Page 11 of Claimed By the Band

No. You know I don't do in-person. No names, no faces, no locations.

ACE: I know. Told them it was a long shot. But wanted to ask, considering it's an old friend.

I pause, finger hovering over the screen. It hits me suddenly that Ace is kind of putting himself on the line here, too. Asking me to take on a client who knows him personally... that's not nothing.

In-person is a no-go. But I'm willing to talk to them. You can give them my number.

There's a long pause before Ace responds.

ACE: Thanks. I'd consider it a personal favor.

I scoff out loud before typing out my reply.

I don't do favors.

ACE: I know. But for what it's worth, you're the only person I trust enough to compromise my identity to.

There's a pause before he starts typing again.

ACE: And it would be kind of cool to meet my idol.

Heat creeps up my neck.

Idol? Knock off the flattery.

He sends back a gif of a laughing cartoon cat. I roll my eyes again.

I'll hear them out.

Then I shove my phone back in my pocket before I can agree to anything else.

The walk back to my apartment is a blur of neon signs and honking horns. My mind races, weighing the pros and cons of taking on this new job.

On one hand, it's dangerous. Getting involved with high-profile clients like Wild Honey means increased scrutiny, increased risk of exposure. And the thought of having to interact with them directly, even over the phone, makes my skin crawl.

But on the other hand... this could be huge. If I can track down the people targeting Asher Wilde, expose this anti-omega hate group... it could make a real difference. Save lives, maybe.

And isn't that why I started doing this in the first place?

I unlock the door to my apartment, kicking off my shoes as I enter. The place is small, sparsely furnished—just the basics I need to survive. No personal touches, nothing that can't be abandoned at a moment's notice if I need to run.

It's not a home. It's a safehouse.

I flop onto the couch, pulling out my laptop. Might as well do some research while I wait to see if Wild Honey actually tries to set up a time to call. I pull up every article I can find about the attack at their concert, scouring for details in the available security footage online the media might have missed.

The more I research, the more my blood boils. The gas they used at the concert... it's nasty stuff. Designed to trigger an alpha's rut response and amplify it tenfold, overriding their conscious mind and turning them into slaves to their most primal instincts.

In a crowd that size, with that many alphas... it's a miracle more people weren't hurt.

Or killed.

Can't help but admire Asher Wilde's response to the whole thing. He barely even paused to get his bearings. He's been all over the media since his bassist got out of the hospital, using the attack to draw attention to the larger issue of omega rights. He's eloquent, passionate, refusing to back down or be silenced.

It is admirable.

But it’s also incredibly fucking dangerous.

Then again, the thought that the fuckers who tried to hurt him are probably having a hissy fit over the fact that it backfired and brought even more attention to the cause brings a smile to my face for the first time since I can remember.

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