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

by Jo Raven

  The husky sound brings back a rush of memories from last night and desire shoots through me. I squirm on the bench, breathless.

  He glances at me, his eyes hardening. “Fine, I’ll be there.” He disconnects the call.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Have to go to Damage. Zane is leaving, and I need to hold the fort.”

  “Right.” I nod and start to get up. “Maybe I’ll see you later, then.”

  His eyes soften. “Yeah. Will you come by?”

  “Your apartment. After ten.” I watch his smile widen, and I can’t help smiling back.

  “Be careful,” he says, pulling me to my feet and drawing me flush against his long, strong body. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

  “I promise. Micah…”

  He kisses me hard, before I get a chance to ask him the same. Then again, he doesn’t have a psychopath of a boyfriend stalking him.

  ***

  Evening is falling by the time I find myself on the familiar porch of my parents’ house. I open and step inside, hesitating in the hall. I’ve no idea how my parents will react.

  Mom is dozing in front of the TV, dressed in her bathrobe. I slip by her, unnoticed, and hurry up to my room. Dad doesn’t make an appearance and I slip inside.

  What to take with me? I feel like a fugitive. It’s weird. I’m not afraid of my parents. I just don’t want another fight so soon, and I think telling them about Blake could bring on an argument of epic dimensions. They’ll probably accuse me of blowing things out of proportion, of having no proof Blake did anything…

  I can’t take any more of this now. I think spending some time away from them may help patch things up between us. It’ll also give me time to hopefully get a restraining order for Blake and maybe even find proof he hurt Seth.

  Pressing my lips together, I grab a duffel bag and start throwing clothes inside. Guilt swamps me. I should have told Seth what Blake’s deal was from the beginning. Not telling him allowed this to happen.

  Blake is a dangerous asshole. I should never have doubted it.

  I grab shoes, socks, underwear, jeans, skirts, sweaters and books. I turn in a circle. What is important from my life here? What should I bring along? They are all ties anchoring me here, and what I need is to move away.

  I pack my tablet, and I zip my bag up. Ready. I lift it over my shoulder and open the door.

  “Evie?”

  I freeze. Dad is standing outside, his cell phone in one hand. His gaze shifts to my bag, and he scowls.

  “So, that’s it?” he asks, sounding in equal measures angry and defeated. “You’re leaving?”

  “Yeah, Dad. I’m leaving.”

  I expect him to start yelling, or to insult me, tell me I’m an idiot, or a slut. But he doesn’t. His body seems to deflate, sagging forward.

  “You take care of yourself,” he says gruffly and before I can react—like, what the hell just happened?—he pulls me in for a quick hug.

  “Dad?” I’m in shock. This must be it. “You okay?”

  He releases me. “Your mom and I love you, you know that, right? Joel told us lots of worrying things, Blake, too, so we may have overreacted a little.”

  “A little?” I can’t help myself. “You made me feel like crap for wanting to follow my own path, Dad. You made me feel like a loser.”

  He shakes his head, paling. “You’re not a loser, Evie. You’re like your mother: quiet but strong. Whatever you put your mind into, you can do.”

  Who are you, and what have you done with my dad?

  I think of our arguments. I think of Blake. I think of Micah, and how I miss him already, even though it’s only been an hour since we parted.

  I clear my throat, not knowing what to say. “Thanks. I’ll, um. I’ll be seeing you. I’ll visit. Tell Mom, too, please?”

  I leave quickly, not waiting for his reply. Adrenaline makes my limbs shake. I cross the living room quietly, not to wake up mom. I look at her for a long moment, her face relaxed in sleep.

  “Love you, Mom,” I whisper. “I think this is for the best.”

  One last look, and I let myself out into the cold, clear night.

  ***

  I unlock Joel’s apartment with the extra key he gave me and drag my bag inside. It’s dark and quiet. Nobody’s home. Joel has practice until late on Fridays, and the elusive Jethro is just never there.

