Cry Wolf (Wolves of Angels Rest #7)
By Elsa Jade
Chapter 1
The last encore ended at almost one a.m. so Willow Raleigh didn’t sneak out the back of the casino until after two.
Not that the time of day or night really mattered in Las Vegas, even back here where the neon didn’t reach. God, how she hated this place.
She took a drag off her cigarette as she huddled against the bare brick wall in the alley, hating even more the sting of nicotine in her throat—she’d suffer for that later—and the bitterness of her own thoughts.
She’d worked so hard to get here, paid the price over and above, and now…
What did she have to show for it? A band on the edge of dissolution, a ruined reputation, a few extra pounds—more than a few, if the tabloids were to be believed, which they were not—and now this damn pack-a-day habit to soothe the post-show jitters.
Well, all that plus a cool hundred thou for every performance.
Her soul was worth that, wasn’t it? More or less? She shivered in the almost-winter wind snaking between the hulked buildings.
Even if she hadn’t written anything new in the last year. Unfortunately, she’d run out of songs that she’d stashed away when they were living out of their rickety Econoline van. The guys had accidentally overheard her latest attempt and actually laughed out loud. And not in a nice way. Not good. One more week of shows and then they were due for a break, but immediately after that, they were back in the studio to record the next album.
And she had nothing.
She tried to hum a melody, but the chorus wouldn’t come. Her throat hurt anyway.
Jittery restlessness made her nerves slam dance, and she longed for a flowing two-step with a strong partner to hold her. She just needed a break, a chance to let off some steam with someone who wasn’t judging every little thing about her. Somebody who wouldn’t remind her she’d missed that falsetto. Someone who wouldn’t care that wardrobe had to let out her costumes—again. Someone who didn’t even know her made-up name. He’d just swirl her through the tune, let her spin, dip her right at the end…
With a sigh, she crushed out the cigarette on the bricks and pocketed the butt. Time to go face the music—har har—from the guys and the newest manager for Willow Raleigh and the Eagle Boys.
But as she turned and reached for the door, the sight of a figure stalking down the artificial canyon of the alley made her pause.
Vegas was twenty-four/seven, but the loading dock was usually empty this time of morning. Which was why she always chose it for her retreat. Maybe some tourist had gotten lost. She’d wandered the wrong way more than once after they’d first scored their Vegas residency and found herself stomping a lotta extra miles in her cowboy boots to find her way back.
Maybe she needed to get lost more often so she could burn off some of the cocktail calories without the nicotine.
But when the figure neared the fluorescent light above the loading bay, she drew back toward the doorway. Not a tourist, more like a bouncer or one of the heavies who walked behind the casino bosses. She didn’t like those guys. Nothing fazed them, nothing touched them. They didn’t smile when she did her good little country girl thing, and they didn’t blink when she rocked the sultry torch singer persona. Those guys knew liars and thieves like the backs of their hairy-knuckled hands…so they always saw right through her.
Whoever he was, he’d probably yell at her for skulking around behind the casino like a thief in the night. Or the morning. Whatever.
As he passed into the pool of light, though, she changed her mind again. Not a tourist, not a bouncer. His stride was too steady and sure for a drunk looking for a place to puke. He almost glided, his big, black boots silent without the flat-footed stomp of some big bruiser. Even if he was huge. He looked like he could bench press the dumpster. With just one arm.
His unadorned black T-shirt hugged his wide chest and emphasized the bulk of his biceps. With his short-cropped dark hair just starting to grow out shaggy, he had an ex-military look. She knew the look since she’d done a couple USO tours—heck, she’d done a couple military guys too.
As he got closer, her gaze caught on some sort of marking—a tattoo or a scar—gleaming on his forearm. She’d seen something like that before, if she could just remember where…
She stepped out of the shadows. “Hey there. Got a light?”
She unfurled a cigarette between her fingers. Admittedly it wasn’t the most original line ever. But she’d figured out before she was legal drinking age that guys didn’t need originality.
This guy didn’t startle when she appeared, and for a second, she thought he’d keep on walking. But at the last momnet, before his long legs carried him past, he pivoted toward her.
It was she who took a step back.
Damn, he was kind of spooky intense. His piercing dark eyes narrowed as he swept her with one up-down glance without lingering on any of her good parts, bagging and tagging her in an instant. He lifted his head, nostrils flaring, in an odd gesture, like her grandfather’s hunting dogs catching a scent.
She had fond memories of her childhood running wild on the border between Kentucky and West Virginia, but the last time she’d visited, she’d felt something missing. Something she was still trying to find out here, so far away. This was a strange place and a strange man to evoke those memories…