Claimed by the Band (Fameverse #1)

Chapter 14 – JORDAN

14

JORDAN

I fidget with my collar as the city bus lurches to a stop. The parking lot where Wild Honey's tour bus waits is just ahead, and my stomach is doing somersaults. I tell myself it's just nerves about infiltrating PheroMaster, about the risks we're taking. But deep down, I know that's not entirely true.

I smooth down my gray slacks for the hundredth time, tugging at the hem of my navy sweater. The jacket I bought from a nearby thrift store just for the occasion feels stiff and uncomfortable. Everything about this outfit feels wrong, but it's the nicest "business casual" I could manage on short notice. PheroMaster is supposedly a high-end boutique, after all. My usual jeans and sweats won't cut it.

The walk from the bus stop feels like a death march. I chose public transportation because it's harder to trace than a rental car, but now I'm regretting not having an easy escape route.

When I reach the tour bus, I take a deep breath before knocking. The door swings open almost immediately, and there's Asher, practically vibrating with excitement. But his brilliant smile falters as he takes in my appearance.

"Oh," he says, violet eyes widening. "You're wearing... that?"

Heat creeps up my neck. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"Nothing!" he says quickly, holding up his hands. "It's very... librarian who's about to stumble upon a passage leading to eldritch horrors. And it works for you! But… maybe something else for PheroMaster?"

I glance down at my outfit, then back up at him, and suddenly I understand his concern. He's wearing that emerald green shirt that makes his eyes pop, paired with sinfully tight black pants. He looks like sex on legs, while I look like... well, like a nerd.

And I am a nerd. But tonight, I'm supposed to be a member of the most eligible pack in the entire country. A pack of literal rock stars.

"I..." I start, but before I can finish, he's grabbing my hand and pulling me up into the bus.

"No matter," he chirps. "We'll find you something perfect to wear. Come in, come in! Our casa on wheels is su casa on wheels. Literally, if you change your mind about doing this the boring way and working separately."

The interior of the tour bus is massive, more like a luxury apartment than any vehicle I've ever been in. The alphas are scattered around what appears to be a living room area, all looking sharp in various shades of black. And they're all wearing suits. Even Damon, who looks like he'd rather die than wear a tie. Knox and Silas eye me with the same wariness from our bar meeting, while Dante offers a friendly but cautious wave.

"Have a seat," Asher insists, pushing me down onto a plush leather couch. "Damon, get our guest a drink while I find something more suitable for him to wear."

Damon approaches with an easy smile. "Beer?"

"No, thank you," I say quickly, perhaps too quickly. "Water would be great, though."

I can't drink on my suppressants, but of course I can't tell them that.

"You sure?" Damon asks. "We've got pretty much everything."

"Water's fine," I insist, trying not to sound as panicked as I feel. "I, uh, need to keep a clear head. For tonight."

He nods, seemingly satisfied with that explanation, and heads to a kitchen that's not that much smaller than the one in my apartment.

I take the opportunity to look around, trying not to gawk at the luxurious surroundings. This bus is bigger than any apartment I've ever lived in, and probably costs more than I'll make in my lifetime. The walls are lined with storage cleverly disguised as decoration, and there's actual artwork hanging in various places.

"Don't get too comfortable," Asher calls from somewhere behind me. "As soon as I find the perfect outfit, you're getting changed."

I turn to protest, but the words die in my throat. He's already rifling through what appears to be a walk-in closet, tossing clothes aside with frightening efficiency.

This is not at all how I expected this evening to start.

I shift uncomfortably under Knox and Silas's scrutiny. Knox's smirk grows wider as he eyes my sweater.

"Did you raid your grandma's closet for that thing?" he asks, clearly enjoying my discomfort.

I shoot him a withering glare. "Sorry, I don't spend my free time hanging out with alpha male douchebags. Didn't know what to wear. Some of us have actual work to do."

Silas snorts, a hint of amusement flickering across his face. "Fair enough."

I can feel them watching me, assessing. It's unnerving, being under such close observation. I'm used to blending into the background, being forgettable. That's kind of the whole point.

Asher bursts back into the room, arms laden with clothes. "I've got it! The perfect outfit!"

"You'd better go," Dante says dryly from his spot on the couch. "Trust me, there's no arguing with him when he's got his heart set on a makeover."

I sigh, resigned to my fate. What choice do I have? We need this to work.

I follow Asher to a room in the back of the bus that's nearly the size of my entire apartment. The closet alone is bigger than my bathroom.

"See?" Asher grins, gesturing around. "Plenty of room! You could have your own space and everything. We could set up your computers or whatever you use."

"The answer is still no," I say firmly, even as something in my chest twinges at the thought.