  I don’t know where to put my stuff, so I just place the bag in a corner and go take a shower and change into clean clothes. Feeling more human, I grab my tablet from my bag and connect to the Wi-Fi to check my emails and Facebook. I find a friend request from Cassie, which I accept, then find the site of the runaway board and re-read the page about the training. I jot down the numbers, so I can call them—which reminds me I was supposed to call Kayla about the apartment.

  I check the time. It’s not too late. Barely nine PM.

  The girl who answers, identifying herself as Kayla, is friendly and nice. She says my room would be small but that the apartment is refurbished and has lots of light. The most important thing: my share of the rent is quite low and affordable with my salary.

  Excited, I ask when we could meet, and she says tomorrow is fine. Yeah! We agree on early afternoon, and as soon as I disconnect, I jump to my feet and do a little victory dance.

  Finally, finally I’m changing my life around. Away from my parents, away from Joel, I can make decisions about the future on my own, do the things that are important to me.

  Be with the people that matter to me.

  Micah. I realize he’s the one person I want to share my news with first, so I calm enough to call his new cell, let him know about this new development.

  He doesn’t answer. Well, he’s still at work. Maybe he’s in the middle of a tattoo.

  The doorbell, rings and I frown. The door has no peephole, so I shout, “Who is it?”

  “Jethro,” a muffled voice says. “Forgot my keys.”

  The infamous Jethro? Curious in spite of myself, I crack the door open—and it flies into my face, throwing me backward. I barely catch myself not to fall.

  Blake stands at the door, grinning. “Gotcha,” he says.

  Oh shit. I look around for a weapon, anything, and I see a heavy ashtray on the coffee table. I stumble over and lift it, weighing it in my hand.

  “Don’t come closer,” I warn. I raise the ashtray.

  He starts laughing. “Don’t be such a stupid bitch, little Evie. I’m not here to hurt you.”

  Anger and fear clog my throat. “Then go.”

  “Why? I just came in. Won’t you offer me a drink?” He steps closer and my grip on the ashtray tightens. “Won’t you offer me hospitality? Don’t I deserve it more than the bums you call your friends?”

  “Shut up.” I want to smash his hated face in. “Leave, Blake. Now.”

  “This isn’t your apartment, and Joel isn’t here to tell me to go, so…” He shrugs.

  What a douchebag. “I’m not staying here to listen to your bullshit. I’m calling Joel. He’ll tell you to leave me alone.”

  “Will he now? Joel thinks the best of me, and why shouldn’t he? I’m only looking out for you.”

  “Looking out? You had Seth beaten up. He’s lucky he’s alive. Did you take part in it, or did you send your buddies to keep your own hands clean?”

  He tsks. “Seth. Who cares about him? I warned you, baby. Told you to stay away from those streetbums. My buddy Alex lent me a hand, but honestly? I enjoyed kicking the shit out of Seth. I hope he pisses blood for days.”

  I gasp, a chill going up my spine. I expected it, but hearing it from his lips, seeing his satisfied face in front of me, is terrifying.

  “Just go,” I plead.

  “I look out for you,” he mutters, stepping closer still. “I even asked Alex to keep tabs on you when you work from across the street.”

  Shit. “I don’t need your help.”

  “You need it. You just can’t stop hanging out with these bums.
I gave that stupid motherfucker a hands-on warning to keep away from you. He won’t be bothering you again.”

  I shake my head, confused. “Seth? You talking about Seth?”

  “Seth is out of the picture already.” He snorts as if he said something funny. “You think I don’t watch you? I don’t see you with him? That blond dickbag you hang out with. You’re probably convinced he’s your boyfriend and that he’ll take care of you. Well, he won’t.”

  I don’t want to understand what he’s saying. “You make no sense.”

  “Micah. That’s his name, isn’t it? Pansy-ass name. Pansy-face. Dirty streetbum.”

  “What’s Micah got to do with this? He’s not—”

  “Homeless. But he was a few months ago. You looked after him, didn’t you? Called the ambulance for him when he was sick.”

  Oh no. Oh God. The ashtray drops from my hand and hits the thick carpet with a dull thump. It was him? All those times I thought he reminded me of someone, all those times I heard him cough and thought of the young man I lost… that I thought I lost.

