Backlash (Winter's Wrath #1)

by Bianca Sommerland

  The drumbeat stopped suddenly and both Brave and Alder turned their backs on the crowd. Silence spread around the venue as the bassist dropped his guitar and ran to the drum kit. A low thrum of unease spread around her, and she bit her bottom lip as the rhythm guitarist stepped up to Alder’s side. Alder nodded and picked up the mic.

  “Those of you who follow us online know some shit went down last week. At Walmart.” He gave the crowd that same sheepish smile he’d given her earlier. A few people laughed, but the low murmurs were full of concern. “Tate’s toughed it out for the last few shows, but now he needs to listen to the fucking doctor and get some rest. What do you think?”

  The crowd roared and a chant started. “Tate! Tate! Tate!”

  “That’s what I thought.” Alder glanced over as a roadie helped the drummer off the stage. The drummer gave the crowd a parting thumbs up. Alder inclined his head at his young band mate. “His buddy, Derrick, is the drum tech and he’s got some mad skills. We’ll probably lose him to another band before long, but you wanna see what he can do while we’ve still got him?”

  By the deafening response, the crowd approved. From the side of the stage, a teen with messy, bleach blond hair wearing a black Winter’s Wrath t-shirt ambled over to the drums, giving a shy wave halfway there.

  Brave took the mic from his brother, a wicked smile on his lips. “That boy’s so getting laid tonight. Am I right, ladies?”

  All the women in the crowd screamed in accord.

  The woman standing beside Danica, another author whose name she was pretty sure was Sasha White, leaned close. “Total sub. Not my type, but if I ever write a Domme, she could so teach that boy a few things.”

  Danica’s cheeks were blazing. She ducked her head. “I swear, you all could find inspiration anywhere.”

  “Absolutely.” Sasha grinned at her. “The way you’re looking at the guitarist is definitely going in a book.”

  Thankfully, the band started playing before Danica had to make some lame-assed protest. The fans didn’t seem to notice the new drummer didn’t have the unique sound of the man he’d replaced. Then again, the guitarists were giving it their all, lengthening their solos and pulling off some crazy antics that drove the fans wild. The rhythm guitarist swung his guitar around his neck, never missing a note. The bassist dropped to his knees during Alder’s solo, curving his hands around the back of Alder’s thighs as Alder threw his head back and thrust his hips.

  Of all the things Danica had fantasized about, two guys hadn’t really hit her radar. But watching the men toss all sexual restraints aside changed that. She covered her mouth with her hand when Brave grabbed the bassist by his hair and bit the side of his neck.

  Shoving Brave, Alder growled something his mic didn’t catch. The bassist stood between them, smiling at the crowd as he continued to play. Brave didn’t miss a beat as he roared into the mic, but Danica caught the absence of Alder’s vicious riffs. They returned so quickly, she might have imagined the slip, but part of her wondered if the animosity was completely staged.

  After Winter’s Wrath finished their set, the group of authors and readers asked Danica to join them at the bar. She went, not as drawn to the music with the next band as she had been with ‘their boys’. She chatted with the women for a while, downing a couple more rum and cokes before asking the bartender for a water so she didn’t get wasted. As much fun as she was having, this was still part of her job and the night was only beginning.

  The attention of the women around her shifted and she turned to see what they were all looking at. She took a gulp of her water as her mouth went dry. A door at the other end of the bar had swung open and several members of the band came out. First was the bassist, with the drummer who looked a little pale, and was moving slowly. He covered his mouth as he coughed and the bassist patted his back, gesturing to the bartender.

  “Can you fix my boy a hot toddy?” He watched the drummer sit on a stool, then leaned on the bar. “One more night, Tate. If you’re not better by tomorrow, you’re going back to the hospital.”

  Tate muttered thanks to the bartender as a steaming mug was placed in front of him. “I’ll be fine. Just lost my breath a bit.” He took a sip and grimaced. “Ugh, this is nasty. Can’t I just have a shot of whiskey?”

  “Nope. Drink up.”

