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

by Jo Raven

  Two stories up, high above the dance floor, couches framed conversation areas, entirely unlike the shoving crowd below in the dance and bar area that seemed designed to corral as many dancers into as small an area as possible. Elfie leaned over the railing that came just under her chin, watching the lines that snaked away from the bar areas. The people looked like waves running up on a beach, organized as they marched toward the bar to buy their drinks, then splashing against the bar and foaming away once they had given up their cash.

  Contrary to that, up in the rarified atmosphere of the VIP area, up near the steel girders of the ceiling where the pot smoke stench was the thickest, short-skirted waitresses flitted, ferrying bottles and glasses to tables and noting charges on small tablets, overpriced charges that continued to accrue as the VIPs drank and passed around the bottles to their entourages in the blasting music and flashing lights from the light battens at eye level with the catwalks.

  In one grouping of couches, a very, very tall man splayed his tentacle-like arms and legs across a purple velvet couch and laughed with a bevy of women who jiggled and drank his booze. He mouthed something that they laughed at and mimed wrapping his leggy fingers around something spherical, and the women laughed some more. Elfie could almost hear them over the screaming music.

  Their guide led them to a grouping of sofas around a coffee table and said that he would send a waitstaff over to see to their needs. Elfie sat on one of the deep sofas but perched on the edge so her feet wouldn’t stick out like she was a baby doll in a stroller.

  Tryp collapsed beside her and spread his long arms over the back of the couches, looking around and grinning.

  She leaned toward him and used her stomach to project her voice over the loud beat and bomp music, “They didn’t even I.D. me.”

  “Hell, no,” Tryp said. “Why would they do that?”

  “Because, liquor laws.”

  “Liquor laws are for the plebes down below. As long as they have a big show of bouncers checking tags for the masses, no one will bother us. I haven’t been carded since Xan hired me and Jonas started calling ahead.”

  “I wondered how you did that, since you just turned twenty-one.”

  He grinned and ruffled his glossy, black curls with one hand. “Yep. One of the many perks of being a fucking rock and roll star. What’re you drinking?”

  “Diet Coke?”

  “Oh, yeah. Good idea. As the wing woman, you’ll want to keep your wits about you. If I grow a pair of beer goggles, don’t let me take an ugly chick back to the hotel, all right?”

  Her jaw dropped open. “Tryp! I can’t believe you. That’s awful.”

  He held up his hands and laughed. “I’m kidding you. What I really need you to do is collect their cell phones. Jonas goes ballistic when sex tapes show up on the internet.”

  “Seriously?” She scooted back from him and kind of wanted to search for sex videos, not that she was curious about sex tapes, and certainly not because she was curious about the walking natural disaster that was Tryp Areleous, or would be as soon as he got plastered enough.

  He said, “Dead serious. Don’t let them get footage of the fucking again.”

  “Okay.” She stretched her horrified mouth into a grin.

  “Now, go get me some women.”

  Some women. Not a woman. Some women.

  Elfie found another spiral staircase and descended toward the seething main floor, hanging onto the handrail for dear life because she wasn’t used to wearing pumps. The slick soles of her shoes slid on the clanging metal stairs.

  Maybe she should have admitted to Tryp that she had never been to a nightclub before. Never. Ever. In her life.

  Maybe she should have elaborated at some point that she had run away from her controlling step-father and oblivious mother when she was seventeen, walking directly into an audition at her community college technical theater class after sleeping at a friend’s house that first night of hiding, and Rock had hired her that next afternoon, and she had slept on the technical bus that very night, leaving Dallas.

  Maybe she should have asked Tryp to tell her what a wing woman was supposed to do.

  Some women.

  Jeez!

  At the bottom of the staircase, she spoke to the bouncer, telling him that she would be right back. He took a hard look at her, scrutinizing her blond braid running down her back and her red dress, before he let her walk away.

  Elfie stepped down that last stair step into the crowd, and it was like stepping off a sand bar and submerging into deep, rough seas that closed above her head.

