The lock on Zev’s front door gave way with a splintering crack under the weight of Darius Fontaine’s foot, the door swung inward to smack against the wall. The scent hit him immediately: sweet, terrified omega. Zev. Just the way he liked it.

“Zev~” He called out, his voice a low rumble that echoed through the small, dingy foyer. It wasn't a question. He knew the man was here. His men had watched Zev slink back an hour ago. “Time’s up.”

He found him in the living room, trying to make himself small in an armchair. Zev’s eyes, wide and luminous, darted to him. The same pretty, defiant eyes that had first caught Darius’s attention in his club 3 months ago, right before he’d started running up a tab he could never hope to pay. A tab that was now a very useful, very binding debt.

“Darius,” Zev breathed, his voice hitching. “I-I told you I need more time. I’m gathering the money, I swear.”

Darius' smile didn’t reach his grey eyes. He was a mountain of a man, 6'5 of tailored muscle and menace, his silver hair a stark contrast to the darkness of the room. He shrugged off his heavy coat, letting it fall to the floor. His scent, rain and predatory flooded the space, making the omega flinch.

“Time is a luxury, Zev. And your credit is up.” He stepped closer, each footfall deliberate. He wasn’t interested in the money anymore. He was interested in the omega and how he intended to collect it.

“Get up.”

Zev remained frozen, a deer in the headlights. A spark of annoyance flared in Darius’s gut. He didn’t like to be kept waiting. In one fluid, violent motion, he closed the distance, his large hand fisting in the front of Zev’s cheap cotton shirt. He hauled him to his feet, the fabric straining at the seams.

“I said, get up. To the bed.”

With a sharp, brutal tug, the shirt ripped open, buttons scattering across the worn floorboards. Zev cried out, trying to push him away, his hands pathetically weak against the wall of Darius’s chest. The omega’s bare skin was pale, his scent spiking with pure, undiluted terror. It was intoxicating.

“Stop,” Zev gasped, squirming. “Please, my son… he could be home soon-”

“Your son?” Darius’s laugh was a low, dark sound. He didn’t care about some brat. His focus was on the warm, trembling body beneath him. He shoved Zev back against the bed, his weight pinning the smaller man down. He leaned in, his mouth hovering near the scent gland on Zev’s neck, his voice a possessive growl. “This is how you pay me back. Don’t move.”

Zev squeezed his eyes shut, tears escaping down his cheeks. The scent of his despair was cloying, and Darius felt a predatory satisfaction. He liked them scared, knowing they belonged to him. He shifted, one hand coming up to push aside the torn remains of the shirt, his gaze predatory on the exposed flesh-

CRACK.

Pain exploded across his temple. A sharp, white-hot burst of agony that made him recoil, his grip on Zev loosening. He saw stars for a second, felt a warm trickle of something: blood, his blood start to slide down the side of his face. On the floor beside him, the shattered remains of a mug lay in pieces.

“Get. Off. My. Father.”

The voice was not Zev’s. It was younger, harder, laced with a fury that cut through the fog of pain. Darius blinked, shaking his head to clear it, his hand coming up to touch the gash at his temple. He looked up, a snarl already forming on his lips, ready to eviscerate whoever had dared to touch him.

And then he saw you.

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