CHAPTER 2 – WANTED POSTERS & WANTED MEN | 18+ |
Noon hits like a fist.
The safehouse door explodes inward, splintered by a boot the size of a cinder block.
Surf fills the doorway first—six-foot-four of sun-bleached muscle, shark-tooth necklace dripping rainwater, grin sharp enough to cut glass. Behind him, Java—smaller, leaner, eyes like black ice, twin butterfly knives spinning lazy figure-eights.
Tsunami launches with a snarl. Surf catches her mid-air, wrestles her into a hug like she's a puppy. "Easy, girl. Uncle Surf brought treats."
Java steps over the threshold, nose wrinkling at the stench of blood, sex, and gunpowder. "You two look like you fucked a war and lost."
Sea doesn't move from the mattress. He's shirtless, cigarette dangling, Glock across his bare thighs. Keen is curled against his side, naked except for Sea's leather jacket, fresh stitches zigzagging across his ribs where the machete kissed him last night.
Keen's eyes flick to the newcomers—wary 100 % calm now. The rich boy is gone. Something feral took his place.
Surf whistles low. "Heard the bounty doubled. One hundred million. Dead or alive. Both of you."
Java flicks a knife shut, tosses a rolled-up poster onto the bed.
WANTED – DEAD OR ALIVE
SEA "KRAKEN" CHANKIT
KEEN "PRINCE" SUVIJAK
100,000,000 BAHT
NO QUESTIONS – NO MERCY
Underneath, someone drew a crude crown dripping blood.
Sea exhales smoke through his nose. "Cute."
Java's voice is silk over razor blades. "Mainland fight pit tonight. Winner takes the pot, loser feeds the sharks. Your names are already top of the card. Refuse, and every bounty hunter from Phuket to Yangon comes here by sundown."
Surf grins wider. "We're your ride. And your backup. For a cut."
Sea looks at Keen.
Keen's fingers trace the stitches on his own ribs, then Sea's older scars. "We go," he says simply. "We win. Then we send my father a message he can't ignore."
Sea kisses him once—slow, filthy, claiming—then stands. "Gear up."
Two hours later they're on a speedboat slicing through whitecaps toward the mainland. Surf pilots, Java sharpens knives on a whetstone, Tsunami rides the bow like a hood ornament from hell.
Keen sits between Sea's thighs, back to chest, Sea's arms caging him. Salt spray soaks them both. Every wave slams them together, Sea's half-hard cock grinding against Keen's ass through thin shorts.
Java watches, smirks. "Save it for the cage, lovebirds."
Sea flips him off without breaking eye contact with Keen. "Never."
The fight pit is a decommissioned limestone quarry outside Krabi—tiered stone benches carved two hundred years ago by slaves, now packed with gamblers, gangsters, and farangs who pay in crypto and blood.
Floodlights bleach everything corpse-white. Speakers blast Thai metal so loud ribs rattle. Cages hang from cranes over a pit filled with salt water and chained reef sharks.
Tonight's card: eight fights. Main event—Sea & Keen vs. the Saw Sharks' champion, a mountain of muscle named "Toothless" because he files his teeth to points.
Surf and Java vanish into the crowd to place bets and rig the odds.
Sea and Keen are stripped to shorts, oiled down, knives strapped to thighs. No guns allowed inside the cage.
The announcer screams their names. Crowd roars. Money changes hands like water.
They step in.
Toothless is already there—two-ten, maybe two-twenty, veins like cables, eyes dead. He grins, teeth glinting like broken glass.
Bell rings.
Toothless charges.
Sea meets him head-on, knife flashing. First blood is Toothless—Sea opens his cheek to the bone. Second blood is Sea—Toothless' elbow splits his brow.
Keen circles, waiting.
Toothless grabs Sea by the throat, lifts him clean off the ground. Sea's knife clatters away.
Keen moves.
He slides under Toothless' arm, blade sinking deep between ribs. Twist. Pull. Hot blood sprays his chest like baptism.
Toothless roars, backhands Keen into the cage wall. Chain link rattles.
Sea drops, scoops his knife, drives it up under Toothless' jaw—through mouth, into brain.
The giant drops.
Dead before he hits the mat.
Silence. Then the crowd loses its fucking mind.
Sea spits blood, turns to Keen.
Keen's chest heaves, knife dripping, eyes wild and beautiful.
Sea grabs him by the throat, slams him against the cage, kisses him in front of ten thousand screaming people. Blood smears between their mouths.
The announcer tries to speak. Sea rips the mic away.
"Listen up," he snarls, voice raw. "Keen Suvijak is under my protection. Anyone touches him touches me. Anyone offers a bounty dies screaming. Tell his father. Tell the world."
He drops the mic. Grabs Keen's hand. They walk out through the parted crowd like gods.
Backstage, Surf and Java are waiting with duffels of cash and two fresh passports.
Java tosses Sea a key. "Boat's fueled. Phuket safehouse. Disappear for a week."
Sea looks at Keen—covered in blood, shaking with adrenaline, cock hard against his thigh.
"No," Sea says. "We're not running."
He pulls Keen into the showers—communal, concrete, still steaming from the last fight.
Door slams.
Water pounds down, washing blood pink.
Sea pins Keen to the tile, knife to throat again.
"Say it," Sea growls.
Keen's voice breaks. "I love you."
Sea's knife clatters away. He drops to his knees, mouth on Keen's cock, sucking him deep while water drowns them both.
Keen comes down his throat with a sob.
Sea stands, spins him, fucks him against the wall—no prep, just spit and need. Every thrust punches the words out:
"I love you.
I love you.
I fucking love you."
Keen comes again untouched, clawing tile, screaming Sea's name like a prayer.
