Red Hot Alphas: 11 Novels of Sexy, Bad Boy, Alpha Males (Red Hot Boxed Sets Book 2) Read online

  Deep breaths now, Ev.

  “You okay?” Joel asks, sitting by my side.

  “Yeah.”

  I just need a place to stay, one I can afford. Share an apartment. Cassie. She said she may have something for me.

  I can do this.

  “Let me see your arm.” He takes my hand, but I don’t let him push up the sleeve.

  “I said I’m okay, Joey. I really am.” I hold his gaze until he drops my hand.

  “If you’d stayed with Blake,” he mutters, “he’d look after you. Dad and Mom trust him and wouldn’t worry so much about you, and this wouldn’t have happened.”

  “Dad and Mom should trust me, not a stranger.”

  “He’s your boyfriend, not some stranger.”

  “Dammit, Joey, he’s not my boyfriend anymore! And I don’t need him to take care of me.”

  I turn away from him and do my best to swallow my disappointment. Bitterness fills me. Even Joel doesn’t trust me. Despite his help this evening, he doesn’t think I can take care of myself, much less others. Why? What did I ever do to make them all think I can’t cut it?

  “Get some sleep,” Joel says, and the sofa springs creak as he gets up. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

  It seems to me there’s nothing more to talk about. And it doesn’t matter. I’m here. I’ll make this work. I have to.

  ***

  But in the morning Joel leaves before I wake up. A message on my phone informs me he’s got practice on campus and won’t be back all day.

  So much for talking. Though I’m secretly glad to avoid more arguments and fighting. Glad for the quiet.

  I take out my phone. I want to talk to Micah, tell him what happened. He hasn’t texted me or tried to call me since I left his apartment last night. Telling myself it’s nothing, that of course he doesn’t have to text me all night, even after the things we talked about, I sigh and put the phone down.

  Not feeling like talking much, either, at this moment. I just wish… How selfish it is of me to wish he’d called me? His voice would make everything better, but I have no right to expect anything from him. He’s not my boyfriend. We’re not an item.

  Are we?

  We barely know each other, and after pushing him to open up yesterday… Maybe I should mark the day in my calendar: the day I got over my fear of Blake, my fear of leaving home, and pushed Micah over the edge.

  Damn.

  Joel’s apartment is downtown, so I have more time than usual to get ready. I keep expecting the mysterious Jethro to walk into the living room or the kitchen, but he doesn’t. Big surprise. I’m not sure I even know what he looks like.

  I pull my hair back into my customary ponytail, zip up my jacket and grab my bag. I look at myself in the bathroom mirror and tuck a stray strand behind my ear. The memory of last night slams back into me, and I wince. I kinda hate my family right now.

  Then I think of Micah who never really had one and feel bad. At least I know my family cares for me, even if they don’t trust me. They’re overwhelming, but they’ve looked after me all my life.

  Deciding I’ll call Mom later on and ask how she is, I walk out and head to work.

  The guy I’ve caught watching me from across the street is there again, smoking a cigarette. His dark eyes follow me as I hurry to enter the sports store. What’s his problem? It’s not Blake, but could Blake have sent someone to keep tabs on me?

  Ice coats my insides at the thought, but then Cassie intercepts me and pulls me to the back of the store to ask how it all went. I take a deep breath and tell her everything—about Micah and Seth, the fight with my parents, the fight with Joel. It feels good to get it off my chest, and she keeps telling me it will be all right, and it will all work out.

  She’s sweet, but a part of me is sad it’s not Micah asking me, concerned about me.

  He’ll text, I tell myself. Micah cares for me. He isn’t a one-stand kind of guy. We shared more than just sex. Mind-blowing sex. Still. He cares.

  Right?

  Work takes my mind off things for a while. Around midday I check my phone and still nothing. Disappointment threatens to drown me. Bad things happen in clusters, and this day is going to hell.

  But I refuse to let it end like this. I need to act, work for my happiness. With trembling fingers I text Micah.

  ‘Miss you.’ There. Short and sweet.

  And he never replies.

