Chapter 11 – ASHER
11
ASHER
T he dive bar reeks of stale beer and the red polyurethane booth beneath me is cracked and stickier than I would like. Which is not at all, but if Echo is actually going to show up in the flesh, I'll wait here all day if I have to.
There's still a part of me that's worried he's just going to be a laptop on a rolling desk or something. But I guess we'll have to wait and see.
I wrinkle my nose, fighting the urge to sneeze as the new scent blockers I'm wearing struggle to filter out the assault on my senses. We're tucked away in a corner booth, as far from prying eyes as we can get in this cramped, dimly lit space. Not that there are many eyes to pry—the place is nearly deserted, just a couple of grizzled regulars hunched over the bar, lost in their own misery.
I guess that's why Echo chose it. He definitely prefers things to be discreet. I'm starting to think Silas is right about him being paranoid, but given his line of work, I guess that's to be expected.
I fidget with the collar of my oversized hoodie, tugging it up higher to cover the lower half of my face. I borrowed it from Knox, since the only casual wear I own is tucked away for nesting, but under the radar is the name of the game today. The others are similarly disguised—baseball caps pulled low, nondescript clothing that's a far cry from our usual rock star attire. We look like a bunch of college kids slumming it, which I suppose is better than being recognized.
Couldn't resist topping the look off with a pair of designer sunglasses, though. A guy has to have some style.
Knox lets out a low whistle, his eyes scanning the grimy interior. "Well," he mutters, "Echo certainly chose the creepiest fucking place possible for this meet-up. You sure this guy isn't planning to harvest our organs?"
I shoot him a glare, but I can't entirely disagree. The place looks like it hasn't seen a health inspector since the ‘70s.
"Maybe that's the idea," Dante muses, echoing my thoughts. "Can't get much more off-the-grid than this dump."
Silas snorts, his fingers drumming an impatient rhythm on the sticky tabletop. "Great. So not only are we meeting a potentially dangerous hacker, but we're doing it in a place where no one would hear us scream. Fantastic."
I roll my eyes, even as a whole herd of butterflies migrates across my stomach. "Will you all relax? Echo's here to help us, remember?"
"Yeah, well, forgive me if I'm not entirely thrilled about putting our lives in the hands of some faceless keyboard warrior," Knox grumbles.
It's not good when he and Knox are on the same page.
The conversation devolves into speculation about what our mysterious hacker might look like. Damon, of course, imagines Echo as some hulking, muscle-bound alpha—probably projecting his own ideals onto our digital savior.
"Nah," Dante argues, shaking his head. "He's gotta be one of those lean, wiry types. Probably wears a black hoodie and has tape over his laptop camera."
Knox barks out a laugh. "Sounds like you're describing a stock photo of a hacker."
Dante flips him off, but there's a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
It's nice to see the alphas bantering again, even if it is at the expense of our absent ally. The tension that's been hanging over us since the attack has been suffocating. This playful back-and-forth feels like the first breath of fresh air we've had in ages.
I tune them out, my eyes fixed on the door. Every time it swings open, my heart leaps into my throat, only to plummet back down when it's just another nameless patron stumbling in for a midday drink.
"What do you think, Ash?"
Dante's voice pulls me back to the present. I blink, realizing I've completely lost the thread of conversation. "Hm?"
"Echo," he prompts. "What's your take? What kind of guy are we dealing with here?"
I chew my lip, considering. The truth is, I have no idea. But there's something about Echo—something in the way he writes, the passion that bleeds through even his most clinical messages—that doesn't fit with any of their guesses.
"I don't know," I admit. "But I don't think he's anything like what you're picturing. There's just something about him that feels... different."
Knox snorts. "Different how? Like, 'actually a serial killer' kind of different?"
I shoot him a withering look. "No, you ass. Just... I don't know. But it doesn't matter what he looks like, does it? He agreed to meet us despite your little outburst, so can we all just be on our best behavior?"
Knox has the grace to look slightly abashed, but there's a stubborn set to his jaw that tells me he's not backing down entirely. "Hey, my 'outburst' is what got him off his ass and into the real world. You're welcome, by the way."
