Page 15 of Thirst in the Mountains

“Where’s our dog?”

I gasp as Angelo’s goon steps out of the shadows like a horror movie villain. I know this guy. Well, I recognize him anyway. He was always speeding into the chop shop with a different car each time, and then walking out all wiry and twitchy.

His face is thin, all sharp angles and bad choices. Greasy hair slicked-back like he’s trying to look cool, but it just makes him look dirty. His eyes are sunken and his movements are wild and jittery like he either just had a fix or is desperate for his next one.

I swallow hard when I spot the knife in his hand, this cool mountain air suddenly feeling razor sharp in my throat.

My legs get a little weak and wobbly as I stare at the dull blade. I know he won’t hesitate to use it. I’m nothing to him.

“I said,” he growls, stepping closer, “where’s our dog?”

I drop the garbage bag and stumble back. “No,” I whisper, not quite believing this is happening. “No, no, no.”

My heart is going wild in my chest, and for a second, all I can think is:Is this seriously how I die? Beside a dumpster next to a garbage bag full of soggy onion rings?

“Lucy,” he growls, his right eye twitching. “Where’s Cutter?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, still backing away. My back hits the dumpster and I gasp.

He moves in… So fast, it’s a blur, pinning me in with his long scrawny arms.

I wince as his fowl breath washes down on my face, the knife only a few inches from my cheek.

“You’re going to make me kill you over that mutt?”

I try to speak, try to explain, but the only thing that comes out is a sad pathetic whimper.

“Maybe if I start cutting, you’ll remember where that damn dog is.”

“Hey,” a deep manly voice says, cutting through the crisp air. “Get the fuck off her.”

His twitchy little eyes open in panic as a big strong hand lands on his shoulder with athump.

And just like that, the goon flies off me and sails back a good ten feet before crashing onto the pavement. His knife skids away on the ground.

My heart races as I look up at Emmanuel standing there in his police uniform looking like a prayer come true. He looks me up and down quickly, those dark sexy eyes brimming with possession, protection, and complete control.

He came out of nowhere just like Cutter did when he saved me. Silent. Fast. Deadly.

It seems that I have two protectors in my life now.

“Are you hurt?”

God, that voice… It’s got such a profound effect on me that I can’t seem to answer for a second or two.

“I’m fine,” I say, not quite sure that I believe it.

He looks me over one more time just to be sure and I start to blush, heat blooming inside of me. When he doesn’t see any blood or any other signs of injuries, he turns his attention to the junkie scrambling to grab his knife.

“Watch out!” I scream when I see him grab it. He holds the blunt blade up with a shaky hand as he gets to his feet.

Emmanuel doesn’t look scared at all. He looks eager for whatever is about to happen as he faces the man with his hands squeezed into fists.

This is a real man. Broad shoulders, muscular back, alpha energy radiating off him in droves. And not the fake alpha energy of those pickup truck driving losers who think they’re edgy because they wear an Affliction t-shirt and write mean things on Twitter.

This man is in complete control of the situation—of any situation he’s in. He’s a beast of an alpha. He’s arealman. One who protects, defends, and from the looks of it,punishes.

“Get back,” the goon screeches, waving his knife around. “I’m leaving!”

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