Backlash (Winter's Wrath #1)

by Bianca Sommerland

  Tate blinked up at Mitch like he’d never seen the man before. Unfortunately, Alder had a feeling he knew exactly what kind of man Mitch was. Rich, pro-athlete used to getting whatever the fuck he wanted.

  “How are you gonna do that, Mitch?” Alder rose from the loveseat he’d been reclined on while the pair had been making out. “I only came for the drink.”

  “Let me suck your dick. You don’t seem like the type that needs to be seduced. You want a good fuck? I can give you that.” He approached Alder, dropping to his knees and reaching for his zipper. “I’ll let you use me however you want. You fuck me, we’ll both fuck him. It will be a wild night.”

  “You touch me and you’ll have to give your daddy a call to fix your face, pretty boy.” Alder couldn’t even work up the energy to get mad. He should have figured something was up when Mitch was so damn nice.

  What kind of guy picked up another guy and asked his friend to come back to his place? Fuck, if Alder hadn’t been so worried about Tate, he would have been suspicious.

  Letting out a tired sigh, Alder looked over at Tate. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  Without a word, Tate turned his back on Mitch and made his way out the front door. Alder stiffened when Mitch put a hand on his arm before he could make his own exit.

  “I handled this all wrong. Get him to come back.” Mitch tightened his grip when Alder tried to pull away. “I didn’t mean to be so blunt. I just thought you’d appreciate me being honest.”

  “Oh, I do.” Alder peeled Mitch’s fingers off his arm. “Good night, Mitch.”

  Mitch’s eyes narrowed. “Seriously? You’re going to give up a sure thing for that fucking twink?”

  Hand on the man’s neck before his brain had a chance to catch up; Alder held Mitch up against the wall and forced himself to breath slow and steady. He’d had a temper as a teen, but he’d outgrown that shit. Somewhat.

  Five years ago, he’d have laid Mitch out on the floor in a bloody mess. Lucky for him, Alder had learned to restrain himself. This asshole wasn’t worth the jail time.

  “Lock up when I leave. Some of Tate’s friends aren’t as nice as I am.” He released the man and took a step back. “If the boy isn’t his usual, happy self, I have no problem giving them directions to your front door.”

  Out on the curb, Alder lit another cigarette, the thick taste of ash in his mouth making him reconsider the sponsorship he’d been offered by the e-cig company. Quitting while on tour never seemed like a good idea, but he was sick of feeling like shit every time he leaned on the addiction for relief from all the stress.

  Tate bummed a cigarette and sat cross-legged beside him on the pretty white rocks lining the edge of the sidewalk. “Thank you.”

  “For what? Letting that dick play you?”

  “No. For just being here.” Tate rubbed a hand over his face. “I know I’m a pain in the ass. I just…the rest of you know what you’re doing. You take what you want and you don’t give a fuck. I want that, but…well, obviously, I’m the same loser I always was. People keep giving me chances, and I keep screwing up.”

  “Don’t talk like that. You’re doing just fine.” Alder put his arm around Tate’s shoulders. “Fucking a dude isn’t going to change much.”

  “You don’t know that. I’m…I don’t know. Like, lost or something. I thought focusing on the music would be enough.”

  “The touring schedule is just getting to you. We all need a break.” Alder palmed his phone. “Let me call a cab. We’ll hit the party and have some fun. Get this shit out of your head.”

  “Don’t bother.” Tate pointed at a van cruising down the street toward them. “I called Jesse.”

  A small smile crept across Alder’s lips as he stood, then grimaced the second he spotted who else was in the van. He quickly cut Malakai off on the passenger side before the fuming man could get too far.

  Malakai slammed the heel of his palm into the center of Alder’s chest. “I suggest you move, Trousseau.”

  “Drop it, Malakai.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me? You were bringing him to the club. What the fuck are you doing here?” Malakai motioned to the mixture of lavish condos and massive houses around them. “You think he needs to be messing with people like this?”

  Tate tried to step between them. “Mal—”

  Alder shoved him aside. “Like what? Am I suppose to screen his boyfriend’s incomes before handing him a condom and saying ‘Make me proud, son’?”

