Chapter Text
Porsche didn’t know the exact shape of the whatever-it-was between Pete and Vegas, just the vague outlines of it. Pete, rocking in a bathtub trying to smile saying I went home. Vegas, who was supposed to be in hiding, bargaining with Porsche just for a chance to see Pete. Pete, resigning and taking off after Vegas.
Pete in the hospital looking at Vegas like half of his heart was lying there comatose and he didn’t know if he was going to get it back.
“Pete,” Porsche said, “you should sleep.”
“I’m not tired,” Pete said. Porsche stared at him, incredulous at the audacity of that blatant of a lie.
“You’re not tired,” he repeated, just in case Pete needed to hear it back to register how ridiculous it was.
“I’m not,” Pete said. He was still looking at Vegas. Porsche rubbed his eyes and grimaced.
“Do you think Vegas would want you to wear yourself out like this?” he tried. That got Pete’s attention, as he’d hoped it might. At least, it got him a brief glance and a furrowing of the brows. Porsche pressed. “You’re not doing anyone any good right now,” he said. “You need sleep, food. He’ll be fine without you for a little while.”
The crease between Pete’s eyebrows deepened. “He could die,” Pete said. Porsche didn’t think it would help to point out that Pete being here wouldn’t stop that.
“You can’t just stay here constantly until he’s better,” he said instead. Pete got a little bit of a look that said just try me. “Seriously,” Porsche said. “Just…take a break.”
He did manage to pry Pete out of the hospital like peeling the shell off a shrimp. He coaxed him into eating, too, and then into taking a nap in their old room. Pete went out like a light and Porsche figured he was going to be down for a while. But Porsche couldn’t just leave him there to wake up by himself, so he sat down on his old bed and started scrolling absently through his phone.
The general consensus around the house was that Pete had lost his mind. Porsche was less sure. Or else, if he had lost his mind, it was mutual. Vegas had certainly seemed desperate. Of course, none of that would matter if Vegas died, which would probably wreck Pete.
Recent threats to kill him or not, Porsche really hoped Vegas didn’t die.
Porsche had a lot to think about. He was now running the entire minor family. Chay was upset with him. His mother still wasn’t talking, or even acknowledging he was there most of the time.
It was a relief to talk to Pete. Even if Pete couldn’t seem to decide if he should be calling Porsche Khun Porsche or not.
The difference in Pete since Vegas had woken up was remarkable. He seemed brighter, lighter, like a weight had lifted off his shoulders, the color back in his face. Like he was the one who’d been unconscious for weeks and was just now coming around.
“Should I visit?” Porsche asked Pete. Pete paused in gobbling his curry and made a face.
“Probably not,” he said. “At least, not yet. I haven’t…” He looked down. “I haven’t told him about you being the new head of the minor family.”
Porsche winced. He had a feeling that Vegas had guessed, but it was probably better for him to officially hear about it before Porsche actually approached him. “Why not?”
Pete shrugged, his expression going cagey. “Timing just hasn’t been right,” he said. Porsche frowned at him, but Pete either pretended not to or actually didn’t notice.
“You seem…happy,” he ventured carefully. Pete glanced at him sidelong.
“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “I am.”
“That’s good,” Porsche said. Pete’s expression turned a little wary and Porsche gave him a tired smile. “No, really. I’m glad you’re happy.”
“Do you think I’m crazy?” Pete asked.
Yes, Porsche thought. Sort of. But maybe I am too. “No,” he said out loud. Pete gave him a look of mild irritation.
“You don’t have to lie to me.”
“I can imagine you’re sick of people trying to tell you that you don’t know what you’re doing,” Porsche said. Chay had tried and Porsche had gotten close to losing his temper with him, which he didn’t – wouldn’t – do.
“I know people are just worried,” Pete said.
“Does that make it less annoying?”
Pete laughed. There was something different about it – about him, in general – but Porsche hadn’t quite pinned down what it was, yet. Maybe it was just the relief of Vegas surviving. “No,” Pete said after a moment. “Not really.” He gave Porsche a wry, rueful smile.
More relaxed, Porsche thought. Less…contained. Maybe that was it. For someone who’d just tossed the structure of his whole life out the window, he seemed remarkably at ease.
