Venom & Vows

Chapter 5- Still Kneeling

A tall, thin man entered the penthouse—a space more akin to a luxurious apartment than an office. The black marble floor gleamed under the stark white lighting, the oversized king-size bed dominating the far right corner, its opulence eclipsing all other furnishings. A plush white couch, its soft, fuzzy texture evident even from a distance, invited relaxation. Virote was absent, but the Italian man knew precisely where to find him. He moved towards the balcony, where Virote stood precariously balanced on the black metal railing, his body pressed against it so tightly he seemed on the verge of tumbling over. A small chuckle escaped the Italian's lips at the thought.

"Sir, your siblings have arrived," his right-hand man announced, his voice cutting through the silent tension.

The amusement vanished, replaced by a frown as Virote reluctantly disengaged himself from the railing. He sank into the white couch, legs spread wide, his body relaxing into the plush comfort.

"Let them in," he mumbled, eyes fixed on the door.

"Yes, sir." The right-hand man departed, and moments later, a strikingly beautiful young woman entered. Her hair, as black as her brother's, was perfectly straight, devoid of a single curl or wave. Her high heels clicked sharply against the marble floor with each deliberate step, the diamonds adorning them flashing brightly enough to catch Virote's eye.

"Your heels will scratch my floor," Virote commented, his tone flat.

Vorada settled onto the couch, her hand caressing the plush fabric. "I've missed this couch so much..." she sighed, crossing her legs and displaying the diamond-encrusted heels. "I only wore them for today," she added by way of explanation.

Virote reached for his cigar case, his expression revealing his lack of interest in idle conversation; it was a perpetual state. Before he could light it, however, his sister scoffed.

"You know that'll kill you," she said, her voice laced with a hint of exasperation.

"Uhm," he grunted, lighting the cigar regardless.

Vachir, the middle sibling, entered with a smug expression. His hair was styled in a trendy cut—short on the sides, fluffy on top—and he wore a black denim jacket adorned with golden chains dangling from his pockets.

"A sibling reunion, already?" Vachir remarked, embracing his sister warmly before seating himself beside her. His face tightened noticeably when his gaze fell on his older brother.

Despite their familial bond, a heavy silence descended upon the room, a silence thick with unspoken resentments and years of accumulated distance. They felt less like siblings and more like strangers sharing a space.

"So, how's work going?" Vorada asked tentatively, attempting to bridge the chasm of silence.

"Good,"

"Good,"

The ambiguity of Vorada's question led both brothers to respond, a redundancy that only seemed to heighten Vachir's simmering anger.

Suddenly, Virote's desire for his cigar evaporated. He tossed it over his shoulder, unconcerned about whether it might ignite.

Vachir scoffed, "Your throat won't handle much more," he taunted, his words dripping with sarcasm.

Virote glared at his brother, his sneer sharp and pointed. "I can handle myself," he warned, his voice low and dangerous.

"Trying to escape us that badly?" Vachir retorted, his challenge clear.

"Maybe," Virote replied, the single word sharp as a knife.

“No one will miss you!” Vachir declared, his voice escalating with each word.

“I will!” the youngest sister, Vorada, chimed in, clearly annoyed by the escalating argument. “Can we please talk about something else?”

“I don’t want to talk,” Virote replied dismissively, turning his head away with an air of entitlement.

“Why? Because no one else can stand to talk to you,” Vachir spat, his insult laced with venom.

“Yeah, I can practically see the veins bulging on your forehead,” the oldest brother replied to the venom, ridiculing the angry vein popping on Vachir’s temple.

Vorada lowered her head, a wave of disappointment washing over her. But her brothers, consumed by their bitter animosity, didn’t even notice. A single tear escaped and traced a path down her cheek. In that moment, something snapped within her. She stood abruptly and walked out of the sweet-smelling room on the top floor.

Virote and Vachir finally tore their gazes away from each other.

“Look what you did,” Vachir growled, his voice a low rumble of accusation. “Keep driving her away like this, and you’ll truly be alone.” He then turned and followed his sister, leaving Virote behind.

Virote, however, remained unmoved. His sister could cry elsewhere, and his brother needed to take a chill pill. After all, Vachir had started this. He let out a frustrated sigh. As he exhaled, his right-hand man entered the room.

“Sir,” the man began.

“Must you bother me now?” Virote snapped, his temper flaring.

“The boy is here,” the Italian man replied, his tone unperturbed. He was well accustomed to his boss’s volatile mood swings.

Virote’s tight frown suddenly softened. A smirk played on his lips. “Probably crying for his friend,” he mused, as if observing a game about to unfold.

Indeed, Nithi was huddled against the wall, tears streaming down his face. His legs felt like jelly, too weak to support him, his fear for his friend overwhelming.

“Must you sob so loudly?” A thick Italian accent inquired from above. Nithi recognized the accent immediately.

Startled, Nithi looked up. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he quickly wiped his wet face and pushed himself to his feet, his legs trembling like twigs under the sudden strain. “I’m not sobbing,” he sniffed, his denial transparent.

