, without fail, Porsche would end up in Pete's room. Well, their room, technically, if you considered that Porsche never truly moved out after getting all tangled up with Khun Kinn.

It didn't matter if it was 9 AM on a weekend, where Porsche would show up grinning like nothing had happened, asking Pete if he wanted to go for a walk or grab some bubble tea. Or if it was 3 AM, with Porsche crashing into his old bed without saying a word, clearly trying to avoid the mess waiting back in Khun Kinn's penthouse.

Pete never really asked questions—he didn't need to. He had seen this little wicked game enough times to know when Porsche just needed space, and when he just needed a distraction.

Tonight, though, felt a little different. Pete, too, was wrestling with his own mixed feelings about Khun Kinn and his weird behavior during the meeting earlier. Khun Kinn acting like the big mafia boss wasn't a surprise—Pete was used to that. But what he wasn't used to and what threw him off was being on the receiving end of it this time. That... That was new. That and the fact that Khun Vegas was somewhere in the middle.

Pete was still struggling with the guilt and shame of having been the one to fool around with the enemy. But what unsettled him even more was that Khun Kinn seemed completely indifferent to whatever drama between him and Khun Vegas. In fact, it almost seemed like it was useful to Khun Kinn in some way, like he didn't mind the mess, as long as it served a purpose. For the first family. For himself.

Pete still wasn't sure if he could trust his gut, but the idea of going back to being "the worst spy ever" wasn't something he was eager about. And no, it wasn't because of his newfound feelings for Khun Vegas. Definitely not. That's definitely not why he cried the second he left that bizarre meeting with his boss.

Yeah, this is probably why you don't fool around with the enemy. Conflict of interest, or maybe just being an overly emotional idiot who now had to navigate between two powerful men—both of whom held a different place in his life, and in his head. And, hell, maybe even in his heart.

Pete had just finished his dinner—some half-decent Chinese takeout—and was about to zone out in front of the TV, not because he cared, but because it was his default evening routine when he was very much sad. And pathetic. Normally, he'd be scrolling through his phone, but since that got destroyed—thanks to a certain someone—he resigned himself to mindlessly flipping through Netflix instead.

He was half-heartedly searching for something to watch, maybe an American show or a true crime documentary—anything that didn't involve the mafia, love, or a love story in the mafia. Even as he scrolled, he knew he wouldn't really watch anything. Most likely, he'd just end up falling asleep with the remote still in his hand, drooling on the expensive cushions he had convinced himself were a very necessary purchase.

It was one of his go-to distractions—a way to keep his mind numb, something he had relied on far too often for his liking. Sometimes it worked, other times not so much. And tonight, it seemed like it was one of those nights where sleep was playing hard to get, and his thoughts refused to quiet down. Especially with everything looming over him about tomorrow.

Work. Khun Kinn. What Khun Kinn asked him to do. Khun Vegas. The never-ending complication. Khun Vegas. The start of something. Khun Vegas. Or maybe the end.

It was the familiar bang on the door at 7 PM, on that rainy Sunday evening, that snapped Pete out of his thoughts. And he didn't need to guess who it was.