I open my mouth to argue, but the words die in my throat as the door swings open once more. A hulking alpha saunters in, all muscles and swagger, and for a moment I wonder if Damon's prediction was right. But the newcomer makes a beeline for the bar, not even glancing in our direction.
I can't help the sigh of relief that escapes me. It's ridiculous. I have no idea what Echo looks like, so why should I care?
But there's a part of me that wants him not to be an alpha.
I mean, I love my alphas, but if there's one thing they all have in common, it's that they deal with threats the direct way. No finesse or savvy involved. That's why this anonymous attack is driving them all crazy. There are no heads to bash in. No names to call out.
Echo is different. He fights smart. Carefully. And while it's probably my own projection to suspect he's also an omega, he's obviously someone who cares enough about us to do what he does. It's personal for him, for some reason. And I can't help but want to know what that is.
The door creaks open again, and this time, something makes me sit up straighter. The others are still bickering, not even paying the newcomer a glance, but I can't tear my eyes away from the figure that's just walked in.
He's nothing like what they're expecting. At all.
He's on the shorter side, with shaggy brown hair that falls just above his shoulders. His face is pretty, even if it is partially hidden in the shadow of a blue baseball cap. But I can see a straight nose and full lips balancing out a narrow jawline. He's drowning in an oversized hoodie and baggy jeans, hunched in on himself like he's trying to take up as little space as possible.
But it's his eyes that catch me. Sharp, intelligent, and unmistakably wary as they scan the room. When they land on me, I feel a jolt of recognition so strong it takes my breath away.
"That's him," I whisper, my voice barely audible over the din of the bar.
Silas follows my gaze, his brow furrowing in confusion as he looks past the newcomer and then sweeps back. "Who? The beta? No way."
I ignore him, unable to look away as Echo—because I know somehow with bone-deep certainty it's him—makes his way toward our booth. There's a hesitance in his step, a nervousness that seems at odds with the confident persona I've built up in my head.
But somehow, it only makes him more real. More human.
" Echo is a fucking beta?" Silas mutters, disbelief coloring his tone.
Dante elbows him sharply. "Shut up, man."
I stand as Echo approaches, a smile spreading across my face of its own accord. "It's you," I say, and it comes out softer than I intended, almost reverent.
He stops a few feet away, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. This close, I can catch the faintest hint of his scent—something clean and crisp. It's subtle, but it leaves me wanting more.
Up close, I can see the gold flecks in his dark brown eyes. The faint bridge of freckles across his nose, and the dark circles under his eyes like he hasn't been sleeping.
Is it because he took on our case? The thought hits me with a pang of concern.
Echo gives a brief nod of acknowledgment, but he doesn't say a word.
I can't help staring, trying to reconcile the mysterious hacker with the person sitting across from me. It's strange—I knew he was human, obviously, but it was so easy to build him up as this larger-than-life figure behind a screen. The realization that he's a mortal who needs sleep like the rest of us is more jarring than it should be.
"These are my alphas," I say, gesturing around the table when I realize I'm going to have to be the one to break the silence. "Knox, Damon, Silas, and Dante. Though I guess you already know that from our video call."
Echo gives another nod, his movements precise and controlled. Everything about him screams careful—from the way he stands to how he keeps his eyes moving, scanning exits and entrances.
He slides in next to Dante and Silas, maintaining a careful distance from both of them. The contrast between his slight frame and my alphas' bulk is striking, but there's something about his presence that commands attention despite his size.
"So," Knox drawls, breaking the awkward silence. "You're a beta."
I shoot him a withering glare. "Knox!"
"What?" he protests, spreading his hands. "I'm just saying what we're all thinking."
I rake a hand through my hair as I sit back down, fighting the urge to crawl under the table from embarrassment. "I am so sorry about him," I tell Echo. "He has absolutely no filter between his brain and his mouth. None. Zero. We've had him tested."
To my surprise, Echo actually snorts—a small, almost involuntary sound that seems to surprise him as much as it does us. "It's fine," he says, his voice softer than I expected. "I'm used to people expecting something different. It's part of why I keep my identity hidden."
