The base thumped through the floor, a steady, familiar pulse that usually helped Beckett focus. Tonight it was background noise, something to ignore while he sifted through the growing pile of invoices and supplier contracts at his desk in the back office. The Den was growing and that meant more paperwork, more numbers to keep track of. He'd rather be out on the floor, overseeing things firsthand, but someone had to make sure the business stayed in the black. 

A loud crash from the front of the club made him pause, pen freezing over the page as his ears twitched and strained. Was this something security could handle or would he have to handle things himself? 

Then came the shouting. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose as a groan rose within his chest, Beckett was not one to avoid work that needed to be done. However, the numbers were making his head spin and this sounded like a perfectly valid reason to step away for just a moment. 

Beckett pushed back from his desk, smoothing back his hair and finding a scowl was already forming on his face. Striding towards the office door and stepping out, the omega made his way towards the commotion. The club was busy tonight -- his bouncers, Vincent and Caleb, were likely occupied with their usual rounds, making sure the rowdier patrons didn't get out of hand. Whatever this was, it had clearly escalated quickly and hadn't drawn their attention yet. 

As he stepped into the main area, the sea of dancing bodies did nothing to hide the cause of the commotion. 

Sharp eyes zeroing in on a group of three alphas that stood near the main entrance, their broad shoulders were squared and their scents were thick with aggression and alcohol. The overturned table at their feet and the shattered glass suggested they hadn't taken kindly to being asked to behave. 

Caleb and Vincent were already busy handling a separate dispute near the bar, leaving no one to deal with these new troublemakers. Beckett didn't hesitate. 

"Alright," he called over the music, striding towards them, arms crossed, "You've had your fun. Now get the hell out." 

One of the alphas turned, a roo from the looks of his long ears and thick build, he wore a sneer as he looked Beckett up and down.

"An' who the fock are you supposed ta be?" his accent heavy and slurred. 

Arching an unimpressed brow, Beckett cocked his chin up as he moved a hand to his hip, "I own this place. Which means I decide when assholes like you wear out their welcome." 

The other two barked out laughter, elbowing eachother as if this display was the funniest thing they'd ever seen. One of them stepped closer, this one was a canine of some sort, deliberately invading Beckett's space, "You don't look like much of a threat, omega." 

Beckett felt his jaw clench and the muscle in his eye twitch. He could already tell reasoning wasn't going to work with them, "And I'm guessing you're not much of a thinker, don't waste my time, get out." 

The first alpha's sneer twisted, "Cocky lil' shit." 

The swing came fast, but Beckett had been expecting it. He ducked, twisting away as the alpha's fist cut through empty air. The second alpha lunged at the same time, shoving Beckett back against a wall.

Beckett was ready to throw a punch of his own, his fist tight and drawn back like a spring when out of the corner of his eye there was a blur of red and black. 

Gabriel. 

The impact was brutal. Gabriel crashed into the second alpha, sending him sprawling across the floor. Before the guy could get up, Gabriel grabbed him by the front of his tacky shirt and slammed him back down with a sharp, warning growl. 

"Didn't anyone teach you manners?" he asked, his golden eyes flashing with something dangerous. 

The first alpha recovered, charging at Gabriel with a snarl. Gabriel didn't even flinch. He caught the guy mid-swing, twisting his arm behind his back before kicking his legs out from under him. The third alpha hesitated, clearly reconsidering his options now that the fight had turned. 

Beckett had since recovered as well and gave the third alpha a sharp shove towards the door, "I had it under control." he growled at Gabriel. 

Gabriel snorted, "Yeah, looked like it." 

Vincent and Caleb finally broke away from the bar fight, storming over to handle the aftermath. Gabriel shoved the roo in his grip towards them, "Get them the hell out of here before I start charging extra for security work." 

As the bouncers dragged the troublemakers toward the exit, Beckett dusted himself off. His adrenaline was still high, his frustration barely concealed beneath his usual scowl. He turned to Gabriel, irritation clear in his gaze, "What the hell are you even doing here?" 

Gabriel shrugged, a smirk playing at his lips, "Just thought I'd stop by. Good thing too. Would've been a shame if your pretty face got messed up." 

Feeling his chest clench in what could only best be described as a cringe, Beckett looked as if he'd just sucked on a lemon. So rather than dignify the alpha's comment with a responce, he turned on his heels and stormed off. 

Typical. Fucking. Alphas. 

====

The next few nights passed without much trouble. Business was steady, the usual drunken arguments were handled before they turned into anything worse, and for once, Beckett thought maybe -- just maybe -- he could get through a full week without another incident. 

That evening had started like any other. Beckett had stayed late after closing, going over inventory and the night's earnings. The staff had gone home, leaving the club quiet, the only sounds being the occasional creak of the old building settling and the distant city traffic. 

Beckett was locking up when the whole world seemed to suddenly drop out from under him. Something heavy had collided with his back, slamming him face first into the door. Dazed by the ambush, a sharp but familiar scent hit his nose a second before something else slammed into his side, knocking him off balance. Hands grabbed at him, dragging him toward the alley beside The Den. Instinct kicked in -- he twisted, aiming an elbow at the nearest attacker, but there were too many. A fist connected with his ribs, another caught his jaw. 

