Claimed by the Band (Fameverse #1)

Chapter 6 – JORDAN

6

JORDAN

T he industrial loft buzzes with the sound of clicking keys and quiet conversation. I hunker down in my corner by a huge, dusty window, grateful for the relative anonymity of the coworking space. It's not my usual haunt, but I needed a change of scenery. The same four walls of my apartment were starting to close in on me after so many days on end.

I pull up the secure drop box, sifting through the files Wild Honey sent over. Police reports, venue contacts, security footage—it's a treasure trove of information. But so far, it's yielding jack shit in terms of actual leads.

The door chimes, and a group of alphas saunters in, all broad shoulders and cocky grins. My nose wrinkles at their scent—musk and overpriced cologne. They're loud, laughing and jostling each other as they claim a cluster of desks across the room.

Fuck.

I fish a suppressant out of my pocket, dry-swallowing it before the alphas' pheromones can wreak havoc on my system. It's not that I'm in danger of going into heat or anything. The military-grade blockers I'm on make sure of that. But being around alphas still sets me on edge, makes my skin crawl in a way I can't quite explain.

I turn back to my work, determined to ignore them. The security footage from the concert is grainy, but I can make out the chaos unfolding on stage. Asher Wilde stands defiant in the center, microphone stand brandished like a weapon. His packmates form a protective circle around him as the crowd surges forward, driven mad by whatever gas the attackers used.

It's impressive, really. Most omegas would have crumpled in the face of that many crazed alphas. But Asher... he's something else entirely.

I shake my head, banishing the thought. I can't afford to get caught up in hero worship. Not when I've got a job to do.

"Hey, dude!"

I grit my teeth, pointedly not looking up from my screen. Maybe if I ignore them, they'll go away.

No such luck.

"Yo, laptop guy! We need a tiebreaker over here!"

With a sigh, I turn to face the group of alphas. "Not interested," I say flatly, keeping my voice low and gruff.

One of them—a beefy blond with a shit-eating grin—waves me over. "Come on, man. It'll just take a second."

I weigh my options. Engaging with them is the last thing I want to do, but if I don't, they might keep pestering me. And the sooner I shut this down, the sooner I can get back to work.

"Fine," I growl, pushing away from my desk. "What's the debate?"

The blond alpha's grin widens. "We're trying to settle something. That omega singer, the one from Wild Honey. You think he's hot or not?"

For a moment, I'm too stunned to speak. Of all the inane, objectifying bullshit...

"Yeah," one of the other alphas chimes in. "Like, objectively speaking. As a beta, you can be impartial, right?"

I take a deep breath, reminding myself that I'm supposed to be a male beta. That I can't react the way I want to with a swift kick to their collective nuts.

Instead, I fix them with my coldest stare. "I think," I say slowly, "that reducing a person to their physical appearance, regardless of their secondary gender, is fucking pathetic. And the fact that you're sitting here debating the 'hotness' of someone who was just the victim of a hate crime speaks volumes about your character. Or lack thereof."

The alphas gape at me, clearly not expecting that response. Good. Let them chew on that for a while.

I turn on my heel, stalking back to my desk. As I sit down, I hear one of them mutter, "Jeez, what crawled up his ass and died?"

I ignore them, pulling my headphones on and diving back into my work. If this is how alphas treat me when they think I'm a male beta, I'm more convinced than ever that I'm making the right choice by staying hidden.

The security footage yields little in the way of new information. Whoever orchestrated this attack covered their tracks well. No fingerprints or DNA evidence left behind. The assailants who breached security wore full-face masks and nondescript clothing.

It's frustrating, but not unexpected. These clearly aren't amateurs we're dealing with.

My phone buzzes, a message from an unknown number flashing across the screen.

UNKNOWN: Any updates?

Before I can ask who it is, another message pops up.

UNKNOWN: It's Asher, by the way.

I roll my eyes. Somehow, I wasn't expecting the rock god to use smiley face emojis. Especially not that one. I add him to my contacts before sending him a reply.

Working on it. Reviewing security footage now.

His response is almost immediate.

ASHER: Anything I can do to help?

No.

I turn back to my laptop, but my phone buzzes again.

ASHER: You sure? I could send over more files if you need them.

This guy doesn't give up. I tap out a reply, trying to keep my irritation in check.

I have everything I need for now. I'll let you know if that changes.

Another buzz.

ASHER: Okay. Just eager to get this solved, you know?

I hesitate, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Part of me wants to shut this down, to maintain the professional distance I've cultivated over years of doing this work.

