Red Hot Alphas: 11 Novels of Sexy, Bad Boy, Alpha Males (Red Hot Boxed Sets Book 2) Page 3

  ***

  Seth comes into my booth after work and cocks a dark brow at me. “Ready?”

  “For what?” Sitting on my stool, I stare morosely at the mess on my working station. I know I need to clean and tidy up before I leave Damage Control, but can’t find the energy.

  That girl is scared of me. She probably thinks I’m a crazy stalker. And I still haven’t had a chance to ask her name. Dammit.

  “Come on, man.” Seth pushes dark strands of hair off his face. He wears black studs in his earlobe and silver bars in the shell of his ear. “Alzheimer’s already? Beers. Pool. Tonight.”

  “Beers,” I repeat, the words slowly sinking in. Now I remember Ocean telling me about it. “A new bar nearby. Halo.”

  “He remembers! It’s a miracle.” Seth squints at some drawings for tattoos I’ve pegged to the cardboard walls of my cubicle. “Coming?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Big fucking surprise,” Seth hisses and turns to go.

  “What the hell is your problem?”

  He turns, his dark eyes flashing. “My problem?”

  Shit. “Hey, man. I just...” I rub the back of my neck. “Fuck. I just don’t feel like it tonight, okay?”

  “No, it’s not okay.” He jabs a finger at me. “You’re all broken up over a chick you don’t even know. Seriously, man? Come have a beer with your bros. It won’t hurt, I swear.”

  That’s how I find myself nodding sheepishly and following Seth out of Damage Control, because he might be intense and in-your-face, but this time he’s damn right. I need to leave this girl alone, whoever she is, get my head out of my ass and spend some time with my brothers. They have my back, and I’ve got a lot more in common with them than with a hazy memory.

  We share nightmares and night terrors. We share a damn shitty past and a frail present, with a sliver of hope for a future. And that sliver is like glue, holding our pieces together. Tying us in an inescapable bond.

  The bar isn’t far from Damage Control, just a few streets down. The sign flashes over the entrance, the word HALO inside—what else?—a yellow halo of blinking lights.

  How fucking original.

  At least the inside is more somber and run-of-the-mill. Black stools at the bar, low tables and chairs. Beer logos are projected on the far wall, changing colors, but otherwise, the lights are dim.

  Someone shouts our names, and we make our way in the half-darkness. The flashes illuminate faces, bodies, gestures as we walk by the tables lining the wall. We reach the bar, and Ocean gets up from his stool and clasps hands with Seth. He lifts his brows when he sees me.

  “I’ll be damned. Look what the cat dragged in.” Ocean grins and grips my hand in a bone-crushing grip, pulling me toward him and clapping me on the back. “Glad you made it, buddy.”

  I frown, trying to pull away, but then the others gather around us—Shane and Jesse, raising their beer bottles in my direction.

  In fact, Jesse presses a chilled bottle into my hand, and I take it. He pumps fists with me, and his clear green eyes crinkle at the corners as he grins widely. He’s the result of an awesome gene cocktail. Though his eyes are green, his skin is like coffee with milk, and his smile is so white it’s blinding. Chicks dig it a lot.

  When I glance around, I find Seth’s gaze on me. He looks amused. Well, as amused as Seth can possibly look, his thick arms folded over his chest, dark hair hiding his face—but I can tell because he snorts softly and shakes his shaggy head.

  “Haven’t seen you at the gym lately,” Jesse says, dragging me to the bar and gesturing at a free stool. “Rafe was asking about you.”

  Damn. I’ve been so obsessed with seeing the girl across the street, with speaking to her and finding out if she’s Ev, I stopped all other activity.

  “Have you been okay?” Jesse gives me a long look, and I shrug.

  “Fine.” On most days I’m okay. The after effects of the disease linger, but I’m getting better.

  “Awesome.” Shane takes the stool next to mine and gulps down half his beer. His long black hair is caught at the nape. Silver hoops decorate his ears, from which metal tribal feathers and a small dreamcatcher dangle. “Can’t wait for you to return to the gym, so I get to push your face into the dirt.”

