I found two other names associated with the business as employees or partners—Ross Hendricks and Harold Yates. Both Alphas. Both with clean records as far as I could tell frompreliminary searches. No arrests, no bankruptcies, no civil suits. Nothing that would raise immediate concerns.
Alibis probably…
But I didn't get far with my research yet.
Just surface-level stuff—names, addresses, business registrations, LinkedIn profiles that all look sanitized and professional. The kind of information anyone could find with a basic Google search and fifteen minutes of time.
The real digging requires time and focus. Access to databases that cost money. Phone calls to contacts who owe me favors. Hours of cross-referencing public records to find patterns most people would miss.
Once we get back from this shopping trip, I'll be able to set up properly.
My home office has everything I need—laptop with VPN access, dual monitors, subscriptions to multiple legal databases, connections to private investigators who owe me favors. I'll dive deep into that rabbit hole and find everything there is to know about these men.
Because once I get locked into research mode, I don't stop. Can't stop. It's like an itch in my brain that won't quit until I've found every fine detail about everyone involved. Every parking ticket. Every business transaction. Every property they own. Every debt they have. Every connection to other people or businesses. The whole web of their lives laid out in spreadsheets and documents until I understand exactly who they are and what they're capable of.
Knowledge is power.
In court, in business, in life. And I intend to know everything about the pack that hurt our Omega. Because something tells me we haven't seen the last of them. Those mystery flowers weren't a one-time thing. Men who treat Omegas like Reverie was treated don't just let go easily.
Reverie turns from the window and catches me staring.
She blinks, confusion crossing her features. Then her eyes widen slightly.
"Nash," she says, pointing ahead. "You're driving."
I blink.
Then it clicks—she's absolutely right.I'm supposed to be watching the road, not staring at her like some lovesick teenager who just discovered what Omegas smell like.
I snap my attention back to the highway, gripping the wheel tighter than necessary. The road is blessedly empty—hasn't been another car for miles, just endless farmland stretching on both sides and the occasional cluster of trees breaking up the monotony. But if I'd stared at her any longer, lost in thoughts about how beautiful she looks, I would have drifted right off the asphalt and railed us straight into a ditch or fence post.
Smooth, Nash. Real smooth. Nothing says 'professional fake boyfriend' like nearly killing your fake girlfriend because you can't stop gawking at her like some hormone-addled teenager who just discovered what Omegas smell like. Get it together.
I try not to blush. Fail spectacularly. I can feel heat creeping up my neck, spreading across my face. The tips of my ears are probably red too if the burning sensation is any indication.
Then Reverie grins—that bright, mischievous expression that suggests trouble is incoming and I should probably brace myself.
"Ohhh," she drawls, pulling out her phone with the speed of someone who knows a golden opportunity when she sees one. "Is my motorcycle gang Alpha blushing? This is amazing. Let me take a photo! Content gold!"
"Absolutely not," I say immediately, keeping my eyes forward.
"But you said I should record anything I want!" She's already lifting her phone, angling it toward me with clear intent."You literally told me to document things! This is a form of inspiration! Behind-the-scenes content!"
I grunt. "Hell no. That wasn't what I meant and you know it."
She giggles—the sound bright and unapologetic and completely delighted with herself. "Too late. I'm taking the photo anyway. Consider it collateral for future negotiations."
I hear the camera shutter sound effect from her phone. Twice. She got multiple shots.
"That's blackmail," I huff, keeping my eyes firmly on the road this time because I will not give her more ammunition. "Pretty sure blackmail is illegal. I could prosecute you."
"It's only blackmail if I show Theo and Grayson," she counters, her voice full of pure mischief. "Otherwise it's just... personal insurance. A safety net. Leverage for when you inevitably do something annoying."
"When I do something annoying?" I raise an eyebrow. "Not if?"
"All Alphas do annoying things eventually," she says matter-of-factly. "It's in your nature. Might as well be prepared."
I huff again but don't say anything because she's got me there. Can't really argue with that logic.
