Venom & Vows

Chapter 1-A Parting Gift

⚠️***Violence, and first meeting of a Mafia leader, and sister illness plus a death***⚠️

The fluorescent lights hummed a monotonous drone, a counterpoint to the low thrum of anxiety in Nithi's chest. His gaze, one eye a deep brown, the other a startling grey, rested on the polished tiles—tiles he’d seen countless times during his six previous visits. He’d long since given up trying to find comfort in the unforgiving plastic chairs, their design prioritizing efficiency over ease. The wait, agonizing even under normal circumstances, felt exponentially longer now, the dog-eared magazines on the four waiting room tables having been devoured long ago. He was trapped; a prisoner of his own mind, his thoughts swirling in a vortex of fear and anticipation. Sleep was impossible; he couldn't risk missing even a moment of what he knew might be life-altering news.

“Nithi Keeree,” a voice, soft and gentle like his mother's, called out. He didn’t respond. "Nithi Keeree?" Silence. His mind remained a fortress against the outside world.

"Mr. Keeree!" The nurse's voice, sharper this time, held a note of concern.

Nithi jumped, startled violently, as if a physical hand had gripped his throat. The nurse yelped, her hand flying to her mouth in embarrassment. "Sorry ka, to startle you," she stammered, offering a wai, her cheeks flushed. "I called you a few times..."

Nithi returned the wai, his own embarrassment tinged with self-reproach. "Sorry krub, I didn't hear you," he mumbled, his voice a hoarse whisper born more of nerves than illness.

"Oh, no, no, no!" the nurse shook her head understandingly. "It's been a long day. But..." Her voice trailed off, her blush deepening.

The "but" hung heavy in the air, a harbinger of uncomfortable intimacy. Nithi swallowed, bracing himself.

"Do you… do you often do that? Is it because of your..." The nurse faltered, acutely aware she was overstepping. Yet, Nithi’s striking heterochromia – that captivating, unsettling grey eye – had captivated her. "Can you not see clearly, or...?" she finished, the question hanging awkwardly between them.

Nithi’s head dipped. The eyes, he knew, were always the first thing people noticed, the jarring contrast a constant source of unwanted attention. "How's my sister?" he asked, the bitterness barely contained beneath a carefully controlled tone.

The nurse, regaining her composure, stepped back. "Right. Urm… she's stable now. After some paperwork and a look at the bill, you can take her home." She waited for a sign of relief, a smile, a gasp of gratitude. Nothing. Only the chilling stillness of his apprehension.

The bill. The word hung in the air, heavy and foreboding, a looming specter of debt that threatened to swallow him whole.

"How much?" Nithi asked, his voice flat, the darkness in his tone now unmistakable.

"Well, I'm sure it's not too much," the nurse offered, her words a weak balm against the dread that clawed at Nithi. He felt the weight of it, a physical pressure in his chest. The nurse, her long silk ponytail swaying as she hurried to the desk, returned with the paperwork – and the terrifying bill.

"Just a few things to sign," she said, approaching him. Nithi’s head was bowed so low it felt as though it might detach. "Do you have a guardian?"

His head snapped up. "I'm her guardian."

The nurse chuckled. "Silly, you're too young, aren't you? I need a parent."

Nithi was twenty-four, but looked younger than eighteen. His seventeen-year-old sister, on the other hand, looked her age – young and beautiful, a stark contrast to Nithi's perpetually youthful, almost babyish face, which seemed to have stopped aging around sixteen. Stress, he suspected, had nothing to do with it. It was a miracle, really, given the pressures of his new job and…

Suddenly, Nithi's eyes widened. He pulled out his phone to fifteen missed calls from his boss. s**t. He was supposed to be assisting his captain on a case. He was in deep trouble. His captain would be furious – anyone would be, after being ghosted on the night that could make or break both their careers. Excuses already formed in his mind as he dialed.

"I am her guardian," he said to the nurse, holding the phone to his ear as it rang. "If you don't believe me, check the records."

"Yes, sir," the nurse said, bowing slightly before returning to the reception desk, where she began typing furiously.

The ringing stopped. Nithi opened his mouth to apologize, explain, beg for forgiveness, but his shaky breath caught in his throat.

"Should I guess?" a clear voice cut through, leaving no room for childish pleading. "You got shot?" The sarcasm was heavy in his captain's tone.

Nithi remained silent, shame burning his cheeks as his shoulders slumped.

"No?" The captain's voice barely concealed his disappointment. "Oh, well, something must have put you on life support, right?" The sarcasm dripped.

"I'm sorry," Nithi mumbled, tears welling in his eyes. He hated his sensitivity, his tendency to crumble under reprimand. The thought of a grown man crying in public filled him with fresh embarrassment.

"So, you're not in a hospital bed, strapped to a heart monitor?" the captain asked, already knowing the answer. "Answer me when you're spoken to!"

"No, sir," Nithi forced out. He was in a hospital, but not for himself.

"Okay. Uhm…" The captain fought to maintain his professional composure.

"Captain, I would have been there, I would have, but my sister, she has a—"

"A man died today!" The captain's voice boomed through the phone, raw with grief. "A good man."

