Venom & Vows

⚠️ Warning ⚠️ ***This chapter had some suspense and is base off of Thailand. There will be death by explosion. if you don't like it that's your loss*** Silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the rhythmic drip, drip, drip of a leaking pipe somewhere in the cavernous warehouse. Two pairs of eyes locked across the space – one midnight blue, shadowed by a tangle of dark, curly hair; the other golden brown, framed by neatly brushed bangs that barely concealed their intensity. The blue eyes belonged to a man flanked by several figures, their stillness belying a coiled readiness to inflict pain. A single nod, a barely perceptible movement from the blue eyes, was all it would take to unleash them. "You called?" the blue-eyed man asked, his voice a low, ash-grey whisper devoid of emotion. "Yes," the brown-eyed man replied, holding the other's gaze unflinchingly. The confidence he projected was carefully constructed, a mask concealing the churning anxiety threatening to overwhelm him. "Well?" the blue-eyed man pressed, his patience already wearing thin. He had little tolerance for wasting time with inferiors. "I have news about Mammon." The broad-chested man's eyebrows rose fractionally, his midnight blue eyes flickering with a controlled interest. Mammon – the gang he despised, the source of so much hate and vengeance – suddenly made even his precious free time worthwhile. "The Mammon—" The thinner man faltered, his words abruptly cut short. "You're doing well, Detective," a voice intruded, crisp and clear from a hidden microphone. "Keep him talking a little longer." The voice, sharp and unexpected, shattered the tense silence. The golden-brown eyes widened, betraying the carefully crafted composure. This hadn't been part of the plan. The blue eyes darkened, suspicion and threat simmering within their depths. "Why did you stop?" the gravelly voice echoed in the thinner man's ears. He hadn't anticipated this; his acting skills were clearly insufficient. Any weakness now would expose his deception, so he had to improvise. A beat of silence – a calculated pause to project strength – before the brown-eyed man spoke. "To ensure I deliver the information perfectly," he lied, the words sounding thin even to his own ears. The lie was transparent, a childish attempt at deception. But the blue-eyed man, intrigued by this unexpected turn, chose to play along, waiting patiently, revealing nothing of his disbelief. He wanted the actor to feel secure, to relax his guard. The skinny man coughed, a nervous gesture meant to add weight to his fabricated excuse. "The Mammon is planning an attack on your casino," he blurted out, the improvisation jarringly unplanned, unwittingly discarding his carefully constructed role. The Mammon gang, with their tawdry casinos, were small-time compared to the VVV’s – Venom, Viper, and Villain. Their empire stretched across continents: nightclubs that scraped the heavens, global hospitals that saved lives and, discreetly, harvested organs from the unclaimed dead. Petty loan sharks were beneath their notice. Disgust flickered in the midnight blue eyes. “Is that all?” The ash-toned voice, deliberately drawn out, almost shattered the calm of the golden brown eyes watching him. A tremor ran through the skinny man. He'd anticipated a barrage of questions, a chance to weave a more elaborate web of lies. He was supposed to improvise, to keep the midnight blue-eyed man, trapped in this warehouse, for longer. A crackled voice rasped from the hidden microphone. “Detective, stay calm. Don’t lose him.” The midnight blue-eyed man turned and began to walk away, his silence a calculated move. This wasn't a dead end; he was playing a longer game. He wasn't letting the skinny man go, quite the opposite. “Hey!” The skinny man cried, his carefully constructed façade crumbling. Desperation replaced his earlier confidence. “Wait! I have more details!” The midnight blue-eyed man continued walking, his back to the pleading figure. “You can tell me in—” he muttered, his gaze fixed on a blank canvas. “Three,” a low growl of a high-performance engine cut through the night air, miles away. “Two,” a scream ripped through the Bangkok night as a black sports car, a blur of speed and controlled chaos, screeched around a corner. “One,” The warehouse exploded in a fiery inferno, the clang of twisting metal echoing the violence. Unfazed, the midnight blue-eyed man emerged from the blazing building, untouched. He produced a silver lighter from his pocket, ignoring the inferno behind him. He lit a cigar, inhaled deeply, and finally looked back at the raging bonfire that had once been a derelict warehouse. “Liar,” he exhaled, a plume of smoke curling from his lips. His voice, rough and gravelly, carried on the night wind. “Bodies burn… so easily.”