Page 124 of Claimed By the Band

The detective's expression grows grim. "He's not talking. He hasn't outright admitted to anything so far. But if we can nail him on the illegal weapons development, it might give us leverage."

We're led to a room with a large one-way mirror. On the other side, six men stand in a line against a wall. My eyes immediatelylock onto Trakiss, his cold eyes and sharp features unmistakable even among similar-looking men.

"That's him," Jordan says quietly. "Third from the left."

"You're sure?" the detective asks, though I can tell from her expression that she already knows the answer.

"Positive." Jordan's voice doesn't waver, but I can smell her distress. The urge to gather her close, to shield her from having to look at him, is almost overwhelming.

"He's been... difficult during questioning," the detective says carefully. "Very smug. Like he knows something we don't."

Jordan's scent shifts, determination cutting through the fear. "Let me talk to him."

"I'm not sure that's—" the detective starts, but Jordan cuts her off.

"Please. I know how these people think. How they operate. If he's from my cult, my mere presence as an omega doing anything other than sitting home and making sandwiches for an alpha will trigger him. Maybe I can get him to slip up."

The detective studies her for a long moment, then glances at the rest of us. "It's not exactly conventional," she says slowly. "But given the circumstances... I might be able to arrange something. Two people maximum, though."

"I'll go with her," I say immediately. The others start to protest, but I hold up a hand. "I'm the calmest," I remind them. "Less likely to try to break his neck with my bare hands.”

Knox snorts but doesn't argue. He knows it's true. Out of all the alphas, I have the best control over my protective instincts. Right now, that's what Jordan needs more than raw aggression.

"You don't have to do this," Asher tells Jordan, cupping her face in his hands. "No one will think less of you if you're not ready."

She leans into his touch but shakes her head. "I need to face him. Need him to see they didn't break me."

Pride swells in my chest at her strength, even as my alpha instincts scream to protect her from this. But I understand. This isn't just about catching Trakiss anymore. It's about Jordan reclaiming her power.

The detective leads us to an interview room, explaining the protocol. Two guards will be stationed outside. We're not to touch the prisoner. Keep the table between us at all times.

When we enter, Trakiss is already seated, his hands cuffed to a metal loop in the center of the table. His cold eyes light up with interest as they land on Jordan, and I have to fight back a growl.

"Well, well," he says, his thin lips curving into a smile that makes my skin crawl. "You look much more like yourself than you did at the party. More like the picture in your father's study."

Jordan goes rigid beside me, her scent tinged with shock. And suddenly I understand. That's how he recognized her that night. He's been in her family's home, seen what she looked like before she had to remake herself.

"How long have you been working with them?" she asks, her voice steady despite her racing pulse.

Trakiss's smile widens. "A little less time than you've been running from them. Your father was quite devastated whenyou disappeared, you know. Such a shame, you were to be the crowning achievement of his work. The perfect little omega bride for his most loyal subject."

The implication behind his words hits me like a Mack truck. Jordan wasn't just some random member of the cult. She was the leader's daughter.

I'm not surprised she didn't tell us before. There's still a part of her that believes she's somehow responsible for what they did. That it's in her blood. And I'm sure those assholes were the ones who filled her mind with that bullshit. It's a lifetime of indoctrination, and it'll take more than a few comforting words to convince her otherwise.

But the casual way this son of a bitch talks about what they planned to do to her makes me want to reach across the table and snap his neck.

"His work?" Jordan's voice has gone cold, clinical. "You mean forcing omega girls into bonds they don't want? Treating us like breeding stock?"

I watch Trakiss's smug face as he leans back in his chair, looking far too comfortable for someone in handcuffs. My hands itch to wipe that smile off his face, but I force myself to stay still. This isn't about me. It's about Jordan. About putting an end to all this.

"You think you're so clever," Trakiss sneers. "Playing at being independent, pretending you're more than what nature made you. But we both know the truth. You're just a lost little girl who needs to be put back in her place."

Jordan doesn't flinch. If anything, she seems to grow taller, more composed. The vulnerable omega I hold at night isnowhere to be seen. In her place sits someone made of steel and ice.

"Are you really willing to spend the rest of your life in prison for him?" she asks, her voice steady. "For my father? A man who sees you as nothing but a tool?"

Trakiss laughs, the sound sharp and unpleasant. "You may be clever, for an omega," he says, emphasizing the words like an insult. "But it won't matter. Your little pet project, that male omega and his band? They won't be performing again. The moment they try, we'll make an example of them. Show all omegas what happens when they step out of line."

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