Blackstone Ranger Rogue: Blackstone Rangers Book 4

by Alicia Montgomery

  From the way she said losers, Darcey could guess exactly who she meant. “Should we go somewhere else?”

  J.D. thought for a moment. “How about a girls’ night at my place?”

  “I’m in,” Darcey said. Oh, she hadn’t had a girls’ night in, well, ever. Sarah was really the only woman she hung out and got along with. God, had she really spent most of her adult life chasing after men? Well, maybe it was time they chased after her.

  “C’mon now, don’t be spoilsports,” J.D. said to Anna Victoria and Sarah. “I bet I could convince Temperance to join us and bring some of her pies.”

  “Fine,” Anna Victoria relented. “I’ll call Damon.”

  “See?” J.D. put an arm around Darcey. “We don’t have to call anyone.” She stuck her tongue out playfully at Anna Victoria, who only laughed. “Now, I have a couple of ideas. Not just to help your quest to break your bad habits, but also, to help your business. And have some fun along the way.”

  Now Darcey was really intrigued. “Really? What?”

  “I’ll tell you,” J.D. said with a twinkle in her eyes. “But this is a conversation that needs alcohol. Lots of it, if you and I are going to get even a slight buzz.”

  Chapter Two

  Anders Stevens knew that hanging out at The Den on a Sunday night was pathetic, even for him, but he couldn’t help himself. Being out here meant that he didn’t have to stay at home alone. Surrounded by the same four walls of his trailer. Surrounded by the silence or the hum of the sports channel on TV which couldn’t drown out his loudest thoughts. Or the angriest growls of his tiger.

  Even now, it raked its claws down his insides and let out a furious roar.

  Cut that shit out!

  Years of training and discipline had allowed him complete mastery of his tiger. While most shifters could live in harmony with their animals or bid them what to do, Anders could practically grab his tiger by the scruff and tell it to pipe down. And it worked too.

  Usually.

  The tiger craned its neck away from him. It let out an annoyed chuff and went to the corner and sulked.

  His fingers flexed around the cool glass in his hand. He’d been so desperate to quiet down his animal that he’d actually ordered a shot of gin on the rocks. But he’d been staring at it for what seemed like hours until the ice melted, watering down the alcohol.

  Yet he hadn’t taken a sip or even a sniff. He hadn’t had alcohol in years, and this was the closest he’d been to being tempted. After three weeks of fighting with himself and with his tiger, he was willing to give his soul to the Devil himself if it would fill in the big gaping hole in his chest.

  Fuck.

  He shut his eyes tight, but that made it worse. A vision of blue eyes—no, green—he shook his head. No, it was somewhere in between. Not quite green, not quite blue. Aquamarine maybe? He tried to Google it the other day, and that was the closest approximation he could find. Well, whatever the hell color those eyes were, the only thing he could remember was how they filled up with tears before he walked away from her.

  Twenty-two days. Three hours. Twenty-six minutes. That was the first and last time he’d seen her. But she was in his thoughts nearly every moment of those twenty-two days, three hours, and twenty-six minutes, yet, he couldn’t even say her damned name. Couldn’t say what she was to him. No, he couldn’t think of her or her eyes or her pink lips or that curvy body. Not when he heard that one word that announced his doom.

  Mine.

  He couldn’t dare let his thoughts continue. Couldn’t let his mind think about who she was and where she could be right now. It was so tempting to try and find out. Was she a friend of Daniel’s? Or Sarah’s? She couldn’t have been from Blackstone. He’d lived here all his life and yet never met her. Surely someone as rare as an avian shifter would be well-known in town. Also, what kind of avian shifter was she? Owl? Hawk? No, definitely not a predator bird. Something sweet and docile flashed in his mind.

  His eyes flew open. I need a distraction. As a tiger shifter, his hearing was his best sense. Even in human form, he could focus it, as if he was actually in his animal form and rotate his ears like a radar dish, picking up bits of conversation here and there.

  “I can’t believe she left me for that—”

  “Man, my boss is such a prick—”

  “When didja get back, Nathan? How’s Violet and the little one?”

