Venom & Vows

Chapter 4-Bring It Back to Me Tonight

***Blackmail, Threats***

Heart pounding a frantic tattoo against his ribs, Nithi’s forehead slick with sweat, his feet pounded the ground so hard he nearly tripped. He needed to escape; the goons behind him seemed to be multiplying like rabbits. Terror clawed at his throat, but he pushed through it, a raw, desperate surge of adrenaline propelling him forward. He hurtled past his friend Thanit, slumped on the stairs, drunk as a skunk. Thanit, speechless with surprise, barely registered the near-miss as several goons thundered past, narrowly avoiding crushing him.

"What the hell...?" Thanit mumbled, his eyes wide with shock.

Vachir took a final swig of his lemon vodka, the bottle gleaming in the dim light. "Guess the party's over," he murmured, before strolling behind the bewildered Thanit.

Then came the shattering sound of glass.

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Sweat plastered Nithi's thin white shirt to his back, rendering it transparent and revealing the sharp definition of his ribs. He’d been running for hours, the memory of Mongkol’s relentless pursuit – a game of cat and mouse where the chase was the point – fueling his flight. He'd doubled back, taken wrong turns, a desperate dance to lose the goons who weren't Mongkol's crew but triggered the same primal fear. One by one, they'd fallen away, until only the rising sun marked the end of his frantic escape.

He was finally home, the small, familiar yard stretching before him. His breath hitched in ragged gasps, each inhale a burning reminder of his exertion. Just as he reached for the doorbell, a rustle in the bushes behind him froze him. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He'd lost the goons, hadn't he? The thought of having brought danger to his sister, Napha, clawed at his conscience.

The rustle solidified into footsteps, heavy and deliberate. Panic choked him. He raised his hands in a futile gesture of surrender, turning slowly to face his pursuer. Tears welled in his eyes. "I… I can explain… I can…" he stammered, his voice cracking.

Relief washed over him in a tidal wave. Under the goon's eyelid, he saw the familiar X – Mongkol's mark. This wasn't the threat he'd been running from.

"Do you have it?" the goon demanded, his voice devoid of empathy.

Nithi nodded, his knees weak, his lungs burning. "Give… give me a second…" he gasped, slobber clinging to his lips.

"Now," the goon pressed, his impatience sharp.

With a defiant roll of his eyes, Nithi straightened, retrieved the flash drive from his pocket, and handed it over. The goon snatched it and vanished as quickly as he'd appeared.

The front door creaked open, revealing Napha's furious gaze. "Where the hell have you been?!" her voice was a sharp blade. Nithi knew he’d broken a cardinal rule; he never left her alone all night. He braced himself for the storm.

He slumped onto a chair at the dining table, Napha's tirade erupting immediately. "You're a hypocrite!" she accused, her voice thick with anger and exhaustion. "You tell me not to stress, then disappear for the whole night? You really want me to get sick, huh?!"

Nithi hung his head. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"If you're really sorry," Napha crossed her arms, "then tell me where you were."

Nithi froze. The truth – a truth that violated a sacred promise – hung heavy in the air. He knew confessing would shatter their trust.

“Tell me!” Napha demanded, her voice louder by the second.

"I was clubbing!" Nithi lied, the words tumbling out under the weight of Napha's intense gaze.

Napha's expression was a blank slate. For a moment, Nithi thought her anger had warped her hearing. "What?" she finally asked, her voice laced with confusion.

"I went clubbing…with my co-workers," he added, the lie already a festering wound he was now determined to enlarge. He was digging a hole, and the shovel felt surprisingly easy to wield.

Napha's eyebrow arched high, her bewilderment palpable. His refusal to participate in anything remotely resembling extracurricular activities was legendary. His free time, precious and scant, was entirely devoted to her care. The anger that had initially etched itself onto her face slowly dissolved, replaced by a curious, almost girlish eagerness. She slid onto the chair beside him, her hands enveloping his arms. "Tell me more!" she demanded, her tone a complete reversal from moments before.

Nithi slumped, resting his head on his forearms, which lay across the cool wood of the table. "There isn't any more…" he mumbled, the weight of his deception pressing down on him. Each lie felt like a fresh stab of guilt.

"There has to be!" Napha insisted. "Why did you even go?"

"I'm just really tired," he mumbled, grasping at any excuse to end the conversation.

Napha's pout was immediate. "Yeah, because you stayed up all night, without even calling! I was worried sick."

"I'm sorry," Nithi said, lifting his head. The lie about the clubbing gnawed at him, but his apology was genuine. He truly regretted the worry he'd caused.

Napha sighed, then a smile bloomed on her face. "Finally! My brother is starting to live a little."

Nithi tilted his head, a soft smile touching his lips. "You *are* my life, and I couldn't be happier."

Napha's smile faltered. She knew better. She knew that a life spent as an involuntary caretaker, no matter how loving, wasn't a life of happiness.

"Alright," Nithi said, deftly changing the subject. "I'm going to get some sleep." He stood, pushing back from the dining table.

"Next time, call me!" Napha called after him as he settled onto the couch, cushioning his head on a pillow.

"There won't be a next time," he murmured, the noise of the club still echoing faintly in his memory. He hated loud places; his sensitive ears were easily overwhelmed. The thought of the crumpled tissues stuffed in his ears—a silent testament to his discomfort—crossed his mind, but before he could remove them, sleep claimed him.

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The weekend vanished in a blur, and soon Nithi was bracing himself for his first day back at the station – his demoted position looming large. The proverb, "A guilty conscience needs no accuser," echoed in his mind, a chillingly accurate description of his state. He practically leaped at the receptionist's greeting, his heart hammering against his ribs.

"Are you alright, krub?" the receptionist asked, his concern mirroring Nithi's ashen face.

