Chapter 24 – JORDAN
24
JORDAN
I press myself further into the shadows backstage, trying to become one with the wall as Asher launches into another verse. His voice soars over the pre-show chaos, pure and powerful and doing things to my insides that no amount of suppressants can fully control.
He's magnetic up there, all fluid grace and raw sexuality as he works the empty venue like it's packed with thousands. The sheer fabric of his top catches the stage lights, offering teasing glimpses of toned abs and those glinting nipple piercings that I absolutely should not be staring at.
I can feel Silas and Dante watching me watch him. They're trying to be subtle about it, but subtlety isn't exactly an alpha strong suit. Every time I sneak a glance at Asher, I catch them exchanging knowing looks.
"He's something else, isn't he?" Dante says softly, coming to lean against the wall beside me.
I grunt noncommittally, not trusting my voice. My skin feels too tight, too hot, and I'm hyperaware of every alpha scent around me. The suppressants are working—they have to be—but something about being here, surrounded by the pack's combined pheromones, is making my head spin.
"It's okay to look, you know," he continues, amusement coloring his tone. "We don't mind."
I risk a glance at him, searching for any hint of possessiveness or jealousy. But his expression is open, genuine. Even Silas, who I'd expect to be the most territorial, just looks entertained by the whole situation.
"I'm not—" I start, but the words die in my throat as Asher hits a particularly powerful note. His head tips back, exposing the long line of his throat, and I have to physically stop myself from whimpering.
What the fuck is wrong with me? I've spent years suppressing every omega instinct, every natural reaction.
But one pretty boy with violet eyes bats his lashes at me and I'm suddenly a hormonal teenager again?
An omega , at that.
"You're allowed to want him," Silas says, his voice low and knowing. "Everyone does."
"But we've never seen him want anyone the way he wants you," Dante adds, a glimmer in his dark eyes.
My heart thumps against my chest traitorously.
If they only knew. It's not just want—though there's plenty of that, burning through my veins like liquid fire. It's something deeper, more primal. The omega in me recognizes something in Asher, something that calls to the parts of myself I've buried so deep I thought they'd never surface again.
But it doesn't matter. It can't matter. Even if Asher does have a thing for omegas, even if his pack is surprisingly okay with sharing, I'm not what they think I am. I'm not the mysterious beta male hacker they've welcomed into their world. I'm a fraud. A lie. A broken omega girl playing dress-up in borrowed confidence.
I rub the mark seared into my wrist beneath the leather cuff I'm wearing tonight. A constant reminder of the truth I'm trying to hide.
"I should go check the security setup," I mutter, pushing off the wall. I need to get out of here before I do something stupid like throw myself at Asher's feet.
"You don't have to run," Silas says gently. "We like having you around. And Asher..." he trails off, something significant in his tone.
"Don't," I say sharply. "Just... don't. Please."
I can't bear to hear whatever he's about to say. Can't handle the kindness in his voice or the understanding in Dante's eyes. They think they know what this is, just another person falling under Asher's spell. They have no idea how much more complicated it really is.
On stage, Asher finishes his run-through with a flourish. His eyes find me in the shadows, and that brilliant smile makes my chest ache with possibilities I can never have.
"Was it good?" he calls out, sprinting over to us with barely contained energy.
"Perfect," I manage, proud of how steady my voice sounds. "But I need to..."
I gesture vaguely toward the exit, already backing away. I catch a flash of disappointment crossing his beautiful face before I turn and flee into the relative safety of the corridor.
My throat gets tight as I lean against the cool concrete wall, trying to get my breathing under control. This is exactly why I don't do in-person jobs. Why I keep everyone at arm's length. It's too dangerous to let anyone get close enough to see past the carefully constructed walls.
But Asher and his pack… They make me want to tear those walls down brick by brick. Make me want impossible things, dangerous things. Make me want to be seen, really seen, for the first time in nine years.
And that terrifies me more than any alpha from my past ever could.
I lean against the wall, letting the cool concrete ground me as I get my breathing back under control. The others don't follow me, thank god. I'm not sure I could handle any more of their well-meaning concern or their matchmaking attempts right now.