Nithi felt the weight of his guilt, a crushing burden. His silence was a confession. No words could mend the break, could bring back the life lost.

"You had one job," the captain clipped, the line going dead.

A man, a life, a family, shattered because Nithi had failed. The worst part? He would do it again. He wouldn't abandon his sister, not for a hundred lives.

The nurse's voice, soft and hesitant, broke through his self-recrimination. "I'm sorry for the misunderstanding…" He hadn't even noticed her approach, the clipboard tucked under her arm, her presence a blur in his tormented mind.

She handed him the board. "Your bills are paid."

He didn't look up. He knew who'd paid. Just another addition to the mountain of debt he owed. He signed quickly, the nurse’s instructions a mere whisper. "And you're free to go."

"Take me to her," he demanded, the plea lost in the urgency.

"Certainly. Follow me."

----------------

His hand touched the doorknob; the door swung open, unlocked. He'd locked it. Napha, his younger sister, stood just beyond the threshold.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice thick with distress.

"It's not your fault," he murmured, stepping inside. Napha remained outside as Nithi scanned the room.

The door closed, isolating him. But he wasn't alone. Figures emerged from the shadows. Napha didn’t bang, didn't plead. The choked sobs muffled against the porch wood spoke volumes of her fear, a silent scream, knowing any noise would only worsen things. These weren't ordinary thugs. Each bore the telltale black X tattooed beneath their eyelids – the mark of the Mammon, a ruthless gang that held him captive. They surrounded him, their eyes cold, menacing. They didn't speak, just stared. Nithi braced himself.

"Mongkol," he said, his voice trembling. "I know you're here… Can we talk?"

A sharp voice cut through the silence. "What did you call me?"

"P’Mongkol," Nithi corrected, the title a desperate plea for mercy.

Mongkol's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Respect will keep you alive. Besides, this is just a meeting, a check-in."

Nithi didn't relax, his legs spread in a defensive stance. Mongkol never 'checked in' on his victims. Never.

Mongkol circled Nithi, adjusting the trembling boy's posture with an unsettlingly friendly demeanor. "Spread your legs wider," he warned, "or you'll be down before you can blink."

Nithi cut to the chase. "Why are you here?"

"To check on you, I told you," Mongkol replied, settling onto the dining table as if it were his own. The kitchen, living room, and dining area flowed together seamlessly.

"Well," Nithi breathed shakily, "I'm alive."

"Unfortunately," Mongkol retorted, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "Guess I'll have to pray harder next time, huh?"

He tapped the wooden table twice with a perfectly polished finger. Two hulking thugs instantly seized Nithi, forcing him to his knees. The boy struggled against their grip.

"Two thousand baht," Mongkol announced, the cost of Napha's hospital visit. "You know, I'm starting to think you're just using me."

"No, I'm not!" Nithi denied, his teeth chattering. A thug's hand tightened painfully on his shoulder, silencing his protest.

Mongkol's voice tightened, his eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger, but he remained patient. "I fear you'll never be able to repay me," he said. The leader stood, "Guess you'll have to pay another way." He knelt, bringing himself to Nithi's level.

"Please…" Nithi sobbed, his breath ragged.

A knife flashed, stopping millimeters from Nithi's left eye. He froze, every muscle taut. "Should I take out the blind eye?" Mongkol asked casually. The knife shifted to his right eye, the one that saw. "Or should we go full disability?" A cruel laugh punctuated the question.

After a tense silence, Mongkol stepped back, giving Nithi room to gasp for air, tears streaming down his face.

"I have a job for you," Mongkol said, his back to the boy, "one that'll buy you a year."

"I'll do it," Nithi blurted out, the words tumbling over each other.

Mongkol smiled. "Anything?"

"Yes," Nithi nodded, his voice barely a whisper.

"Nobody likes a puppet," Mongkol muttered.

Another silent signal sent the thugs hurling Nithi to the floor. He scrambled to his knees, acutely aware of the limits of his defiance.

"Your day job's an undercover cop, right?" Mongkol asked, finally turning to face him.

"Yes, sir," Nithi confirmed, the reality of his situation – and likely impending dismissal – crashing down on him.

"I hear you're the best of the best," Mongkol said, a predatory smile stretching his lips. "Good, because I need you to infiltrate a nightclub."

Nithi stared up in shock. At twenty-four, he still felt far too young, far too naive, for such a place.

"Get into their basement and steal the flash drive. It's locked in a glass case. You have two days." Mongkol's voice was sharp, brooking no argument.

Nithi frowned. "Steal?"

Mongkol scoffed, his annoyance evident. "Do you think I'm going to give it back, you i***t?"

Nithi, a cop – albeit an honest one – was trapped. He had no choice. "What's the name of the club?"

"NightLight."

A silent nod was Nithi's agreement, a betrayal of his principles. Mongkol's laughter erupted, a harsh sound fueled by the thrill of another's capitulation. "You're a funny one," he chuckled, the amusement laced with cruelty. "So, a little parting gift." He gestured to his goons. "Leave the face. He'll need it."

The thugs obeyed with brutal efficiency, a flurry of kicks raining down on Nithi. He endured the onslaught silently, his pleas for mercy unspoken, unheard.