“Wonderful,” the hotel manager said, almost controlling the shake in her voice. “I’ll submit the itemized bill to the email on file. It’s a,” she looked down at a mini tablet I’d not clocked when she first came into view, “D A period Magden at Flash Dance Records dot com?”
“Yes, that would be our tour manager. He’ll get it to accounting.” Mac confirmed with a nod, then added. “Please also email the invoice to C period Cook at Flash Dance Records dot com. She’ll likely need it for our personal accountant. The label rarely covers these,” he turned around, grimacing at the damage behind us, “unfortunate incidents.”
The manager was quickly typing something. When she finished, she looked up. “Okay, I think that’s all then. Security will escort you from the premises after you get your things. Please relocate your tour bus as well.”
Mac cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, we’ve given our driver and other staff the night off. I assure you that it would be unwise for one of usto attempt to move the bus. We are neither equipped with a commercial license or sober enough.”
The manager frowned. “When will your staff be on duty again?”
“After sunrise,” Mac pushed his hands into his pockets and gave her his most charming smile. That worked just enough to thaw her, replacing the frown with a slight smile.
“By nine sharp then,” she adjusted the terms of our banishment.
“You are a goddess among women,” Mac gave her a slight bow, and the Beta’s face flushed.
About ten minutes later we found ourselves herded through the gate of the secured parking lot. I walked a few paces behind the other guys. Any clarity the tonic had given me was zapped. I felt unbalanced again, and not only because my body was swimming with booze and whatever designer drug the sorority sisters had peddled.
Every footfall towards the tour bus made me grumpier. I’d gotten us kicked out. I didn’t feel drunk enough to not care. And I hadn’t even gotten my dick sucked. Paradise, Nevada could go to hell.
6
RYDER
A YEAR AGO… OBLIVION HAZE’S TOUR BUS
A loud,lazy series of knocks sounded just as I began to feel better. I hadn’t vomited. Wish I had, considering the bottle’s worth of liquor sloshing around in my stomach. I pushed myself to standing and flushed the toilet out of habit.
“Who is it?” I growled unhappily, walking slowly back into the living room area.
“We’re here to arrest you for being an absolute waste of space killjoy,” Tray’s recognizable voice piped up, muffled by the door.
“Go back to the fucking hotel,” I snarled. They were probably here to pressure me into joining them. I was tired of trying to live up to their expectations of me.
“We didn’t bring a key,” Mac’s rational, even voice explained. He sounded totally sober, probably playing designated adult for the other two.
“Open the goddamn door before I break it down.” A very drunk, very moody Dixon shouted.
I trudged over, unlocking the door and swinging it outward. I shuffled quickly out of the way as my band mates shuffled inside. Dixon stomped up into the bus first, followed by Mac—looking elegant andput-together, despite the late hour—and Tray—who was haphazardly dressed and looking high as a kite—jumped up the steps last.
The last arrival grinned at me. “Security kicked us out. I think the damage charge might exceed the tour budget.”
“They don’t make shit strong anymore,” Dixon grumbled. He’d already found his way to the sofa and flopped down.
“What did you break?” I asked the obvious question. The first time he’d lost control had surprised us all. Lately, the outbursts had lost the novelty and become routine. Not a good thing, and none of us were ready to admit that maybe Dixon’s Alpha nature was spiraling.
“Bed,” Dixon grunted.
“Both beds,” Tray corrected, obviously holding back laughter. His lips were pulled taught in a hard line, but dammit if his dimples weren’t popping.
“How the hell did you break both beds, Dix?” I quirked an eyebrow, hangover headache a dull throb now. My longtime friend breaking hotel furniture and getting tossed to the curb wasn’t helping my recovery. I’m sure the hotel staff had already informed our tour handlers, who would waste no time contacting the label. Catalina was going to be pissed. More damage control. At least she wasn’t here right now to yell at us in person. She’d jetted out of Fresno as soon as that Rotary Amp performance wrapped.
“It was quite the feat,” Mac loped over to a recliner and sat down. “Our talented Dixon lost his cool. In an attempt to flip one mattress, he lost his balance, and body slammed the support slats. When he fought his way to standing, he decided to take out his anger on the second bed. I believe its footboard ended up on the balcony.”
“And the balcony door wasn’t even open. Tossed the damn thing like a football right through the glass.” Tray was still standing, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he mimed tossing a ball. “The girls were terrified.” Tray’s smile faltered at this. “That part sucked. The Beta sorority sisters were sooooo hungry for Alpha cock. I think Mac and I would have had the most epic…” he paused, cocking his head, “what’s it called when there are five chicks and two dudes? Or just six people involved… A seven-some? A seven-way? A heptagon humping?”
“You’re such a fucking idiot.” Dixon ran his large hand down his face.
“What made you mad?” I asked the million-dollar, follow-up question.