  “C’mon, she’s so drunk, bet she won’t even remember a thing from tonight.”

  That last one sent his senses tingling as his grip tightened on the glass. He turned his head slightly, trying to find out who was talking. It was the table of three men, two over from where he sat.

  “… look at her, what a slut,” one of them said.

  “Bet she’s a lot of fun,” another added.

  “And those tits,” the last man said. “I’d like to get my hands on those.”

  “Well, I saw her first,” the first one said. “Lemme finish this round, and I’m gonna go say hi.”

  Tamping down his rage, Anders slowly got up, trying not to attract attention. While most people thought he was loud and flashy, he could be stealthy if he wanted to be.

  Scanning the room, it wasn’t really hard to find out who those bastards were talking about. There was only one woman alone at the bar, a glass of wine sloshing in one hand while the other tried to catch Tim the bartender’s attention.

  “… can I have another, please, mister?” the brunette woman slurred as she waved her hand at Tim.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” Anders said, smoothly sidling up to the woman. She swung her head up to look at him. Christ, she was no woman. She was practically a girl, though at least twenty-one if Tim served her alcohol. Did females grow younger each year? Or maybe he was just turning into an old man.

  “Oh. Hey.” A lazy smile spread across her face. “Where’d you come from?”

  “From your dreams. Maybe tonight I can be in them again. Or in your bed.” His mouth turned to dust at the thought, and his tiger roared in anger.

  “Oohhhh.” She let out a giggle and reached over to squeeze his bicep. “Oh. My. God. You’re, like, so built. You must work out.”

  “Some,” he said. “But I get plenty of workout … everywhere.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

  “Hmmm …” Her face went all dreamy. “How about you buy me a drink, and we can talk more about working out.”

  “Sure, sweetheart.” He caught the bartender’s eye and cocked his head. “Hey, Tim, can you give my girl here—”

  “Carrie,” she supplied.

  “Give my girl, Carrie, here my favorite drink. Extra strong.”

  Tim raised a bushy white brow but said nothing and turned around to start mixing the drink.

  Thank you, Tim, he thought silently. Without the bartender’s cooperation—or silence— over the years, everyone would have figured out by now that his favorite ‘drink’ was nothing more than soda water, a splash of cola syrup, and a squeeze of lime. It would surely ruin the reputation he’d been cultivating all these years if anyone suspected. But Carrie was three sheets to the wind, so she probably wouldn’t notice.

  “So, Carrie, tell me about yourself.”

  “Well,” she began as she finished off her wine, “I’m a student at.…”

  He pasted a smile on his face and nodded, but glanced behind him. That guy at the table who was planning on swooping in looked pissed off and stared daggers at him. Good. That should keep the asshole away.

  But his job wasn’t done yet. After two more orders of his favorite “drink” Anders put a couple of bills on the table. “How about we get out of here, Carrie?” he whispered in her ear.

  Her fingers trailed up his chest. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  He placed a hand lightly on her lower back, and led her out of the bar. However, he must have underestimated how drunk she was because she stumbled forward, letting out a loud yelp. With an annoyed grunt, he caught her and hauled her up. “C’mon now.” />
  “Are we going to your place?” she said in a way that was probably supposed to be sexy, but made him want to gag, especially when he got a whiff of alcohol from her breath.

  “Sure, sweetheart, whatever you want. Did you drive here?”

  “Keys in my purse. Blue Honda with the cat bumper stickers.”

  It took all his strength not to roll his eyes. “You won’t be driving tonight, sweetheart, but I’ll take care of it, okay? I’ll take care of you.”

  “’Kay.” Her eyes rolled back as he lifted her into his arms and walked her over to his pickup truck. Unlocking the front passenger door, he slid her into the seat. However, instead of closing the door, he reached over to the middle console and pulled out the water bottle he kept there and unscrewed the top.

  Her head flopped forward, and she blinked.

  “C’mon, sweetheart,” he said, pushing the bottle to her mouth. “Have a sip. Do it for me, okay? I promise you’ll feel better.”

  She grasped the bottle, put her mouth to it, then tipped it back.