  The rest of the guys joined them, all focused on the youngest member of the band. Danica tried to follow the hushed conversation of the other women, but she couldn’t shift her gaze from Alder. He looked so worried; she wanted to go hug him. And then hug Tate—very carefully, considering the way he pressed his hand to his side and cringed.

  Handing out hugs. Yep, that would be the perfect way to approach them.

  Alder put his arm over Tate’s shoulders. “You need to get checked out. I’ll go with you. Won’t be that bad.”

  “Will you guys lay off already? Malakai’s been on my case since you got off the damn stage. Bad enough I needed to be fucking replaced during the fucking show.” He tipped the mug to his lips, his throat working as he swallowed fast. “I’m not missing the after party because you all wanna play mommy. Like it or not, I’m getting my freak on tonight. YOLO, bitches.”

  Brave groaned and waived the bartender over. “I need a drink. You promise to never say that again and you can do whatever you want.”

  Once they were all served, the guys changed the subject, discussing everything from their next album to how they planned to spend the next few days in Vegas. Danica found it easier to pay attention to the authors brainstorming than listen in on how many strippers the band planned to fuck. She did notice Alder wasn’t taking part in the conversation, but there was no way she could casually go over and say ‘Hi’ now. There were groupies hovering, waiting for their chance to pounce, and Danica refused to be counted among them.

  Did that make her stuck up? Maybe, but she’d been conditioned for years to focus on appearances, physical and otherwise. Kinda funny, considering how her perceived appearance would change if all went well tonight. Either way, her best bet would be to wait for the right opening.

  “You’re not gonna find what you want at the after party, Tate. And Cole would have your head.” Alder exchanged a look with Malakai that Danica couldn’t read. “Come on, there’s a place not too far you might like.”

  A nod from Tate and Alder led the way out the exit by the bar.

  Danica sighed. So much for that plan.

  Looks like I’ll be attending the after party all on my own.

  Hitting on strange men and hoping they didn’t expect too much. She’d been telling the truth about knowing how to defend herself, and she’d had to prove it in the past, but rather than worrying about fending off horny guys, she’d been looking forward to spending time with Alder.

  She hadn’t known him when this had all started though, so really, nothing had changed.

  Except the twinge of disappointment that didn’t fade as the headlining band finished their set and it was time for her to leave her new friends with a promise to connect online. She made her way to the Vanity Nightclub, which had been taken over by the bands, allowing entry to only those with special passes—like the one she had. After showing the bouncer her card, she slipped in, happy that she’d at least managed to get here before the crowds.

  Choosing a corner booth so she could observe before she dove in, she ordered a stiff drink and settled in, doing her best to look relaxed.

  She had a feeling if Alder had been here, she wouldn’t have had to pretend.

  Chapter Three

  The Piranha Nightclub was definitely the most colorful club Alder had ever been to. Dropping the cash for the bottle service that would get them into the VIP section, he followed the server through the lounge lined, outdoor patio, up to their private table in the skyboxes with Tate on his heel. Theatre smoke drifted around them as they made their way up the stairs, heavy technopop pounding an irritating beat that made him wonder how long he could put up with being here.

&
nbsp; A few drinks and five minutes of Tate doing his thing on the dance floor should give them some good prospects. If Tate hit it off with some guy, they could bring him to the after party. And then whatever Tate decided to do with the guy in his room was his business.

  Maybe.

  Unlikely.

  Serving himself and Tate some rum and coke from the supplies on the table, Alder studied the younger man. Tate had been pretty open about wanting to experience all kinds of wild sex with men, women, and maybe a combination of the two. The kid wasn’t a virgin, but how much of his talk was just that? Even now, he held his glass to his lips and stared at the crowd on the edge of the balcony overlooking the dance floor in horrified wonder. There was no telling if it was because of the blatant sexuality displayed between the men, or simple inexperience. Either way, he was in way over his head.

  Good thing they weren’t downstairs.

  If Alder let Tate take off with some guy, Malakai would kill him. No doubt about it. The rest of the band might jokingly treat Tate like a little brother, but the bassist seriously considered him family.

