Page 11 of The Omega Verse

“Dimples, too.” He runs a hand absently over his shaved scalp, his liquid eyes big enough to drown in. “She’s definitely related to him.”

Jett groans, his hands clenched into fists. “River… You gotta be careful. You know how the vultures are when they smell blood. She could just be playing on our grief.”

River shrugs, picking at the frayed cuff of his jumper. “I’m just glad you can admit you’re grieving. Sometimes you act like you don’t miss Steven at all.”

“Shit, babe.” Jett looks gutted by that, but he heads towards River, arms out. “Come on. Come lie down with me.”

But River takes a step back, folding his arms. “Not right now. I want to talk to Silva about a few things.” Whatever River sees in Jett’s face makes him sigh and bite his lip. “Just for a bit. You go in, and I’ll bring you a cup of tea.”

Jett graces me with a red-eyed scowl, pressing a kiss to River’s forehead as he heads towards the back bedroom. It’s the biggest on the bus, so it makes sense it’s reserved for his monster ego.

And then I’m left alone with one of the most famous omegas on the planet. I can feel my heart rate accelerate, my palms growing sweaty as he studies the carpet between his feet. He’s wearing an oversized jumper with stretched-out sleeves he’s pulled over his hands, and a pair of jeans so skinny they make my balls ache. He could look homeless in that outfit – but there’s something about River Ryder that just screams effortless cool.

“You’re kind of alpha for a beta.”

My eyes widen at the touch of amusement in his soft voice. I got lost looking at his perfect, pale feet, but he’s staring right at me. It takes me a moment to clear my throat. “Not usually. I think it’s just the unfiltered testosterone on this bus.”

It’s obviously a dig at Jett, but River just pushes off the wall, all loose grace as he walks over to the kitchen area and turns on the kettle. He hums softly under his breath as he takes down a couple of mugs and plucks some chamomile tea bags from a canister. I don’t drink tea, but as soon as the floral scent touches my nose, my mouth waters. Although, it could just be River, since he smells like a spring garden. “Hoover said you’re going to give us a decision about the band by the end of the week.”

I follow him over to the little nook and sit on the opposite bench seat, murmuring my thanks as he slides one of the mugs in front of me. “That’s why I’m here. I figure we all get to know each other; behind the curtain, or whatever.”

River’s gaze turns glossy as it goes to the bathroom door. “You might not see us at our best. Steven’s death… it ripped something, and I’m not sure we can piece it back together.”

He takes a sip of his tea, his hands trembling slightly around his mug. Up close and not surrounded by thousands of hyped-up fans, I can smell the brittle note in his scent. Like burnt sugar, which I’m pretty sure is a sign of omega grief. But River’s concern seems to be directed my way. “How are you dealing with the pressure? It’s not easy stepping into shoes like Steven’s.”

I sit back, running a finger over The Sundowners’ logo on my mug. “I’m not going to lie and say it doesn’t freak me out a little,” I admit. “Stix is a legend; his death just cements that. And every time someone hears ‘Afterlove’, or any of your other hits, they’re gonna be looking for him on that stage.” I try to project how bad I feel for him with a look. “He really is a hard act to follow.”

River nods, but then tips his mug towards me. “You did pretty well last night.”

I’ve been in six bands, and while none of them have achieved the success of The Sundowners, things were starting to go my way. Dread Empire put out a great record before we imploded, but Scare Crew, my latest gig, had the potential to go platinum. Right up until our lead singer found religion in his Cornflakes and took off to make soul music in the desert.

According to Hoover, I owe this amazing opportunity to Steven Rain. They made a list of potential replacements in case anyone left the band, and I was one of his top-three picks. Me. A punk rocker from the country’s sunburnt arsehole, who learnt to play by watching a guy at the pub. Yeah, I worked fucking hard to get good, but so does every guy with HardieFlex and the heat haze in his blood.

When I got the call up to play the tribute concert, I walked on air for a couple of days, only to come crashing back to earth when I realised it meant I’d never get to jam with Stix in person. He was the first drummer I wanted to emulate – another scrappy Aussie with a crazy glint in his eye - and now he’s gone, he’s left a gaping hole in the music world.

“You really found her out in the rain?”

I nod, looking around for a sugar pot. The tea tastes like arse, but I don’t want to tell him that. “Yeah. I thought she was just scamming a way in.”

I get up and go to the pantry, rooting around until I find some fake sugar. I pull a face, but stir enough into the mug to make it drinkable. “But there weren't any of your usual groupie tricks, begging and promising the world, you know?”

I put it down to naivety, at first – thinking she could waltz into the green room and hook herself a rockstar. I didn’t like it, but I figured she knew what she wanted, so who was I to stand in her way? Besides, there’d been a spark. A huge one. And my mind kept drifting back to her the whole way through the concert. Something about her made my blood hum, and for a guy who lives for his adrenaline highs, that’s kind of addictive.

I chuff and rub my eyebrow. “Pretty sure she thought I was a roadie, though.”

River smirks behind his mug, but I don’t care. It was refreshing. I mean, usually girls are trying to rip my Scare Crew hoodie off my back, but she didn’t bat an eyelash. Or not until she grabbed the key card in my pocket and got a handful of my third stick.

Which reminds me of how soft the tip of her tongue had felt. Jesus. I expected her to pull away, maybe give me a warning nip, but she’d wrapped her plump lips around my finger, sucking up my flavour. Didn’t last more than a few seconds, but it made me harder than when I had a naked supermodel on her knees, choking down my cock.

I squirm on my seat, praying I don’t pop a boner with River watching my every move.

“Did you kiss her?” he asks quietly, nixing that hope.

“No. I mean, I wanted to. But there wasn’t time.” I shake my head, feeling foolish. “And then I screwed up by asking if she’d taken something, like a scent booster. You know, to hook an alpha. She was pretty insulted.”

That makes him look away, his lips pressed into a tight line. My stomach clenches hard, like maybe he’s pissed with me, too. I nudge his mug with mine, wanting to make him smile. “You think it's fate? Stix Rain’s sister coming to find you in the middle of a storm?”

But he just shakes his head. “I’m not sure I believe in fate. But I’m definitely curious about what she’s doing here, and why she waited until now to show up.”

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