Page 7 of Claimed By the Band

"We need more than a computer geek," I mutter.

"Hey." Asher's voice is sharp, drawing my attention. Those violet eyes I love so much are narrowed, a challenge in their depths. "We agreed to this. If there's even a chance this guy can help us figure out who's behind the attacks, it's worth it."

I bite back a sigh. He's right, of course. Doesn't mean I have to like it.

"I know, Ash," I say softly. "I just... I worry."

His expression softens, just a fraction. He reaches out, laying a hand on my thigh. Even through the denim of my jeans, his touch sends a jolt through me. "I know you do. But I'm fine. We're fine. And we're going to find these bastards and make them pay."

The steel in his voice would make most people flinch, especially coming from an omega. It just makes me fall in love with him all over again.

We lapse into silence as I pull into the parking lot of the diner. It's exactly as depressing as I imagined. Faded paint, flickering neon sign, windows grimy enough that I can barely make out the silhouettes of the few patrons inside.

"Charming," Asher drawls as we climb out of the car.

Dante chuckles. "Adam's idea of discretion isn't exactly subtle."

I scan the lot, cataloging potential threats out of habit. Old pickup truck, probably belongs to the staff. Beat-up sedan that's seen better days. And... there. A nondescript black car, too clean to belong here. That'll be our guy.

We file into the diner, the bell over the door jingling cheerfully. The handful of customers barely spare us a glance. Good. The last thing we need is to be recognized.

A man sits alone in a corner booth, hunched over a steaming mug of coffee. He's... unremarkable. Average height, average build, brown hair cut short and neat. The kind of face you'd forget the moment you looked away. But there's something in the set of his shoulders, the way his eyes dart around the room, that screams wariness.

Dante leads us over, sliding into the booth across from the man. "Adam. Long time no see."

Adam looks up, a fleeting smile crossing his face. "Dante. Good to see you." His gaze flicks to Asher and me, wariness creeping back into his expression. "These your packmates?"

He knows, of course. Everyone knows we're pack. It's all the fucking tabloids can talk about.

Asher slides in next to Dante, flashing that megawatt smile that's graced a dozen of those magazine covers. "Asher Wilde," he says, extending a hand. "Pleasure to meet you."

Adam hesitates for a fraction of a second before shaking. "Likewise," he murmurs.

I take my place next to Asher, not bothering to introduce myself. Let him wonder if he doesn't already know me by name.

A waitress ambles over, notepad in hand. "What can I getcha, boys?"

Adam speaks up before any of us can. "I'll have the big breakfast, extra bacon. Side of hash browns, crispy. And keep the coffee coming."

I raise an eyebrow. It's nearly midnight.

The waitress doesn't bat an eye, just scribbles it down. "And for you fellas?"

We order some coffee, but we're all too keyed up to eat. Even Dante. That's how you know this shit's serious.

As soon as she's out of earshot, Adam leans forward, voice low. "So. Dante says you've got a problem."

Asher nods, all business now. "Someone's targeting omegas. High-profile ones. There was an attack at our last concert—gas, designed to send alphas into a rut. It was..." He trails off, a shadow crossing his face. "Pretty fucking rough."

"Yeah, I saw the news," Adam says in a tone of what seems like genuine sympathy. "Sorry about what happened."

I reach for Asher's hand under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. He shoots me a grateful look before continuing.

"We need to find out who's behind this. The police are completely useless so far, and we can't just sit around waiting for the next attack."

Adam's expression doesn't change. "That's a tall order," he says carefully. "You're talking about going up against some seriously dangerous people."

"We can handle ourselves," I growl, bristling at the implication.

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