  People jostled her with elbows and hips, dancing, as she threaded her way through the crowd. She slithered between people until she found herself by a long bar table where people stood and rested their drinks.

  She needed to find beautiful women to take back to Tryp, women who were prettier than she was, women whom Tryp would want to take back to the hotel and fuck, because she was the wing woman.

  She wasn’t sure how her babysitting job had devolved into her playing pimp for him.

  A group of young women, all wearing skin-tight black dresses on their lithe bodies, undulated to the music.

  Elfie eased her way over to them.

  One of the women was wearing a tiara and a white sash that read, “The Bride.”

  Crap.

  Elfie edged back to the bar, where a stacked guy in a tank top was ordering shots. He tossed one back and leered at her. “Did it hurt?” he shouted over the music and hollering crowd.

  “Did what hurt?” she asked, still scanning the crowd for a group of young women to shanghai upstairs for Tryp. No gaggles presented themselves.

  “When you fell from Heaven, because you look like an angel to me.”

  Elfie glared at him. “Are you calling me Satan?”

  She stalked off into the crowd.

  But she was an attractive, young woman alone in a crowd of scamming men and women who were flanked by their friends, and the guy followed her.

  “That’s funny,” he said, parting the crowd behind her with his overbuilt arms. “Let me buy you a drink.”

  “No thanks. I’m not here for that.” She shoved someone’s elbow away that was swinging for her face.

  “Of course you’re here for that.” Tank Top Guy clutched her elbow. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  “Hell, no.” She yanked her arm away from his grasp.

  Two women were standing next to her, watching.

  Tank Top Guy grabbed her upper arm again. “Come back. I don’t bite, unless you like it rough.”

  Panic flared in her chest. “Stop it. I said no.”

  “Hey!” the woman standing beside Elfie slapped Tank Top’s hand. “Leave her the fuck alone, asshole.”

  “This isn’t any of your business, bitch,” the guy said, yanking Elfie closer to him. He stank of cinnamon aftershave, like he was drenched in it. Elfie struggled, but his strong hands wrapped her arm, even though she was pretty strong from tech work.

  The woman, tall and wearing heels, stepped closer to Tank Top and stared him straight in the eyes. “Get your hands off of her, asshole.”

  Elfie struggled against his grip, but it was like her arm was stuck. “Stop it. What the fuck are you doing?”

  Tank Top dragged Elfie after him, but the two women pursued him, yelling, “Stop it! Let her go! Security!”

  Elfie yanked like a fish on a line, but his hand stuck to her arm.

  Two people beside Elfie jiggled and parted, and a man’s hand and tattooed arm shot out of the crowd and grabbed Tank Top’s thick wrist. “Hey, jackass. Let the lady go.”

  “Get your own tail, asshole.”

  Tryp stepped out of the crowd, still holding Tank Top’s wrist. He twisted Tank Top’s arm, ripping his hand off Elfie’s biceps with a hard pinch that was surely going to bruise. “I said let her go.”

  Elfie stepped back out of Tank Top’s range, and Tryp swept her behind him with his other hand.

  Tank Top pu
shed his barrel chest at Tryp. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

  Tryp glared. “Doesn’t matter who I am.”

  The woman who had been rescuing Elfie looked at Tryp. “You’re Tryp Areleous, aren’t you? You’re the drummer, right?”

  Squeals propagated through the crowd like a wave at a football game.

  “Shit.” Tryp grabbed Elfie, holding her against his hard side as he started swimming for the staircase. She held onto his waist because hands snagged her arms, trying to pull her off him.

  Tryp waded through the crowd, pushing people with one arm while his other protected her. Thousands of hands flashed at her, plucking at her shoulders and dress, even grabbing her clothes. She fought them, twisting her shoulders to wrench away, as Tryp pressed the crowd apart.

  Security reached them just moments later and shoved the crowd back. Tryp pressed her closer to his side, under his arm, as he strode back to the staircase. The bouncer let them through and became a solid wall of anger at the crowd behind them.