“What are you going to do now?” he asked. Pete’s brow furrowed.
“Do?”
“Yeah,” Porsche said. “You’re out, you can do anything you want.”
Pete looked blank, like he was confused by the question. Or maybe hadn’t thought about it. “I don’t know,” he said.
“Well, what do you want to do?” Porsche asked. Pete hesitated, then shook his head.
“It depends,” he said. “On what Vegas wants to do.”
“Okay,” Porsche said slowly. “But if it were up to you, what would you want?”
“I don’t know,” Pete said again. “I really haven’t…thought about it.”
“Really?” Porsche said. “Never? What did you want to be when you grew up?”
“A superhero,” Pete said. He smiled, but something about it struck Porsche as off. “I don’t need to do anything,” he went on. “I’m just…following my heart.”
What about a job, what about money, are you just going to follow Vegas around for the rest of your life, Porsche thought. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, right.”
Pete had been checking his phone obsessively all night.
They were at Hum Bar, the first time he’d showed up since everything had gone down, and he mostly seemed twitchy and nervous. Porsche plied him with drinks and tried to get him to relax, but when Pete smiled and laughed there was something off about it, something that rang a little false.
When Pete slipped away – I’ll be right back, just having a smoke – Porsche kissed Kinn on the cheek and followed him. He found him out back, phone to his ear.
“I have to go,” he said when he saw Porsche. “I’ll – yeah. Yeah, I know.” He hung up, looking obscurely guilty.
“Everything okay?” Porsche asked.
“Yeah,” Pete said, smiling. “Yeah, everything’s good.”
“You sure?” Porsche said. “You seem sort of tense.”
“Haha,” Pete said. “No, I’m good.”
Porsche wasn’t sure if Pete had gotten to be a worse liar or he’d just now started noticing the difference between real-Pete and bodyguard-Pete, now that he actually knew there was a difference. He hoped it was the former. It would make him feel better about not realizing earlier.
“Uh huh,” Porsche said. He gestured to the phone. “Talking to Vegas?”
Pete tensed, just slightly. Defensively, Porsche thought. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “Just checking in.”
Porsche raised his eyebrows. “Reporting back?”
Pete stiffened, looking for a moment like he was about to say something sharp, then settled. “Checking in,” he repeated. “I just wanted to…” He glanced past Porsche at the door, like he was worried someone else might be there. “Make sure he’s okay.”
Porsche blinked. “Is there a reason he wouldn’t be?”
“No,” Pete said, “not really.”
“You’ve been keeping half an eye on your phone all night,” Porsche said. “What are you so worried about?”
Pete glanced at him through the fringe of his hair. He looked like he was thinking about what to say, or maybe what he could say. It stung that he’d feel the need to filter it even as Porsche understood why.
“He almost died,” Pete said finally. Porsche nodded, but Pete shook his head. “No, like – really. I thought he was dead and I was just going to end up bringing a corpse to the hospital. And then after that it was still – bad. And even if he didn’t die because he was shot, someone else could kill him, I was the only one in the way and I’d already fucked it up once–”
“Hey,” Porsche said soothingly. “Hey, it’s okay.”
“No,” Pete said, his voice harsh. “It’s not. I should’ve heard someone coming. I was careless, I wasn’t paying attention, and Vegas took four bullets to the chest because of it.”
Porsche didn’t have to wonder how long Pete had been carrying this around without telling anyone. This whole goddamn time, blaming himself.
“I can’t fuck up again,” Pete said. He took an unsteady breath in, visibly pulling himself together. Porsche reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Pete,” he said. “It’s…not your fault.”
“Yes it is,” Pete said. He ground the heels of his hands into his eyes and started to turn away. Porsche grabbed his other shoulder and turned Pete to face him.
“It’s not,” he said. “Vegas and his father attacked the house. He made the decision to be there. He had to’ve known it was dangerous. It wasn’t your job to protect him then and it’s not your job now.”
“Of course it’s my job,” Pete said. “Somebody has to look out for him and nobody else is doing it.”
Porsche opened his mouth, then closed it. “You’re not his bodyguard,” he said. Pete gave him an aggrieved look.
“That’s what he says.” Pete exhaled loudly. “Look. It’s – it’s fine. I’m okay. I just…worry.”
