Page 115 of Claimed By the Band

I pull the manila envelope from my bag, sliding the contents across Vince's polished desk. The photos fan out like playing cards—each one more damning than the last.

All the color drains from Vince's face as he stares at the evidence of his private activities. His hands shake as he reaches for them.

"This is—you can't—" He looks between the pictures and us, then back again. Suddenly, a light dawns in his eyes and a snatches up the photos, ripping them into pieces with trembling fingers. "Try to blackmail me now, asswipes!"

Asswipes? What is he, fifteen?

"You didn'treallythinkthose were the only copies, did you?" Asher asks, his voice dripping with what actually sounds like genuine concern.

Dante just snickers.

Vince deflates like a punctured balloon, collapsing back into his chair. "This isn't fair," he whines, running his hands through his heavily gelled hair. It's so spiky, I find myself wondering if it hurts. And his debonair act comes undone just as easily as that awful hairstyle. "What do you want? Money?"

"Information," I say, speaking for the first time since entering his office. "About Dr. Trakiss’s after-hours… activities."

His head snaps up, eyes narrowing. "I don't know what you're talking about,beta."

"I think you do," Silas says quietly. "The question is whether you're involved, or just willfully ignorant."

"I'm not—" Vince starts, then stops, glancing between us nervously. "Look, I just run the business side of things, okay? The science stuff, that's all Trakiss. I don't ask questions about what he does in the lab."

"Even when he's developing illegal weapons?" Dante asks casually.

Vince's face goes even paler. "What?"

"The attack at our concert," Knox rumbles. "We've done testing. The pheromone compound used came fromyourlabs."

It's a bluff. We don't have enough evidence to prove it, but Vince folds like a fitted sheet all the same.

"I didn't know," Vince says quickly—too quickly. "I swear, I had no idea what he was doing. He just said he was working on new formulations for the retail line."

"At two in the morning?" I ask skeptically. "On a weekend?"

He shifts uncomfortably in his chair. "I don't know when he's here, I only come to this dump when my old man makes me for meetings. It's fucking boring," he groans, burying his face in his hands. "It's always, 'Look at these spreadsheets, Vince.' 'When are we going to order more paper, Vince?' ‘They’re fucking in the men's room, Vince!" Like I give a shit! I just wanted to play water polo, man."

We all stare at him blankly.

"Well," Dante says, rubbing the back of his neck. "That was… a lot."

Vince glares at him. "Like I said, I don't ask questions. It's better that way."

"Better for who?" Asher demands, folding his arms over his chest. "The omegas who get attacked? The people whose lives are destroyed byyourproducts?"

"I just wanted to make money!" Vince protests. "I'm a businessman, not some crazy extremist. Whatever Trakiss is involved with, I don't have anything to do with it."

"Actually, you do," I say firmly. "And you'll have a hell of a time convincing the police otherwise when they find out the compound that was used to attack Asher was made right here on your machines, with your funding."

All the color drains from Vince's face. "But I…dude," he whines again. "I swear, I had no idea what that weirdo was doing! I haven't even seen him since the party."

That catches me off guard.

"You haven't?" Damon asks before I can.

"No!" Vince snaps. "He just fucking bailed and left me with the cleanup. I mean, I had my employees do it, but still. They were asking me where the mops and stuff were and it was a total pain in the ass."

"That must have been so traumatic for you," Asher says in a dry tone.

"It was!" Vince bellows, because apparently, sarcasm is on the long list of concepts he fails to grasp. "Now I have to another nerd to do that asshole's job. As far as I'm concerned, he can rot in jail."

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