Page 87 of Claimed By the Rockstars: Part One
Mixing that kind of hard alcohol with suppressants is a terrible idea, and I can't exactly sip it. But Raf and Phoenix have no clue I'm an omega, so I take the shot from him anyway, deciding I'll find a way to get rid of it when he's distracted. Which is fortunately often.
Sure enough, he and Phoenix get drinking and talking, and I get the chance to get rid of my tequila without them noticing. Even if I wasn’t on suppressants, as much as I like Raf, I have rules about taking drinks from alphas at parties.
The only reason I accepted the champagne was because I saw Phoenix grab it off a tray, and he isn’t exactly a smooth sleight-of-hand magician. Common drinks at parties like these are typically safe. Safe enough that avoiding them entirely would be flat out paranoid.
And I’m trying not to let myself gothatfar.
We drift through the party like ghosts. Phoenix gets pulled into a conversation with some producer who wants to talk about drum techniques. Rafael schmoozes with a journalist who's writing a piece on the Seattle rock scene. I hover on the edges, nursing my champagne, watching.
Always watching.
That's when I see him.
Not Stephen. Not my stalker. But Jake from my old band, standing near the bar with a woman I don't recognize. He's laughing at something she said, oozing alpha confidence and easy charm, completely at ease in a way I've never been able to manage. I notice Mike beside him a moment later.
Our eyes meet across the room.
Jake's expression shutters immediately, that easy smile dropping into something harder. He says something to Mike, then starts making his way through the crowd toward me.
Fuck.
"Bells." Jake's voice when he reaches me is carefully neutral. Not quite hostile, but definitely not friendly. "Didn't expect to see you here."
"Could say the same." I take another sip of champagne, using it as a shield.
His jaw tightens. He shifts his weight, and I catch a whiff of his scent—pine and something sharper, aggressive. Alpha through and through. "Stephen's still in the hospital, you know. Multiple surgeries. They're not sure if his face will ever look normal again."
The implied accusation hangs between us.This is your fault. You and your new psycho bandmate.
"He attacked me," I say flatly. "Rex defended me. That's what happened."
"Is it?" Jake leans in slightly, voice dropping. "Or did you orchestrate the whole thing? Get in with Vespyr, use Rex Steele's reputation for violence to get rid of Stephen and his contracts?"
I laugh. Actually laugh, because the idea is so fucking absurd. "You think Iwantedany of this?"
"I don't know what to think about you anymore, Bells." His eyes scan my face like he's trying to find the person he thought he knew. "You leave without warning, join our biggest competition, and suddenly Stephen's in the hospital with his face caved in. It's suspicious as fuck."
"Suspicious or not, it's what happened." I finish my champagne in one long swallow, the alcohol warming my throat. "Now if you'll excuse me?—"
Jake's hand shoots out, wrapping around my wrist. Not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to stop me from walking away. "We were friends, Bells. Or at least I thought we were. You owe me more than this bullshit non-explanation."
"Let. Go." Each word comes out dangerously quiet.
He does, but his expression twists into something ugly. "You know what? Fuck you. Fuck you and your new band and your mysterious rockstar bullshit. I hope Rex Steele chews you up and spits you out like he does everyone else."
Then he's gone, disappearing back into the crowd.
My hands are shaking. I shove them in my pockets, trying to breathe normally, trying to remember that Jake's just hurt and lashing out and doesn't actually know anything.
He's lucky I didn't cave his face in, too, if only because it would attract unwanted attention. My stupid inner omega pipes up that if Rex were here, he would've turned Jake inside out from ass to mouth.
I roll my eyes at the thought. But maybe there's something to be said for letting him act like an attack dog.
"That looked fun," Rafael says, appearing at my elbow with another champagne flute. "Want to talk about it?"
"Not even a little bit."
He nods, accepting that, and hands me the glass. Another drink I'll have to get rid of somehow. "Fair enough. Phoenix is still trapped with that producer. Want to escape to the balcony?"
