Page 41 of Claimed By the Band

Damon shifts uneasily. "Maybe you should wait in the car, Ash."

"Not a chance," Asher says firmly, though I can see the slight tremor in his hands. "I'm staying."

I watch him with growing concern as we move deeper into the showroom. The pheromones are even stronger here, making my vision blur at the edges. I need to focus on the mission, on finding evidence that links PheroMaster to the attack. But my omega instincts are screaming at me to get out, to run as far and fast as I can.

I've spent years suppressing those instincts, though. I'm not about to let them win now. Not when we're so close to answers.

Still, I can't help but worry about Asher. He's putting on a brave face, but I can see the toll it's taking on him. His usual grace is slightly off, movements just a touch too careful. His scent, usually sweet like honey, has taken on a sharp edge that makes my chest ache.

And if I can smell that through my suppressants, his alphas must be going crazy.

Sure enough, they've tightened their formation around him, creating a barrier between him and the worst of the artificial pheromones, using their own scents to compensate. It's subtle enough that most people wouldn't notice, but to my trained eye—and an omega's nose, however dampened mine is—it's obvious. They move like a single organism, years of practice making their protective choreography seem natural.

I find myself wishing I could do something to help, but that would blow my cover. A beta wouldn't notice these subtle dynamics, wouldn't pick up on the way Asher's breathing has shortened or how his pupils are slightly dilated.

The shelves lining the walls are a monument to toxic alphahole masculinity, each bottle displayed on its own illuminated pedestal like some kind of unholy relic. The designs are as tacky as the website suggested—all sharp angles and aggressive metallic finishes, with names like "Alpha Supreme" and "Dominance." It's like someone watched American Psycho and thought Patrick Bateman was the hero.

The CEO emerges from a back office, and I have to bite back a groan. He's exactly like he was in the video, but somehow worsein person. His suit probably costs more than my yearly rent, but it can't hide the sleazy energy radiating off him. The crown logo tattooed on his neck peeks out above his collar, and his smile is all teeth.

"Wild Honey!" he booms, spreading his arms wide. "What an absolute pleasure! I'm Vincent Drake, but please, call me Vince."

Silas steps forward, extending his hand. I have to admire his acting skills. If I didn't know better, I'd never guess he wants to punch this guy in the face. "Thank you for having us," he says smoothly. "We've heard great things about your products."

Knox stands slightly behind him, and I can see his jaw ticking already. Yeah, definitely the right call not letting him take point on this.

"Let me introduce the pack," Silas continues, gesturing to each of us in turn. "I'm Silas, lead guitar. Knox, our bassist. Damon on drums. Dante, rhythm guitar. And Alex, the newest member of our pack." He pauses, and I can hear the slight edge in his voice as he adds, "And of course, you know Asher."

Vince's eyes light up like a kid on Christmas morning as they land on Asher. "Of course! The infamous omega frontman himself. I have to say, you're even more stunning in person."

I fight the urge to gag. The way he's looking at Asher makes my skin crawl, like he's sizing up a piece of meat. It's been a long time since an alpha has looked at me that way, but the memory still makes me feel like I need a shower. A hot one. But Asher just smiles that million-dollar smile of his, though I notice he stays firmly within the protective circle of his alphas.

"It's a pleasure," he says, his voice cracking slightly.

I doubt "Vince" notices, though.

"The pheromones are a bit intense," Silas says diplomatically. "Would it be possible to dial them back a bit?"

"Oh!" Vince's eyes widen in feigned concern. "My sincerest apologies. We usually don't have omegas in the showroom. It's why we have our alpha-only policy. Marcus!" he barks toward the back. "Cut the ambient scent by half!"

A few moments later, the overwhelming "ambience" of artificial pheromones begins to thin. I take my first full breath since entering the building, and I see Asher's shoulders relax slightly.

"Better?" Vince asks, that shark-like grin never leaving his face. "Now, shall we begin the tour? I'd love to show you our premium line. We've got some exciting new products I think you gentlemen will beveryinterested in."

The way he says "gentlemen" while staring directly at Asher makes me want to punch him in his perfectly whitened teeth. But I remind myself why we're here. We need evidence, not an assault charge.

"Lead the way," Silas says smoothly, though I catch the slight twitch in his jaw.

As Vince turns to lead us deeper into the showroom, I catch Asher's eye. He gives me a slight nod. He's okay. But there's something else in his expression, a silent acknowledgment passing between us. We both know what this place really is, what it represents.

It's everything we've been fighting against, wrapped up in shiny packaging and premium pricing. A temple to alpha supremacy,selling the idea that omegas are meant to be controlled, dominated, conquered.

And somewhere in this building could be proof that they're willing to take that backwards ideology to violent extremes.

I just have to find it before this artificial pheromone cocktail completely fries my brain. Or before Knox loses his patience and decides to redecorate the place with Vince's face.

As we follow Vince deeper into the showroom, I try to memorize the layout, noting security cameras and potential access points. But it's hard to focus with Asher so close, his scent cutting through the artificial musk like a lifeline.

I tell myself it's just the pheromones making me hyper-aware of him. Just the drugs in my system going haywire from this toxic environment.

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