Knox has the shame to look guilty, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "Yeah, well... sorry. That was pretty dickish of me."
"He's not actually as much of an asshole as he seems once you get to know him," I add quickly. "He's like a teddy bear with anger management issues."
Knox rolls his eyes, but the tension in his shoulders visibly eases slightly.
Echo's lips twitch, just barely, and I count it as a win. "Noted," he says dryly.
Now that the ice is broken, however slightly, I lean forward. "Thank you for meeting us," I say earnestly. "I know this isn't your usual way of doing things."
His dark eyes meet mine for a brief moment before skittering away. "No, it's not," he agrees. "But this case... it's different. What happened at Rita Dawson's venue confirms what I've been suspecting. This isn't just about you or Wild Honey. It's bigger than that."
A chill runs down my spine at his words. I've been thinking the same thing, but hearing him say it makes it real in a way I wasn't quite prepared for.
"How much bigger?" Silas asks warily.
Echo's gaze sweeps the bar once more before he answers.
I lean forward, captivated as Echo begins to speak. There's a shift in his energy now, a quiet confidence that emerges as he delves into his area of expertise. It's fascinating to watch.
"I've been tracking people I have reason to suspect belong to this group online for a while now," he explains, his voice low but steady. "They've used different names, never sticking to one for long. Makes them harder to track."
"But it's the same people?" I ask, unable to keep the eagerness from my voice. Finally, we might be getting somewhere.
Echo nods, his dark eyes flickering with something that looks like anger. "I think so. The same core group of alphas, yes. If I'm right, they've been behind everything from DDOS attacks on omega health centers to cyber stalking and doxxing prominent omega rights activists."
My stomach churns at the thought. I've seen the aftermath of doxxing campaigns—omegas forced to move, to change jobs, to live in fear. It's a special kind of cruelty. And most of them can't just drop money on a new apartment and movers whenever they feel threatened.
"There's no shortage of assholes like that online," Echo continues, his lips twisting in disgust. "But this group is different. More organized."
I can hear the passion in his voice as he speaks. I'm more surprised than I want to admit.
Sure, I know plenty of alphas who are passionate about omega issues, considering they usually have an omega in their pack or family. Betas tend to be a little more oblivious. At least, the ones who don't belong to a pack, and I can't really imagine the man sitting across from me in that kind of setting. Not willingly. If he doesn't trust people with meeting face to face, or even his real name, it's hard to imagine him having pack connections.
Especially since alphas and keeping a low profile rarely ever belong in the same sentence.
Damon shifts beside me, his familiar cedar and cardamom scent spiking with worry. "And you think these are the dickwads who attacked Asher on stage?"
I reach for his hand under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Echo's eyes track the movement before returning to Damon's face.
"It would be the first time they've done anything on that scale or in person," he admits. "But I have reason to believe it's them. It matches their MO, and..." He hesitates, something dark passing over his features. "I've seen snippets of threats they've made online. One of the leaders who usually goes by the name RedWolf has discussed the idea of using pheromones against public facing omegas before."
"RedWolf? Knox echoes with a derisive snort. "What a fucking edgelord."
"Why haven't you reported this to the police?" Silas demands, his protective alpha nature showing through.
Echo gives him a look that's somehow both patient and utterly done with his shit. It's kind of impressive, actually. "I have," he says flatly. "But the group is notoriously difficult to track, like I said. The extreme nature of their communications means they talk behind closed doors, and the niche sites they use get shut down nearly as fast as I can infiltrate them. Tracking them across the Internet is a struggle." His eyes narrow slightly. "And as far as the police go—how helpful have they been with your case? Isn't that why you came to me in the first place?"
"Fair point," Silas mutters, sitting back in his seat.
I can't help but smile as I watch Echo. He's starting to relax a little, his shoulders losing some of their tension as he talks about his work. His hands come out of his pockets to gesture as he speaks, and there's a confidence in his voice that wasn't there before.
It's... kind of adorable, actually. Like watching an armadillo slowly unfurl from its defensive ball.
