BL Ghostship 🔥 Multiple Couples ❤️ ( Book 2 )

Theerakit (Jes) × Vegas 💛❤️❤️‍🔥

Theerakit had always been a man of quiet calculation. On the surface, he was a financial prodigy, a suit-wearing perfectionist who ran multinational criminal accounts with the precision of a scalpel. Behind the elegant glasses and silk ties was a mind wired for warfare - not the kind that spilled blood on floors, but the kind that collapsed empires from the inside. He didn't need bullets. Just a spreadsheet and five minutes.

Vegas Theerapanyakul, however, was messier. Louder. Bloodier. A silk-wrapped storm who wielded pain like poetry and had no time for clean wars or clean hands. He was a prince of chaos - born into legacy, fed on resentment, and trained to tear through rivals without blinking. If Theerakit was chess, Vegas was fire.

They were never meant to meet - not properly. For years, they existed on opposite sides of the underground world: Theerakit, the cool right-hand of a powerful yet discreet economic empire, and Vegas, the lethal heir of a family with its claws dug into the spine of the black market. Still, whispers of each other came often.

And when they did finally cross paths, it was at a funeral.

A top-tier arms broker had been poisoned. Silent. Clean. The autopsy was a smokescreen - everyone in the room knew this was war.

Theerakit stood by the coffin in a charcoal suit, his fingers laced neatly behind his back, eyes cold. Vegas arrived late, unapologetically, in a deep emerald jacket with no tie, chewing gum, and wearing grief like a performance. He glanced at the dead man, then at Theerakit - holding eye contact too long. Daring him.

"You know, it's rude to kill someone and then come to their funeral looking bored," Vegas drawled, smirking.

Theerakit didn't blink. "I don't kill people I find boring. I ignore them."

A tension sparked between them like a live wire tossed into a puddle. The room thinned around them. It wasn't just rivalry - it was recognition. They were reflections. Two predators wearing different masks.

Later that night, they met again.

In a high-rise club owned by neither family, the air smelled of sweat, alcohol, and danger. Theerakit leaned over an emerald green marble bar, sipping something dark and expensive. His posture was too straight for this place. Vegas, however, moved like he owned the room - and maybe he did. No one stopped him as he slithered beside Theerakit and plucked the glass from his hand.

"Didn't peg you for whiskey. Thought you'd drink something colder. Like liquid ice."

Theerakit turned slowly. "You mistake composure for temperature. Easy mistake - if you're not used to control."

Vegas chuckled low. "And you mistake chaos for carelessness. You think you've got me figured out, don't you? Pretty numbers boy."

There it was again - that proximity, that dangerous click of two brilliant minds orbiting too close. They weren't enemies because they hated each other. They were enemies because they understood each other too well. It was terrifying.

"You're an accountant," Vegas said suddenly, circling him like a wolf. "So tell me, Theerakit, what's the equation for danger?"

Theerakit looked him in the eye. "You."

Silence.

Something shifted in Vegas's smirk - a brief flicker of interest, of something deeper - before he leaned in, too close, his breath warm against Theerakit's ear.

"Then let's do the math," he whispered.

But Theerakit only stepped back, calm as ever. "Careful. I don't do calculations for free. Especially not for unstable assets."