“You could’ve told me you were feeling like this,” Porsche said. Pete’s mouth tugged at one corner.
“I know what people think,” he said. “It’s easier not to talk about it with anybody.”
That, Porsche thought, must be very lonely. He thought of Kinn inside, Tankhun, his friends. And Pete, not quite standing on the other side of a line. He’d probably never be able to invite his boyfriend to these get-togethers.
“I’m sorry,” he said. Pete shook his head.
“It’s all right,” he said. “It’s just the way it is.” He pocketed his phone. “We can go back.”
“Pete,” Porsche said. “It really wasn’t your fault.”
Pete detached himself from Porsche’s hands on his shoulders. “Even if it wasn’t,” he said, “if something happened now, I don’t think I’d survive it.”
And with that he went inside.
It became clear very quickly as Porsche settled into his new leadership that while he didn’t need him, his life was going to be a lot easier with Vegas on his side. Which meant he had to get Vegas on his side, but approaching him directly seemed like it’d just get a door slammed in his face. He needed a different in, a sideways approach, and he had the means via Pete.
And then Porsche realized that he was thinking about using his friend, which made him feel profoundly shitty, and then he remembered how he’d also sold out Pete to get information about his family, which made him feel shittier.
Sure, it seemed to have worked out all right, but it wasn’t like he could’ve known that at the time. All he’d really known was that Vegas had fucked Pete up, that Vegas wanted to see Pete again, and that Vegas had access to information Porsche wanted to know. He’d had leverage and he’d used it. Used Pete.
That was, he was aware, a fucked up thing to do to a friend, and punching Vegas in the face didn’t make that less true. But he’d still done it.
And he was about to do it again.
hey pete, Porsche texted. when are you going to invite me over to see your new house?
didn’t know you wanted to come over, Pete wrote back.
obviously, Porsche wrote. Pete didn’t respond for a minute, so Porsche wrote, come onnn i wanna see u in ur natural habitat
ok, Pete sent. is it ok if vegas is there?
i’m not going to kick him out of his house, Porsche wrote. i’ll bring a housewarming present
He asked the sommelier for a wine recommendation, because he had the feeling Vegas would judge him for what he chose. He brought a pack of beer for Pete. Then he left a note for Kinn, slipped his bodyguards, and headed over.
Kinn would hate it, but Porsche had a feeling that showing up with an entourage would set completely the wrong tone.
Pete opened the door. His smile was a little nervous but eased slightly when Porsche held out the beer. “I have this great series I think you should watch,” he said. “Probably at least four times.”
“How about we watch a scary move instead,” Pete said. Porsche laughed. It was easy, so easy, to be someone’s friend. And he was Pete’s friend. He was just also…a bartender, playing along so he’d get a good tip at the end of the night.
A mafia boss using his friend to get close to a target.
Porsche felt a little sick. He shoved it down.
“No way,” he said. “You can do that on your own.” Pete stepped back and Porsche came inside. It was a nice house. Not as nice as the one Porsche now owned, but nice. Comfortable. Very neat.
“Nice place,” he said. “Want to show me around?”
“Uh – sure,” Pete said. “There’s still stuff in boxes.”
“You should’ve told me if you needed help moving,” Porsche said.
“What,” said a smooth and very barbed voice, “you’d lower yourself to help?”
Pete tensed again. Porsche had hoped to have longer with him before Vegas showed up.
He turned toward Vegas and gave him an easy, relaxed, disarming smile. “Sure,” he said. “For a friend.”
Vegas’s eyes raked over him like he was assessing every inch of Porsche and finding all of it wanting. His gaze lingered briefly on Porsche’s hand and then moved back up to his face, not a trace of friendliness to be found.
Well. Porsche hadn’t expected this to be easy.
“Hey, Vegas,” he said. He pulled the bottle of wine out of his bag and held it out. “You’ve probably already got better, but I promised a housewarming gift, so…”
Vegas’s eyebrows twitched fractionally upward. “That’s nice of you,” he said flatly. “What do you want?”
“I’m just here to see Pete,” Porsche said soothingly. Pete, who was glancing nervously back and forth between them like he was trying to figure out who he needed to protect.