"So what's our next move?" I ask, trying to keep my voice professional despite the warmth blooming in my chest.
Echo turns those intelligent eyes on me, and for a moment, I swear I see something flicker in their depths. Something that makes my omega instincts perk up with interest.
But I tamp it down. He's already putting his neck on the line by meeting us like this, and it clearly makes him uncomfortable enough as it is. I don't need to add to that by being my usual flirtatious self.
Even if there's something about him that makes it especially tempting.
"Our next move," Echo says, pulling me from my thoughts, "is to set a trap. If they're escalating to physical attacks, they're going to slip up eventually. We just need to hasten their downfall."
"How?" Dante asks, voicing the question we're all thinking.
Echo reaches into his pocket and pulls out what looks like a scrap of cardboard, sliding it across the sticky table surface. "I've been doing some digging. Went to the concert hall where you were attacked, checked if the police missed anything. Found this."
Knox snatches it up, squinting at it in the dim bar light. "It's trash," he declares, but I can hear the uncertainty in his voice.
"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 enhance their 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 miss those. "
"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."
Echo's expression shifts. "Leave that part to me."
I can't help myself. I lean forward, propping my chin on my hand. "You're a man of many skills, aren't you?"
To my absolute delight, a blush creeps up Echo's neck, staining his cheeks pink. He ducks his head, suddenly finding the scratched surface of the table fascinating. "I... um... I guess," he stammers, all his previous confidence evaporating in an instant.
It's honestly the most adorable thing I've ever seen.
My alphas exchange looks and I can practically hear their thoughts. They're used to me flirting with other omegas. From time to time, I even bed one. It's a need I've had since long before we became a pack, and they've always been accepting.
And then some.
There are a few ground rules, though. They're not allowed to get involved, but if they're on particularly good behavior, I let them watch—and there have never been any complaints. Alphas outside the pack are strictly off limits. I've never been with a beta, though, so that's murkier territory and not something we've ever had the chance to discuss.
But that might have to change.
There's undeniably something about Echo that draws me in. Maybe it's the way he seems so confident one moment and flustered the next, or maybe it's just the mystery of him.
Echo clears his throat, breaking the charged moment. "I should get going," he says, already half-rising from his seat. "I've got work to do."
My heart sinks. I'm not ready for this meeting to end, not when we've only just scratched the surface. There's so much more I want to know, so many questions left unanswered. But before I can voice any of this, Dante speaks up.
"Wait," he says, an edge of urgency in his voice. "Now that we've met in person, and you came all this way... wouldn't it make sense to stick together? At least for a little while?"
I could kiss him for that suggestion. Well, I mean, I could always kiss Dante—and frequently do—but right now, I'm especially grateful for his quick thinking.
Echo hesitates, his dark eyes flickering between us. I can see the internal debate playing out on his face, caution warring with... something else. Curiosity, maybe? Or is that just wishful thinking on my part?
"I appreciate the offer," he says slowly, "but I'm used to working alone. It's safer that way." He pauses, his gaze lingering on me for a moment before sweeping across the others. "Besides, until you get an appointment with PheroMaster, there's not much to be done. No point in all of us sitting around twiddling our thumbs."
I can't help the pout that forms on my lips. It's a habit I've never quite been able to break, one that my alphas find alternately adorable and infuriating. Right now, I'm hoping this beta leans more toward the former.
"Then I guess we'll just have to get that appointment as quickly as possible," I declare. I'll call in every favor, pull every string, do whatever it takes to make this happen. Anything to keep Echo close, to unravel the mystery that surrounds him.
I mean, anything to track down the attackers.
God, when did I become so obsessed? It's been less than an hour since I first laid eyes on him, and already I'm acting like a lovesick teenager.
Get it together, Wilde.
"You'll be around though, right?" I ask, trying—and probably failing—to keep the eagerness out of my voice. "In case we need you?"
Echo nods, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I'll be in the area for a few days. Just text me when you have something."
And with that, he's gone.
