The office was too quiet after Gabriel left. Beckett had told himself he wouldn't let it bother him, that he wouldn't care. Gabriel had overstepped, went behind his back, and had the audacity to act like he was the one in the right. So why the hell did Beckett feel like he had just made a mistake? 

Leaning back in his chair, ears still folded back, he stared blankly up at the ceiling, trying to shake the tight feeling in his chest. It was fine. He had dealt with worse before. He would handle this just like he handled everything else -- on his own terms. 

And yet...

Gabriel had been right about one thing -- this was bigger than he initially thought. Victor wasn't some two-bit competitor throwing a tantrum. He was dangerous. Ruthless. 

But Beckett still wasn't going to give Gabriel the satisfaction of being right about everything. Not that it mattered right? He didn't need him. Though, deep down, there was a part of him that was a little irritated that Gabriel wasn't still around to argue about it. 

Sighing, Beckett took out his phone and noticed a missed phone call. His glum expression melted into something like an amalgamation of annoyance and affection. Hitting the call back option, it only took a few rings before the other end picked up.

"You're supposed to be in school, what do you want?" 

====

Gabriel wasn't angry. At least, that's what he kept telling himself. He wasn't angry that Beckett had thrown him out. He wasn't angry that Beckett had refused to listen. What pissed him off was the stubbornness. Beckett was smart. He knew this wasn't just about business. He had to know. But instead of dealing with it properly, he was still acting like he could handle it alone. 

Downing his drink, Gabriel let out a slow breath and ran his fingers through his hair. He hadn't been back to The Den since their fight. Partially because he figured Beckett wouldn't want to see him. But mostly because he didn't want to be the first one to cave. 

Fine, let Beckett be pissed. Let him dig his heels in and act like he didn't need anyone. He let his co-workers do the supply deliveries, it wasn't like he had to be there every time right? 

Gabriel wasn't going to chase him down; even if the thought of someone like Victor Castellan setting his sights on Beckett made his teeth itch. If Beckett wanted to do this the hard way, that was his problem. 

The alpha poured another strong drink and nursed it the rest of the evening. 

====

On the other end of the city, in a very high class business district; Victor Castellan leaned back in his chair, listening as one of his men gave their report. 

"The Den's still open," the man said, "Beckett hasn't backed down." 

Victor hummed, swirling the glass in his hand and watching as the ice and amber liquid mingled. So this was the little omega's answer, not surprising. He'd expected as much. 

"And the supplier?" 

"Still running shipments. Beckett must've found a workaround." 

Victor's jaw twitched, that was annoying but not a deal-breaker. The Den was holding on, but holding on wasn't enough. Beckett was just one person. He just needed the right pressure. 

The man hesitated before adding, "Gabriel hasn't been seen around." 

Oh? Victor raised an eyebrow, now that was interesting, "He left?" 

The man shrugged, "Not sure, sir. But if he's not around, it means The Den's unprotected." 

Victor smirked, he leaned forward, setting his drink down with a quiet clink, "That so?" standing and adjusting his tie, there was a malicious gleam in the alpha's eyes now, "Then let's see just how long he lasts without someone watching his back." 

====

The Den was running as usual. At least, on the surface. Beckett refused to let the tension get to him, even as he felt the weight of unseen eyes on his club. The threats hadn't stopped, but nothing had escalated yet. And that was the problem. 

He knew Victor wasn't going to just walk away. But Beckett had dealt with alpha's like him before. Bullies. Predators who thrived on power plays. The moment you showed weakness, you were done. So Beckett did what he did best, refused to show weakness. Even if he was watching his back more than usual. Even if he had noticed Gabriel wasn't around. It didn't matter, Gabriel had his own shit to deal with. He had made his choice when he stormed out. 

Beckett wasn't going to sit around waiting for him to come back. Hell, he'd made sure that the annoying alpha had no reason to come back. And that was fine, right? 

The night was winding down when the first sign of trouble arrived. The bouncers were handling the usual rowdy customers when a group of men walked through the doors. Not regulars, and certainly not here for drinks. Beckett knew who they were the moment he spotted them, they didn't belong and they weren't hiding it. 

A couple of patrons looked uneasy as the group spread out across the floor, too casual, too comfortable for men who had never stepped foot in The Den before. Beckett exhaled slowly, forcing himself to stay calm. This was a test, a show of force. Victor was watching. 

"We're closing." he stated evenly. 

The man at the center of the group -- tall, built like a brawler, with the unmistakable air of someone who thought he owned any room he waslked into -- tilted his head, "Huh, that so?" 

Unmoved, Beckett stood his ground, "Yeah, that's so." 

The man smirked, "Shame, heard this place was worth checking out," he let his gaze sweep across the club before returning to Beckett, "Guess I'll have to take my business elsewhere." 

The omega laughed mirthlessly, "Such a shame, whatever am I going to do?" 