“Where’s your honor guard?”
Definitely a good call not bringing one. Porsche shrugged. “Left them at home,” he said. Vegas’s eyebrows twitched another fraction upward and Porsche gave him another one of his I’m friendly and you like me smiles. “You won’t hurt me and I get sick of having a tail.”
“Won’t I?” Vegas said. Pete winced. Porsche didn’t blink.
“You might hate Kinn but you like me,” he said, with confidence he didn’t entirely feel. He remembered Vegas holding a gun on him, nasty smile on his lips, and he’d certainly looked like he planned on pulling the trigger. But Porsche didn’t think Vegas was that stupid. Or suicidal.
Vegas stared at him for a moment longer, then shrugged and turned away. “Sure,” he said. “Whatever.” He vanished back into the next room. Not exactly a success. But hopefully next time he came to visit Pete, it’d be a little easier, and the time after that a little easier again, and eventually…
Pete exhaled, his shoulders slumping. “Sorry,” he said.
“You don’t need to apologize,” Porsche said. “He’s your boyfriend, not you.”
“Yeah, but…” Pete trailed off, then shook himself. “Right. You wanted to see the house?”
He did want to see the house. And he did want to see Pete. Both those things were true, and Porsche tried to tell himself that was what mattered, and not the fact that he was using his friendship with Pete to get Vegas used to him again. Like coaxing a feral cat into getting closer by pretending you were doing something else.
I love you, Chay had said recently, but I’m not sure I like the person you’re turning into very much.
Sometimes Porsche wasn’t sure he did either.
Kinn seemed to think Porsche wasn’t aware that Vegas was dangerous. Personally, Porsche thought he had more very personal reasons to know it.
The question was if he was dangerous to Pete. The question under that question was if Pete already knew that and had decided it didn’t matter. Porsche didn’t know the answer to the first one but he was pretty sure the second one was a yes.
Which was Pete’s call, and Porsche couldn’t throw all that many stones about dangerous boyfriends. What worried him more was how isolated Pete was.
Sure, he was still in touch with his former fellow bodyguards, but those relationships were tenuous and fragile. His only family was far away. And he had Porsche.
Pete had pinned his entire life to Vegas, and Vegas was possessive, jealous, volatile. If he ever did turn on Pete, there wasn’t much to get in his way.
Or if he, say, locked Pete in a secret room for decades. He could do that. Apparently that was a thing people did do.
Porsche’s mother still wasn’t talking.
So he worried about Pete, and watched him closely, because if anything happened, at least he wanted to think he’d be able to step in. Do something.
“Do you think he’d let you go if you wanted to leave?” Porsche asked Pete. They were at Pete and Vegas’s place again, smoking (outside, Vegas apparently didn’t like it in the house). Pete took a moment to tap the ash off his cigarette, glancing sideways at Porsche before he answered.
“I don’t want to,” he said.
“But if you did,” Porsche said.
“It doesn’t matter,” Pete said, “because I’m not going anywhere.”
Porsche sighed and looked up at the sky, exasperated. “It’s just a hypothetical.”
Pete stubbed out his cigarette on the sole of his shoe. “Probably,” he said after a long pause. Porsche frowned.
“Probably?”
“Yeah,” Pete said. “If I told Vegas I wanted to leave, he’d probably let me. I’d give it maybe 80/20.”
Porsche stared at him. “The 20 being what?”
Pete shrugged. “My guess would be shooting me and then himself.”
Porsche scanned Pete for any sign that he was joking. He didn’t seem to be. “You know that’s not a good answer,” he said.
Pete leaned back against the house. “If you wanted to leave,” he said, “do you think you could go?”
“Of course I could,” Porsche said, indignant on Kinn’s behalf. Pete just looked at him, gaze steady, and then shrugged again.
“Okay,” he said. Porsche narrowed his eyes.
“What?”
“Maybe you’re right,” Pete said.
“Of course I’m right,” Porsche said. “Kinn wouldn’t hurt me.”
“Okay,” Pete said again.
“You think he would?”
“I think you’re head of the minor family now,” Pete said. “Even if Kinn wanted to let you walk away, he couldn’t. You’re too big of a security risk.”
Porsche had, on some level, known that. Hearing it still sent a shiver down his spine.