I find myself staring after him long after the door swings shut, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and emotions. There's something about him, something I can't quite put my finger on. It's like he's a puzzle I'm desperate to solve, a melody I can't get out of my head.
It makes me want to write something.
"I know that look."
Damon's rumbling voice breaks through my reverie. I tear my gaze away from the door, blinking in confusion. "What look?" I ask innocently.
The others exchange knowing glances, and I feel heat creeping up my neck. Am I really that transparent?
Knox mutters something under his breath, just loud enough for me to catch. "Never thought I'd be jealous of a beta."
I roll my eyes, even as my heart rate kicks up a notch. "You're imagining things," I say, aiming for nonchalance and probably missing by a mile. "It's strictly professional. The last thing we need is to scare Echo off when he's our best chance at figuring this shit out."
But even as the words leave my mouth, I'm not sure I believe them. There's nothing strictly professional about the way my pulse quickens when I think about those dark, intelligent eyes. Or the way my skin tingles with the memory of his scent—clean and crisp, with an underlying note of something I can't quite place.
"Sure, babe," Silas drawls, his tone making it clear he doesn't buy my bullshit for a second. "Whatever you say."
I open my mouth to argue, but what's the point? They know me too well. Instead, I change the subject. "So, what did you guys think? Now that we've met him in person, I mean."
The tension in the booth shifts, the teasing atmosphere giving way to something more serious. We've all been so caught up in the excitement—or in my case, infatuation—of finally meeting Echo that we haven't really discussed the implications.
"I gotta admit, I'm impressed," Dante says, leaning back in his seat. "He's not what I expected, but... there's something about him, you know? Like he knows his shit."
Damon nods in agreement. "Kid's got skills, that's for sure. Finding that logo in the vents when the police missed i? That's some next-level detective work."
"Or it's bullshit," Knox grumbles, but there's less heat in his voice than before. "For all we know, he could've planted it there himself."
Silas hums thoughtfully. "I don't think so," he says, surprising me. Of all my alphas, I expected him to be the most skeptical. "What would he have to gain from that? If he wanted to scam us, there are easier ways. Less risky ones, too."
"Silas is right," Dante chimes in. "Besides, it's not like he came looking for us. We practically had to beg and bitch just to get this meeting."
"Maybe," Knox concedes grudgingly. "But I still don't trust him. There's something off about the whole thing. About him. Why go to all this trouble if he's not even getting paid?"
It's a fair question, one I've been wondering myself. But before I can voice my thoughts, Dante speaks up.
"Does it matter?" he asks, his dark eyes serious. "Look, I get that we're all on edge after what happened. But Echo's our best shot at figuring this out. At keeping Ash safe." His gaze meets mine, fierce and protective. "That's worth the risk, isn't it?"
A lump forms in my throat, equal parts gratitude and guilt. They've all been through so much because of me, put themselves in harm's way time and time again. And here they are, ready to do it all over again.
"Thank you," I say softly, reaching out to squeeze Dante's hand. "All of you. I know this isn't easy."
Damon's arm wraps around my shoulders, pulling me close. I breathe in his familiar scent, warm and comforting. "We're pack," he rumbles. "This is what we do."
For a moment, we sit in silence, drawing strength from each other's presence. It's moments like these that remind me how lucky I am, how blessed to have found not just one perfect mate, but four. Each of them brings something unique to our bond, filling a different need in my heart.
But even still, I can't shake the nagging feeling that something's missing. It's something that's plagued me for as long as I can remember, even if guilt usually keeps me from investigating that thought too much.
I mean, who the hell am I to want more ? I already have a life most omegas could only dream of. Four protective alphas who worship the ground I walk on, my dream career, and legions of adoring fans.
I have no right to feel this way, and yet…
The image of Echo's face flashes through my mind—those intelligent eyes, the hint of vulnerability beneath his careful facade. For the first time, I have more than a blank space to visualize that missing piece, but I dismiss the thought as quickly as it appears.
It's ridiculous. I don't even know him, but if there's one thing I can infer from the mystery that is Echo, it's that he's not looking for a pack.
Just getting in the same room with him was a miracle.