  “You wish, asshole.” Rafe has been teaching us self-defense and kickboxing. His friend, Asher, drops by sometimes and helps train us.

  “Maybe he’s not done running after skirts,” Shane mutters, deliberately looking at the far wall and tipping up his bottle.

  “A specific skirt.” Jesse winks.

  Motherfucker. “Shut up.” I scowl at my beer. “It’s not like that.”

  “Oooh, I’m scared.” Shane gives a theatrical shiver. “What will Micah do to me if I don’t shut it? My knees are knocking together.”

  “Don’t mind Shane. He’s just desperate for pussy,” Seth says from somewhere behind me. “He got carpal tunnel syndrome from wanking off every night.”

  Shane growls and gives him the finger.

  Jesse chuckles. “Yeah. At least you’re into a real chick, man, not bad porn.”

  “I’m not into anyone,” I snap, a bit too loud, and push my beer on the counter. “Cut it out, suckers.”

  “Now you’re telling us what we can or can’t say?” Shane fairly snarls at me.

  “And if I am?” My fists itch. Maybe a good brawl might take out some of the tension I can feel in my shoulders. “Got a problem with that, asshole?”

  This was a motherfucking bad idea. What I want is to stop thinking about her, and they won’t give me a moment’s peace, goddammit.

  Especially when Shane curls his lip and says, “Maybe I should go check out this chick that’s got you all twisted up in knots. Say hi.”

  Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m on my feet and in Shane’s face, a fistful of his black t-shirt bunched up in my hand. “Back the fuck off, do you hear me? Don’t even think about talking to her. Fucker.”

  “Hey, hey.” Ocean materializes next to me, slinging an arm over my shoulders and hauling me back. “Relax, sunshine. And you, guys, drop it. Let’s not chase him away just yet, now that he finally showed up.”

  “Not my fault he can’t take a joke,” Shane mutters, returning to his beer. Seth hovers beside him and whispers something in his ear.

  “Whatever,” I hiss, shaking Ocean’s arm off and downing the rest of my beer. I lift the bottle for the bartender to get me another.

  The bartender asks for my ID, and I shove my fake one in his face. He still doesn’t look too pleased. Not one of us is twenty-one, and I guess it shows. He scowls at me but finally pulls up another beer and slides it on the bar in front of me.

  “Drink up,” Shane says, not looking at me. “Can’t wait to whip your ass at pool. Oh and by the way, loser buys the next round. That will be you.”

  “Dream on, motherfucker. I’m gonna beat your stupid ass so hard you won’t know what hit you.”

  Tension twangs on the air. I can see Ocean opening his mouth to say something, and for once I think it might be good if he does, when Shane snorts and raises his bottle.

  “We’ll see about that,” he says and gulps down the rest of his beer. “Come on. Missed you at pool, man. The others suck.”

  The release of tension in the air is so sudden I swear my damn ears pop. Jesse and Ocean wander to the pool tables, and I grab my beer and follow. Looks like the evening won’t be a total loss, after all. With the almost-fight, it’s the first time in days I stop thinking about the girl across the street for a while. Shane wins the first game of pool. I win the second, and the evening rolls without more incidents. I have a good time with the guys.

  Problem is, I know tomorrow the respite will be over, and my obsession with the mysterious, sweet-smelling girl will return.

  ***

  I’m lost inside a city that has to be Madison but isn’t. The shop facades are foreign, the alleys warp into different dimensions. I’m sick. I know I am, but there’s n
othing I can do. My lungs are twisted and aching, unable to draw air. I roll in the dirt. The walls melt like toffee, leaving behind them white skeletons with grinning skulls, caught in giant black spider webs.

  A hand slips into mine and squeezes. Eyes like warm honey look into mine. “I’m Ev,” she whispers. “Hang on in there.”

  But the skeletons grab her and draw her away and she screams as she’s pulled into the spider web and left to die. I twist and force my heavy body to move, to go after her, help her. A shout catches in my throat, suffocating.

  “Wake up. Micah, wake up!” Big hands clench on my shoulders and shake me roughly until my eyes blink open. I take in a small room with posters on the walls and a man’s face over me.