"Worth a try," he says cheerfully, thrusting a bundle of clothes into my arms. He hovers there for a moment before suddenly looking flustered. "Oh! Right. I'll just... give you your privacy."

Once I'm alone, I examine the clothes he's chosen. To my relief, it's nothing so revealing that my binder would show, but it's definitely not what I'm used to wearing. A black long-sleeve shirt with sheer sleeves and leather pants that look painted on.

I change quickly, keeping my movements efficient and precise. Years of practice have made me an expert at this particular dance. The pants are snug but not uncomfortable, and the shirt is long enough to cover my hips. It fits perfectly, which is slightly concerning. How did he guess my size so accurately?

When I step back into the main area, the easy chatter between the pack goes dead silent and everyone is staring right at me. Even Knox.

My stomach drops. Do I look that bad?

But then Asher whistles low, his eyes sparkling. "Damn, Echo. You look hot .”

Heat creeps up my neck as the others nod in agreement.

"You're definitely rocking the Matrix look," Dante grins, giving me a thumbs up.

I mumble something about getting going, hyper-aware of how exposed I feel. The pants are tight enough that I'm paranoid they might notice the lack of... certain anatomical features, but thankfully, the shirt covers everything important.

"Let me just grab my jacket," Asher says, disappearing back into the closet.

I stand awkwardly in the middle of the bus, trying not to fidget under the alphas' continued stares. This is exactly why I work alone. Being the center of attention is my worst nightmare.

But for tonight, I need to play my part. I need to be Alex, the mysterious beta who's somehow caught the eye of the most famous pack in rock music. I need to be confident, untouchable.

I just hope I can pull it off long enough to get what we need from PheroMaster. And that this ruse doesn't give away all my secrets before the night is over.

I follow the pack off the bus, trying to keep my movements confident despite feeling like an imposter in these clothes. A sleek black SUV waits in the parking lot, and Knox moves to get the door for Asher.

But Asher stops, turning to me with a dazzling smile. "After you," he says, gesturing for me to get in first.

I hesitate, caught off guard by the courtesy. I'm not sure what to make of the fact that I'm being shown chivalry by an omega, of all people. Even one as… unconventional as Asher is. Usually, I'm invisible to other omegas. And that's kind of the idea.

For a second, I find myself questioning whether my disguise is as solid as I hoped. But I tell myself I'm just being paranoid again.

Trying to ignore the way my heart flutters, I slide into the SUV. Asher follows, settling in next to me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body. Dante takes the seat on my other side, and I find myself sandwiched between them in the middle of the middle row.

Silas climbs into the back row while Damon takes the wheel, Knox riding shotgun. As we pull out of the parking lot, Asher turns to me.

"So what's the plan once we get there?" he asks, his voice light with excitement. “Shall I flirt shamelessly with the CEO while you snoop around?"

I shake my head, even as the thought of him flirting with anyone else makes my stomach clench for some reason. "Actually, I think it's better if the alphas do most of the talking," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "As much as it pains me to say that."

Knox snorts from the front seat. "Yeah, we'll just have Silas get started on muscle cars. He can drone on for hours about engine specs and horsepower. Poor bastard won't know what he walked into.

"Fuck off," Silas growls from the back.

"Boys," Asher sighs, rolling his eyes. "Can we try to act like a civilized pack for one evening? Please?"

I can't help but smile at their banter. It's nothing like what I expected from a pack, especially one as high-profile as Wild Honey. There's genuine affection beneath the teasing, a comfortable familiarity that speaks of years of trust and mutual respect.

I always assumed most packs were just alphas thrown together because they happened to be attracted to the same omega. But watching them interact, it's clear there's so much more to it than that. They're family. Even Silas and Knox, who bicker like brothers.

The thought sends an unexpected pang through my chest. I push it away, focusing on the task at hand.

"Once we're inside," I say, "I'd like to browse around if possible. So the longer you can keep the CEO's attention, the better."

"Leave it to us," Dante says confidently. "We're pretty good at being distracting."

"That's an understatement," Asher mutters, but there's fondness in his voice.

The SUV falls into comfortable silence, broken only by the soft sound of music playing through the speakers. I try to focus on mentally reviewing our plan, but it's hard with Asher pressed against my side.

His scent—definitely sweet like honey, which I'm guessing is where the band name came from—is distracting even with all the suppressants running through my veins to keep other people's scents from affecting me. But it isn't the cloying kind of sweetness I remember other omegas' scents having before I went on the pills. It nonetheless keeps sneaking past my blockers, making my head spin.

I shift slightly, trying to put some space between us without being obvious about it. But the movement just draws his attention.

"You okay?" he asks softly, concern evident in his voice. "You seem tense."