  “That’s it … slowly, slowly, you don’t want to choke.”

  “I don’t think you’ve got anything she’s gonna choke on,” came a voice from behind.

  Anders tensed, then put the bottle down to her lap. “Hold onto this while I take care of something.”

  “Wh-what’s going on?” she asked, before her head lolled back, passing out in half a second.

  Slowly, Anders turned around. To his surprise, all three guys he heard talking about Carrie were there. “Can I help you, gentlemen?” He nearly choked on that last word.

  The guy who was murdering Anders with his eyes earlier spoke up first. “Think you’re so slick, swooping in and stealing that girl away from me?”

  Oh, brother. Anders rolled his eyes. Not only did this guy sound like a prick, he looked like one, too, with his perfectly-styled blond hair, chino pants, and polo shirt. He even had a fucking sweater over his shoulders. “Did you get lost or something, son?” he began. “The nearest country club is about thirty miles that way. Don’t forget to have your polo ponies scrubbed before you take them out for a ride.”

  His two friends, who were similarly dressed, chuckled.

  Blondie sneered. “You piece of trash nobody.”

  Yeah, well better than being a piece of trash somebody who takes advantage of drunk women. But even though his tiger was raring for a fight, Anders kept his cool. “Whatever. As you can see, I’m busy here. Unlike you, I have places to be, women to do.”

  Obviously, Blondie didn’t like that, and he stepped forward, hands raising. “Why you—”

  “Doesn’t seem like a fair fight, three against two.”

  Who the hell?

  A shadowy figure stepped out from behind the Jeep parked across from him. Holy shit. I must be hallucinating.

  But no, he wasn’t. That was definitely John Krieger slowly lumbering toward them. At nearly seven feet tall with broad hulking shoulders and tattoos down his massive arms, it was hard to mistake the former Master Sergeant turned ranger for anyone else. As he drew closer, Anders could feel the other man’s animal—a grizzly bear, if he remembered correctly. The beast was like a tightly coiled spring ready to pounce. He’d gone into training with Krieger when he first signed up for the rangers five years ago, and he was man enough to admit that monster bear of his had made him wary. His tiger’s instincts told him something was definitely wrong with this animal.

  “Hey, hey,” one of the other guys said with a nervous laugh. “Who said anything about a fight?”

  “Yeah.” The third guy put a hand on Blondie’s shoulder. “C’mon, Bradley, time we go home. We have class tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, Bradley,” Anders sneered. God, even his name made him sound like a cunt. “Go home.”

  Bradley looked from Krieger to Anders, then let out a huff. “Whatever. She’s not worth it.”

  Anders watched as the three men—no, they were boys, really—walked away. Once they were out of sight, his shoulders relaxed. “You’re a little far from home, aren’t you, Krieger?”

  After they’d finished training, the other man had been given a permanent assignment guarding the entrance up at Contessa Peak, in the highest and most remote area of the Blackstone Mountains. As far as he knew, Krieger never ventured far from his station as he hated being around others.

  Krieger grunted. “Thought I’d come down for a cold beer.”

  “Right. Well, I should get going.” He jerked his thumb back at Carrie, who was now snoring loudly from the front passenger seat. “Heard it was rude to keep a lady waiting.” He pivoted on his heel and was about to shut the door when Krieger’s words stopped him.

  “Third time this month for you.”

  He ground his teeth. “We can’t all live like monks, Krieg.”

  “I mean, third time you’ve brought a girl home—to her home—safely and kept assholes like Bradley from taking advantage of them.”

  He spun around. “How the hell did you know—are you following me? Sorry, dude, I don’t swing that way.”

  Krieger snorted. “You can hide all you want, Stevens. I know what you really are.”

  “You do, huh, champ?” he mocked. “Mind your own business, and shut your trap.” Fuck. Having Krieger sniff around was the last thing he needed.

  “Damon’s still pissed at you, you know,” the bear shifter said. “But I knew there was more to the story.”