  “He doesn’t need you getting him laid.”

  The second time Tate tried to interrupt, Jesse pulled him back. “Don’t bother. They’re both too smart to keep this going for long. Give them a minute to figure out how ridiculous they’re being.”

  How the fuck am I being ridiculous? Alder scowled at Jesse, then sighed. “I was his goddamn wingman for the night. Jesus, Malakai, he’s not a fucking child.” Screw good intensions. Alder could be at the after party, chilling with an ice-cold beer, talking music with some of his idols. Instead, he’d wasted his night, Tate felt like shit, and Malakai was flipping out.

  And just to make things even more perfect, he was pretty sure he heard sirens in the distance. Getting closer.

  “These people don’t take guys like us seriously, Alder. He was slumming.” Malakai’s anger had lost some energy. He messaged his temples with his fingers. “Shit, I’m not even mad at you. Just…I promised his gran I’d take care of him.”

  “So did I, asshole.” Alder grinned when Malakai’s lips quirked up at the edges. “How about neither of us tell her about the rich dick. That way we still get brownies next time we visit.”

  Malakai inclined his head. “Deal.”

  They both turned to find Tate gapping at them and Jesse smirking like he wanted to say ‘I told you so.’ Alder shrugged. So, he wasn’t babysitter of the year. He and Malakai were good. Despite how smart Jesse seemed to think Alder was, the plan to get Tate a random hookup had been stupid.

  Oh, and the cops were coming. Maybe they should make themselves scarce.

  Jesse climbed in behind the wheel, starting the van as the rest of them took their seats. They cleared the upscale district and reached the hotel parking not long after. Whatever Malakai had been chatting with Tate about seemed to have cheered the kid up, so maybe their fucked up little side trip hadn’t ruined the night after all.

  The music in the Vanity Nightclub sucked, but at least it wasn’t the techno crap that grated at the inside of Alder’s skull. He spotted Connor at a booth with another band and dragged a chair over to join them, Jesse, Tate and Malakai squeezing in at either side.

  Connor, as usual, didn’t waste any time. Or care who was there listening. He gestured at Tate with his bottle of Coors light. “So how sore are you?”

  Malakai’s jaw ticked. Alder braced himself to intercede if the bassist decided the band didn’t need a rhythm guitarist. Or a conscious one anyway.

  “What makes you think I’m the one who’d be sore?” Tate swiped a drink off the table, earning a dirty look from the lead singer of a local indie punk band. Taking a swig, Tate gave Connor a smug smile. “You want details?”

  “Not really.” Connor reached over to pat Tate on the shoulder like he was a proud daddy who’d just been told his son hit a game winning homerun. “You seem like you’re in a good mood. Tell me you ain’t gonna call him in the morning and I’ll consider that some damn good progress.”

  “I didn’t even get his name.” Tate polished off the drink, then waved over a waitress to order another round. He was putting on such a good act, it wasn’t hard to figure out why it had taken his grandmother so long to see the dangerous path he’d been headed when he was younger. If Tate didn’t want you to worry, he’d convince you everything was unicorns pissing rainbows.

  Alder knew better, but the kid seemed fine for the moment, so might as well leave him be and enjoy the rest of the night. He thanked the waitress when she brought him a fresh beer, then took a slow, refreshing drink
of the rich microbrew. Not his favorite kind of beer, he was a simple man, but Tate had probably ordered Malakai’s favorite to get the bassist in a better mood.

  The conversation around him was relaxed, with the members of the punk band asking questions about the business and soaking up all the information they could. The lead singer asked Jesse if he’d consider sticking around and helping them hire some roadies.

  Without taking his eyes off the dance floor, Jesse chuckled. “You don’t need roadies yet, man. Do the work yourself for the first few years, at least until you start hitting bigger venues and have too much equipment to handle. No point in spreading your budget too thin before you’re even close to a living wage.”

  “I wish we’d hit it as fast as you all. You must be swimming in dough.”

  The punk band wasn’t gonna make it very far if that’s what they believed. Alder exchanged a look with Malakai. Tate choked on his beer, he was laughing so hard. Malakai’s firm pat on the back came off as less helpful, and more to shut him up.

