Page 125 of Claimed By the Band

My growl slips out before I can stop it, but Jordan's hand on my arm keeps me in check.

"You really think being in here will stop us?" Trakiss continues, gesturing to his cuffs with obvious disdain. "My work is already complete. The Sons of Epsilon have everything they need. You can't stop what's coming."

Jordan stands abruptly, and for a moment I think she's lost her composure. But her scent is steady, almost... triumphant?

"Thank you for your time," she says coolly, then turns on her heel and walks out. "That's all I needed."

Trakiss blinks at her in confusion. I can tell he wants to say something, but he just stares in bewilderment as she leaves him in the dust.

I follow quickly, equally confused and catching up to her in the hallway. "Are you okay?" I ask, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. Maybe it was just too much for her to be in there with him. Maybe Asher was right.

To my surprise, she actually smiles. Not the careful, measured expression she showed Trakiss, but a real smile that lights up her whole face.

"I'm fine," she says, practically bouncing on her toes. "Better than fine. Now I know my plan will work."

"What plan?" I ask, struggling to keep up with her sudden shift in mood.

"Well, he's right about one thing," she says as we walk toward where the others are waiting. "The Sons of Epsilon will attack eventually. That's completely this anonymous group's MO, and now we know for sure they're one and the same as the cult. He said as much himself, and I'm sure the police listening behind that tone-way mirror head it, too. I just wanted to confirm it. So why not use that to our advantage? Draw them out on our terms."

Understanding dawns. She's right. Trakissdidconfess. He couldn't help being a smug asshole and gloating to our brilliant omega. "A honeypot operation."

Her grin widens. "Exactly."

I can't help but chuckle, shaking my head in amazement. Even after everything she's been through, she's still willing to fight. Still brilliant and fierce and unstoppable.

"I'm impressed," I tell her honestly. "But how are we going to stage a concert when they have a compound that can turn any alpha in the crowd into a weapon?"

"Simple," she says, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. "We make sure there are no alphas in the room. Other than you guys, of course, but that won't be an issue because of the marks."

I blink at her. "How? If we announce it's omega and beta only, they'll know something's up."

"We don't announce anything other than your next concert," she says with a sly smile. "We just make sure the tickets 'sell out' instantly and get betas to fill the stadium. The rest will be undercover police."

"And how exactly are we going to manage that without tipping our hand?" I ask, though I'm already starting to see where she's going with this.

Her smile turns secretive. "I'm going to call in a favor from a couple of friends who've been waiting to meet me for a while."

I stare at her for a few moments, struggling to fully process her genius. I shake my head with a low chuckle and pull her in for a kiss. "Those fuckers didn't know what they were doing when they decided to go up against you."

Jordan smiles against my lips, but there's no mistaking the determination in her gaze. "It's been a long time coming," she murmurs. "It's time to fight back."

"You've been fighting back," I remind her, stroking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Now, it's just time you finally got some justice of your own."

Her smaller hand slips into mine, and I squeeze it gently, cherishing it for the symbol of trust it is as we head back to the others. None of us can change what happened to Jordan in the past, but we can make damn sure it never happens again. To her, or any other omega.

It's the last thing we have to do before we can fully step into our future as a pack.

43

JORDAN

Ipeek through the velvet curtain at the absolutely massive crowd filling the stadium. I feel a flutter of excitement at the sight, but not with the usual anxiety that comes from being around so many people. This time, the nerves are mixed with hope. With purpose.

Every seat is filled with either a beta or an undercover officer, the few alphas among them wearing industrial-strength blockers courtesy of PheroMaster's new head of research.

I have to admire Vince's commitment to making amends, even if it's mostly out of self-preservation. The blockers were his idea—a "gift" to secure our continued silence about his private proclivities, I'm sure, but a gift nonetheless. But I have no intention of exposing him. What he does in his personal life is his business, as long as he starts considering the real-world implications of his products.

Warm hands slide around my waist, and I know it's Asher before he even speaks. His scent makes me melt back against his solid warmth.

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