  I swallow past the thickness in my throat. Not you too, Micah. Not today. Please don’t decide to leave me today.

  ‘I need to talk to you.’ I send the message off and wait.

  He doesn’t text back.

  “What’s going on? Is it Micah?” Cassie asks.

  I don’t answer. Maybe he just didn’t see my text. So I call him.

  His phone rings and rings until it goes to voicemail. Bowing my head, I push the cell back into my pants pocket.

  There must be an explanation. Maybe he left home and forgot his cell. Maybe his battery ran out. Maybe he’s busy with something, and he’ll call me back later.

  Time passes. Cassie sends me concerned looks as I bang the shoes on their stands and rip the tape off boxes with unnecessary force. I don’t want to talk about it. Don’t want to see the pity in her eyes.

  Before I leave work in the afternoon, she approaches me and slips a piece of paper into my hand. “This is Kayla’s number, the friend I told you about who’s looking for a roommate. Give her a call, she’s really nice.”

  “Thanks.” I do my best to smile, and Cassie smiles back.

  “If there’s anything you need…”

  I nod. “I know. Thank you.”

  Micah told me the same when we first met. Did he mean it?

  ***

  My way to Joel’s apartment doesn’t take me past the donut shop and Damage Control, but I deviate. Somehow my feet take me down my usual path, and I find myself standing across from the tattoo shop. I don’t know why I thought I’d find Micah standing outside like I did almost every day in the past weeks.

  After a small hesitation, I cross the street and push on the door.

  It’s locked. The shop is closed.

  Frowning, I take a step back, a bad feeling knotting up my stomach. What’s going on? It’s just a weekday like any other. I call Micah’s number again, and again, he doesn’t answer.

  The bad feeling intensifies.

  Movement inside the shop catches my eye, and I step to the glass door once more. I rap on it with my knuckles and press my face to the pane to see.

  Two guys are sitting in the reception area of the store, in those ugly orange armchairs I noticed the one time I went in. One of them has short spiky hair and the other is blond with long purple bangs falling in his eyes. He’s saying something, shaking a fist in the air, when he notices me and narrows his eyes. He shakes his head at me and gestures that the shop is closed.

  I rap harder on the door, rattling it. When that doesn’t work, I fish into my bag for pen and paper, write Micah’s name in big bold letters and press it to the glass, then rap again.

  Come on, guys.

  This time the man’s brows lift, and he comes to open the door. “Micah isn’t here,” he says without preamble. The other guy is staring at me from his perch on the orange chair.

  “Where is he? He didn’t answer his phone all day.”

  “And who are you?” He gives me a suspicious look.

  “I’m Evangeline. And I…” What? I’m not his girlfriend, or even his friend. “I’m worried about him. Is he okay?”

  “He’s fine. He’s…” He glances back, exchanges a long look with the other guy. “He’s at the hospital.”

  “What? You just said he’s fine.” My heart is banging in my chest, trying to break through my ribs. That cough… I knew it wasn’t good. “Is he sick?”

  “Hey, calm down.” The other guy approaches us, hands held out. “I’m Asher. I heard about you.”

  The guy whose mother I’m going to meet—but who cares r
ight now? I want to shake him until he tells me what’s wrong with Micah.

  “Micah’s okay,” Asher goes on. “He’s only visiting. It’s Seth the one who’s in trouble.”

  “What happened?” I lean on the door frame, my legs wobbly. Even though they say Micah’s okay, I need to see it for myself. “Where is he?”

  “Seth was jumped this morning when he stepped out for coffee. He was dragged into an alley and beaten to hell.” Asher’s mouth twists in a grimace. “He’s in the ER. He’s conscious, and doctors say he’ll pull through just fine.”

  Ice spreads inside me. “Jumped? Who jumped him?”

  Asher shrugs. “He didn’t get a good look at their faces. Two guys, he says. Assholes wore masks. Didn’t steal his money or anything. Somehow they just wanted to beat the shit out of him.”

  Blake? Is it him or just a coincidence? Doubt, doubt. “Did they tell him anything?”

