Page 30 of Claimed By the Band

"It's a logo," Echo corrects. "Part of one, anyway. There are no prints or anything, but I've spent the last few days scouring the Internet for any business that has a matching logo."

"Even if you found one," Silas cuts in, ever the skeptic, "how do you know it belonged to the attackers? There were thousands of people in that audience, not to mention all the stage crew and security."

"Because," Echo says, his voice taking on an edge of satisfaction, "I found it in the air vents."

That silences everyone.

"Impressive," Damon says, an air of appreciation in his gruff voice.

Anyone else would probably preen at the praise from a famous rock star, but Echo just pulls out the laptop in his backpack.

Even I find myself holding my breath, watching as Echo turns his laptop around to reveal a logo featuring a stylized crown set within the alpha symbol, with the name "PheroMaster" written above it. Below, in smaller text, reads the tagline: "Control. Command. Conquer."

"What the hell are we looking at?" Dante asks, wrinkling his nose. "Besides the tackiest graphic design job I've ever seen."

I can't help but snicker. Coming from our resident graphic designer, that's quite the burn.

Echo navigates through PheroMaster's website with quick, efficient movements. "It's a high-ticket boutique business that caters to a specific clientele. They make pheromone products."

"Like scent blockers and suppressors?" I ask, leaning in closer to see the screen better.

"Not exactly," he says, scrolling through their product lines. "More like enhancers. They cater to alphas wanting to enhancetheir natural pheromones for everything from seducing omegas to dominating other alphas."

Silas lets out a derisive snort. "Sounds like the kind of scam product you'd get in an email promising it lets you knot an omega for six hours."

Knox barks out a laugh despite himself, and I feel some of the tension in the booth ease. Even Echo's lips twitch slightly.

"I clearly can't speak to the efficacy of their products," he says, his tone carefully neutral. "But it's suspicious this was in the vents, given the nature of what you were attacked with."

I study the website more closely, trying to ignore the way my skin crawls at some of the product descriptions. They're not even trying to be subtle about their target market—alphas who view omegas as conquests rather than people.

"So you think they're connected to the attack?" I ask, though I already know the answer. The pieces are falling into place with frightening clarity. "They made the gas that turned all those unmated alphas into raging beasts?"

Echo's eyes meet mine for a brief moment, and I catch a flash of something in their depths—anger, maybe? Or something deeper? But before I can puzzle it out, he's looking back at his screen.

"I think," he says carefully, "that it's too big of a coincidence to ignore. A company that specializes in pheromone manipulation, their logo found in the vents where the gas was released?" He shakes his head. "At the very least, they deserve a closer look."

I can't argue with that logic. And watching him work, seeing how methodically he's piecing this together... for the first time since the attack, I feel something like hope.

We might actually have a chance at stopping these bastards.

I watch Knox's jaw tense, that familiar look of suspicion crossing his face. Here we go.

"If this place is so suspicious," he says, eyeing Echo, "why haven't you checked them out yourself? Seems like the obvious first step."

I resist the urge to kick him under the table. I know his overprotectiveness has been in overdrive since the attack, but sometimes it's a bit much. Echo's been nothing but helpful, and Knox is treating him like he's the enemy.

To my surprise, Echo doesn't seem offended. If anything, there's a hint of amusement in those dark eyes.

"Like I said," he explains, his voice steady, "PheroMaster caters to a very specific clientele. Alphas only, and elite ones at that. If you don't have an invitation to visit one of their showrooms, you're shit out of luck." His gaze sweeps across my alphas. "In order to investigate, I need access. And something tells me your pack wouldn't have any trouble getting it."

My heart leaps at his words. Finally, something concrete we can do! "No problem," I say, already reaching for my phone. "We'll have our agent arrange it. Sam's great at getting us into exclusive places and brands are always knocking down our door hoping for an endorsement."

I realize that probably sounds like I'm bragging too little, too late, but the words are already out of my mouth. At least Echo doesn't seem phased.

"We'll go from there. I need to get samples of a few of their products." He pauses, his expression turning serious. "I know someone who can analyze them, but that's only half the battle. We also need a sample of the gas canisters the police took from the vents. They didn't missthose."

"Getting an invite to PheroDouche or whatever won't be a problem," Silas says, and I have to bite back a laugh at the nickname. "But the police evidence? That might be trickier."

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