In Lines Of Love ~ Kimchay

39. Happy fucking valentines ( pt3 )

Porchay stared out of the car window, watching the Bangkok City blur past him.

The sky had melted into deep hues of orange, the last rays of sun fading away unnoticed.

He hadn't even realized it was evening. His mind was too tangled in the conversation with Tang. Unsettling feeling taking over his heart and mind.

How could a man be interested in him without even knowing him? And marriage? On their first meeting? He thought.

It was insane. Creepy, even. More so because Tang wasn't just any man.
He was a mafia boss. A powerful one.

And Kim?

Where the hell was he? Was he really not going to sa..........

*SCREECH*

The car jerked violently, a loud screech piercing the air as it skidded to an abrupt stop.

A Maserati stopped in front of them.

Porchay lurched forward, his head slamming into the seat in front of him.

His heart pounded in his ears as he blinked rapidly, trying to process what had just happened.

"What the hell?" he gasped, whipping his head toward the Gaurd. "P'Anon, what-"

Anon's hands trembled over the steering wheel, his face pale. "Khun's there... I don't know. Please, stay low." His voice wavered, and he reached for the emergency button beneath the dashboard with a shaking hand.

But before he could press it, the driver's door swung open.

A figure emerged. A man.

Kimhan.

His movements were sharp, precise, his expression a storm of frustration barely held together.

He combed his hair streaks, now hastily tied into a bun, framed the lethal fury burning in his eyes.

He gestured Anon to open the locks on door of the car.

Anon hesitated, glancing at Porchay with an almost apologetic look before nodding and unlocking the doors. The sharp click echoed in the air, heavy with tension.

Porchay squeezed his eyes shut, his hands shooting up to cover his ears as his head dipped down. He braced himself for gunfire, for Blood.

But instead-

A Calloused iron grip hold onto his wrist and yanked him out of the car.

Porchay stumbled, breath catching in his throat. His gaze snapped up, and there he was.

Kimhan, standing in front of him, eyes dark and unreadable.

No. Not unreadable. Enraged.

The way he looked at Porchay sent goosebumps down his spine, like he was staring straight into his soul, peeling away every layer until nothing remained hidden.

"Phi-!" Porchay started, but Kim's grip only tightened, fingers digging into his skin.

Panic shot through him like lightning. He struggled, twisting against the hold. "What the hell, Phi? Are you trying to kill us? Let me go!" He wriggled, jerking his arm in protest.

"IT HURTS"

"Porchay," Kim warned, his voice low, almost growling. There was a suffocation to the way he said his name.

Porchay winced, the strength in Kim's grip reaching his bones now. His pulse hammered wildly in his throat.

"P'Anon!" He turned to the gaurd, desperation lacing his voice. "Help me! Call Hia P-"