Page 42 of The Rogues

“She started using drugs during our last tour. Uppers, I think, so she could get through the rest of it without burning out. We were all so exhausted, and she was always front and center. I think she’s clean now, but there’s no way to tell. I don’t really remember how it started last time. It’s all a blur.”

The image of Cleo Del Rossi taking coke from a random guy in the club tonight flashes in my mind. The angry face of her drummer ordering the bodyguard to get rid of the dealer, the savage snarl Cleo gave the bodyguard in response.

My stomach coils tight with unease.

“I’m sorry that things are strained between you two,” Lennon says before I can speak up. He leans forward to look at her. “But I do know that whatever is happening isn’t your fault, or your responsibility.”

She nods. “I know… I mean, I should know, but sometimes I feel responsible. It was my idea for us to go into this industry to begin with. What if I had never suggested it and things were better? If we were living normal lives somewhere, with normal jobs⁠—”

“You can’t play what-ifs. That doesn’t solve anything besides making yourself feel guilty, and you don’t deserve to feel that way.” I place my hand on her knee instinctually, touching the comfy cotton of her sweatpants. I hold my breath, expecting her to pull away, but she doesn’t. Her body relaxes, and she leans more comfortably in her seat.

She sighs. “Life in the spotlight isn’t as rewarding as we both expected.”

My friend and I both nod, knowing the truth in that statement all too well. For the most part, we are grateful that our career has taken off to this extent, but we aren’t blind to the way it’s cost us certain privileges, especially with Cyrus. He shoulders a lot of our responsibilities in the public eye. We wouldn’t even be playing to the kind of crowds we’re playing to right now if it weren’t for his sacrifice. Not to mention, he has to hide his bond with Jamie, which still grinds my fucking teeth in.

There are downsides to every job. We get to live our dream, but it comes at a cost.

“Anyway.” She waves it off, turning to hold my gaze. “I actually wanted to ask you about your scent.”

My lips twitch from the change of topic. “You want to know what it is, don’t you?”

She winces and grins. “Yeah. I can’t fully figure it out. It’s syrupy… and sweet, but I can’t pinpoint it.”

Lennon gives a tickled laugh.

“It’s molasses and marshmallows,” I tell her. “Which, apparently, go well together.”

Or so I’ve been told. I’ve yet to try it myself. Apparently, when you have a certain scent following you around day in and day out, you seem to lose the taste for its physical counterparts.

Her pupils dilate, like the tiny piece of information is catnip to her omega. She turns to Lennon. “And you?”

“Ginger beer.”

“To the point,” she teases.

Lennon shrugs, lounging in his seat. “It’s an acquired taste, but one that suits me very well, wouldn’t you say?”

His scent pours even more in the space, and a growl erupts in my chest because now I can only slightly smell the omega’s own alcoholic aroma. He growls back, slightly pushing me with his shoulder so she can see more of him, still shirtless and doing the most with his rippling abs.

Josie doesn’t notice our little alpha-off. Instead, she is looking between us, her eyes glossed over, and her lips parted at whatever image she is seeing in her mind. Champagne bursts into the air, so sweet and potent, I can almost taste it directly on my tongue.

Lennon must notice, too, because a dark chuckle escapes him. “Is our omega thinking about us?”

To her credit, she doesn’t back down. She just bites her lip as a flush of pastel covers her face.

“So what if I am?” she asks, both wanting and bashful in her approach.

“I would say that we could help you.” My cock starts to lengthen in my jeans, and I try desperately not to call any attention to it as I keep my gaze on the beautiful omega beside me, her body radiating with heat.

“Do you want help from your alphas?” Lennon asks, leaning over me, his voice full of dark promise. “We are yours to order around, Omega.”

Everything short-circuits. That idea sends my mind soaring, the image of her riding me to find her own bliss taking over every available space in my head.

“Tell us what you’re thinking, little vicious,” Lennon whispers huskily. “Let us play it out for you.”

Her glossy eyes widen slightly, panic entering them as she is tugged out of whatever fantasy she was pondering. She shakes her head as if to rid herself of her omega’s dirty thoughts.

“I, uh,” she starts, rubbing her neck as she looks anywhere but at us. “I think I should get going.”