“I don’t know what he would do,” Pete said. “But he couldn’t let you go.” He shrugged. “Honestly, even if Vegas let me leave I don’t know how good my chances would be. I’d probably have to hide for the rest of my life.”
Porsche’s cigarette reached his fingers; he yelped and dropped it. His mother had left. (His mother had tried to leave.) The look Pete gave him was almost pitying, and it rankled. Surely, Porsche thought, if he did want to get out, Kinn would help him find a way. Somehow, he would…
But when it came down to it, Porsche realized, his heart sinking, it wouldn’t be up to him. It would be up to Kinn. He might be head of the minor family now, but that didn’t make him an equal. Closer, but not quite.
He could almost hear Vegas sneer just figuring that out now, are you?
Porsche exhaled slowly. “Do you have another cigarette?” he asked.
“Mmhm,” Pete said. He tapped one out. Porsche took and lit it, taking a long drag.
“That doesn’t bother you?” Porsche said eventually. “Knowing you’re…” he wouldn’t say trapped. He wasn’t trapped.
Pete cocked his head. “That’s always been my life,” he said after a brief pause. “This, with Vegas…” He trailed off. “It’s different. It’s good,” he said.
“What’s the difference?” Porsche asked. “If you’re still not free–”
“Nobody’s ever free,” Pete said. “You just choose the cage you live in.” He smiled, small but warm and real. “I found one I like.”
Porsche stared at Pete, not sure how he was supposed to feel about that pronouncement. How worried he should be. How much he should actually believe that Pete knew what he was doing.
“Pete?”
Pete turned around, his face brightening. “I’m out here,” he called. The glass door behind them slid open and Vegas poked his head out. He looked at Pete first, which was a good sign as far as his increasing tolerance of Porsche’s presence. His smile didn’t look like it had knives in it.
“What do you want for dinner?”
“Curry,” Pete said. Vegas rolled his eyes.
“What kind of curry,” he said. Pete shrugged, and Vegas exhaled loudly. “Okay, guess I’ll just pick, then.” He paused, gaze moving over to Porsche, the smile fading. “Are we going to be four for dinner?” he asked after a moment.
Porsche considered it. Long-term it would probably be smart to accept, but if anyone hated him right now more than Vegas it was Macau. His relationship with Vegas right now was too fragile to risk something going wrong. He shook his head. “Nah,” he said. “I’ll let you guys enjoy your family dinner.”
“Suit yourself,” Pete said. “Vegas makes good curry. Even if it’s never spicy enough.”
Vegas scoffed, but Porsche thought he looked pleased. “Just because you want your mouth on fire doesn’t mean everybody does,” he said. Pete shrugged, Vegas shook his head, and paused.
“See you later, Porsche,” he said, and slid the door closed. Definitely progress. Porsche glanced at Pete, who seemed pleased.
It was all so…domestic. “You’re really…” Porsche started over. “You really think of this,” gesturing at their surroundings, “as a cage? And you’re okay with that?”
“If you don’t understand, that’s okay,” Pete said. “But it works for me.”
There was a massive bite mark shaped bruise right under Pete’s jaw where the collar of his shirt didn’t quite cover it. Porsche wasn’t sure if it was Vegas actually marking his territory or if that was incidental.
Pete didn’t seem aware of it, sitting upright and attentive and watching Vegas watch Porsche. Vegas, tapping his fingers on his leg with an expression that didn’t exactly look friendly. Even though he’d asked for this meeting in the first place.
“Is there something you need?” Porsche prompted him. Vegas sat back, doing at least a pretty good impression of comfortable.
“Right to business?” he said with a little quirk of a smile. “Okay, I can respect that.”
“I didn’t figure you were interested in making conversation with me,” Porsche said honestly. Vegas shrugged.
“I would if you would.”
Porsche eyed Vegas, trying to figure out his angle. What he was thinking. He honestly had no idea. “Okay,” he said slowly. “How’s your brother?”
“Busy with finals,” Vegas said. “How’s yours?”
Porsche wasn’t sure he knew. Chay didn’t talk to him as much about what he was thinking and feeling as he used to. “He’s good. Sorting out what he wants to do next.”