  Curious to see what Jesse couldn’t seem to stop staring at, Alder glanced over at the dance floor. First, all he saw was Brave, dancing with some chick.

  Then, all he saw was Brave, dancing with the chick. The girl he’d met in front of the nail salon. The one who’d painted his nails. He hadn’t thought much about her since he’d rushed off to start the show, because he hadn’t even gotten a chance to ask her name.

  And now, here she was, with Brave.

  Brave, who had a boyfriend.

  That’s what Jesse was to him, right? Alder could accept Jesse being in love with someone else. He could even accept that person being Brave. No accounting for taste, but most people didn’t see his brother for the asshole he was. But Jesse didn’t play Brave’s games and he deserved better than to be passed over after less than a week for some…

  Damn it, Alder refused to believe the girl was some groupie, just looking to get with as many rock stars as she could.

  Jesse’s fist slammed into his shoulder and he jumped.

  “What the fuck, man?” Alder punched Jesse in the arm, hurting his fist on the man’s thick arms and making him laugh. “Asshole.”

  Rubbing Alder’s knuckles with his thumb, Jesse flashed one of those smiles that could soften even the hardest of hearts. “Stop glaring. Brave isn’t interested in the woman. You’ve got to stop assuming he’s gonna fuck me over.”

  “I’m not.” Alder paused to take a sip of beer, wishing Jesse didn’t know him so fucking well. “But how do you know he doesn’t want her?”

  “They’ve been dancing for too long.”

  “Maybe she’s playing hard to get.” Alder liked that idea. He could respect anyone making Brave work for so much as a dance. Be the challenge Brave enjoyed without giving an inch.

  Placing his hand casually on the back of Alder’s wrist, Jesse shook his head. “They’re having fun. Talking and laughing this whole time, and he’s not even trying to seduce her.”

  Now that was surprising. Alder leaned back in his chair, surveying the room, trying to find a single woman in the club hotter than the one in his brother’s arms. Sure, a few were cute, but none had the same draw as the beauty with the long black hair.

  A gorgeous woman, but he’d known plenty of those. And could fuck one every day of the week if he wanted to. He didn’t because a chick riding his dick, then wanting a selfie with him in whatever bed—or more likely wall of a bathroom stall—they’d fucked on, wasn’t one of his turn-ons.

  The woman dancing with Brave had long legs, nice tits, and a laugh that went straight to Alder’s balls. But there was something more to her that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Damn it, he wanted to though. She’d been kind and so easy to talk to he’d really wanted her to take him up on that coffee date. His crazy life had him missing out on a lot of opportunities, so he tried not to dwell on them.

  This was a second chance. One he’d damn well seize.

  He’d stepped aside for Brave once. For Jesse’s sake. He wasn’t doing it again.

  Standing, he ignored Jesse’s mumbled curse and the questions from the rest of the band. He crossed the dance floor, then stopped a few feet away from the woman and his brother. He wasn’t usually so fucking indecisive, but what the hell was he gonna say to her? ‘Don’t mind me barging in on the fun you’re having with my brother. I think you’re…special? Damn hot? Really sweet because you painted my nails?’

  Ugh. You’ve been out of the game too fucking long, Alder.

  Yeah, but games weren’t his thing. And cutting in on her and Brave would come off like a pissing contest, no matter how cool he played it.

  So stand here like a loser. Much better plan.

  Before he could turn around and go back to the table, where he’d only have to face the guys, she glanced over and trapped him with her brilliant green eyes. The color reminded him of the one time he’d seen the Northern lights, slashing across the night, leaving him breathlessly gazing into the mesmerizing glow.

  He managed to suck in some air as she pulled away from Brave and came toward him.

  “Hey you,” she said. A pretty pink blush spread across her cheeks as he quickly ran his tongue over his bottom lip. She kept her eyes locked on his mouth as she cleared her throat. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again.”

  “Neither was I.” Okay, that was slightly better than what he’d considered saying. But that was it. He had nothing else.

  Which was weird. He’d never had trouble talking to a woman before. And he hadn’t had trouble talking to her earlier today. What had changed?