  Not that Alder would let anything happen to Tate, but it was hard to figure out how much supervision the kid needed. His brothers never gave two shits where he disappeared to when they used to hit the clubs together. Valor, the eldest, had always hooked up with some chick early in the night. Then kept her around to show off before taking her home. Brave liked a bit of a challenge, so he’d work the crowd, looking for the first guy or girl that wasn’t tripping over themselves to get with him.

  Alder had done all right, but he didn’t have Tate’s messed up past. What if someone offered Tate drugs? What if…?

  Bringing him out was fucking brilliant. What was the plan again?

  Well, avoiding fucking the kid himself just to shut him up was part of it. Rejecting Tate’s teasing advances was starting to feel like kicking a puppy. Because he knew exactly why Tate reached out to him, why Tate had decided to open up to him about the urges that had become more than curiosity.

  Tate slept around almost as much as Brave did, but he was sweet to the groupies he messed with. A few of them he’d actually met online and still kept in touch with. If anyone was getting used, it was Tate. But cute little college girls and cougars would only break Tate’s heart.

  Men could do some serious physical damage. Tate had spent the last three years with either the band, or venue security, shielding him from the rowdy metal fans. Safe behind his drum kit, he didn’t even make contact with the nuts in the pit. Alder wasn’t sure the drummer could even throw a punch.

  “We don’t have to stay if you don’t want, Alder.” Tate refilled his glass, staring at the ice floating around the fizzing Coke as he cleared his throat. “It was cool of you to bring me here, but I know you hate this kinda music, and there’s too many people and—”

  “Tate.” Alder smiled when Tate looked up. The mix of eagerness and fear in the younger man’s eyes made his mind up for him. “We’re here for a few days. Maybe you meet someone, maybe you don’t. You’ve got a better chance here than at a gig.”

  Tonguing his bottom lip, Tate eyed the group of men closest to their table. He blushed and dropped his gaze when several gave him appreciative glances. “Am I looking for someone just to fuck me though? Like, aren’t I supposed to wear something special to make it obvious I’m…available?”

  “First of all, I can’t tell you what you’re looking for, kid. Second, no one’s gonna think you’re available if you’re sitting here next to me.” Alder leaned back, propped his ankle on his knee, and made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Go dance.”

  “You afraid people will think I’m yours?” The fear disappeared as Tate gave him a slow, provocative smile. “You know, this would be a whole lot simpler if you’d just—”

  “No, Tate.” Alder rolled his eyes, reaching out to snatch Tate’s glass before the boy got too much liquid courage. “Keep it up and I’ll tell the first guy that asks about you that you’re a top.”

  “What if I am a top?”

  Alder snorted.

  Tate gave him the finger, but he managed to get to the railing without any more stalling. Resting his hands on the barrier of the skybox, he began to sway a little to the music, transfixed on what he saw below. According to what Alder had been told about the club, the Go-Go boys were probably down there. Yet another thing Tate hadn’t experienced.

  It didn’t take long before Tate lost his uncharacteristic shyness and started moving in a way that was gonna get guys stuffing bills in his waistband. Shimmying low, he worked his hips in a slow thrust as he rose, lifting the bottom of his shirt to bare his tight abs, showing off the cut lines of his pelvis as he shoved his jeans down an extra inch. He ran one hand over the solid length pressing against his zipper and his eyes drifted shut.

  A man slid onto the bench at Alder’s side. Alder gave him a bored look.

  “He’s something else.” The man, built like a bear with a shaved head and thick arms that could snap Tate like a twig, watched Tate with a dark, predatory look in his eyes. “If he was mine, there’s no way I’d let him put on a show like that.”

  Pulling out a pack of smokes, Alder took his time lighting one, then shrugged. “He’s happier when I don’t keep him on a short leash.”

  “Yeah?” The man scratched his clean-shaven jaw. “So…do you let him play? I’ve got a boy. Cute like him. Wouldn’t mind lending him to you for a couple hours.”

