His brother’s voice had lost all pretense of cordiality. Ren knew him well enough to realize that resisting now would be pointless. So he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and pushed open the door.
The office was more austere than he’d expected. Dark wood, bookshelves crammed with books, an imposing desk. It smelled of leather and something else—something musky and dangerous that made his skin crawl, something that screamed danger and alpha in equal measure.
A man stood with his back to him, looking out the double-paned window that overlooked the poker tables. Tall. Broad shoulders. A tailored suit. The Alpha, of course. Malachi Kovac.
“Ren Valois.” The voice was deep, controlled, with an accent he couldn’t place. “Right on time.”
“Pure luck. I didn’t know we had an appointment.”
The man turned. Ren kept his chin up, refusing to cower under his scrutiny. The eyes studying him were dark and impenetrable. There was something about them that reminded him of a wolf about to attack.
“Your father owes a lot of money to many people.” It wasn’t a question. “And this time, the debts are too big to be settled with a night in a hotel.”
Ren clenched his hands at his sides until his nails dug into his palms.
“How much?”
“Four hundred thousand.”
The figure hung between them. Weighing. Ren closed his eyes for a second, just a second, before opening them again.
“And what do you want from me?”
The man approached with measured steps until he stood in front of him. Too close. Ren didn’t back away. He lifted his head to look him in the eyes.
“There’s an auction tonight.” His lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “You’ll be the principal attraction.”
The hallway narrowed as they advanced. Ren felt the walls closing in on him. His breathing quickened. The tuxedo bow tie was tightening around his throat. The pristine white shirt he wore was becoming damp from sweat. Malachi moved forward, familiar with his domain. A bodyguard stood behind them.
“No,” the word came out raspy. Ren stopped. “I’m not going to…”
“You’re not going to what?” Malachi turned his head just enough for the light to catch the sharp angle of his jaw.
Ren clenched his teeth until they hurt.
“It’s my father who owes that money. I don’t owe anyone anything.”
“That is delightfully wrong.” Malachi spun around, and there was something almost amused in his expression; a cold curiosity, like someone observing an insect trapped under a glass. “Understand something, omega. You’re your father’s guarantee of payment. Always have been.”
That was a hurtful thing to say. Because they were true. How many times had he heard his father negotiate with him as if he were transferable property?My son, the omega. Handsome, isn’t he? He can fix it. He can make it up to you.
“If I refuse…”
“You will not survive for long.” Malachi took a threatening step forward. “Someone will come looking for you. Not with fancy invitations or clean deals. You’ll end up in some basement serving anyone willing to pay a few coins for your mouth.”
Ren felt bile rising in his throat.
“The decision is yours.” Malachi held out a hand toward the door at the end of the hallway. “Controlled auction, elite buyer, temporary contract. Or the other.”
Temporary.
Ren clung to that word.
“How long?”
Malachi’s eyes flickered with what might have been triumph. Or satisfaction.
“One year.”
