Twenty Minutes Earlier: Flashback

Kit and Jihoon had slipped out of the Velvet Fantasy early. 

It was a Friday, the club was packed, but Anton had given them a rare pass to head home before the midnight rush. Both were bundled in heavy hoodies—Kit in an oversized, charcoal-gray street-style piece that swallowed his frame, and Jihoon in something slightly more fitted but just as thick.

"Twenty-eight days," Kit groaned, his breath a puff of white vapor. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, his knuckles brushing against nothing but lint. "Twenty-eight days until payday. I'm going to be phoneless and starving until then. This is a nightmare."

Jihoon chuckled, the plastic stick of a cherry lollipop poking out of the corner of his mouth.

 "Well, if I’m being fair, you’re the one who turned a million rubles into confetti. You could’ve been buying a new phone—and a new car—right now."

Kit let out a jagged, self-deprecating laugh. "You know what? Now that I think about it, I really should have taken it. I should've just tucked that check into my shoe and ignored the fact that it came from that stupid, frozen-faced fridge."

"Exactly," Jihoon said, nudging him with an elbow. "Your pride needs to start taking a hike when there are six figures involved. You’re learning, Kit. Slowly, but you’re learning."

"Yeah, well, the lesson is currently freezing my—"

Kit didn't get to finish. 

A tall Alpha, smelling of cheap cologne and stale beer, stumbled out from a doorway and blocked their path. 

His eyes were bloodshot as they raked over Kit’s baggy clothes before landing squarely on his backside. With a wet, drunken grin, the man reached out and delivered a hard, disrespectful slap to Kit’s Ass.

"Hey... I recognize you," the Alpha slurred, his voice thick with loathesome intent. "You’re that little thing from the club, the performer peaches right? I'll pay you well if I get to fuck you right here. Hell, your friend can join in if he wants a turn."

Jihoon stopped mid-stride. 

He took the lollipop out of his mouth, looking at the man with a expression that wasn't shock or fear—it was pity. He knew what was coming.

Kit didn't explode. Instead, a slow, cynical smile spread across his face—the kind of smile that never reached his eyes. He glanced over at Jihoon. "Hey, Hoon. He wants to fuck. What do you think? Want to join, or are you just going to watch?"

Jihoon popped the lollipop back in, leaning his shoulder against the brick wall of the nearest alley. "I think I’ll step this one out and just watch. Try not to get blood on your hoodie; that's the only clean one you have left."

"Right. Good call," Kit said, turning back to the Alpha. "Okay, Mr. Big Spender. Why don't we step into the alley? It’s a bit public out here, don't you think?"

The man grinned, his ego blinding him to the predator standing in front of him. 

He draped a heavy, possessive arm over Kit’s shoulder, leaning in close. "Smart boy. You really are a slut, aren't you? Do a good job and I’ll make it worth your while while your friend watches."

They reached the center of the alley, hidden from the main street by a dumpster. Jihoon leaned back, crossing his ankles, his eyes bored. "Make it fast, Kit. I'm cold."

"Will do," Kit murmured.

"So," the Alpha said, fumbling with his belt. "You want to bend over the dumpster, or should I just fuck you on the floor?"

"I think," Kit said, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous growl, "that you should be the one lying down."

Before the man could even process the words, Kit’s fist connected with his jaw. The sound of bone hitting bone was sharp and sickening. 

The Alpha crumpled to the frozen ground, the air leaving his lungs in a wheeze.

Kit didn't stop. He lunged, pinning the larger man down with a strength that defied his slender frame. 

He sat astride the man’s chest, his knuckles barking against the Alpha's face with methodical, rhythmic brutality.

"Am I good enough for you now, huh?" Kit hissed, his voice raw with all the frustration he'd been carrying since the penthouse. 

Pow Pow Pow—!

"Is this to your liking, you pathetic, bottom-feeding piece of shit?" Pow. "You think because I work in a club, I'm just a hole for you to buy and Fuck!? useless piece of shit Motgerfucker!"