  It was him. Why didn’t he tell me?

  Why would he? People like to put the dark days of their lives behind them, not talk about them. And today he was trying to tell me something over coffee…

  “Blake.” I try to make my voice strong. “You can’t hurt Micah.”

  “Can’t I?” He winks.

  I feel sick. “I didn’t remember him from before. I didn’t know, and he didn’t know he shouldn’t be talking to me, either. Blake—”

  “No, enough. Shut your fucking mouth.” He’s suddenly pushing me back, and I fall into the sofa, my breath knocked out of me. “This is all your fault. Fuck knows I tried to stop you from wandering around the town and talking to trash. My girlfriend isn’t talking to low-lives and that’s that.”

  “I’m not your girlfriend, and keep your hands off me.” Then the meaning of his words hits me like a punch to the chest. “Tried… Tried to stop me? What do you mean?”

  He shrugs, his mouth twisting. “I followed you on my bike all those months ago. I thought I’d scare you so you’d stop. But you’re a clumsy little bitch, so you fell, and you broke your leg, and I thought, even better. More time for you to be away from the streets and stop obsessing about every single homeless person. But no, you don’t give up, do you? You just don’t give the fuck up!”

  I’m gasping for breath, horror making me light-headed. He did this. He hit me with his bike, and as I lay there unconscious, my leg broken, he called 9-1-1 and played the role of the savior. He slept with me, kissed me and pretended to care. All that and now he’s leaning over me, gloating, cornering me.

  I think I’m going to puke.

  Instead, I scramble sideways to get away from him. He laughs again and catches me as I reach the end of the sofa.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he asks, a hand gripping my wrist, leaving bruises.

  “Take your fucking hands off her,” another male voice says from behind us, and I see Blake’s face go still.

  He releases me, and I twist to look at Joel, who is standing at his bedroom door in his PJs, his hands curled into fists.

  Oh thank God. “I thought you were out,” I breathe, a sob caught in my throat.

  “I was asleep. Missed practice because I wasn’t feeling too hot. Then I heard the voices. And then I heard Blake here confess he was behind the so-called accident.” Joel pushes off the doorframe and strides toward Blake who takes a step back. “You hurt my sister. And pretended to care for her. You stalked her, and hurt a guy on purpose.”

  “You have no proof,” Blake bites out.

  “Don’t I?” Joel lifts his cell phone. “I filmed every second of it.”

  I want to grab Joel and plant sloppy kisses on his cheeks.

  Then I remember what he said before confessing about the accident.

  “You won’t touch Micah,” I say and jab a finger at Blake. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  Blake sneers, and my stomach takes another nosedive. “Too late for Micah.”

  My stomach drops again. “What do you mean?”

  “I sicced Alex on him. Told you not to hang around such men, Evie.” He clucks his tongue.

  Oh no. I stand frozen, my muscles locked.

  Joel’s face darkens with anger. He pulls his fist back and punches Blake in the face. Blood sprays. He broke Blake’s nose.

  Good.

  “Call the police,” Joel says. “Now, Evie.”

  I nod, my eyes burning. “Yes. Okay. Then I’m going to find Micah.”

  “Evie, stay here!” Joel is holding Blake by one arm, making sure he isn’t going anywhere.

  Grabbing my jacket and cell phone, I head out. On the stairs down, I make a call to the police, directing them to the apartment, and then call Micah’s new cell. I call and call, but get no answer.

  Dammit. I call a taxi and jump inside when it arrives a few minutes later. I keep calling Micah, refusing to read anything into his lack of response.

  I need to find him, need to make sure he’s okay. Nothing else matters.

  ***

  Damage Control is closed and dark. So I climb back into the cab and head for his apartment. I ring all the bells until someone lets me into the building, but when I go up, nobody answers the door at his apartment. I bang on it a few times, but I know it’s useless. He’s not here.

  The reality of the situation hits me hard. Blake is seriously disturbed. He hurt Seth, and he said he hurt Micah.

