Fangs of Anarchy: Forbidden Alpha (Part 4) In the Zone: A Werewolf Vampire Shifter Romance (4 page)

“That’s blackmail, vampire, and it sucks.”

Irish’s eyes, hard
like
two chips
of black ice, stared her down like the Irish of old once had. “That’s the
truth, Librarian, and I don’t care if it sucks. Because I’m not leaving here
without you. Choose.”

Like an ice cream cone dripping in the hot July sun, she
melted all the way. “Fine. I’ll go with you, but I won’t like it, and I’m going
to be angry for at least a week. So don’t go showing up on my doorstep with
your pretty words and sultry vampire ways.”

Irish broke the tension when he laughed. “Maybe I just won’t
show up at your doorstep.”

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll see about that come, oh, I
dunno
,
tomorrow
,”
she called over her shoulder as she headed out of the bedroom. “I’ll meet you
down by your bike in the garage, and make it snappy. Don’t leave me sitting out
in the cold, Irish McConnell!”

“Hold that thought right there, Claire Montgomery,” he
yelled back. “Don’t move a muscle.”

“Are you saying you don’t trust me?” she taunted from the
hallway, standing in place.

“I damn well am.”

Seconds later, he was rooting around in her head, fishing to
see if she was telling the truth, and she let him—because she was. “Hey! I
thought you couldn’t dig around in my head unless you were invited in?”

“I said I wasn’t
supposed
to do it,” he yelled back. “But all’s fair in the game of keeping my librarian
alive.”

Claire smiled.
His
librarian…

“Swear, I won’t move a muscle, vampire. See you downstairs.”
She pressed the button for the elevator, listening to Irish rustle around in
the bedroom, gathering his things.

When the doors popped open, she got in and pressed the
button for the secure garage this Mathias Lawson had and sighed. Irish was
right. She knew it. Alone in the Zone was a bad idea—even when you were
paranormal.

But
there had to be another way to
prove what Gannon had been doing. The mere thought of it still filled her with
disgust. Hearing him
say
the words, hearing what he’d
intended… She fought back a gag.

Maybe Mathias
did
have enough contacts in this seedy mess of refuse and sin to help; it was the
only hope she had at this point, but somehow, she’d prove Gannon was a pig
who’d deserved every bit of what he’d gotten.

As the doors slid open and she put one foot outside the
elevator’s perimeter, her phone announced a text that had her dropping her
backpack on the elevator floor to dig it out and scroll her messages. Locating
the newest one, she began to read, her eyes opening wide as dread filled her stomach.

Oh, God. Jesus, Jesus,
Jesus, no, no, no!

Just as she looked up, preparing to turn right back around
and go back up to Irish, something very hard, something very large, bashed her
in the head.

Something that was definitely going to leave a mark.

* * *

It was all he could do not to wrap his hands around Claire’s
delectable neck and squeeze the life out of her when she’d told him her reasons
for being in the Zone. Sitting on the bed, pretty as a damn picture, and
telling him she’d come here to tangle with a man he’d only heard about. A
legend in the black market trades here in the Zone.

A vicious, sick, twisted demon who’d sooner rip your fucking
face
off than look at you—and he was selling young
girls to depraved fucks. Irish’s fist clenched as he gathered his jacket and
his phone, wanting nothing more than to ram his fist into something, ease this
rage, this sick gut feeling that bigger trouble lay ahead.

He had to give it to Claire. She had guts to take this on
alone, but the hell she’d be alone anymore. He’d never doubted her reasons for
killing Gannon—and speaking of him, Irish still hadn’t told Claire that he had
no idea where Gannon’s body was.

It wouldn’t be long now before he’d have to confide in
someone. Juggling all these balls in the air at once was becoming harder and
harder.

Finding out Gannon was deeper into the black market than
even he’d anticipated, sicker than he’d ever given the bastard credit for, made
it clear he needed to at least let Mathias in on this.

And now
, he had to find a way to
protect Claire before Courtland found out she was the one who’d killed his
brother. To protect the children of his town if Courtland was neck deep in
this, too.

But
Courtland claimed to know
nothing about where Gannon got the synthetic blood, and while he hadn’t rooted
around in his head, Irish tended to believe him. That meant there were likely
many things the Dogs were completely unaware
of
.

Courtland was a sadistic fuck, and there was no way Irish
believed if Courtland knew what his brother was doing that he wouldn’t have
been all in.

But then again, it would be just like Gannon to keep vital
information from his crew so he was always the one on top. Always the smug
ruler of his little kingdom.

As he plodded out of the bedroom, he left it with regret.
This had been a safe harbor for him and Claire, somewhere they could hide. When
he
was done
ripping into her again, for posterity of
course, he’d tell her all about how much he’d wanted to stay right here with
her—forever.

The elevator dinged, signaling its arrival. When he stepped
inside, Claire’s backpack was on the metal floor.

Reaching down, he scooped it up and lugged it over his
shoulder. Jesus, they weren’t even officially a couple yet and he was already
carrying her purse.

Some fierce, snarling vampire he was.

As the doors popped open, his phone pinged an incoming text,
making him dig it out of his back pocket. He noted Liam’s number scrolling over
the top of the screen.

He poked his head out into the garage, smelling the
oppressive air. He didn’t give a shit how badass Mathias thought his security
was. You could never be too careful.

Blood. He smelled blood—three different types of blood to be
precise, so mingled together, it would take a moment for him to sort them.

His gut tightened. Motherfucker.

And
that was when he saw two
security guards—enormous, beefy men, sprawled on the empty garage floor, blood
spilling from their heads.

Claire. He smelled her blood.

Jesus Christ, where was Claire?

His vision narrowed for a moment before righting itself, before
the pounding in his head he wasn’t supposed to feel eased enough for him to see
any other color but the red haze of bone-crushing fury.

Then his eyes caught sight of her sneaker, a faded pink with
pristine white shoelaces, left right near one of the security guards’ bodies,
with a trail of blood leading toward the exit.

Fury.
So deep, so thorough it engulfed
him, made him want to tear throats wide open, and smash faces to the hard
pavement until they were nothing but bloody pulps.

His phone pinged again and, even enraged, he knew logically
he had to check it because of Hadley. He fought for control.
He
fought for reason, but was there any reason when it came to his feelings about
Claire?

Read the text, Irish.
Then go kill people
, the rational side of his brain demanded.

Irish clicked the text open, reading it—then reading it
again to be sure he was seeing it correctly.

Sarah?
Irish
frowned, his mind clicking through the faces of the people in Rock Cove until
he landed on the only Sarah he knew. Hadley’s best friend. The one who loved
the library so much?

No. Fuck no.

As his mind began to race, real fear began to claw its way
to the surface.
So
he reread the text from Liam for
confirmation.

Sarah is missing. We
think kidnapped. Get the fuck home now, Irish!

To
Be Continued
…

(Swear part five is the last
part and all
will be revealed
! Swear it on my shoes,
but for now, you know the drill. Cue evil music…)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Dakota Cassidy is the nationally bestselling author of more
than thirty books. She lives in the gorgeous state of Oregon with her real life
hero and her dogs, and she loves hearing from readers!

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Fangs of Anarchy—Forbidden Alpha
Part Four
—
In the Zone
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