“Same here,” Vegas said. “Good luck to him.” The honesty of that took Porsche off guard. He wondered if it was meant to, if it was supposed to set him at ease and make him more receptive to whatever Vegas was here to say.
He hated thinking like this. It was exhausting. He glanced at Pete, hoping for some kind of cue there, but Pete wasn’t giving him anything.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll, uh, tell him you said so.”
“Probably better not,” Vegas said. “He might think it’s a threat coming from me.”
This was the friendliest Vegas had been since he’d called Porsche to warn him about the coup. Porsche wished he could trust it. It would’ve been easier to if Vegas wasn’t watching him like a tiger sizing up potential prey. Or maybe, if he was generous, a tiger watching another tiger encroaching on its territory.
“Yeah,” Porsche said. “Fair point.” He shifted in his chair, glancing at Pete again. “How’re you doing, Pete?”
“I’m good,” Pete said. Alert, only a slight furrow between his eyebrows betraying that he might be feeling any unease. Porsche wondered if he knew why they were here. Briefly, he wished Kinn were here, because he would know how to handle this – only he probably wouldn’t, considering that putting Kinn and Vegas in the same room was like striking a match in a hyperbaric chamber.
“I’m making you nervous,” Vegas said. It wasn’t a question.
“Yeah,” Porsche said after a moment, because he didn’t think there was a point denying it. “Little bit.”
“You need to get better at not showing that,” Vegas said. “It’s a weakness, and you can’t afford those. Especially not right now, when you’re barely hanging on as it is.”
Porsche stiffened. “I’m–”
“The only reason things haven’t fallen apart is because you’ve got Kinn backing you,” Vegas said. “But that won’t hold people back from testing your limits forever. If Korn’s not going to consolidate all the businesses under the main family – and he won’t – then you need to show you’re a force to be reckoned with in your own right. Otherwise people are going to start nibbling at the edges and before you know it someone will have nibbled their way all the way to you.”
Porsche sat back, narrowing his eyes. He studied Vegas carefully. “Give me an example,” he said, “of where I’m coming up short.”
Vegas glanced at Pete. “Sirirat is skimming and selling to the Russians,” Pete said.
“Evidence?” Porsche asked. Like they’d choreographed this, Vegas pulled a thumb drive out of his pocket and tossed it on the table between them.
“I didn’t think you’d just take my word for it.”
Porsche picked up the thumb drive. “And how did you find this out?” Vegas shrugged.
“I’m good at my job,” he said, which was in no way an answer. If it was true, though…Porsche didn’t like the idea that he’d missed it. He was learning the various minor family businesses, but he’d been leaning on Kinn a fair amount while he was figuring it out, and the chaos following Gun’s fall had left a lot of things in disarray.
“What do you get out of telling me this?” Porsche asked. Vegas’s mouth quirked again.
“You are learning,” he said.
“Don’t be condescending,” Porsche said. Pete ducked his head like he was hiding a smile. “I don’t think you’re suddenly being helpful just because you like me.”
“I don’t hate you,” Vegas said, “which puts you one up on Kinn. If someone’s going to take over, I’d rather it be you than him, and I don’t want to see everything my father built crash and burn because you don’t know what you’re doing.”
Which all made sense, as far as it went. Porsche still wasn’t buying it. “What else?”
Vegas’s fingers drummed on his thigh again. “My brother’s under your protection,” he said after a brief pause. “Whatever happens to me, he stays out of it.”
Porsche blinked. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, sure, I would’ve agreed to that without you doing anything.”
“Pete, too,” Vegas said. Pete’s eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth; Vegas threw a sharp glance in his direction and Pete subsided, but he didn’t look happy. Vegas looked back at Porsche, his gaze intent.
“Pete’s my friend,” Porsche said. Vegas examined him a moment longer, then nodded.
“Good,” he said. “Okay.”
Pete looked on the verge of mutiny, glaring at Vegas, who appeared to be ignoring it.
“What else?” Porsche asked. Vegas’s shoulders relaxed and it was only when they did that Porsche realized how tense he had been.
“Sooner or later my uncle’s going to decide he has a use for me and reel me in again,” Vegas said. “I want a choice in how that happens. I’ll work for you, not for him. Give me a job and I’ll do it. But I won’t take orders from the main family.”