He hit the pavement hard, the rough concrete biting into his skin. 

"You think you can just run this place without consequences?" one of the attackers sneered, a boot pressing against Beckett's shoulder, keeping him down, "You think you're big shit, thought you'd be smarter than that." 

Beckett spat blood on the man's shoes, glaring up at them. At a moment of clearity, he recognized the ringleader -- the alpha from the other night, the roo. He choked out a laugh, "Let me guess," he rasped, "Didn't like getting toss out on your ass?" 

The alpha crouched, grabbing Beckett by the hair, "You've got a smart mouth on you, omega." 

Tensing, Beckett readied himself for another hit -- but instead, the alpha yanked something from his pocket. Struggling a bit to see what was being taken, Beckett was roughly released as the item was then tossed at his face. It was his wallet. 

"Consider this payment for the inconvenience," the alpha said, signaling for his crew to back off, one of them kicked Beckett in the side for good measure, "remember your place." 

The pack turned and disappeared down the alley, leaving Beckett coughing and groaning on the cold ground. 

Beckett lay there for a moment, breathing through the sharp pain in his ribs. His face throbbed, his pulse hammering in his ears. Then he heard it. Glass shattering. His stomach dropped. 

Ignoring the pain, the omega forced himself up, staggering toward the front of The Den. His heart pounding even harder as he rounded the corner. Rage flared up in his chest. 

The front windows were smashed in, the jagged edges glinting under the streetlights. Spray paint defaced the exterior, crude insults and slurs scrawled across the entrance. Trash littered the sidewalk, a few overturned crates spilling their contents onto the pavement. 

Beckett just stood there, his breathing heavy, hands clenched into fists. His eyes stung with tears that didn't dare fall. Sure, it was only a matter of time before some self-rightious alphas felt entitled to ruining his day. But this, this seriously pissed him off. 

Thankfully it wasn't irreparable. It wasn't the end of the world. What it was, was a warning and Beckett wasn't the kind of omega that shrank back in fear. No, this just fueled him, he would endure out of pure spite if he had to. 

Reaching for his phone, his fingers aching, Beckett dialed the only number that came to mind. 

The line barely rang before Gabriel's voice answered, "This better be good, Beckett. It's late." 

Beckett exhaled sharply, still staring at the damage in front of him, "I need a favor...." 

====

Gabriel showed up faster than Beckett expected. The roar of his motocycle cut through the quiet street, stopping just outside The Den's wrecked entrance. He killed the engine, swung off the bike, and took in the damage with a slow, assessing look. Then his gaze landed on the club's owner. 

Beckett knew he looked like hell -- lip split, one eye already swelling, blood drying on his temple. His ribs ached with every breath, but he refused to let it show. He stood stiffly, arms crossed, watching as Gabriel exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. 

"Shit, Beckett," Gabriel muttered, stepping closer, "you look worse than the club." 

"Don't start." Beckett snipped. 

Gabriel didn't listen. Of course he didn't. He reached out, fingers grazing Beckett's chin to tilt his face slightly. Beckett slapped his hand away, scowling.

"I said, don't." 

Rasing his hands in momentary surrender, there was something dangerous in his eyes, "Who did this?" 

Looking absolutely not in the mood, Beckett scoffed, "Just some pretentious alpha from the other day, but that's not important right now." 

Gabriel didn't seem to think so, "And where is he now?" 

"What did I just say? He's a nobody, that's not why I called you." Beckett glared at Gabriel for a moment, "Why, you planning on tracking him down or something? What good would that do?" 

Gabriel didn't answer immediately. He turned towards the club, running a hand through his hair as he took in the damage again. His usual smirk was gone, replaced with something Beckett couldn't quite read. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, measured. 

"You called me for a reason. What do you need?" 

For the first time, Beckett hesitated. He hated asking for help, but The Den wasn't just some club -- it was his. He wasn't about to let some pissed off lowlifes think they could scare him out of business. 

"I need this cleaned up," Beckett admitted, nodding toward the broken glass and graffiti, "Fast. Before word gets out that we're an easy target." 

Gabriel considered him for a moment, then nodded, "Alright, I'll make some calls." 

Beckett arched an eyebrow, a wary look of surprise on his face, "Just like that?" 

That infuriating smirk returned, Gabriel looked particularly proud of himself, "Just like that," he beamed, "I've got connections." 

Within the hour, Gabriel's 'contacts' showed up -- an efficient group that worked fast; sweeping up the glass, scrubbing the graffiti, and replacing what they could before the sun had even begun to rise. Beckett supervised in silence, watching as his club was put back together, piece by piece. 

Gabriel leaned against his bike, watching Beckett, "You owe me now." he mused.

Beckett didn't look at him, "Put it on my tab." 

"Oh, I will," Gabriel chuckled, "now, let's get you cleaned up."