  “You sound like you know something,” the guy with the long bangs mutters. “If you do…”

  I shake my head. “Which hospital?”

  “The university hospital. He was in the ER, but it seems he won’t be needing surgery, so he’s being transferred to a ward.”

  “Thanks.” I’m already turning away. “I’m on my way there.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  MICAH

  I sit at the hospital cafeteria, an empty plastic cup at my elbow, and the remains of my cell phone spread in front of me. This cell is done for. I was hoping it was just the casing that broke, but no, it’s been literally smashed to bits, and it doesn’t look like it’s going to come back to life any time soon.

  Fuck. Like I need more shit dumped on me. Ev’s number is in there, and I can’t get hold of it. It’s killing me. Everything’s killing me today.

  Goddammit, Seth. My hands shake, and I shove them through my hair. Can’t believe how god-awful he looked, white as a sheet, face and body bruised and bleeding. Can’t believe this happened. I thought this crap was over. I thought the violence was gone from my life. Now all I see flashing through my mind is images from the past, bloodied faces, sneering mouths, raised fists.

  Stop it. I tug on my hair to stop the obsessive thinking. This is life. You’re never safe. It’s never over. Get over it.

  Hell, I want to punch something. I need to move. I push my chair back and lean on the table to stand.

  Someone is walking toward me, a small, slight figure. I blink dazedly.

  “Ev?” I whisper.

  Without a word, she comes to me and tilts her face up. Fear and concern darken her gaze.

  She’s here. I grab her in my arms, wrap myself around her, inhale her scent and the howl that threatens to tear up my throat emerges as a moan. “Ev.”

  Slender arms curl around me. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” I have to clear my throat. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

  “And Seth?”

  “He’s beaten to hell, but he’ll survive.” Saying the words out loud makes them more real, and I sag against her. “He’ll survive.”

  “Your phone,” she says, pulling away and glancing at the table. “What happened?”

  I drag her back to me. Can’t bear to be away another second. “I threw it against the wall. The wall won.”

  She snorts and lets me hold her. Her hands trace soothing circles on my back, and my heart finally stops its mad pounding.

  “Micah…” Her hesitant voice makes me look at her, really look. The fear is still there. Why?

  “Tell me. What is it?”

  “Did Seth say anything else about his attackers?”

  “No. What is it, Ev?”

  “Nothing. I…” She takes a step back. “I just wanted to check on you. But you’re fine, so I’ll just go now.”

  A buzzing starts inside my head. “You need to go back home?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Don’t you want to see Seth?”

  “No. Not a good idea.”

  “Why?”

  “Because. I shouldn’t have talked to him in the first place.”

  Again this? Ice grips my spine. It’s anger, I realize. Stone-cold anger, the worst kind. “Why the hell not?”

  She flinches but stays her ground. “He was on the streets, and I shouldn’t—”

  “Tell me right now, what’s wrong with people who’ve been homeless? You think you’re better than them?”

  She takes several steps back, her face paling. “Please, don’t do this,” she whispers.

  “Do what?” I follow, towering over her. The buzzing fills my ears. I feel as if my skull will explode from the pressure. “What the fuck is your problem?”

  “Why do you take it personally? I didn’t do anything to upset you—”

  “Get out,” I hear myself say. “Just go.”

  Her eyes shimmer, and for a moment I think she’ll cry, but then she lifts her chin and leaves, threading through the chairs and tables.

  I groan and sink into a chair. There’s a pain in my chest I don’t understand. I rub my hand over my heart.

  What the fuck just happened?

  ***

  “He’s gonna be just fine,” the doctor says as we stand around Seth’s narrow bed in the ward. “We’ll monitor him tonight and expect to release him tomorrow.”

  Zane is lounging against the wall, chewing on a toothpick. “Hear that, buddy? You’re gonna be pissing blood for a while, but otherwise you’ll be back on your feet in no time.”

  Seth grunts from the bed. He looks like hell. Two black eyes, his nose broken and bandaged, stitches on his swollen jaw and a sling for his dislocated shoulder. Nothing they can do for the cracked ribs.