It was what he’d wanted. What he’d been working his way toward, carefully. He hadn’t expected Vegas to come and offer it to him on a platter. It made Porsche wary.
“You don’t trust me,” Vegas said. “That’s fair, you’re not stupid. I’m not asking you to. I’m just asking you to take my leash before Kinn or Korn does.” Porsche glanced at Pete, curious what he was thinking, but Pete was just still glaring at Vegas.
“I don’t want to have anyone’s…leash,” Porsche said slowly. Vegas’s mouth twisted.
“Too bad,” he said. “You’re going to have a lot of peoples’.”
I’d rather have their loyalty, Porsche thought. I’d rather have your loyalty, but that was probably asking too much. At least right now. Maybe he could work on it.
“What about you,” he asked Pete.
“Pete doesn’t work for you,” Vegas said. “He’s–”
“I’m Vegas’s head of security,” Pete interrupted.
Vegas’s head whipped around. Pete’s jaw set. Vegas’s eyes narrowed. “You are, are you,” Vegas said.
“Yep,” Pete said. Porsche watched the staring contest between them, amused in spite of himself. Pete broke it eventually, turning back toward Porsche. “If you want me to do something, ask, and I’ll decide if I can do it.”
“Okay,” Porsche said. “That’s fine. What else?” Pete nodded, looking satisfied. Vegas scowled at him a moment longer but when he looked back at Porsche his expression evened out again.
“That’s all,” Vegas said after a brief hesitation. He seemed surprised, and Porsche couldn’t help but find that satisfying. Probably it was just because he’d had low expectations, but Porsche was happy to prove them wrong.
“Do you want a contract, or something?” Porsche asked.
“No,” Vegas said. “That’s not necessary. I’ll take your word.”
Porsche smiled. “Thanks for trusting that I’ll keep it,” he said. Vegas sort of twitched. For some reason he looked at Pete, then shook himself.
“Yeah,” he said. “Well. When you need me, you know where to find me.”
“Pete,” Porsche said, as the two of them started heading toward the door. “Can I borrow you for a second?”
“Yeah,” Pete said, coming back over. “Sure.” Porsche waited until Vegas closed the door behind him.
“Was this your idea?” Porsche asked. Pete shook his head.
“No,” he said, “but I have been telling him for a while that he should work with you and not against you, so hopefully that helped.”
“I…appreciate that,” Porsche said. Pete gave him a little smile, though it faded quickly.
“Porsche,” he said, sounding cautious. “We’re friends, right?”
“I like to think so,” Porsche said, trying to make it a joke. Pete nodded. He seemed to be considering something.
“Would you do something? As a favor to me?”
Once upon a time, Porsche would’ve just said yeah, of course without even thinking. Here and now, he said, “what’s that?”
“If the…situation…with Vegas ever changes,” Pete said, “and something’s going to go down. Tell me first.”
Porsche wished he could say he didn’t hesitate. “I might not even know,” he said carefully.
“Yeah,” Pete said, “but you might. And if you do, tell me first.”
“It sounds like Vegas would want you to get clear,” Porsche said. Pete’s jaw shifted and he shrugged angrily.
“Vegas is stupid sometimes,” he said, startling Porsche enough that he almost laughed. He still hesitated, though. If Vegas did do something that put him in the firing line, Porsche didn’t want to put Pete there with him. If there was a way to keep him out of it, wouldn’t it be the right thing to do, for a friend, to save his life?
Pete was still looking at him, gaze steady and determined. “It’s my choice, Porsche,” he said, voice hard.
Porsche sighed. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s your choice.”
Pete smiled at him. “Thanks,” he said. “I really appreciate it. Was there anything else?”
“No,” Porsche said, though it felt like maybe there had been. “Not right now.”
“Cool,” Pete said. “I’ll talk to you later, then, right?”
When he was alone again, Porsche stared out the window. His phone buzzed and he picked it up to a text from Kinn: How was your meeting with Vegas?
Porsche hadn’t told him that he was meeting with Vegas. fine, he wrote back. I’ll tell you about it later.
He sat back down, picked up the thumb drive Vegas had given him, and plugged it into his computer. Scanning through the files on it.
It looked like he had work to do.