Through the walls, I can hear the sound check continue. Asher's voice soars over the instruments as they run through their setlist one final time. Even muffled by concrete and distance, it sends shivers down my spine.
Gradually, the energy in the building shifts as they start letting people in for the concert. The quiet efficiency of setup gives way to growing excitement as the venue fills. Security personnel move with practiced precision, checking tickets and patting down anyone who sets off the metal detectors.
I pull up the building's security feed on my tablet, watching the crowd pour in from multiple angles. It's a sold-out show, of course. Everyone wants a piece of Asher Wilde, the omega who dared to challenge expectations and succeeded beyond anyone's wildest dreams.
By the time the lights dim for the opening act, the place is packed. The energy is electric, a tangible thing that makes my skin prickle even from my shadowy vantage point backstage. When Wild Honey finally takes the stage, the roar of the crowd is deafening.
They explode into their opening number, and I find myself mesmerized despite my earlier resolve to maintain professional distance. Asher commands the stage like he was born for it, that sheer top catching the lights as he moves. The rest of the pack matches his energy perfectly, Silas and Dante trading blistering guitar solos, Knox providing the rhythm that ties it all together, and Damon's drums driving everything forward with relentless precision.
It's exhausting just watching them. I don't know how they do this night after night, but they clearly love every second of it. The joy radiating from them is infectious, making the crowd go absolutely wild.
But I can't let myself get caught up in the performance. I have a job to do. My eyes scan the audience constantly, looking for anyone who seems out of place. Anyone paying more attention to security positions than the show. Anyone who might be a threat.
Even with increased security measures, there are too many variables, too many potential weak points. A determined attacker with inside knowledge could still cause chaos.
I notice a group of alphas near the front who seem particularly agitated, but closer observation shows they're just overexcited fans. Their pheromones are probably spiking from being so close to Asher, even with the suppressants, but there's nothing malicious in their enthusiasm. Upon closer inspection, one oft hem is wearing a T-shirt with a cartoon cat on it.
Yeah, I'm pretty sure he's not a threat.
A movement in the VIP section catches my eye. Someone in a suit—definitely overdressed for a rock concert—speaking intently into a phone. I zoom in with my tablet's camera, but the angle isn't great. Still, something about him sets off warning bells.
I make my way around the perimeter of the backstage area, trying to get a better view while staying hidden in the shadows. The suit is gone by the time I get there, but I note the location for later investigation when I get a chance to review the security footage.
Asher's voice draws my attention back to the stage as they launch into their newest single—the one he wanted me to hear during sound check. The lyrics hit differently now that I'm really listening. It's about standing up to fear, about refusing to be silenced. About finding strength in vulnerability.
I tell myself the tightness in my chest is just the suppressants wearing off. That the way his words seem to speak directly to my soul is just coincidence. That the tears pricking at my eyes are from exhaustion, nothing more.
But as I watch him pour his heart out on stage, backed by alphas who would clearly die to protect him, I can't help but wonder what it would be like to be that brave. To be that open. To trust that completely.
The thought terrifies me almost as much as it tempts me.
A flash of movement in my peripheral vision snaps me back to reality. Just another overenthusiastic fan trying to get backstage, quickly intercepted by security. But it's a good reminder of why I'm here. I can't afford to get lost in dreams and what-ifs.
I have a job to do. People to protect. A life of careful anonymity to maintain.
After about an hour of constant vigilance, I slip out into the lobby, desperate for some fresh air. The show is winding down, and I tell myself Asher will be too caught up in his final encore to notice my absence. But if I don't get some space from that voice that seems to rival my chemical armor like no alpha's scent ever has, he's going to notice something else. If only I could ask to borrow his new suppressants without having to explain why.
For a dangerous moment, I let myself imagine telling him the truth. Laying bare all my secrets, all my lies. What if it didn't actually make him want me any less?
The fantasy dies as my eyes lock onto a figure in the lobby. At first, it's just the expensive cut of his suit that catches my attention, so out of place among the sea of concert T-shirts and ripped jeans. But then he turns, and the harsh fluorescent lights hit his face.
