Page 91 of Claimed By the Rockstars: Part One
"My car's this way," I manage to say, my voice coming out strangled. "Come on."
I guide Bells toward where we parked, Phoenix following close behind. Bells stumbles slightly, and I tighten my grip on his elbow to steady him. The contact sends heat racing up my arm, and I have to grit my teeth against the reaction.
Get it together, dumbass. He's drugged and terrified and needs help, not you losing your shit over how good he smells.
We reach Phoenix’s car and I climb into the back seat, leaving the front for Bells. Giving him space.
Bells slides into the passenger seat, and the enclosed space of the car immediately fills with his scent. It's overwhelming,making my head spin and my thoughts scatter like leaves in a hurricane.
I crack the windows as Phoenix starts the engine. Fresh air helps marginally, cutting the concentration enough that I can think semi-clearly.
"Which hotel?" Phoenix asks, pulling out of the parking spot with more care than necessary. Every movement feels deliberate, measured, like we’re both operating on autopilot while our actual brains are too busy processingomega scent match holy shitto function properly.
I don’t have to ask Phoenix to know he’s having the exact same experience. I can see it in the tightness of his jaw and shoulders.
"Any." Bells has his arms wrapped around himself, curled in on his seat like he's trying to take up as little space as possible. "Just not—nowhere anyone else can find out about this. Not even Rex."
So I guess that's not what Rex is blackmailing him over. That's a fucking relief.
"We got it," Phoenix says, his voice gentler than I've ever heard it. "No one will know. We promise."
We drive to the first decent hotel we can find, a mid-range place that's clean and anonymous. The kind where they don't ask questions as long as you pay cash. Which I do, getting two adjoining rooms and trying not to think about why my hands are still shaking as I hand over the bills.
The clerk doesn't even look up from his phone.
The rooms are on the third floor, connected by a door that can be locked from both sides. Standard setup for families or groups traveling together. Phoenix helps Bells to the first room while I deal with the keys, and by the time I join them, Bells is sitting on the edge of the bed looking like he might shatter into pieces at any moment.
"We should take you to the hospital," Phoenix says, squatting down in front of him so they're eye level. Even squatting, Phoenix is three times Bells's size. Our normally devil-may-kiss-my-ass bandmate is hunched in on himself, looking strangely vulnerable.
Bells shakes his head hard.
Phoenix tries again. "Bells, if someone drugged you?—"
"No." The word comes out sharp, panicked. "No hospitals. Nobody can know. Do you understand?Nobodycan know."
"Is this what Rex has on you?" Phoenix asks quietly.
We both look at him. Bells's jaw works, and I watch the internal debate play out across his face. How much to tell us. How much to keep hidden.
"He knows I'm..." Bells swallows hard. "He knowssomething. But he doesn't know I'm a fuckingomega.He can never know about that. You have to promise. Both of you. You can't tell him. You can't tellanyone."
"We promise," I say immediately, and Phoenix nods his agreement.
"Nobody knows," Bells continues, and his voice cracks slightly. "Just my immediate family. That's it. Not even Stephen. I'm serious."
The pieces start clicking together in my head, forming a picture I really don't like.
"If nobody knows you're an omega," I say slowly, "then how did someone drug you with something specifically designed to trigger omega heat? You never set your fucking drink down all night."
I'd know, because I was watching. I told myself it's nothing more than I'd do for anyone else I was going out with for the night, and that's true, but my protective instincts toward Bells go deeper than that. And now I fucking know why.
Bells goes very still.
"Someone knew," I continue, the logic unavoidable. "Someone targeted you specifically. There were no other omegas at that party, no reason for anyone to spend that kind of money hoping they'd catch someone. That shit's expensive, luckily. And yet they paid a small fortune to drug every drink at that party just to get to yours. Which means?—"
"My stalker." The words are barely above a whisper. "My stalker knows."
Phoenix sucks in a sharp breath. "The roses."