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The Present Moment

Kit was still swinging when the heavy vibration of the G-Wagon’s engine cut through the air.

 He didn't look up until the light of the streetlamp was obscured by two massive shadows.

Jihoon, who had been lazily licking his lollipop while watching the "performance," froze. His eyes traveled up—and up—until they landed on the broad shoulders of the Alpha in the white suit.

At the same time, Kit stopped mid-punch, his hand suspended in the air, dripping with the stranger's blood. 

He looked up, his hood falling back to reveal his flushed, defiant face, only to see the gray coat and the piercing, crystalline eyes of the Maksim Sokolov.

Dmitry and Jihoon locked eyes. 

The recognition was instantaneous. The Sunday night at the club—it all crashed together in a single second.

"YOU!!" they both barked, pointing fingers at each other with identical looks of horrified shock.

The only sound in the alley was the low groan of the man on the ground and the soft hiss of the snow falling on Maksim’s gray coat as he stared down at his "scentless brat," who was currently covered in someone else's blood.

The alleyway was silent for a heartbeat, save for the ragged breathing of the man on the ground and the low, rhythmic hum of the idling G-Wagon. 

The yellow streetlamp cast long, distorted shadows of the two towering Alphas over the scene of the carnage.

"Get up," Maksim commanded. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried the weight of a glacier shifting.

Kit let out a sharp, cynical laugh, his shoulders shaking. He didn't look back at Maksim.

 Instead, he pulled back his fist, his knuckles raw and painted in the stranger's blood. "I'm not done with this fucker yet. He wanted to see a show? I’m giving him the grand finale."

As Kit moved to swing again, a metallic click echoed through the alley.

Maksim didn't argue. He simply reached into the inner pocket of his gray coat and pulled out a sleek, matte-black handgun, aiming it directly at the head of the man pinned beneath Kit.

 His expression didn't flicker; he looked like he was about to dispose of a piece of household trash.

"Whoa, whoa!" Dmitry barked, finally snapping out of his shock and stepping between them.

 He grabbed Maksim’s wrist, forcing the barrel back in his coat. "Easy, Maksim. It's Friday night. We were supposed to be getting drinks, not filing police reports for public execution. No bloodshed in the streets tonight, yeah?"

Dmitry glanced over at Jihoon, who was still standing by the wall with a stunned expression. "Hey, Lollipop. Could you tell your friend to stop before my brother here decides to turn this alley into a tomb?"

Jihoon blew out a long, tired breath. 

He looked at Kit, then at the two dangerous men in expensive coats, and realized this was a fight they couldn't win with fists. He stepped forward, placing a hand on Kit’s shoulder.

"Okay, baby. I think he’s learned his lesson," Jihoon murmured softly. "Come on. You’re getting blood on your good hoodie."

Kit hesitated, his chest heaving. He looked down at the unconscious, mangled face of the Alpha beneath him and spat a glob of blood-tainted saliva onto the man's chest. "Dare cross me again, you useless motherfucker."

He stood up slowly, wiping a smear of blood from his forehead with the back of his hand.

Dmitry watched the way Maksim was staring at the man on the floor. He knew that look—Maksim wasn't thinking about mercy; he was likely calculating how many bones he could break before the man stopped screaming.

"I'll take care of this," Dmitry said, flashing a forced, charming smile to break the tension. He stepped over to the bloodied man, grabbing him by the back of his collar and hauling him up like a sack of flour. 

"Time to go, buddy. You and I are going to have a very private conversation about manners."

He dragged the man toward the shadows at the end of the alley, his intent clear. He wasn't taking him to a hospital.

Now, only three remained under the flickering light. 

Kit stood facing Jihoon, his breath hitching as the adrenaline began to ebb. 

He felt Maksim’s presence behind him—a cold, suffocating pressure that made the hair on his arms stand up.