  Seth. And this is my bedroom. Sweat is drying on my face and bare chest, and my breath rattles in my lungs.

  “Man,” he says, shaking his head and standing up, “you have some nasty nightmares.”

  I say nothing. What’s there to say? He also has his fair share of bad dreams. I hear him shout sometimes in the night. At least I know he understands.

  “What was it this time?” he asks quietly as he steps away from the bed. Arms folded over his cotton-clad chest, he comes to a stop in front of the few sketches I have taped to the wall.

  “Same as usual,” I reply shortly.

  “The streets?”

  I scrub my hand over my face. My eyes itch. “Yeah.”

  Better than the other dreams of the group home that leave me feeling sick. At least this one had a good ending.

  Seth cocks his head, his black hair hanging over one shoulder, studying my sketches. There are abstract designs and cartoon-like women, and a face I’ve seen in my memory a thousand times this past year. The face I’ve just seen in my dream.

  “That her?” he asks.

  I ignore the question, hoping he’ll drop it. The sky outside my window is growing light. I groan as I sit up, swinging my legs off the bed. The floor is fucking cold. The air is cold.

  “What happened to the heater?” No wonder I’m dreaming of the streets. Although it’s April, it’s still damn cold.

  “Broke down again. I’ll call Shane to have a look later.”

  The time on my phone reads six in the morning. Fucking hell. We only got home a few hours ago. No wonder I feel like hell warmed over.

  Which begs the question... “What are you doing up anyway?”

  “Couldn’t sleep.” He wanders away from my drawings and stops at the door of my bedroom. “So what will you do?”

  “About what?”

  “Her.” He nods toward the drawing as he steps out. “Kill it, or leave it.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “The fear, man. Talking about fear. You’re afraid to talk to her, why, I don’t know. Kill the fear, or leave it and be done with it.”

  He makes it sound so damn easy.

  I down three cups of black coffee before my brain can function enough for me to shower and get ready. I decide to go for a run. I need to get back my strength, and the illness took a huge toll on me. It’s only recently I can jog for more than ten minutes without coughing my lungs out and feeling like I’ll never get my breath back. Getting stronger every day.

  Kill it, or leave it.

  The words reverberate in my head as I run through busy streets and parks and turn back toward the apartment. My footfalls thump to the rhythm of my heartbeat. I climb the stairs and bend over, coughing.

  Kill it, or leave it.

  I’ll talk to her. So what if she thinks I’m a stalker? I’ll just cross the street and say, hey, are you Ev? Because you saved my life, you know, and I wanna thank you for that.

  Lame. Probably stupid. But it might help me sleep better, knowing I did it.

  So of course it makes sense, with my rotten luck in life, that the girl across the street doesn’t show up, not this afternoon, or the one after. She’s gone.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  EVANGELINE

  Joel is furious. He paces my bedroom, his strides eating up the space, his blue eyes flashing at every turn.

  “What the hell were you thinking, Evie? Why can’t you be careful?”

  I wince, and I pretend it’s because of my leg—which is propped up on a pillow, an ice pack on my throbbing knee. My almost-fall the other day screwed it up quite a bit.

  It’s not that bad, I tell myself. By tomorrow I’ll be able to walk properly again, and by the week’s end, I’ll be as good as new.

  I should be glad it isn’t worse. I should be glad Micah kept me from falling and spraining my ankle or maybe even breaking my leg again. A shudder goes through me at the thought.

  And I shudder again at the memory of his muscular arms around me, his strong body pressed to mine, those sky-blue eyes fixed on me... His scent of burned ink and musk, the intensity in his gaze, in his voice... I should be creeped out that he watched me and followed me—but I’m not. The way he helped me and then held me, his low voice... he made me feel safe.

  Which is stupid. I don’t know him. His behavior is odd. He’s... so hot.

  Oh God...

  “Evie? Have you heard a word I’ve said?”

  My cheeks burn. “Sure.”

  “Haven’t you learned that running through the town like that is dangerous? Especially with your leg still so weak. Wasn’t one accident enough?” My brother shakes his head. “Why do you have to go to all the seedy places?

