Page 9 of The Omega Verse

He sits up slowly, stretching his arms over his head and then rubbing a hand down his face. There’s a crease on his cheek from the seat stitching, but he’s still the prettiest thing I think I’ve ever woken up to. “Sorry about flaking out like that, but the concert really kicked my arse.”

I study him more critically, taking in the striking looks, the expensive haircut, and the corded arms. “You’re a musician?”

He taps his hoodie, and I realise the picture on the front is a manic-looking scarecrow. Sparks are flying off its jerking limbs, and I realise it’s in a fight with an electric fence. “Drummer for the Scare Crew,” he tells me. “Although, last night I was filling in for…well, you know.”

I nod. His first night on the job was actually his only night - as the tribute drummer for the legendary Stix Rain.

It takes me a long moment to digest that. “Okay. And your name?”

“Silva Sterling.” He looks at me through his lashes, clearly amused. “You’re not a fan of punk rock? You never heard of the Dread Empire?” He taps his chest. “This doesn’t ring any bells?”

I shrug, because I don’t want to be rude. But when he gives a mock groan, clutching his heart, I smile. “You can educate me, though.”

His grin takes on a flirty edge. “It’d be my pleasure, sugar.”

I shake my head at the corny nickname. Although, I have to admit I prefer it to ‘kitten’ - especially if it’s coming out of Jett Colter’s mouth.

I look around, deciding we must be in the front part of the bus. Our L-shaped couch faces the kitchen and seating area, and I can see a door to what looks like the driver’s cubicle. It’s like one of those tiny houses I’ve seen on TV, except it’s all decked out in luxury finishes. Including plush black carpet and gold accents, with the Sundowners’ logo stamped on every surface.

I turn in my seat, looking around for the bathroom. Silva must read my mind, because he says, “You want a shower, sugar? No judgement, but your scent is kinda strong.” I freeze, horrified to think he can smell me over the carpet shampoo and the beans in the fancy coffee machine. “Not in a bad way,” he goes on, scratching his cheek, “but just like you took some enhancers or something.”

I scrunch up my nose. “You mean scent boosters?”

“Some girls do it.” He shrugs, brushing the silver hair out of his eyes and flashing that cute palm tree tattoo at me. “They think it gives them an edge with alphas.”

Oh, God. He really thinks I turned up to a rock concert with a scent booster in my system? Which means he thinks I’m a groupie, and that I only got on this bus because I wanted to take a rockstar for a ride…

Jett Colter’s face flashes before my eyes and I cringe. “Absolutely not!”

I know that’s what Jett thinks, and River was looking at me so strangely… Is that why they’re not here? Are they hiding somewhere so Silva can get rid of the scent-boosted beta groupie?

This is so fucked up. I rub my head, then hiss at the burn on my palm. I stare at the inflamed skin, the nasty little rocks I still haven’t picked out…

But I told them I was here for Steven. And why did they let me on the bus in the first place if they thought I was… what did Jett call me? A grief-sucking vulture?

I look at Silva, who’s watching me carefully. “I’m not here for that,” I tell him. “I just need to talk to Jett and River about Steven, and then I’ll leave.”

Silva grimaces and rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t think that’s a conversation they want to have right now.”

“I know, but...”

“Officially, we’re heading up the coast for some R&R, but I think they’re just trying to deal, you know?”

Up the coast? I lunge towards the window, hooking a finger around the fancy leather blind. Watery sunlight spills in, and I gape at the scrubby bush and limestone gravel flashing past.

Fuck. “How far north are we? I can’t… I can’t go on a road trip!”

“Most girls would give their left tit to go road-tripping with us,” a familiar voice drawls, and Jett Colter staggers over to the kitchenette, tossing a cup at the coffee machine and smacking a few buttons. He looks a little less drunk than before my nap, but his eyes are now bloodshot, and he’s gripping the counter with white knuckles. I try not to stare at his full back tattoo of a sinking sun, but given he’s just wearing a pair of black sweats, it’s a struggle.

When his coffee beeps, he grabs it and heads over to the seating area, waving his other hand at me. “But just say the word, kitten, and we’ll get you off.”

“You mean let me off,” I bite back, my blood rising at the smirk he shoots my way. “But you can’t just dump me at the side of the road. How far is it back to the city?”

“There’s lots of traffic around here,” he says airily, plucking a folded newspaper from a wall pocket. He digs a stylish pair of black reading glasses out of his sweats and winks at me. “Wait long enough and someone should pick you up.”

“Shut up, Jett,” Silva says, his green eyes snapping. “You’re not kicking her off the damn bus.”

“First rule of rock school, Sterling. Don’t bring your groupies on R&R.” He takes a slurp of his coffee and looks at me over the top of his glasses. “Unless they plan to offer some group activities to pass the time.”

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