Page 83 of The Omega Verse

River flinches and I feel my lips pull back on my teeth. “You really are a heartless bitch, Celine.”

She just gives a careless shrug. “And speaking of more, I hope you enjoyed that last kiss. Because the next time you suck his tongue, it’s going to taste like my alpha lock.”

My stomach rolls at the thought, but River gives a derisive snort. “I’d rather stick it in a sausage grinder, Celine. And you’re completely delusional if you think I’m ever going to touch you.”

Her face tightens with anger. “If you want Steven’s precious songs, you’ll get on your fucking back and do exactly what I say.”

“Give it a rest, Celine,” I snap, my last nerve fraying. “These are worthless, because the security guard who checked your purse took the originals and gave you fakes.” I take the top song off the pile and screw it up for effect. It feels shitty, but it’s only a copy. The originals are already in the hands of Finn Visser’s security team.

She sneers at me. “No, they’re worthless because I’ve already sold them. You might have some handwritten scribble, but their new owner has the copyright. He’s already registered them, so you’re shit out of luck, and I’m twenty million dollars richer.”

“You mean this buyer?” I hold up my phone so she can see the message trail between her and Finn, and the falsified auction record. “He’s on our side, Celine. There’s no buyer, no money. We have the originals, and you have nothing.”

“Plus, you just admitted to stalking, breaking and entering, theft, fencing stolen goods, and some really gross blackmail. All in front of a federal investigator,” River adds, pointing in the direction of the roadie lurking near one of the speakers.

He drops the bundle of cords he’s been fiddling with, speaking into his earpiece as he holds up his ID. It’s one of those moment I never thought I’d see outside of a TV show, especially when he barks with alpha authority, “You’ll need to come with me, Ms Quint.”

“You’re lying!” Celine hisses as she rounds on me, claws out. I duck her swiping hand, but it’s a close call. She goes to punch me this time, but River chops her wrist, hard enough to make her mewl in agony. The federal agent rushes forward, cuffs out, with another cop headed our way to back him up. I see a flicker of movement from the shadows, but I don’t take my eye off Celine for a second. She’s a hissing, kicking, cursing mess as the agents start to drag her off.

“She’s a goddamn liar!” she shrieks, spittle flying from her lips. “Ask Mike Dalton, the band’s Head of Security! He’ll confirm that she’s been lying about her identity for years! She’s not an Amato. And she uses scent boosters. Let me go, you fucking bastards…!”

I turn to River, right as he pulls me into his arms and hits me with a kiss that curls my toes. It also makes Celine gurgle in fury, but the agents have finally dragged her out of sight. “She’s cooked,” River grins.

“Toast,” I agree, smiling back. “And she threw Mike under the bus on her way out.”

River huffs. Last night Finn broke the news to the guys that Mike has been feeding information to Celine for years, including details of the VIP pass he’d organised for me at the arena. “He’s on Finn Visser’s radar now. The guy will be lucky to get a security job at Target.”

I shrug. “People make their beds and have to lie in them, or however the saying goes.”

“Don’t talk about beds unless you want to start something back here,” Silva says in my ear as he slides up for a kiss. “Watching you two take that bitch down was the hottest thing I’ve seen since you pulled out your bakery box.”

I shake my head at him, but lean into his greedy lips. “I knew you’d be lurking somewhere in the shadows.”

“Front row seats,” he snorts, waving to the other guys, who are watching from the sound booth. I wave, and they all look a bit sheepish as they wave back. “But we’re out of time now,” Silva tells us. “You’ll have to watch the rest of the show from back here instead of going to your seats.”

I shrug again; I don’t care where I am as long as it’s near my pack – and a long way from Celine Quint and her bullshit.

“Did you take out the trash?” Jett asks, his eyes gleaming under his stage makeup as he stalks up to us. They look like chips of blue flame, and his ruby red pout is so luscious, I want to attack it with my teeth. If he looks stunning in his everyday life, right now he’s approaching immortal status.

“She took herself out, to be honest,” River says with a smirk. “I’m pretty sure she just confessed to every crime under the sun.”

The guys shake their heads at her arrogance, but Tom stops me to look deep into my eyes. “You did what you had to do. And I’m proud of you.” He reaches over and cups River’s neck. “Both of you.”

“Thanks for trusting us enough to take care of it. I know it wasn’t easy.”

“Don’t tell them about the sandbags we had swinging over the bitch’s head,” Jett adds in a stage whisper.

The other guys give us some more sheepish grins, but a roar from the audience has us turning towards the stage. The early speeches are obviously drawing to a close, and a bunch of strangers start to swarm around us. Most are wearing headsets and clutching tablets, but there are also a couple of guys in black suits who Finn introduced us to over Skype. They’re part of our new pack security team, and they give us subtle nods as we’re herded towards the stage.

I’m relieved they’re with us, but nerves still flutter in my belly as we’re escorted towards some chairs, right at the edge of the wings. They might not be front row seats, but they still offer a great view of the stage. And while Tom and Kobi settle in on either side of me, I can’t take my eyes off Jett and River as they step out to receive the award. They look so amazing under the brilliant spotlights, even Cory and Rick hang back to let them soak in the standing ovation. River doesn’t make a speech, but Jett holds him close to his side as he leans into the microphone and thanks the industry, the fans, the label, and everyone involved in giving The Sundowners their place in history.

“I know you want to hear us play ‘Afterlove’,” he tells the audience when they finally settle down. “But our world has changed a lot since two sweaty, angsty nobodies hashed that song out in a grungy London flat. And to set the record straight once and for all, it was Steven’s song, in every way. Stix summoned it out of the depths of his soul, and even though I helped him share it with the world, it was never about me.” His gaze finds me, and I can read the pain in his eyes, but also the hope. He clears his throat as he stares back at the audience. “Steven “Stix” Rain may have left us, but he lives on in our hearts.”

I watch Jett’s head dip, River’s face pressing into the comfort of his neck. I know the entire room – and probably millions of fans who are streaming this moment at home – are holding their breath, because I am too. Even as tears drip in my lap and Tom and Kobi murmur comforting words in my ears.

“But Steven lived to make music,” Jett finally says in a voice gone raw with grief. “And tonight, we’re going to share one of a dozen unpublished, unrecorded Stix Rain songs with you.”

The shocked whispers that tear through the audience have me sitting on the edge of my seat. “You’ll get to hear them all eventually,” Jett goes on, giving the room his best shit-eating grin. “But they’ll be performed by a new arrangement. The sun might have gone down on a legend, but I’d like to introduce you to the band who will give Steven’s legacy a new dawn: Sweet Addiction!”

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