Those knife-sharp cheekbones. That cruel twist to his mouth. The way he holds himself, like a predator assessing prey.
No. God, no.
I blink hard, willing the image away. It has to be a trick of the light, a coincidence, my paranoid brain playing tricks on me. But when I open my eyes, he's still there. Still real. Still exactly as I remember him, though nine years have hardened the boyish features into something colder, more refined.
James.
My brother.
The enforcer who used to drag disobedient omegas to "rehabilitation." Who watched with dead eyes as they broke us, one by one, until we became what they wanted. Who helped hold me down the day they tried to force-bond me to an alpha three times my age. The day they marked me as his property. The day I finally fought back, escaped, and never looked back.
The mark on my wrist burns, as if the proximity to the man who put it there has activated it somehow. Or maybe as a warning. An affirmation that as impossible as this is, it's real.
He shouldn't be here. Can't be here. I ran three thousand miles. Changed everything about myself. Became someone else entirely.
But there he stands, living nightmare made flesh, scanning the crowd with that same calculated intensity I remember from the compound.
For a split second, his eyes meet mine and I freeze like a fawn in a hunter's sights. But his eyes don't linger, not even for a second, as they continue scanning past me like I'm not even there.
He doesn't recognize me.
It worked. All the work I've done to hide myself, to blend into the crowd, to erase every last trace of the girl—the omega—I used to be…
It worked.
The relief doesn't last long until I realize he's disappearing through the lobby doors.
Every shred of instinct within me screams for me to run. To put as much distance between myself and him as possible, even if it means leaving Wild Honey and everything else in the new life I've built behind, but I don't.
I've caved in to fear enough times.
Instead, I find myself following him. Tracking him.
The night air hits me like a slap as I push through the doors. The crowd outside is thick with fans hoping for a glimpse of the band after the show, pressing against the security barriers. James, if it really is him, weaves through them with practiced ease.
I trail him at a safe distance, grateful for once that I'm small enough to slip through gaps in the crowd unnoticed. The suppressants feel weaker suddenly, like a protective shell that might crack and spill all my secrets into the night air at any moment.
But I have to know. Have to be sure.
He turns a corner, and when I follow, he's gone. Vanished into the sea of bodies like smoke. I spin in place, scanning faces desperately, but there's no sign of him.
Maybe I imagined it. Maybe the stress and the suppressants and my growing feelings for Asher are finally making me crack.
I rush back inside, flashing my VIP pass at the guards with trembling hands. The fresh wave of post-show energy hits me like a wall as I round the corner.
The pack is already backstage celebrating, champagne flowing freely as crew members and various hangers-on mill about. Asher's head snaps up the moment I enter, his eyes lighting up when they land on me.
"Alex, there you are!" he exclaims, but his smile immediately falters. I must look as shaken as I feel because his expression shifts from joy to concern in an instant.
He's at my side before I can even think of what to say, his hands landing gently on my shoulders. The touch should make me flinch—any touch usually does—but right now it feels like the only thing keeping me grounded. Anchored in reality.
"What's wrong?" he asks softly, searching my face. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
A bitter laugh escapes my throat before I can stop it. "Something like that," I manage, my voice barely above a whisper.
The others are gathering around us now, their faces etched with varying degrees of worry. Even Knox looks concerned, which would be touching if I wasn't fighting the urge to scream.
"We need to leave," I say, the words tumbling out in a rush. "Now."
Asher exchanges looks with his alphas, some silent communication passing between them. "Alright," he says, squeezing my shoulders gently. No arguments, no questions, just acceptance. "Let's get you back to the hotel?—"
"No," I cut him off, probably too sharply based on how they all tense. "Not the hotel. The bus. You need to get on the bus and leave town. Right now."
"What's going on?" Knox demands, stepping closer. His woodsmoke scent spikes with protective alpha energy. "Do we need to get the police involved?"