  A few steps up, Tryp paused and turned, keeping Elfie behind his back. He waved and pumped his fist, shouting, “Rock on!”

  The mass of writhing humans roared.

  He turned back. “Come on.”

  All those people out there were staring at Elfie, glaring at her, as she stood on the stairs. It was like all their eyeballs pinned her to the stairs. The railing rod pressed her back, bruising over her kidneys. She could still feel where that huge guy had grabbed her arm and blocked out the light like a strafing airplane.

  “Elfie.” Tryp touched her hand. “Come on. Let’s go upstairs.”

  She nodded, but her feet wouldn’t move. The rioting mob was staring at her and was going to come for her, was going to tear her apart and she couldn’t move.

  Something warm pried her fingers off the handrail. She looked down, expecting to see someone ready to yank her away, but Tryp was holding her hand.

  “Come on.” He was leaning down, his head by hers. His curls brushed her cheekbone. His voice, so close, sounded husky in her ear. “Walk up the stairs with me.”

  She lifted one foot, and her leg felt like she was caught in deep mud as she hauled herself up the stairs, holding Tryp’s hand.

  At the top of the stairs, she stumbled onto the landing, and Tryp led her back to the couches. “Some wing woman, you are,” he said, his voice light but loud above the thumping music. “I send you down to find women and you nearly started a bar fight.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Pretty fucking rock star of you, starting a bar brawl. The night isn’t complete until I’ve been in a fight, though no one even threatened me with a broken bottle, so it’s a pretty tame evening.” He shoved two glasses at her. “Here’s your Diet Coke, but you can have my whiskey and water, if you want.”

  “That’s okay,” she said. She tried to pick up her soda, but her hand was shaking so badly that it threatened to slosh over the rim. She set the glass back on the table.

  Tryp was watching her. “You want something else?”

  That crowd still roiled and screamed below her feet. “Maybe white wine?”

  Tryp called the waitress over and ordered one for her.

  When the woman was gone, Elfie scooted closer to Tryp because she didn’t want people to eavesdrop. The velvet of the couch brushed her bare thighs where her dress rode up. She whispered, “Thanks for rescuing me.”

  “That tall brunette was going to save you, but you should know karate or something.”

  “I never took that.”

  “The other roadies never bothered you?”

  She hoped he didn’t use that term where the other technicians could hear him, and if he had, she hoped he didn’t drink anything they gave him. “Rock would have killed them.”

  “Rock’s a good guy.”

  “And I carry a heavy wrench in my belt.”

  “Good idea.”

  “And I have bombs. A lot of bombs. I just threaten to shove a pyro down a guy’s crotch, usually while holding something up near their face with flash paper in it, and they don’t mess with me after that.” She patted her thigh, feeling for her gerbs stuffed in the side pockets of her cargo pants, but she was wearing the girlie red dress.

  Tryp laughed, throwing his head back. “I wouldn’t mess with you, either.”

  “But thanks.”

  Tryp adjusted his arm on the back of the couch, rolling his shoulder. “I don’t like when men grab girls. It pisses me off.”

  “Did you have a sister or something?”

  “I have a lot of sisters. Here’s your drink.” He took the wine glass from the woman and set it in front of Elfie on the low table.

  She contemplated it for a minute while she pressed her hands to her thighs, trying to stop them from shaking. “I’m sorry that I suck at being a wing woman.”

  “Don’t be. I’m a rock star. If I don’t dip my wick tonight, there’s always another bar full of more women tomorrow.” He picked up his drink and sipped.

  “You don’t go for the groupies who get backstage?”

  He snorted, nearly blowing his drink out his nose. “I’ve seen it. Don’t fuck with me.”

  Elfie laughed, and her nerves emerged as a titter and a hiccup. “Yeah. I wouldn’t, either.”