For what felt like an eternity, neither of them moved. It was a standoff, one that most of the lingering patrons took as their que to leave. 

Jaw tightened and muscles tense, coiled and ready to spring at a moments notice, Beckett growled, "Would you look at that, we're closed," he took a defiant step forward, "Now get out." 

The man chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender, "Relax, we're leaving."  

He turned, motioning for his men to follow. But just as he reached the door, he paused. Then, in one quick motion, he reached out and knocked a glass off the nearest table. It shattered against the floor, the sound cutting through the club like a gunshot. Beckett didn't flinch. 

The man just looked back, "Oops, my bad."

Beckett didn't dignify the antagonizing action with a response, his eyes just narrowed. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of rattling him. 

"See you later little omega." The group strolled out, laughing like it had all been a joke. Beckett watched them go, muscles still coiled tight beneath his skin. This wasn't over. Not even close. 

====

By now, a week had passed. Gabriel was lounging comfortably in his seat, stretching out his legs as the train rumbled beneath him. The buisness trip had been boring, but at least it was almost over. A couple more days and he'd be back in the city. Back to The Den. Back to -- 

Gabriel huffed, rolling his shoulders. He wasn't thinking about Beckett, not really. He had more important things to deal with. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Not that it mattered, Beckett could handle himself. Or so he was constantly reminded of. 

Just focus on the business trip, he could deal with whatever fallout was waiting for him on the other end later. Afterall, he had a feeling that networking was what he needed to prioritize. 

====

Beckett wasn't surprised when The Den was hit again. He'd been expecting it. But expecting something and being ready for it were two very different things. 

It happened late, after the staff had gone home. The only one left was Beckett. The club was quiet, humming with low sounds of outside traffic. The scent of spilled alcohol lingering in the air. The night was mostly quiet, perhaps a little too quiet. Beckett didn't like it, he was tucked away behind the bar, nursing a whiskey he didn't really want. 

The Den had been running as usual, but the tension was still there, lurking beneath the surface. And when the first crash came, the shattering glass echoing through the empty club, he moved before thinking. 

A second impact followed -- harder, rattling the doors, making the bottles behind the bar tremble. Then the lights went out. Everything happened fast after that. A deep, guttural sound of wood splintering. The front doors gave way, and then -- footsteps. Heavy boots and more than one. 

Beckett barely had time to register the red glow of the emergency lights before the first shadow moved. Then something swung at his head. He ducked on instinct. A bottle exploded against the bar instead, raining shards around him. 

"Got him!" someone growled. 

Beckett twisted, throwing an elbow into the nearest body. He connected, knocking them back, but before he could get his footing, a fist slammed into his ribs. Air rushed from his lungs as he stumbled but didn't go down. Not yet. 

The emergency lights flickered again, catching glimpses of movement -- two, three, maybe four of them. Big guys, they didn't need weapons. They were here to send a message. Too bad Beckett didn't scare easy. However, that confidence vanished when the next punch caught him across the jaw and his knees buckled. 

Rough hands grabbed him before he hit the floor, "Stubborn little omega aren't you?" 

The voice, Beckett knew that voice. The bastard from before, the one who had come in pretending to be just another customer. He tried to jerk free, but the grip in his hair tightened, yanking his head back and making his vision swim. 

"You should have taken the warning," the man sneered, "But I gotta admit, I respect the fight." 

Beckett bared his teeth, breath shallow, "Fuck you." 

The guy chuckled -- then drove a fist into Beckett's stomach. Pain exploding through the omega's ribs. 

Beckett barely go ta gasp out before another punch landed, then another. His body lurched with every hit. His limbs felt heavy, distant. His head spun. Someone grabbed his colla and dragged him forward. 

"That's enough," the voice said, "We're not here to kill him. Not yet, at least." 

Barely registering the words, Beckett felt the darkness creeping at the edges of his vision. He felt himself hit the ground, chest heaving, arms too weak to push himself up. Boots moved around him. Voices, distant and muffled. Then, the distinct sound of bottles being tipped over. Something metallic jangled -- a cash drawer being forced open. 

A robbery, again? Really? 

They weren't just beating him down. They were gitting The Den. Beckett tried to move, to say something, but everything felt slow. Wrong. 

Then -- 

The sharp scent of gasoline. Beckett's sluggish thoughts tried to make sense of it, but he already knew. Victor wasn't just warning him this time. He was erasing him. No, he wouldn't let this happen. 

Boots scraped against the floor as the men moved towards the exit. The flick of a lighter felt like such a final thing. Beckett's last thought before slipping into unconsciousness was not of himself, not of Victor, not even The Den --

But of Gabriel. Where the hell was he? Gabriel wasn't here and for the first time, Beckett really felt it. 

Outside, the men walked away as orange light flickered in the clubs' shattered windows. One of them glanced back, "You think he'll make it out?" 

The leader just smirked, "Doesn't matter." 

They disappeared into the night, behind them, The Den burned.