  “I didn’t go to any seedy places, Joel. I was downtown.”

  “Exactly. Why can’t you stay near home?”

  Anger warms my chest. “Why? You moved out and have your life. What am I, a prisoner or an invalid?”

  “Neither.” His voice softens and he comes to stand in front of me. He kneels, putting his hands on the bed. His eyes are like a cat’s, green and golden. He’s a looker, my big brother, that’s for sure. “Dammit, Evie. I want what’s best for you.”

  “Really?” I lift my chin. “Getting out of the house is good for me. Meeting new people is good for me.”

  “Your homeless friends.” His nose wrinkles, and he gets up, his face closing off again. “They’re the reason you had the accident in the first place. Why can’t you let this childish obsession go? Why not let the agencies and organizations do their thing? Why do you feel the need to meddle in their affairs?”

  “Childish obsession?” I sit up. “Are you serious? Besides, they aren’t the reason an idiot run me over with his bike.”

  “You were out there looking for trouble.”

  “I was out for a jog.” I throw my hands up in the air. “Jesus, Joey. What’s wrong with you?”

  “What’s wrong with me?” He grimaces. “I don’t get into trouble and bring grief to my parents. I don’t break up with a nice guy for no reason. I don’t go—”

  “Is this about Blake?”

  “No, this is about thinking of others, not just yourself.”

  “I think of others! Is this a joke?”

  “Dammit, Evie!” His jaw clenches. “You just won’t listen. You make us all worry. That’s selfish. And what about your future? What about college? What about thinking ahead?”

  My mouth opens and closes. In this family, no matter what I do or say, it’s always turned on me.

  “Going to meet with the guys,” Joel says and turns to go. “Do me a favor and stay out of trouble, okay?”

  He leaves before I find my voice. What use is answering anyway? I’m just never right, no matter what I do.

  And worse still, a tiny doubt clouds my mind, a treacherous voice saying, what if he’s right? Not for breaking up with Blake, but about roaming the streets, thinking I can make a difference on my own?

  I lean back on the pillows and close my eyes, feeling tired and defeated. Because, in the end, I have nothing to show for my efforts—no victories, no people saved, no sign I did something worthwhile. Just a leg that smarts in heavy weather, an ugly limp and whole lot of heartache.

  ***


  Thankfully, the bus stop isn’t far from the sports store. I step off the bus and keep my gaze down. To my embarrassment, I have to use the walking stick I had after the surgery on my leg. It’s a purple and white stick, decorated with flowers like a starburst. For a walking aid, it’s quite pretty.

  Oh sure, how incredibly sexy, Ev.

  Yeah, as if anyone is watching. It’s morning time, and the tattoo shop is still closed. I hurry past it, my stick tapping on the sidewalk.

  Someone steps out of a side street, blocking my way, and I jerk back, my stick screeching on the sidewalk. The guy grins at me and for a moment I just stare at him, stunned.

  Blake.

  “What are you doing here?” I blurt, and I hate how my voice shakes. I lift my chin. Don’t know why Blake scares me so much. He’s never hit me or anything, but he’s been giving me the heebie-jeebies lately.

  He takes a step closer and I fight not to back away. Dressed in dark jeans and a leather jacket, his dark hair styled back, he smirks at me.

  “What do you want, Blake?”

  “I wanted to talk.” He waves a hand airily. “Since you won’t answer my phone calls, I thought to come in person.”

  “How did you know where to find me?”

  “Joel told me you work at this store nearby.” He clucks his tongue. “You know you could do much better with your life, Evie.”

  “My life is fine, thank you, and it’s none of your concern.”

  He takes another step toward me, and I thrust my hand forward to keep him back. He snorts. “Really, Evie? That how you treat your boyfriend?”

  “Let me refresh your memory: we broke up.”

  “No, you broke up. I never did. You like to play games, Evie. Which is why I choose to ignore your little ultimatums and your little tantrums every time.”

  A chill goes through me. He’s crazy. “What do you want?”

  His lip curls. “If you won’t see me, then you won’t be seeing your homeless buddies, either.”