But another part... well, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious about the omega who's captured the world's attention.

Are you really in that much of a hurry to get back on tour? Your bassist just got out of the hospital.

There's a longer pause this time before Asher responds.

ASHER: The doctor cleared Knox to go back next week, actually. But I'm not rushing it. I'm more anxious to find the fuckers who hurt him. Who attacked us.

The raw honesty in his words catches me off guard. It's easy to forget sometimes that behind the glitz and glamor, these are real people.

I sigh, realizing he's not going to let this go until I give him something to do.

Who manages your fan mail?

ASHER: Our agent. Why?

Have it forwarded to this P.O. box. I want to be the one to go through it all from this point on.

I text him a screenshot of the address.

ASHER: You're taking on a lot of work for someone who doesn't want to be paid.

I snort.

It's a matter of personal interest.

ASHER: Oh? How so?

I’m really not willing to get into the complexities of my motivations with a virtual stranger. Even if that stranger is Asher fucking Wilde.

I’m busy.

ASHER: Alright, alright. I can take a hint. Thanks for all your hard work, Echo. You're our knight in shining... binary code?

I roll my eyes so hard it's a wonder they don't fall out of my head.

Goodbye, Asher.

ASHER: Catch you on the flip side, sexy hacker!

I set my phone down, shaking my head.

The guy's certainly... something.

Charming, in an over-the-top kind of way. I can see why he's got half the world eating out of the palm of his hand.

But charm isn't going to solve this case. And as much as I hate to admit it, doing all this from a distance is going to make things exponentially more difficult. There's only so much I can glean from security footage and police reports.

To really get to the bottom of this, I'd need to be on the ground, interviewing witnesses, following leads in person.

But that's not an option. It can't be. The risk is too great, the potential for exposure too high.

I instinctively rub the spot on my wrist, always hidden beneath my sleeve if not a watch or leather bracelets. A reminder of the past I want so badly to forget.

I've spent nine years building this life, crafting this persona. Nine years of carefully maintained distance, of never letting anyone get close enough to see past the facade. I'm not about to throw all that away now, no matter how intriguing the case might be.

No matter how compelling Asher Wilde and his pack of alpha rockstars might be.

I turn back to my laptop, determined to make the most of what I have. There has to be something here, some clue I'm missing. I just need to look harder, dig deeper.

The alphas across the room have quieted down, thankfully. I risk a glance in their direction, only to find the blond one staring at me. He winks when he catches my eye, and I have to resist the urge to flip him off.

I guess omegas aren't enough for some alphas.

Instead, I focus on the task at hand. The security footage may not show much, but maybe there's something in the background, some detail I've overlooked.

I scrub through the video again, paying close attention to the crowd this time. Most of the concertgoers are focused on the stage, their faces a mix of confusion and fear as the chaos unfolds. But there, in the back...

I lean in closer, squinting at the grainy image. There's a figure moving against the flow of the crowd, heading calmly toward the exit instead of surging forward with the rest of the alphas affected by the gas.

It could be nothing. Could just be someone with more common sense than the average concertgoer. But my gut tells me it's worth looking into.

I make a note of the timestamp and the general location in the venue. It's not much, but it's a start.

My phone buzzes again, and I half expect it to be Asher with another quippy message. But it's Ace this time.

ACE: How's it going with the rock stars?

I type out a quick reply.

Fine. Working on it. You could have mentioned the singer was this high maintenance.

ACE: He's a singer. I thought it was implied?

I sigh.

Fair point.

ACE: You sure you don't want to reconsider the in-person thing? Could be fun.

I scowl at the screen.

Not a chance. You know the rules.

ACE: Yeah, yeah. Just thought I'd ask. Let me know if you need anything.

I set the phone aside and go back to work.

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of scrolling through footage and combing through police reports. By the time the sun starts to set through the towering iron windows, I've got a decent list of potential leads to follow up on.

It's not much, but it's progress.

I pack up my laptop, stretching out the kinks in my back. The alphas left a while ago, much to my relief. As I head for the door, I catch a glimpse of myself in the reflection of a window.

Shaggy brown hair, nondescript features, baggy clothes hiding any hint of curves. The perfect disguise. The perfect lie.

For a moment, I let myself wonder what it would be like to step out of the shadows. To work this case in person, to meet Asher and his pack face to face. To be... myself.

But then reality comes crashing back in. I can't afford to indulge in those kinds of fantasies. This is who I am now. This is the life I've chosen.

And I'll be damned if I let anything—or anyone—jeopardize that.