  Anger flares inside me, burning hot. He’s lucky he got off without a concussion or damaged organs.

  Shane is sitting on the bed, his long hair loose on his back. He hasn’t spoken a word since his cousin was brought in and patched up. Sometimes I really worry about that guy.

  The doctor leaves and quiet settles in the room.

  “Don’t worry, Seth, they didn’t mess up your pretty face too much,” Jesse says and grins. “Guess I should go, let you rest. Let me know if you need anything.”

  “I should go, too,” Ocean says, raking a hand through his blue hair. “Gotta open Damage, see if I can salvage any of the appointments.”

  “Coming with you,” Zane mutters. “Call us if you need us.”

  I watch them go. I know I should follow—I’m not an apprentice like Jesse, Shane and Seth. The shop needs me—but I can’t, not yet.

  “You sure you didn’t see their faces or any other clue?” Jesse asks again, and I wait for Seth to grunt again and glare. After all, we’ve asked this question like ten thousand times already.

  But instead he does something weird. His dark eyes flick to me, and his forehead creases. “Micah,” he rasps, “why don’t you go? I’ll be fine here with the guys.”

  “It’s okay,” I say.

  “Seriously. Just go.”

  The alarm bells are back in my head, deafening. Seth and I aren’t best friends, but we live in the same apartment, and we look out for each other. Always have. Until now. “I’m good.”

  He closes his eyes for a second, looking exhausted. Does he really want me to go? Is he hiding something from me?

  Dammit, I don’t need more bad shit today. “Spit it out, Seth. I’m not in the mood for games.”

  “And you think I am?” He opens his eyes but doesn’t look at me.

  “You know something. Who beat you up?” I stand at the foot of the bed, scowling at him.

  He sighs. “Promise that you—any of you—won’t go on a rampage to avenge me or some such shit. I’m alive, and I’m fine. Promise me.”

  I exchange a look with Jesse. Shane isn’t meeting my gaze. Fuck this.

  “Who was it, Seth?” I fold my arms over my chest.

  He scowls back, obviously not missing the fact we didn’t promise him anything.

  We wait him out. I can see he needs t
o talk about it in the way his hands clench and unclench on the bed. But I don’t expect what he says, not one bit.

  “Evangeline.” Seth breathes out slowly.

  “What did you say?” I must be going mad. That’s not her name he spoke. Or maybe it’s another Evangeline. “What the fuck did you just say?”

  “After they beat me up,” Seth says, “they told me, ‘this is from Blake. This is for Evangeline.’ And they laughed.”

  The world goes gray for a second. “Are you sure?” I ask and my voice sounds hollow and thin in my ears. “Are you sure they said that?”

  “I’m sure,” Seth says, and that’s it.

  I’m gonna fucking lose it. This Blake had people beat up Seth for Ev, my Ev? Because she was afraid of Seth?

  “Micah…” Seth’s voice seems distant.

  Blake. Her ex-boyfriend. Or maybe not so ex?

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. I realize I’ve been backtracking when I hit the wall. This can’t be happening. Ev was the one person I believed in. This is my fault. I chose to ignore the clues, thought she’d explain her fears. That she’d be honest with me.

  Oh God, not Ev. Not this.

  I distantly hear someone calling my name. Seth. Or Jesse.

  Not now. Can’t deal. I open the door and stagger out. I’ve no idea where I’m going or what I’m gonna do.

  And it doesn’t matter one fucking bit.

  ***

  I walk the streets like a ghost. I pass through my usual haunts, and I hear people greet me, but I have no voice left in me. No coherent thought.

  Ev.

  Could I be wrong? Could there be a misunderstanding? Didn’t she say she was scared of her ex-boyfriend? Was that a lie?

  Or was it the truth? Am I missing something, a big fat clue staring me in the face?

  I finally end up at Damage, and Zane gives me a wary look from his booth as I enter, half-frozen and numb. He talks to me, but I can’t make out the words.

  I grab my tools and turn to look at the reception desk, trying to remember what I’m supposed to be doing here—then Zane takes my arm and shoves me out of the shop.