  I bend over, swallowing down nausea. Crap. Micah is lying somewhere, hurt, and I don’t even have the number of any of his friends to call.

  Slowly I straighten. Think, Ev.

  We were supposed to meet here, at his apartment, right after he finished work. If he was jumped, it must be on the way here. So what I need to do is walk back toward Damage Control and find him.

  I hurry down the street, trying to orientate myself as cars roll by, headlights flashing. Cold rain is falling, the drops stinging my face like needles. Fear pumps my blood faster through my veins, lifting the exhaustion off me. What a day from hell.

  I start to run. My knee sends warning twinges up my leg, but I ignore them as I turn the corner and start up another street, gauging it’s more or less in the right direction. Running helps me focus and keeps the tears at bay.

  No time for crying now.

  “Micah!” I yell as I run. “Micah, where are you?”

  I don’t see him until I’m almost on top of him. He’s half-hidden in shadows, sitting on the sidewalk, legs stretched out, his back to the façade of a building.

  I drop to my knees, but I have no voice to talk. I bend over, panting harshly, and look into his face.

  His eyes are half-open, blue peeking through. “Ev?” he mumbles.

  “How badly are you hurt?” His face is bruised, his upper lip split. Blood coats his chin and neck. “Shit.”

  “I’m okay,” he says.

  “Yeah? Is that why you’re sitting on the sidewalk on the frigging street? I—” My voice breaks and I swallow hard. Tears roll down my cheeks, mingling with the rain.

  He gives me a crooked grin. “I’m just taking a breather.”

  “A breather.” I laugh through the tears. “Holy crap, Micah.” I fumble for my cell. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

  “No.” He puts his hand over mine. His knuckles are bleeding. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Fine. Why you don’t answer your cell?”

  “Broke it. New record.” He looks morose for a moment. “Will you just help me up?”

  I nod, and the tears keep slipping down my cheeks. “I did this. Because of me, both you and Seth were hurt. I can’t—”

  “You saved my life.” He strokes my wet cheek. “Then and now again.”

  “It was you,” I say, because I want to hear it from him. “Back then, months ago. The guy with pneumonia.”

  “Legionnaires’ Disease. An infection I got from the last facility. If no
t for you, I’d surely be dead by now.”

  “But you still have a cough. Are you still sick?”

  “It’s just an after effect. It will go away eventually.”

  “It was you.” I shake my head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You were afraid of Seth, and I thought you’d be afraid of me, too.” He shifts and winces. “Didn’t want that to happen.”

  “I’m not afraid of you.” I manage a shaky smile. “I love you. I’m so glad I didn’t lose you.”

  He blinks at me, and I look away in a hurry. Oh God. I didn’t just say I loved him.

  I did.

  “Can we call someone to come pick us up?” I pull out my cell.

  “I can walk.” He’s struggling to get up, a hand propped on the wall, his face scrunched up, lips white with pain.

  “Micah, please.”

  He sighs. “Rafe. Call him.” He rattles off a number, and I call.

  Five minutes later, a black Mustang stops where we are, and Rafe steps out. The rain plasters his blond mane to his head and face. He peers at us through soaked bangs.

  “You kids need to stop getting into trouble,” he grumbles, and it’s kinda funny because he seems to be our age. He crouches at Micah’s other side.

  “Hey, Rafe,” Micah mutters. “Thanks for coming, man.”

  “What happened?” He peels back Micah’s soaked jacket and prods his side, making Micah hiss and curse. “Bruised ribs, maybe one of them cracked, but it looks like you’ll live. Who did this?”

  “Don’t know him.” Micah grimaces.

  “Did he say anything to you?”

  “The usual. From Blake, for Evie.” He looks down at me, his lips white with pain. “Like Seth.”

  “He didn’t get you as bad,” Rafe says as he wraps an arm around Micah’s back and helps him up.

  “I beat the shit out of him. He thought I was easy prey. He was fucking mistaken.” Micah’s face goes white when he straightens. “Besides, he didn’t catch me entirely by surprise.”

  “How’s that?” I reach for him, steadying him, then drape his arm over my shoulders, and we move toward the car.