On Monday, the semi tractor-trailers and tour busses drove to Birmingham for a show the next night, Tuesday, and Elfie again rode the bumping technicians’ bus rather than the band bus with bunk beds and refrigerators.
Every time they hit a bump while she was trying to sleep and the weird chair wrenched her neck, Elfie tried harder to remember why she had to keep her relationship with Tryp a secret from the other techs if it meant that she could have been riding on the half-million-dollar band bus with the cozy bunk beds instead of this refurb Greyhound with the busted-out shocks.
Tryp had awakened from his bender a few hours later, and for the next day, he had been brittle. He didn’t snap at people, he just kept watching the exits as if he might have to make a break for it. When Elfie held his hand, he clutched it like he thought she might run.
Last night, even though he drank a lot, he had nightmares, full-on twitching and moaning and then jumping backward out of bed like he had freed himself from the claws of a monster and skittering across the room until he slammed into the wall. When he woke up and she saw the human come back into his dark eyes, he sank to the floor with his hands covering his face.
Elfie rocked him on the floor until he stopped shaking and then got him back into bed.
The bus ride to Birmingham took over eight hours, and Elfie was frantic to get to Tryp by the time they got to the hotel. He stumbled off the bus and blinked at the sunset, and Elfie grabbed his arm.
Jonas leaned down and whispered near her ear, “He slept the whole way. I don’t think he drank much more.”
When they got into the hotel room, Tryp grabbed her and shoved her up against the wall again, kissing her hard. His breath had a light malt of a little beer on it, not a lot of whiskey. Elfie looped her arms around his neck and, when he broke off to mouth her neck, she whispered, “It’s okay. I’m right here.”
His hands found the end of her braid, stripped off the elastic, and combed her hair out, and his fingers ran up her scalp, luxuriating in her hair. He grabbed her legs and yoked them around his waist, holding her against the wall with the force of his body, and kissing her like he couldn’t get enough.
She really should ask him what was up and have a serious heart-to-heart about why he was being so physically possessive, not jealous-possessive, which can get creepy real fast, but possessive like his hands all over her and kissing her deeply like he wanted to be inside her, but Elfie couldn’t string together a sentence with his mouth biting the pulse in her throat and his palm on her breast and his hardness grinding between her legs.
He swung her legs around like they were swing dancing and carried her to the bedroom, his breath harsh in his chest. Elfie reached for him, already needing to touch his strong arms, his shoulders, to wrap herself around him.
Tryp set her on the bed and crawled on top of her, caging her with his arms and legs and kissed her just like that, blotting out the light from the lamps and the sunset in the window like a mountain falling on her. She couldn’t breathe, and her fingers tightened on Tryp’s shoulders as she tried to hold it in, but with a sharp intake of breath, he said, “Oh, God. I’m sorry,” and rolled so that he lay beside her.
As soon as the light hit Elfie’s face, she was okay, and she held his cheeks while she kissed him.
Tryp didn’t let up, grabbing her body and pulling her leg over his hips. He rubbed his thigh between her legs, winding her up so fast. She moaned against his lips, wanting more.
Tryp flung her clothes off, grabbing handfuls of cloth and pulling them off her, then ran his tongue down to her breast, flicking her nip until it drew up in a hard pebble and sliding his fingers down into her swollen folds.
He rubbed deep, dipping into her core and glazing her softness. His fingers slipped over her, first teasing while he moved to her other breast and sucked there until the longing in her twisted so sharply that she rose off the bed, seeking more. He delved into her, sliding in and out and brushing her nub with his thumb until she cried out and arched hard onto his hand, the pulses running through her like electricity.
Then Elfie lay in his arms, still panting, while Tryp held her against his body like he was afraid someone was going to rip her away from him, his strong arms shaking.
He had told her little about his visit from Nephi, his childhood friend, and the other guy, but something was so terribly wrong. Elfie finally got enough air in her lungs to ask, “Tryfon, what happened? What did those guys threaten you with?”
“Everything,” he whispered, and when she pulled back, his black eyes held helpless rage. “They threatened everything. Xan insists that we don’t have to pull the single, that he and Jonas can manage all of the repercussions, but they can’t. Those guys are going to beat up Sariah. She’s still there. She hasn’t ever left, and they’re going to beat the crap out of her and probably send me pictures.”
Elfie’s chest hurt. “We should call the police.”
“The Sheriff is the Prophet’s nephew, and the town chief of police is my uncle. No one will save her.”
“Someone has to be able to do something. You should tell Xan about Sariah. He wouldn’t let someone get hurt. He’ll pull it.”
“They’ll do it anyway. Her husband, my stepfather Kumen, is an evil son-of-a-bitch. I made myself forget all these years, told myself that it was her decision to stay, but I’ve got to go in and get her out. I can’t, though. The tour schedule is packed tight. If I just up and leave, Xan will never forgive me. He’ll chuck my ass out of the band, and everything I’ve worked for, gave up conservatory for, will be gone, but it might be Sariah’s life at stake, and the worst part is that she probably won’t leave even though Kumen might kill her if she stays.”
Elfie put her arms around him. She had read Sariah’s letter, and yeah, she could see that Sariah might not leave even if she had the chance. “The shows at the end of the week are smaller venues,” she said. “Maybe Xan could get a studio drummer for a week, and Rock could do my pyros.”
He reared back and looked hard at her. His voice broke with hard emotions when he said, “You would come with me to rescue another woman?”
Elfie knew exactly what she was doing. Tryp needed to go rescue his first love, the girl he had been grieving for seven years, the one who haunted his nightmares. When Tryp and Sariah saw each other, there was a damn good chance she would run into his arms and he would take care of her.
And he would be happy.
Between Elfie and Tryp, one of them wasn’t going to be with the one they loved, and she wanted him to be happy and to stop suffering those nightmares.
“She’s a human being,” Elfie said. “Someone is beating the crap out of her and might kill her. Yeah, I’m with you.”
Tryp gathered her into his body, rocking them both. “I can’t leave the band and the tour anyway, but you have the most beautiful soul I have ever seen.” He laid her back on the bed and kissed her again, tenderly this time.
At least she had these few minutes.