  Tryp’s strong arm, the one that had been lying on the back of the couch, curled around her shoulders. “Unless I don’t have to wait until tomorrow.”

  “Uh,” Elfie said, panic flooding her again, tasting like metal in her mouth. She leaned forward to pick up her drink and shifted away from him.

  “I’m kidding, Elfie, but you look great tonight. I didn’t even know that you owned a dress.”

  “I don’t usually wear it when I’m hanging upside-down from the catwalks, focusing lights.”

  “I almost didn’t recognize you in the lobby. I didn’t know your hair was so long.” He picked up her thick, blond braid that fell halfway down her back. His fingers flicked against the skin over her spine, bared in the backless dress. “You usually tie it up.”

  She said, “I never have time to get it cut while we’re on the road.”

  “I’ll bet it looks great down.” He ran his thumb over the brush at the end, watching the strands in his fingers.

  “It’s really long.”

  “Yeah.” He looked up to her eyes, and his dark eyes held steadily, like he was trying to communicate something.

  Elfie blinked. If he was trying to tell her something, she didn’t know what he was talking about.

  He dropped her braid and turned away, sipping his drink. He signaled the waitress over and ordered another drink, a double. “Tell me about what music you like, Elfie.”

  Whatever it was, the moment was over. “I’m supposed to say Killer Valentine, right?”

  “Besides us.”

  “I don’t know.” The other roadies all tended to like death metal rock, anything having to do with Satan or murder. She named some bands that were softer, some blues. “What do you like?”

  “I like a lot of things. Some bands are more the whole package, you know, where I can listen to the drumming and everything else, like Rush and Nirvana. They’re my staples. Sting’s drummer, Vinnie Colaiuta, is interesting. I listen to whoever Gavin Harrison is playing with, and Brann Dailor of Mastodon is phenomenal. And anything Buddy Rich even breathed on.”

  “It must be weird to listen to other bands now.”

  “Yeah, sometimes.” Tryp slid the rest of his drink in his mouth. “Let me knock back a few more of these so I can sleep, and then you can tuck me into bed.”

  “Oh, Tryp, I’m not—” but she didn’t want to lie to him.

  “Just a few. We’ll be out of here in an hour or less.”

  “Do you really need to get drunk to sleep?”

  He shrugged. “It sure as hell helps.”

  Nightmares and Blood

  Tryp stumbled beside Elfie, wishing that he were far drunker than he was. The nightmares were just on
the other side of that thin membrane of willpower, fighting to get through, and as soon as he unclenched his mind to go to sleep, they would pour into him.

  Elfie led him through the hotel hallways, holding him up. Her tiny body under his arm warmed his side.

  Her real name couldn’t be Elfie, he hoped. “What’s your name?” It came out more slurred than he had thought it would.

  “I’m Elfie,” she said. “I’m your pyrotechnics engineer. Come on, let’s pour you into bed. You’re drunk.”

  “I know you’re Elfie. Your real name.”

  She held him up for several more steps, and they passed two hotel doors. “Elsa,” she finally said. “Elsa Hernandez, but everyone calls me Elfie.”

  “Do you want them to call you Elfie?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Sometimes I forget to answer to Elsa.”

  “Okay, Elfie.” He tried not to lean on her fragile shoulders too much, but the floor waved under his feet and the walls blinked into existence in front of him and then vanished.

  A bed rose to meet his face, and he went limp on the sheets. “Elfie, stay with me.”

  “I’m not going to sleep with you, Tryp.” Her voice was light and sweet amid the roaring in his head and the high whine in his ears. His ears rang every night after the concert for hours.

  As he closed his eyes, the hotel walls turned red, and he pried them open again, unwilling to go there yet. He needed more whiskey. “Don’t leave. I’ll die in my sleep and no one will know.”

  “You’ll be okay, Tryp. You’re just wasted.”

  “It’s not that. Please don’t leave.” When she had stayed last night and he had awakened to her in the room, touching his shoulder, still here, he had exhaled for the first time in years. So many years.