I shake my head, then stop, then start again. "I don't... maybe? I don't know." My hands are shaking so badly I have to clench them into fists. "I saw... I thought I saw..."
But I can't finish the sentence. How do I explain that I might have seen my brother, the enforcer from a cult I escaped nearly a decade ago? That I might be having a complete breakdown and imagining threats that don't exist? That either way, I'm terrified of what it means?
"Hey," Asher says softly, one hand moving to cup my cheek. The gesture is so tender it makes my chest ache. "Talk to us. Whatever it is, we can help."
I want to believe him. God, I want to believe that these strong, beautiful people could protect me from my past. But I know better. If James really is here, if he somehow found me...
No. He didn't recognize me. He looked right through me.
But he's here. At their concert. That can't be a coincidence.
Unless I really am crazy.
"I'm not sure if what I saw was real," I admit finally, hating how weak my voice sounds. "But if it was... you're all in danger. Please, just trust me. You need to leave."
Asher takes a second to process that. The whole pack does.
"Not without you," Asher says firmly.
The others nod in agreement, and something warm and dangerous blooms in my chest. These people barely know me. They don't know me at all, really, and yet they're ready to upend their plans based on nothing but my word.
I stand frozen as Silas takes command, his voice cutting through the fog of panic in my head. "Come on, we're getting you both out of here." He turns to the others. "You guys deal with the venue. Make our excuses."
Before I can protest or explain or run away, Asher's arm is around my shoulders, and Silas is herding us both toward the back exit. The warmth of Asher's body against mine is more soothing than it has any right to be.
"I've got you," Asher murmurs as we hurry through the dark corridors. His scent makes my head spin in a way that has nothing to do with fear.
The tour bus looms ahead, a gleaming sanctuary in the night. Silas ushers us aboard, his movements precise and efficient. I notice he positions himself between us and the windows, scanning the darkness constantly. He's good, better than most security I've seen.
"Sit," Asher commands gently, guiding me to the plush couch. Before I can process what's happening, he's wrapping a soft blanket around my shoulders and pressing a bottle of water into my trembling hands.
"I'm fine," I try to say, but the words come out weak and unconvincing.
"Sure you are," Asher says, his eyes soft with concern as he perches beside me. "That's why you're shaking like a leaf."
I want to argue, to maintain some semblance of the distance I've worked so hard to keep. But my walls are crumbling, and I'm too exhausted to rebuild them right now.
The others pile onto the bus minutes later, their faces all betraying their concern. Damon immediately heads to the front, speaking quietly to the driver.
"We're heading halfway to the next stop," he announces, returning to drop into one of the chairs. "Just in case. Sam's handling everything else with the venue."
"Good," Silas says, still standing guard by the door. "Now, Alex... want to tell us what's got you so spooked?"
I clutch the water bottle tighter, staring at my hands. They're all staring at me, expecting answers I can't give. Truths I've buried so deep I sometimes forget they're real.
"I..." I start, but my throat closes up. How do I explain without explaining everything? How do I warn them without exposing myself?
"Hey," Asher says softly, his hand finding mine under the blanket. "You don't have to tell us everything. Just whatever you can. Whatever you feel safe sharing."
Safe. It's been so long since I felt safe doing anything. Even in my apartment, I'm always on edge. Always waiting.
But around them…
The kindness in his voice nearly breaks me. I've spent so long being strong, being careful, being nobody. But right now, surrounded by their concern and their protection, I feel dangerously close to becoming somebody again.
"I saw someone," I manage finally. "Someone who shouldn't be here. Someone dangerous."
"Someone you know?" Damon asks carefully.
I nod, not trusting my voice.
"Did they recognize you?" Silas asks, his tone professional but gentle.
"No," I whisper, relief and terror warring in my chest. "But if he's here, it can't be a coincidence."
The bus rumbles to life beneath us, and I feel some of the tension leave my body as we pull away from the venue. Away from James. Away from everything I've spent years running from.
But as Asher's thumb traces gentle circles on my palm, as the pack settles in around us like a protective wall, I realize I'm not running alone anymore.
And that terrifies me more than any ghost from my past.