After, they stay under the water until it runs cold.
Surf kicks the door open. "Boat's leaving. Move your asses."
They dress in stolen clothes, walk out holding hands.
In the next stall, Surf has Java bent over a bench, fucking him silent and savage. Java's knives are embedded in the wall above them like exclamation points.
Java flips them off without looking. Surf just grins.
The four of them plus Tsunami pile into the speedboat at midnight.
Behind them, the quarry burns—someone torched the prize money rather than pay it.
Ahead: open water, fake names, and a war that just got personal.
Keen leans over the rail, puking adrenaline and love into the sea.
Sea stands behind him, arms around his waist, chin on his shoulder.
"Still green?" Sea whispers.
Keen laughs, wipes his mouth with the back of a bloody hand.
"Greener than ever, Kraken."
The boat roars west.
The island disappears behind them.
But the bounty follows.
And the war is just getting started.
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18+
The showers are a concrete tomb behind the quarry cage.
Steam coils like ghosts. Water hammers down from rusted pipes, hot enough to scald sins clean.
Sea kicks the door shut. Lock clicks.
World out. Them in.
Keen's back hits tile so hard the breath punches out of him.
Blood still sheets down his chest from the fight—his, Toothless', doesn't matter. It mixes with sweat and quarry dust, painting him war-striped and beautiful.
Sea crowds him, knife in one hand, Glock in the other.
He tosses the gun aside. Metal clatters.
Only the knife remains.
"Say it again," Sea growls, blade flat under Keen's jaw, tilting his head back until throat is a pale offering.
Water pounds between them, turning pink.
Keen's voice cracks like the first time he ever fired a gun.
"I love you."
Sea's pupils blow wide.
The knife trembles—just once—then drags down.
Slow. Deliberate.
A red line blooms from hollow of throat to sternum, shallow enough to sting, deep enough to scar forever.
Keen hisses, cock jumping against Sea's thigh, already leaking.
Sea drops to his knees in the flood.
Water sluices over his shoulders, carving rivers through the kraken ink.
He licks the fresh cut—tongue flat, tasting copper and salt and victory.
Keen's fingers fist in Sea's wet hair, yanking hard enough to hurt.
Sea mouths lower, teeth sinking into a nipple until Keen sobs.
Then lower.
Lower.
He takes Keen's cock in one brutal swallow—no tease, no mercy—nose buried in trimmed hair, throat working around the length.
Keen's hips jerk; Sea pins them to tile with one hand, knife still in the other, cold steel kissing inner thigh.
Keen comes instantly, flooding Sea's throat with a broken scream that echoes off concrete.
Sea swallows every drop, pulls off slow, lips red and swollen.
He stands.
Spins Keen.
Slams him chest-first into tile.
Knife presses between shoulder blades.
"Spread."
Keen obeys, legs shaking, palms slapping wet wall.
Water pounds the small of his back, running pink down the drain.
Sea spits into his palm—once, twice—then lines up.
One savage thrust and he's buried raw to the root.
Keen's spine arches like a bow drawn for war.
Sea sets a punishing rhythm—hips snapping, water splashing, knife tracing spine in tiny threatening circles.
Every thrust punches the words out:
"I love you."
Thrust.
"I love you."
Thrust.
"I fucking love you, Keen."
Keen is sobbing now—ugly, perfect, wrecked.
His cock trapped against tile, grinding with every slam, already hard again.
Sea reaches around, fists him rough.
"Come again. Milk me dry."
Keen shatters a second time—untouched by anything but Sea's hand—striping tile white, hole spasming so tight Sea sees stars.
Sea buries deep and unloads with a guttural roar, flooding him, claiming him, breeding him in the filth and steam.
They stay locked, panting, water cooling around them.
Sea pulls out slow.
Cum and water swirl pink down Keen's thighs.
He turns Keen gently—surprising after the violence—cups his face with both hands now, knife forgotten on the floor.
Foreheads pressed.
Eyes locked.
"I love you," Sea whispers, voice raw. "I'll burn Bangkok to keep you."
Keen's tears mix with shower spray.
"Then burn it. I'm already ash."
Sea kisses him soft—tongue tracing the split in Keen's lip, tasting blood and love and forever.
Then he drops again.
This time slow.
Worshipful.
He licks Keen clean—every cut, every bruise, every drop of spend leaking from his swollen hole.
Keen's knees buckle; Sea holds him up by the thighs alone, tongue fucking inside until Keen is hard a third time, whimpering, oversensitive.
Sea stands, lifts Keen bodily—legs around his waist—and slides back in.
Face to face.
Water pounding their joined bodies.
Slow rolls now.
Deep.
Intimate.
Keen's arms around Sea's neck, nails carving crescents into inked skin.
Sea's mouth against his ear:
"Marry me in blood and gasoline."
Keen comes a third time just from the words—silent, shaking, spilling between their stomachs.
Sea follows, pulsing deep, arms trembling with the weight of holding his entire world.
They slide down tile together, sitting in the flood, still joined.
Water runs cold.
Neither moves.
Outside, Surf bangs on the door. "Boat's leaving, princesses!"
Sea kisses Keen once more—soft, reverent.
"Ready to go start a war, baby?"
Keen smiles—slow, sharp, royal.
Blood on his teeth. Love in his eyes.
"Born ready, Kraken."
They stand.
Sea wraps Keen in a stolen towel like a king clothing his queen.
The knife goes back in Sea's boot.
The Glock in Keen's hand.
They walk out dripping, holding hands, leaving bloody footprints and a love story written in steam.
The quarry burns behind them.
The sea waits ahead.
And Bangkok is nexx
**END OF CHAPTER 2 – FULL UNCUT**