  She let out a soft laugh and reached for his hand. Her touch had even more of an impact than her hypnotic gaze. His pulse picked up a notch, matching the rhythm reached during his most intense guitar solo.

  Checking out his nails, she let out an exaggerated sigh. “You ruined them.”

  He looked down and grinned. She was right. As usual, shredding on the guitar had chipped half the polish. Cocking his head, he gave her a crooked smile. “Guess I’ll need to beg you to fix them again.”

  “You don’t need to beg. Or come up with excuses to spend time with me.” Her lips slanted with amusement. “You still owe me a coffee.”

  “At the very least.”

  “Don’t start with the lines. You’ll ruin the nice guy image I have of you.”

  A snort tore her attention away from him and Alder couldn’t help but tense as Brave stepped up to her side and casually hooked an arm around her shoulders. “Danica, sweetie, don’t let him fool you. He’s just as fucked up as the rest of us.”

  Arching a brow, Danica—now Alder had a name, which he’d been too slow to ask for—tipped her head up to Brave. “Right. That whole rock star image, huh? Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone you’re both ‘nice’.”

  “I’m not worried about you telling anyone.” Brave shot Alder a look cold enough to shatter glass. “I’m worried you’ll believe it.”

  Alder wasn’t sure how to respond to that little jab. Arguing with Brave wouldn’t win him any points. Even when Alder was right, he came off as the asshole when they took cheap shots at one another. Brave was too smooth and he always said the right thing. Which meant he’d be all calm and reasonable while Alder lost his cool.

  “And that answers that question.” Danica laughed and slipped her small, soft hand into Alder’s. “Being trapped on a bus together for so long must put a strain on you all. Alder, why don’t we make it a beer instead of coffee? All that dancing made me thirsty.” She flashed Brave the sweetest smile. “Thank you for making sure I didn’t spend most of the night sitting in the corner by myself.”

  “My pleasure.” Brave’s brow furrowed, and his lips thinned. He probably wanted to say more, but Danica had efficiently put them in the position of either acting like adults, or looking really immature.

  Not that they always acted like grown ups, but Brave liked people seeing him as the calm, collected leader of the band. That front was worth m
ore to him than whatever pleasure he got out of tearing Alder down.

  There was a short, awkward silence, and then Alder found himself being led to the bar. His brain finally caught up and he ordered them each a beer. Bud light, after asking Danica what she preferred.

  They found an empty booth away from the crowd and settled in, Danica sitting across from him, her attention on tearing the wet label off her bottle.

  She’d gone from being relaxed to completely distracted. There was something on her mind, but he didn’t know her well enough to start digging. So he jumped on the first topic he could think of that he hoped would break the ice.

  “Did you enjoy the show? I should have offered you a backstage pass.”

  “You were running late.” She took a deep breath. “But, since you brought it up, maybe my request won’t be too weird.”

  He tongued his bottom lip, not sure what she was getting at. “Our next show’s in LA. Will you be there? I’m sure I could—”

  “Damn it, you really are too nice. You’re gonna hate me.” She held up her hand before he could object. “My agent had this plan, and it seemed like it could work, but now I feel like an opportunistic bitch.”

  Okay, I’m not sure what to say to that. He couldn’t see her asking for anything horrible. Maybe she needed a ride to the show? That wasn’t opportunistic though. “Tell me what you need. I won’t hate you.”

  “Mostly just to be seen. That’s why I’m here.” She dropped her gaze, as though she was ashamed to admit that. “My image is all wrong.”

  “Come again?”

  Shaking her head, she bit her bottom lip. “I was a cute little girl playing a secondary character the last time I did anything really impressive to add to my portfolio. My agent wants me to get some edge. She put out some calls to journalists she knows, hinting that a photographer might snap a few ‘interesting’ shots of me at this show. From what she told me, several took the bait. Now it’s up to me to be seen with someone unexpected.”

  Was it crazy that her agent’s idea made sense to him? Maybe he’d been in the business too long. Their manager had set Brave up with a few models to give the band some publicity. Things working both ways wasn’t so far fetched.