rent boy au drabble

[sociopathicwolf]

Once he has Chuck safely tucked in bed, mostly asleep and with a murmured promise to come back - one that’d actually soothed Chuck, and Derek can’t think about that right now - he ducks out. He heads back to the hotel he’d picked Chuck up from, because it’ll be easiest to trace the guy’s scent from it.

And sure enough, it’s not long before he finds the guy’s house. He circles around it, scoping it out, but there’s clearly no one else home. It’s dark inside, but Derek can hear the faint sound of a TV coming from upstairs, and after that - it’s easy to disable the alarm, pick the lock and slip inside. Derek’s quiet for someone his size, and he’s never sure if he can attribute that to his life time of practice or to the wolf shit, but it serves its purpose. He moves silently upstairs, to the bedroom where the guy is standing, making himself a drink - and waits.

Derek can tell the second that the guy notices he’s here. Even if he couldn’t see the look on his face, he can smell his fear, and Derek knows that the guy is aware that he’s fucked.

“I gave you the money, all of it,” the guy starts. “You have no reason to be here.”

Derek stays silent, watching him.

“I didn’t even bruise him that much. He must have had worse, the way he was begging for it, I just gave him what he wanted.”

Something dark and angry and snarling curls in his stomach, but Derek ignores it. It’s not the first time he’s heard someone talk about Chuck like that, and it won’t be the last. It comes with both of their jobs. Still, he doesn’t say anything. People like this coward, it’s easier just to stand there and intimidate them into incriminating themselves by jumping to their own defense.

“We’re allowed to drug them if we want, don’t try to pull that on me. The boss knew what I was doing.”

That makes Derek snort. “Really think the boss is stupid enough to have someone guarding him who didn’t know what you had permission for and what you didn’t?”

The look on the guy’s face says that yeah, he did, and Derek resists the urge to sigh. The stupid ones always underestimate how much he knows about what goes on in the family. And apparently this guy is a really stupid one, because getting called on his bullshit gets him defensive, and defensive makes him move in close to get up in Derek’s face.

“I paid for him, he’s mine to do whatever I wanted with! I didn’t even damage him permanently; the drug was experimental but it’s perfectly safe. And even if it wasn’t, so what? Who the fuck gives a damn about one more dead hooker?”

His hackles had started rising when the guy called Chuck his, but the image of what could have happened to Chuck, of exactly why Derek was so fucking pissed off about some guy giving Chuck god knows what - one more dead hooker - sends Derek over the edge. His control snaps, just for a moment, but before he realizes what he’s doing, he has the guy pinned against the wall, feet dangling a foot or two above the floor, with his hand around the guy’s throat.

The guy’s still holding his glass, and he attempts to smash it down on the top of Derek’s head - but Derek shifts, catching it on the side of his head instead. He’s got glass in his hair and there’s a twinge of pain, but nothing serious - and the scent of blood in the air says that the guy hurt his hand worse than he hurt Derek.

“Stupid,” Derek snarls at him.

Actually snarls, and abruptly Derek realizes that the knowledge that this man could have killed Chuck tonight made him lose more self control than he thought. His fangs are out, and his eyes are glowing in the light of the TV, and there’s no way that he looks human.

The guy looks like he’s about two seconds from pissing himself, but - but okay, Derek can use that.

“What drug was it?” Derek asks, tightening his hand briefly around the guy’s throat before he loosens it enough to let him talk.

But instead of answering him, the guy starts babbling desperately. “Killing me isn’t going to get your message sent. Let me live and I’ll tell them, I’ll make sure everyone knows that your rules aren’t meant to be bent.”

“Not looking to send a message.”

The man’s eyes go wilder, flashing huge and white in his panic.

“E, it was just E, just a different strain. It’s cheaper, we just wanted to make sure it was good before we used it ourselves but it’s fine, no one’s been hurt or-”

Derek closes his hand around the man’s throat again to cut him off, teeth bared in an even louder snarl. Fuck, he really could have killed Chuck, this stupid piece of shit. Never mind that it’s hardly the first time that someone’s done that, it’s one of the reasons they have rules about clients using drugs on their sex workers, because dead or damaged hookers cost the family money, and Derek’s been the enforcer for that kind of thing before.

But not like this. This is Chuck, and despite everything, despite becoming Chuck’s friend and pulling strings to stay as his bodyguard, and wanting to take care of him and make him happy, Derek wasn’t sure just what lengths he was willing to go to for Chuck until right now.

He loosens his grip on the man’s throat again.

Who immediately picks up babbling again. “I won’t tell anyone. I won’t, no one will believe me anyway, you don’t have to kill me because I saw this, you don’t.”

Derek snorts dismissively. “Don’t give a shit about that.”

The man stills. “You don’t?”

“No,” Derek says. “I’ll rip your throat out before I let you touch him again.”

The man’s eyes narrow in confusion, then shoot up in disbelief. “The hooker? This is about the fucking hooker, are you fucking kidding me?”

Derek lowers him down to put him at eye level, leaning in to growl quietly at the guy. “Everything is about him.”

Then he tightens his grip again, fingers sinking deep into the man’s skin before he does exactly as he promised and rips his throat out.

He regrets it in about two seconds, when he’s got the guy’s blood all over him, and Derek sighs at himself. This was stupid, he’s usually much better than this. Much neater, unless he’s been told to make it messy to send a message, and now he has a guy he wasn’t told to kill with his throat ripped out on his hands.

His uncle is going to know almost immediately who it was.

Honestly, Derek’s not worried about that. He had a reason for coming here - it would have been expected, their staff in that hotel would have seen saw Chuck high, and the boss would know that he didn’t have approval to fucking drug their sex workers. He’d expect Derek to send a message.

This isn’t a message, but his uncle has always been very understanding about the times that Derek’s killed someone when he should have just beaten the shit out of them. Accidents happen, and Derek will just have to remember to show the usual amount of barely hidden guilt he always feels when they do.

He should clean this up, but… but that means longer time away from Chuck, and he’s hoping that he can get back before Chuck wakes up and is sobered up enough to wonder where he went.

So instead he roots around in the closet and finds one of the guy’s sweatshirts - it won’t zip up on him, but it at least covers most of the blood - and then he slips back out to head home.

Well. To Chuck, which - is probably the closest thing Derek’s had to a home in a long time, so yeah, maybe it fits.

He’ll just have to hope Chuck doesn’t ask any questions.