  The man pointed at a preppy young blond with pale skin and big eyes. He was cute, in a clean-cut, jean ironing kinda way. Brave would have taken the deal in a second, even though Tate wasn’t his to trade off.

  But Alder wasn’t his brother.

  “Sorry man, but I’m possessive.” Alder let the smoke out between his lips slowly, hoping the dude didn’t press the issue. As confident as he was in his fighting skills, this guy was built like a damn dump truck. He could run Alder down without breaking a sweat. And he’d have to, because Alder wasn’t letting him anywhere near Tate if he was still standing.

  The man simply grunted. “Not that I blame you, but…damn. You’re one lucky man.”

  After the big guy left, another shortly took his place. Sleazy-looking creep. Tate wouldn’t have liked him. Or the one after, who knocked over Alder’s drink and smelled like tequila and ass.

  Finally, a man that looked close to Tate’s age approached Tate, rather than Alder. Alder sat forward as Tate stopped dancing and the two started chatting. The man was only a bit taller than Tate, wearing a snug grey tank top that showed off some damn tight arms. He probably played some kind of sport. He had an earnest smile and he wasn’t being pushy, just showing interest.

  So when Tate brought him back to the table, Alder decided not to scare him off. Or pretend Tate was already taken.

  “This is Mitch.” Tate practically bounced onto the padded bench, grinning like a moron when Mitch slid in beside him. “He only listens to country music and he plays baseball. He can’t believe I never watched a game. He asked if I was from Canada.”

  Alder chuckled, holding out his hand to shake Mitch’s. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Tate says you work together?” Mitch’s brow rose, as though he was silently asking if there was more between them. “He was pretty vague.”

  “He would be, but yes. We’re coworkers.”

  “And you’re leaving here to go to a party?”

  Really? Alder glanced over at Tate. The vagueness made sense, if Tate didn’t want his new friend treating him like some kind of celebrity, but there was no way to keep that secret while schmoozing with some of the biggest names in the industry. Bands that had performed all week had hung around for the party, so the guest list was pretty impressive. One of the reasons Alder didn’t want to miss it completely.

  “Nothing much is happening now, but we could drop in after…” Tate bit his bottom lip. “Umm, well, Mitch invited us to his place for a couple of drinks.”

  Us? That was�
�unexpected. Alder arched a brow at Mitch, whose cheeks immediately went red. Was this Tate’s idea? If it was, then Alder could provide some awkward backup until the kid was comfortable, then ghost out when things got hot and heavy.

  Alder checked the time on his phone. “Yeah, I guess we could swing by. Have a drink and you can get changed if you want.”

  “Me?” Mitch looked down at his clothes, then at Tate and Alder, who were both wearing black jeans and black dress shirts, Tate’s with the sleeves ripped off. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

  “Nothing, Alder’s being a fucking snob.” Tate shot Alder a dirty look, leaning close to Mitch to whisper in his ear. “I think you’re perfect.”

  I hope these two fuck quick. Alder suppressed the urge to gag as Mitch put his arm around Tate’s waist and whispered something back to him. Otherwise, I’m ditching the kid and telling Malakai there’s no way someone this sappy can be a serial killer.

  “I brought my jeep—I haven’t been drinking or anything.” Mitch started walking, his hand on the small of Tate’s back. “Usually I come here, watch the dancers for a bit, then go home alone. I think I got lucky tonight.”

  Hell, can we trade him for a serial killer?

  Fifteen minutes later and they were all in Mitch’s condo, a fancy place there was no way a man Mitch’s age should be able to afford. Only, Mitch was apparently the son of a plastic surgeon. And played pro-baseball. He made more money than most rock stars.

  Nursing his beer while the two made out, Alder checked his phone again. It couldn’t have been just five freakin’ minutes since they’d gotten here?

  He really didn’t need to be here at all. “Look, guys. It’s been great and everything, but—”

  “Wait.” Mitch pulled away from Tate and shot to his feet. “Please stay. I’ll make it worth your while.”