“Follow me,” the Italian man stated, his voice devoid of any sympathy or empathy.

Nithi nodded and followed him eagerly. Perhaps his friend was alright? Perhaps he hadn’t been too late? A flicker of hope ignited in Nithi’s chest. He trailed the tall man up two more flights of stairs, to a grand, imposing wooden door, painted a deep, midnight black.

“Knock and wait for permission to enter,” the man instructed before turning and walking away.

“W-wait, why me?” Nithi called after him, but the man was already gone.

A knot of apprehension tightened in Nithi’s stomach. Why was he the one to knock? He felt a prickle of fear regarding what lay behind the dark wood. Then, a sudden realization struck him. What if Thanit was on the other side? That made sense. Nithi knocked loudly on the door, then, forgetting the Italian man’s instructions, immediately tried to push it open. The door remained stubbornly shut. He pushed with all his might.

“Come in,” a raspy voice granted permission.

With an audible click, the door swung open on its own, causing Nithi to stumble forward. His knees met the cool marble floor with a thud. From his seated position, Virote chuckled, his midnight blue eyes crinkling at the corners. Nithi looked up at Virote, who was lounging on a plush white couch, his mind momentarily silenced.

“Still kneeling?” Virote’s voice dripped with amusement.

The shame and the sheer absurdity of his position hit Nithi like a physical blow. He scrambled to his feet, nearly toppling over again. Virote’s gaze, like a brand, followed his every jerky movement.

With sweat beading on his forehead, Nithi forced himself to speak. “I… I’m looking for the owner of this nightclub,” he stammered, his mind finally latching onto the reason he’d ended up here.

Virote’s lips tightened into a thin, unimpressed line. “Are you blind?” The question was a slap, blunt and rude, leaving Nithi momentarily stunned.

Slowly, the reality of his surroundings began to sink in. He glanced around, truly seeing the opulent room for the first time. Virote lounged on the couch with an ease that spoke of ownership, and the king-sized bed, draped in silken sheets, was a monument to luxury he'd never encountered. This was no office, and no mere boss would be this relaxed in their penthouse. A horrifying realization dawned: had he just given a lap dance to the club's owner? Nithi felt a desperate urge to simply vanish.

“S-sir…” was all he could manage, the words catching in his throat. Any more and he was sure the frantic butterflies in his stomach would stage a violent escape.

“Virote,” the man corrected, his voice a low scoff as he straightened slightly.

An overwhelming instinct screamed at Nithi to flee, to disappear into the night. But the image of Thanit, bound and injured, flashed in his mind, anchoring him to the spot.

“What… what did you do to my friend?” Nithi blurted out, his voice trembling despite his attempt at a threatening tone.

The perceived threat was so transparent that Virote couldn't help but laugh, the sound a mocking ripple that made Nithi’s cheeks flush and his lower lip jut out in a pout.

“I’m serious,” Nithi gritted out, trying to inject some menace into his voice, but it came out as little more than a weak growl.

“How about another lap dance?” Virote taunted, a smirk playing on his lips.

“I’m done playing your games!” Nithi snapped, a bitter irony in his words, as he was the one who’d stumbled into this charade.

Virote's gaze swept over Nithi, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. He hadn’t seen the flash drive he’d taken, and the expectation that he’d simply let that theft slide was clearly gone. The previously calm atmosphere was now charged with a simmering tension.

“Alright, no more games,” Virote declared, rising to his feet. The height difference between them was immediately apparent.

“Good,” Nithi began, a defiant edge to his voice. “Where’s my fri–”

His question was swallowed by Virote’s sudden, silent movement. Before Nithi could react, Virote’s fingers were tangling in his soft brown hair, his grip firm. Nithi squirmed, trying to wrench free, but his struggles were futile.

“I’ll wait until you’ve calmed down,” Virote said smoothly, his grip tightening imperceptibly.

Nithi thrashed for a moment longer, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Exhausted, he finally stilled, a small chuckle rumbling from Virote.

“Let… me… go!” Nithi demanded, each word punctuated by a desperate breath.

“Where’s my drive?” Virote countered, his voice low and steady.

Nithi’s face drained of what little color it had. The realization crashed down on him: he had no hope of retrieving the flash drive, and Mongkol wouldn't lift a finger to help. He’d come here demanding his friend's release with no plan, no leverage.

Virote's gaze, sharp as daggers, fell upon Nithi, the guilt evident in the boy's eyes. With a subtle shift, Virote released the youth, sinking back onto the plush cushions of his couch. "I see. Well, come sit," he beckoned, patting the space beside him. "We can come to an agreement."

Despite the rough handling of his hair moments before, Nithi hesitated. He shuffled his feet, the unspoken plea for freedom palpable. But before he could even settle onto the couch, a swift kick sent him sprawling. Strong hands seized his neck, his body twisting until his back was pressed against the floor, his legs flailing for purchase. Demands for his release tumbled out, a desperate scramble for air.