  Anders crossed his arms over his chest. Back when Damon’s mate, Anna Victoria, showed up at The Den and got drunk as a skunk on tequila, he had planned to help her out before anyone took advantage of her. However, Damon got to her first, then there was a fight with some anti-shifter assholes, but everything worked out anyway. Turns out Damon and Anna Victoria were mates and now they were married. Anna Victoria would probably be knocked up soon and they could live happily ever fucking after.

  And if Damon thought Anders was still a scumbag asshole, then … good. It would only help his carefully cultivated reputation. “Whatever,” he snorted. “But from what I heard, you used to be quite the ladies’ man yourself, Sarge. Had your share of soldier bunnies, or so they say.”

  “A man can change,” he said with a shrug.

  “Not this man. Every heard of the saying, a tiger can’t change his stripes?”

  “I know what you’re trying to do.” Krieger’s dark eyes bore into his. “It’s what I’m trying to do too.”

  Anders huffed as he turned around and shut the door. “And what’s that?”

  “Be a better man.”

  His head snapped back up, and he spun around. But Krieger was gone.

  Be a better man.

  “Yeah, right.” Anders guffawed. There was no being a better man. Being a terrible person meant no one would want to get to know him, to peel back what was on the surface. It meant no one could come close enough.

  A moan from the inside of the car jarred him out of his thoughts. Carrie’s forehead thudded against the window as she continued to snooze. With an audible huff, he walked over to the driver’s side and got in. Grabbing the purse from her shoulder, he checked her ID for her address, then started the engine. Good thing she didn’t live in a dorm but in an apartment complex not far from the university in the next town over. He’d drop her off, leave her a note to remind her of where she parked her car, then drive back home. It used to be, he’d go and check up on them afterwards, making sure they were okay, but after the Darlene incident, he’d stopped doing that. He didn’t need crazy stalkers coming to his work, threatening to kill themselves if he didn’t come out to talk to them. It had been good for his reputation, but talking her down from the ledge was more trouble than it was worth.

  Since it was his night off, he should really get some rest before his evening shifts for the week began. But he knew even if he did manage to block out his thoughts and cravings for her, she’d follow him into his dreams.

  As soon as he got back home, he walked past the front porch. H
e went straight toward the woods behind his home, shedding his clothes along the way so he could fully shift into his tiger form. He let it take over for now, because at least it gave his animal a sense of control, some freedom to act on its instincts. It should be enough to satisfy his tiger, because there was no way he was going to give in to its other baser instincts. This would have to be enough.

  Twenty-two days. Five hours. Thirteen minutes.

  His mind was constantly on her. Sometimes, in his weakest moments, he’d allow his thoughts to wander. Who was she? Where did she come from? What was she doing at the reception? And where was she now?

  That last question, of course, was constantly on Anders’s mind. Where was she now?

  He just never thought he’d get the answer on his way to work the next afternoon, as he gazed up at one of the many billboards along Highway 75.

  “What the fuck?”

  He slammed on the brakes, the seatbelt the only thing stopping his body from flying through his pickup’s windshield. But he didn’t feel the pain as the belt cut along his skin or heard the honks of the cars behind him nor see the angry faces and gestures of the drivers as they passed around him. No, he could only keep staring up. High up at the familiar lush lips, creamy skin, and aquamarine eyes as they stared down at him.

  “Motherfucker!” His fists plowed forward, leaving a crack in the dash. Putting his car back into gear, he maneuvered onto the shoulder and cut the engine.

  Pushing the door open, he attempted to slide out of the cab but the seatbelt held him back, choking him. “Goddammit!” He tugged and tugged until somehow his common sense came back, and he reached for the release and unbuckled himself. Rounding to the front of his truck, he looked up, craning his neck back to get a good look at the fifty-foot billboard above him.

  Fuck.

  It was definitely her. Darcey Wednesday. Her blonde hair tumbled in soft waves around her, eyes heavily lidded as she lay on rumpled white sheets, wearing only a red lace corset. Sure, the photo was tastefully done and only showed her upper body, but she was still on display for everyone to see, her full breasts pushed up and her red lips parted. Hot damn. He was hard just looking up at her. And he was pretty sure every man over thirteen and under eighty passing by this stretch of highway would be too. His tiger roared possessively at that thought.