"Yes, just… spaced out," Nithi stammered, his hands clasped in a hurried Wai. "Sorry, krub."

The receptionist nodded curtly before returning to his typing. Nithi moved slowly towards his old desk, the one he'd occupied before his ill-fated promotion. He kept glancing over his shoulder, his every nerve on edge, as if expecting a confrontation at any moment. The atmosphere felt suffocating; here he was, in a police station, enforcing the very laws he'd broken just Friday. Guilt gnawed at him, a relentless tide. He couldn't forgive himself, especially not for lying to Napha. The imagined hurt on her face, the devastation in her eyes when she discovered the truth… the thought alone was enough to break his heart. He needed to tell her, to get it over with. A confession before she found out from someone else might lessen the blow, wouldn't it? Nithi nodded to himself, lost in this internal debate, when a heavy hand slammed onto his desk, jolting him back to reality.

"What's got you so distracted?" Captain Sompong's voice cut through his thoughts.

Nithi practically jumped out of his skin. If anyone knew what he'd done Friday night, it was Sompong. The captain missed nothing.

"Well?" Sompong pressed, his gaze sharp and unwavering.

"I… uh… things," Nithi mumbled, his carefully constructed composure crumbling.

Sompong clicked his tongue impatiently. "Ah, aye, aye… I'm not your boss anymore, no need to be so nervous."

"S-sorry, krub," Nithi mumbled, bowing his head.

"Whatever," Sompong dismissed him with a wave of his hand, then got straight to the point. "Have you seen my son?"

Nithi's breath hitched. "Who?" he blurted out, despite knowing perfectly well who Thanit was – his best friend.

"Thanit, you i***t!" Sompong exploded. "What's wrong with you?!"

"S-sorry, krub," Nithi repeated automatically.

"You've said that already. Answer my question."

Nithi hesitated, struggling for an excuse. He hadn't seen Thanit since fleeing the club. Could he have been so drunk he needed three days to recover? The thought was absurd.

"He was with you Friday," Sompong stated, his tone revealing his knowledge of their night out. "That's the last I heard from him. What did you do with my son?"

Resentment flared in Nithi. Why was the captain instantly blaming him? "I'm not a bad influence," he protested.

Sompong ignored him. "Where is my son?"

"I don't know!" Nithi snapped, the words sharper than he intended. He saw the immediate tightening of Sompong's face, the deepening of the lines around his eyes.

"Excuse me?" Sompong's voice was dangerously low.

Nithi scrambled to his feet, bowing deeply, his hands raised in a gesture of abject apology. "I'm so very sorry, krub!"

Sompong’s dismissive words, "Learn some manners," followed by the sharp crack of his departing footsteps, stung more than any physical blow. Nithi slumped into his office chair, the rhythmic thud of his head against the keyboard a counterpoint to the frantic chaos in his mind. "Why am I such an i***t?" he groaned, the weight of his predicament pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket.

The buzz of his phone was a jarring interruption. An unknown number. A single text message: "You have something of mine."

A cold dread washed over him, freezing him in place. The nightclub owner. His stomach plummeted. He’d hoped he’d gotten away clean. But how did this person get his number? The sheer wealth and power implied by this message sent shivers down his spine. Jail. The thought was a tangible terror. He couldn’t survive prison. His sister…who would care for her? Panic clawed at him. "Doomed!" he cried, his head slamming against the keyboard again. "Doomed! Doomed!"

Another buzz. This time, his heart lurched. It wasn't a text, and he desperately wished it were. Instead, a photograph filled his screen, a picture that would haunt his nightmares for years to come. His friend, Thanit, bound and gagged, blood staining his forehead. The image was a brutal, visceral reminder of Nithi's own culpability. His grip tightened on the phone until his knuckles were white.

"Bring it back to me tonight," the third message arrived, stark and devoid of any further explanation. A deadline. But he'd given the item to Mongkol's thugs. He couldn't retrieve it. He couldn't leave Thanit there, helpless and bleeding. He was trapped in a spiraling vortex of fear and responsibility. He couldn't go to Thanit empty-handed.

The moment his shift ended, Nithi exploded from his chair, a whirlwind of frantic energy. He bolted from the office, leaving his bewildered coworkers gaping after him.

"Date?" one called out, confused.

"Food… food poisoning?" another offered, equally bewildered, their questions swallowed by the slamming of the door.

The clock ticked past eight, the sun bleeding crimson into the twilight sky as Nithi arrived at the nightclub by bus. Thanit's car, still parked from the previous night, sent a fresh wave of dread through him. The same bouncer, recognizing him, smirked. "Back again? Where's your boyfriend?"

Nithi ignored the question, slipping through the employee entrance. The club’s throbbing pulse hit him instantly – the neon glare, the suffocating bass – a wave of overwhelming anxiety threatening to consume him. But this time, he wouldn’t hide. He wouldn’t cower in the bathroom. He marched straight to the second floor, his steps deliberate, his resolve, fragile as it was, holding firm.

He burst through the door of the VIP room, the horrific memory of last night's forced dance a fresh wound. "Thanit!" he called out, his voice cracking slightly.

The room was desolate. Empty. Thanit wasn't there. The man with the intense gaze, the man he'd suspected was the club owner, was gone too. Perhaps he'd been wrong about that. Nithi searched the entire second floor twice, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.

"Thanit!" he shouted again, the second call raw with desperation. Hope was dwindling, replaced by a chilling wave of dread. Was his friend hurt? Was this his fault? The thought hit him like a physical blow, sending him reeling back against the wall. What if Thanit was dead? He shouldn't have let Thanit help… He slid down the wall, the silent sobs finally breaking the dam, wracking his body with the full weight of his guilt. It was all his fault.