"Your status," Virote's voice grew rougher with each word, "is on the floor. That's where you belong." His grip tightened on the boy's slender neck, the flesh turning a dusky blue. "And because of that status, you fail to realize how much that drive cost me."

Nithi gasped, his skin paling. "I... I had no choice!" he choked out, his tapping hand growing frantic on Virote's unyielding arm. He was on the verge of blacking out when Virote finally released him. Nithi coughed, drawing in ragged breaths, and scrambled away on all fours, pure terror etched onto his face.

"Guess that's okay," Virote murmured, leaning back with an unnerving calm. "Your friend will be enough to compensate for it."

Nithi's eyes snapped open in horror. "No!" he cried, denial a raw sound. He scrambled to his knees, hands clasped in a desperate plea, his forehead thudding against the floor. "Please forgive me, I'm s-sorry…"

His abject apology, while amusing to Virote, wasn't what he craved. He waited, a predator observing its prey. "Sorry doesn't pay back the money I lost," Virote stated coolly. "You may go."

But Nithi couldn't. The thought of his friend, captured through his own folly and for reasons unknown to the innocent boy, was unbearable. This would not be his friend's fate. "I'll..." Nithi faltered, the words catching in his throat, his fear a tangible thing.

Virote watched him, a flicker of interest in his eyes. Would the boy break? "I'll pay you back," Nithi finally stammered, desperation coiling in his gut. "Please, let him go…"

"Work for me," Virote spat, impatience coloring his tone.

Nithi looked up, bewildered. "And do what?" he asked, the question tinged with a desperate hope that this man wouldn't demand something as degrading as stripping. What could this intense, powerful man possibly want from him?

"Does it matter?" Virote countered, his gaze unwavering. "It's you, or your friend."

The choice was brutally clear. With a breath that felt like it tore from his lungs, Nithi nodded.

"Say it," Virote commanded, not yet sated. He wanted to savor this moment, to feel the absolute power he wielded over this terrified boy.

"I'll do anything," Nithi vowed, his voice trembling. "Just let my friend go. He's innocent."

A low chuckle rumbled from Virote. "Prove it."

Frustration gnawed at Nithi. He had already agreed to his own subjugation. "I already agreed to work with you! What more do you want?" he whined, his voice cracking.

Virote's face darkened, a chilling shade of malice that felt eerily familiar to Nithi. "Say it," he commanded, lifting his foot, its black leather gleaming under the light, reflecting a profound darkness, "at my feet."

The glint in Virote's eyes was a familiar, chilling echo of Mongkol's power. Nithi recognized it instantly, the perverse pleasure of feeling untouchable, god-like. Now Virote was mirroring that same wicked cruelty. The similarity was unnerving. Was Virote just another thug, a mere enforcer? Nithi dismissed the thought; Virote lacked the tell-tale ink beneath his eyes. Yet, in that moment, the distinction blurred. He saw Virote as Mongkol, and himself, once again, as utterly powerless. Two separate men had fused into one terrifying figure in Nithi's mind.

Just as he’d pleaded with Mongkol for mere moments of leniency, Nithi’s pawn slid across the marble floor, a desperate gambit that caught Virote completely by surprise. Soon, both pawns and knees were supporting the thin boy’s frame as he began to crawl, a desperate, shuffling approach towards Virote. Nithi was accustomed to swallowing his pride, to shoving it aside whenever he begged Mongkol for mercy. Strangely, he found it just as easy, or perhaps just as necessary, to do the same for Virote.

Reaching Virote's feet, Nithi paused. Why is he making this so easy? Virote wondered, a knot of confusion tightening in his chest. He felt a sudden, dizzying wave of suffocation, too shocked to draw a breath, and an even more potent surge of power that thrilled him to his very core. Nithi’s pale lips brushed against Virote’s outstretched foot before he slowly lifted his head, his gaze locking onto Virote's deep, midnight blue eyes.

"I..." The word caught in Nithi's throat, choked by a familiar desperation he hadn't felt since his encounters with Mongkol. The raw reality of it was overwhelming. "I'll become your goon."

Goon? The word struck Virote like a physical blow, reverberating in his head. How could Nithi possibly know? Did he understand who Virote truly was? "Goon," Virote repeated, his voice a low rumble, seeking an explanation.

The weight of his own words finally hit Nithi, and he scrambled to his feet, mortified. He couldn't believe what he'd just done. His eyes fell to the spot on the floor where he had just been crawling on all fours. The humiliation was absolute, a living nightmare. Feeling like a whipped cur, Nithi bolted from the penthouse.

He stopped abruptly once the door clicked shut, sealing him out of the room. “Call me when you have a task,” Nithi shouted through the solid wood, his voice strained. He turned to flee, then spun back, his face a mask of fierce determination. “And I won’t do anything until I’ve seen my friend in perfect condition!” he warned, before finally disappearing down the corridor.

Virote was left sitting in stunned silence, utterly flabbergasted.