"I'm fine," I say quickly. Maybe too quickly. "Just... not used to this kind of thing."

His expression softens. "Hey, you're doing us a huge favor. If you're uncomfortable at any point, just say the word and we'll get you out of there."

The protective note in his voice catches me off guard and makes something in my chest ache. It's been so long since anyone has shown concern for my wellbeing. Even if he is just being kind to the person helping his pack, it still feels... nice.

Dangerous, but nice.

"Thanks," I mumble, looking away before I can do something stupid like get lost in those violet eyes again.

The rest of the ride passes in a blur of nervous energy and casual conversation. The pack falls into easy banter about their upcoming shows, their latest songs, stories from the road. I find myself listening intently, fascinated by these glimpses into their world in spite of myself.

It's so different from my solitary existence, filled with warmth and laughter and genuine connection. For the first time in years, I let myself wonder what it would be like to have that. To belong somewhere. To someone.

But that's not in the cards for me. It never has been.

I snap back to the present as Damon announces, "This is it."

I've been spacing out, lost in dangerous thoughts. I need to focus. After tonight, I'm going back to my usual MO—no more in-person meetings with the pack. It's too risky, too distracting. I can't afford to let my guard down like this.

The PheroMaster showroom is exactly as ostentatious and tacky as it looked on the website. Actually, somehow it's even worse in person. The building is all gleaming chrome and red neon, with the company's crown logo projected onto the facade in rotating holographic glory. It's trying so hard to scream "luxury" that it circles right back around to trashy.

The pack files out of the SUV, and I move to follow. Asher calls out "Watch your step!" but it's a second too late. My foot catches on the edge of the seat, and I stumble forward.

Strong hands catch me before I can face-plant on the pavement. Asher steadies me with surprising strength—I've never met an omega who could physically manhandle me like that. The realization sends an unexpected flutter through my stomach.

"You okay?" he asks, his eyes full of concern.

"Fine," I manage, my face burning. I tell myself it's just the suppressants. I've been on them way longer than recommended, and they're starting to mess with my head. After this case is over, I'll need to go off-grid for a while, let myself go through a natural heat.

The thought makes me cringe—it'll be pure torture—but this weird sensitivity to touch and scent is getting to be too much. Something has to give.

"So who's playing pack leader tonight?" Dante asks as we approach the entrance.

"I should—" Knox starts, but Silas cuts him off.

"Me," he says firmly. "No offense, but you're not exactly known for your diplomatic approach."

Knox growls but doesn't argue. The others nod in agreement. Clearly, this is a dynamic they're used to.

"Remember," Asher whispers as we near the doors, "Echo is our new beta, and his name is Alex."

Something warm and dangerous blooms in my chest at his words. For just a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to really be part of their pack. To belong somewhere. To have people who care about my wellbeing beyond what I can do for them.

I immediately scold myself for the thought. This is just a job. A cover story. Nothing more. I can't afford to get caught up in fantasies, not when one wrong move could expose everything I've spent nine years hiding.

And even if it wasn't for all the other reasons that would never work, this pack already has an omega, and omegas don't share.

The automatic doors slide open with a soft whoosh, releasing a wave of artificially enhanced alpha pheromones that makes my head spin. Even through my suppressants, it's overwhelming. I take shallow breaths through my mouth, fighting the urge to run.

Focus .

I just need to focus.

They didn't mention anything about this on the website.

I snap out of my own discomfort as I remember Asher. Sure enough, when I turn to look, he's frozen in place, his face pale and drawn. The alphas immediately circle around him like a protective wall.

"Ash? You okay?" Dante asks, his hand hovering near Asher's elbow.

"I'm fine," Asher says, but his voice is strained. "It's just that cheap shit they're pumping through the vents."

Silas’s nose wrinkles in disgust. "It fucking stinks."

I'm inclined to agree, but as a supposed beta, I shouldn't be as affected. I force myself to keep my expression neutral even as my head spins. If it's hitting me this hard through military-grade suppressants, I can only imagine how overwhelming it must be for Asher.

But he's resisting better than any omega I've ever seen. Most would be on their knees by now, or at least showing more obvious signs of distress. Instead, he straightens his spine and lifts his chin defiantly.

When he catches me staring, he gives me a knowing, if strained, smile. He tugs at his collar, revealing two interlocking rings of bite marks on his neck. Of course—he's marked. That would make him less susceptible than other omegas to artificial alpha pheromones, but still, it has to be uncomfortable as hell.

"Now we know why it's alphas only," Knox mutters, his protective instincts clearly in overdrive.

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 worse in 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 be very interested 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.

It has to be. Because the alternative is too dangerous to contemplate.