Primrose Path | Zayn Malik | AU

4

💰 Z A Y N

Marcel fights against the grips of Christopher and Nico, but he's of no match. Both of them are much stronger than they appear. Then again, they're used to holding fuckers back, carrying dead bodies, hauling bags that are heavy and filled to the brim with cash, and anything else for me that may require a bit of heavy lifting.

"Marcel," I tsk, swinging the bat over my shoulder and walking a few steps towards him. "I thought we went over this."

"Mr. Malik, please." He begs, attempting to rip his arm out of Nico's hold. "I can't afford what you're asking."

I stop dead in my tracks, looking at him. Running a hand over my beard, I inform him, "Twenty percent of your income isn't much for what I offer." Glancing around his clothing store, I wonder what to smash first—a rack of t-shirts, the glass shelving beside the register, the door that makes the changing rooms private, or something else within the small building.

"I have a family to care for. If I gave you what you ask for, I couldn't afford food for my children." He pleads, panicked at the sight of the threatening bat that I point in his face.

My eyes find the wooden structure that holds the cash register. It has large glass panes that encase the more expensive items in the store. A few bottles of perfume, cologne, some watches and other fine pieces of jewelry rest on the shelves. I steady my stance, taking a practice swing before bashing the bat into the structure, feeling satisfied when the sound of glass shattering fills my ears.

I turn back to Marcel, smirk plastered on my face. "Damn, do I love me some stress relief."

He fights against Christopher and Nico's hold again, looking at his store—which was brand new when I walked in here, but will need some serious work when I'm done with it—while holding back tears. I hear him whisper another begging word again as if it'll make me rethink my choices.

I take a step towards him, forcing him to look at me. "This is how this shit works." I tell him. "If you don't want our protection, who knows what'll happen. Maybe one day when you're sleeping next to your wife, you'll receive a call. The phone at your bedside will ring at four in the morning and someone will tell you your business is on fire." My eyes light up at the word fire and I chuckle to myself while walking away.

I steady the bat in my hands and smash the other half of the checkout table, watching my step over the broken glass. "Oops," I torment. "You'd think they would avoid making this shit so fragile."

"Ten!" Marcel shouts, trying to make a deal with me.

Who told this fucker he could haggle with me?