"The hell are you doing here?" Kit snapped, finally turning his head just enough to glare at Maksim out of the corner of his eye.

Maksim didn't answer. He didn't offer an explanation or an apology. Instead, he reached out and clamped a hand around Kit’s wrist. His grip wasn't painful, but it was absolute—like a shackle of warm iron.

"Hey!" Kit yelled, trying to yank his arm back. "Let go of me! What do you think you're—"

Maksim ignored the struggle, turning on his heel and beginning to walk back toward the G-Wagon, dragging Kit along with him as if he were nothing more than a rebellious child.

"Hey! Stop!" Jihoon shouted, taking a step forward to intervene.

Maksim paused. He didn't turn around, but he shifted his gaze over his shoulder. The look he gave Jihoon was so cold, so devoid of humanity, that Jihoon felt the air leave his lungs. It was a silent warning.

Jihoon froze, his hand trembling as he watched them go.

Maksim reached the car, pulled open the heavy front passenger door, and shoved Kit inside. 

Before Kit could even reach for the handle, Maksim slammed the door and hit the remote lock. The clack of the pins dropping sounded like a gavel.

Maksim rounded the hood, his gray coat fluttering in the wind, and slid into the driver's seat. 

He ignored Kit’s frantic cursing and the way he was slamming his shoulder against the door.

He started the engine—a low, predatory growl—and pulled away from the curb, leaving Jihoon standing alone in the snow, a single cherry lollipop stick clutched in his hand.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Dmitry stepped out from the shadows of the far alley, fastidiously wiping the fresh crimson stains from his knuckles with a silk handkerchief. 

He flicked the ruined cloth into a nearby trash bin, his expression shifting from cold efficiency back to his trademark lazy arrogance.

He looked toward the curb, only to find a cloud of exhaust and the already faded red glow of the G-Wagon’s taillights.

"He actually took my car," Dmitry mumbled, a huff of disbelieving laughter escaping him. He ran a hand through his hair, glancing at the empty space where his obsidian-black beast had been parked. "How come I didn't think that was a possibility? The bastard left me stranded in the snow. The man is a menace when he’s possessive."

He turned his gaze to Jihoon, who was already halfway down the block, his shoulders hunched against the wind as he started to walk away. 

Dmitry didn't hesitate; he fell into step beside him, his long strides easily matching the Omega's pace.

"Hey," Dmitry said, tilting his head. "Aren't you worried about your friend? Maksim isn't exactly known for his gentle bedside manner when he gets like that."

Jihoon didn't stop. He didn't even slow down. He just flashed a sharp, cynical smile that looked hauntingly similar to Kit’s. "Worried? That’s the last thing on my mind. Kit is the only person I know who doesn't take shit from anyone. Honestly? I’d rather be worried about your friend. He has no idea what kind of hell he just locked in his front seat."

Jihoon stopped abruptly, spinning around to glare at the Alpha. "And why the hell are you following me? I know a face when I see one. You’re the bastard from the club. I give you a blow, I give you my best work, and you leave me fucking hanging the moment you’re satisfied."

Dmitry didn't flinch. Instead, a slow, wolfish grin spread across his face. "Hey, let’s be fair. At least I bought you those expensive cakes you asked for. Most Alphas wouldn't have even remembered your face."

"Will you stop following me?" Jihoon snapped, turning back around to keep walking.

"Okay, okay, I get it," Dmitry called out, though he stayed right on his heels. "I’m sorry that you sucked me off and I didn't return the favor. You want to fix that? Do you want us to have sex then? Right now? My place isn't far."

Jihoon stopped again, but this time his laugh was cold—a mocking, jagged sound that cut through the December cold air. 

He looked Dmitry up and down, his eyes full of the same lethal defiance Kit had shown Maksim.

He let out a sharp tsk, his gaze dripping with disdain.

"In your dreams, Alpha," Jihoon spat, popping his lollipop back in and turning his back on the most eligible bachelor in Moscow. "In your absolute Worst dreams."