Page 20 of Claimed By the Band

Silas just smirks. "It's that place that always burns the garlic bread."

"Nowthat'sworth it," Asher quips, making a beeline for the door.

Still not sure I agree.

"You're a dick, you know that?" I mutter as I follow Silas back to the house.

"Now, that's not very pack-like of you, Knox," he says in a fake scandalized tone. "We're practically brothers."

I roll my eyes. It's far from the most insensitive thing he's ever done, and I'd be lying if I said I was a saint where Silas is concerned myself. Hell, if we didn't share an omega, I'm pretty sure one or both of us would have quit the band a long damn time ago due to our "creative differences."

But if there's one thing we can agree on, it's Asher. Keeping him safe. Keeping him happy.

I just wish the two goals weren't so damn contradictory.

8

JORDAN

The smell of stale beer and sweaty pheromones lingers in the air as I step into the concert venue. It's been weeks since the attack, but the echoes of that night still cling to every surface.

I adjust my blazer, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles. The disguise is simple but effective—a nondescript suit, hair slicked back, glasses perched on my nose. Just another faceless agent looking to book the space.

My footsteps echo in the empty hall as I follow the beta venue manager on her tour. She's chattering away about capacity and sound systems, but I'm barely listening. My eyes scan every corner, every shadow, looking for anything the police might have missed.

"And over here we have the main stage area," the beta says, gesturing grandly. "As you can see, it's quite spacious. Perfect for larger acts. Like your, uh… what sort of act did you say you were representing again?"

"Holistic jugglers," I answer without missing a beat. If I didn't have a little fun with this job, I'd go nuts.

"Oh," she says warily. "Right. Well, the stage would be just perfect."

I'm sure she's pretty desperate to get this place booked, considering all the recent bad press. Which was probably the only reason I could even arrange a showing on such short notice.

I nod, making a show of jotting down notes on my tablet. In reality, I'm pulling up the security footage I've watched a hundred times, overlaying it with the actual space. Trying to piece together the puzzle of that night.

The beta's voice fades into background noise as my mind wanders to the mountain of fan mail I've been sifting through. Boxes upon boxes of letters, gifts, and god knows what else. So far, nothing but the usual mix of adoration and thinly-veiled lust. A few panties, but other than that technical biohazard, no red flags and no real threats so far.

But there's so much of it. Too much for one person to go through, even with my skills. Maybe I can get Ace to chip in, if I ask nicely.

I'm pulled from my thoughts by the beta's hand on my arm. I stiffen, fighting the urge to pull away.

"Is everything alright?" she asks, concern etched on her face. "You seem... distracted."

I force a smile, slipping back into character. "Just taking it all in," I say smoothly. "Actually, I was wondering if I could have a moment alone? To really get a feel for the space."

The beta's brow furrows. "Alone? I'm not sure that's?—"

"It's for the act I'm representing," I cut in, thinking fast. "Very new age, you know. I need to make sure the vibes are right formaximumchakra flow."

The beta's eyes glaze over, that familiar look of someone who's dealt with one too many diva artist's demands. "Oh. Of course. Take all the time you need. I'll just be outside."

She beats a hasty retreat, as if she's afraid I'm going to break out the singing bowls and crystals, leaving me alone in the cavernous space. Perfect.

I make my way up to the stage, taking the steps that wrap around side. The useless security partition is still there. One velvet rope was torn off its post, an unsettling reminder of a night that could have been even worse.

Standing center stage, I close my eyes, trying to see it from Asher's perspective. The roar of the crowd, the heat of the lights. The sudden chaos as the gas was released, turning his loyal fans into deadly weapons.

My eyes snap open, scanning the room. There, by the exit—that's where I saw the figure moving against the crowd in the footage. I hop off the stage, striding down the center aisle to investigate. But there's nothing left but a few bits of crime scene tape clinging stubbornly to the door frame.

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