Page 11 of Ranger’s Justice (Lone Star Wolf Rangers #1)

CHAPTER 10

RUSH

T he SUV rumbles beneath me as I press harder on the gas, gravel spitting up in the wake of the tires. My pulse is steady, my mind locked in, but there’s something burning under my skin—something I can’t shake. The call from our informant was clear: a transport was moving out tonight, tied to Hollister’s operation.

The plan had been to infiltrate one of the ‘weigh stations’—for lack of a better term—for the trafficked women. But on the way, we intercepted information about a semi already moving south. Rumor had it that the semi was just outside the city, parked along the kind of back roads where no one asks questions, and no one hears screams.

The moment I hear the approaching SUV, my wolf perks up, hackles rising. It’s not fear—it’s instinct. Anticipation. The hunt is still on, and every second wasted is a second too long for the people trapped inside that rig.

I catch the scent of Cassidy before I see her. Lavender and something deeper, something uniquely hers that sinks into my bloodstream like a drug I can’t shake. I push that down. I don’t have time for distractions, not when we’re standing at the edge of the abyss, staring into hell.

Dalton pulls the vehicle to a stop beside mine, dust swirling in the red glow of the taillights. The second the doors open, Cassidy is out, moving toward me with that damn stubborn set to her determined jaw.

Gideon swings out of the passenger side, rolling his shoulders. “Jesus, Rush. Could you have picked a darker, creepier place to bust up a trafficking ring?” He shakes his head and says nothing more as he comes up beside me, his eyes scanning the area. He’s a wall of lethal calm, but I see it in the way his fingers flex—he’s ready for a fight.

Cassidy moves to stand beside me. “Where are they?”

I don’t answer right away. Instead, I grip her arm, firm but not rough, pulling her toward Deacon, who’s watching from the other SUV.

“You stay here,” I tell her.

Her chin jerks up. “Like hell I will.”

I tighten my hold before she can dig her heels in. “I’m not arguing, Cassidy. You stay with Deacon until we secure the truck.”

She crosses her arms, defiance sparking in her green eyes, but for once she holds her tongue.

I step closer, close enough that she has to tilt her head back to keep eye contact. “This isn’t a negotiation.” My voice is low, firm, the kind that doesn’t invite argument. “There’s no telling what’s waiting in that trailer. You stay put until I say otherwise. Understand?”

She glares. “No.”

Deacon chuckles under his breath. “Damn, Rush. You sure you want me to babysit? Might be safer to take on the traffickers.”

Cassidy whips her glare toward him. “I am not a damn baby.”

Deacon clears his throat, stepping in before this goes sideways. “Cassidy, you can help once we know it’s safe. Until then, I got your six.”

I release her, my gaze lingering for a second longer than I mean it to. I don’t like this—not one damn bit—knowing there’s a fight coming and leaving her on the sidelines. But it’s not a choice. It’s a necessity.

She knows it too, even if she doesn’t like it. She turns and heads back to the SUV.

I nod to Deacon. “Keep her here.”

Dalton sits in the driver’s seat of the other SUV, rifle resting between his legs, his usual cocky grin nowhere to be found. Instead, his gaze stays sharp, scanning the side roads and tree lines, his whole body coiled for a fight that might not come but we both know could.

Gideon has joined Dalton in one SUV. Gage has moved out to find a spot from which he can cover us with his long-range sniper rifle. Cassidy sits quietly with Deacon, her silence heavy with unspoken words, and I feel the weight of her gaze, a silent pressure in the air between us.

“In position. No movement in or out since we got here,” Gage’s voice comes over the comms.

“Copy,” I reply.

Then I turn, already moving, my mind locking back onto the task at hand. Dalton and Gideon fall in beside me, their boots silent against the dirt as we approach the semi. Gage has taken a position where he can see everything. He’s armed with a high-powered sniper rifle and will give strategic cover if and when we need it.

The closer we get to the semi, the worse it smells. Sweat. Piss. Fear.

Dalton wrinkles his nose. “Christ.”

Gideon doesn’t react, but I know he smells it too. My wolf is already snarling beneath my skin, instincts screaming that whatever’s inside that trailer, it’s bad.

I motion them forward, and we fan out—Dalton left, Gideon right, me taking point. Although the trailer doors are still shut, I doubt it’s unguarded. Hollister’s people are professionals. If this is an active transport, there should be someone watching it.

And sure enough, there’s a flash of movement from the shadows. A man steps out from behind the cab, raising a gun. I move before he can blink.

I slam into him, knocking his shot wide before my fist crushes into his face. He stumbles, and I don’t give him the chance to recover. I grab his wrist, twisting it until the gun drops into the dirt, then drive my knee into his ribs.

He gasps, going down hard.

Dalton snorts. “How rude; you didn’t even give him time to scream.”

I shoot him a look. “Focus.”

Gideon’s already on the second guard, taking him out with a brutal efficiency that barely makes a sound. The man twitches once, then goes still, blood pooling in the dirt beneath him.

Dalton toes the first guard with his boot. “Want me to ask this one some questions?”

The man groans.

I crouch beside him, gripping the man’s throat. His pulse flutters beneath my palm. He’s terrified, but that doesn’t mean I’m giving him mercy.

“You running security?” I ask, voice low.

He shakes his head, eyes wide, pleading. “No—no, I—I just drive the rig…”

I squeeze, cutting off his words. “You traffic people.”

“I just…” His words cut off with a wet gurgle as I press harder.

Dalton watches, face impassive. Gideon doesn’t move. The man struggles, but there’s no winning this fight. When I finally let go, his body slumps, lifeless.

Gideon exhales. “Well. That’s one way to handle it.”

I roll my shoulders, standing. “Let’s open it.”

Gideon and I move to the trailer doors. I pull the heavy latch free, metal groaning under my grip. There’s a long, awful moment where nothing happens. Then… a girl stumbles forward.

She’s young. Too young. Barely more than a teenager. Her eyes hollow, her wrists raw where they’ve been bound. She blinks up at me, her lips parted like she doesn’t quite believe we’re real.

Behind her, there’s movement. More bodies, more eyes. Some wide with fear, others dull, lost in whatever hell they’ve been living in. My chest tightens.

Dalton curses under his breath. “Son of a bitch.”

Gideon doesn’t say a word, but his jaw clenches, his hands curling into fists.

The girl in front of me sways. I step forward, catching her before she can fall. She flinches at the touch, her whole body stiffening.

“We’re not here to hurt you,” I murmur. “You’re safe now.”

She stares at me like she doesn’t believe me.

I nod toward Dalton. “Get Deacon; have him bring Cassidy.”

Dalton hesitates, glancing at the wreckage behind us. “You sure about that?”

I don’t hesitate. “Yeah.”

Dalton nods and jogs back toward the vehicles.

Gideon steps inside the trailer, scanning the other girls. “We need to move fast. Some of them are in pretty rough shape. They might not last long.”

I tighten my grip on the girl in my arms. She’s barely standing, her breathing shallow. Cassidy needs to see this. But more than that, they need to see her. Not just because I know she’ll help, but because she needs to understand. This isn’t just about revenge or justice. This is war and these women are the casualties.

I barely contain the rage inside me. My wolf is snarling, pacing, clawing beneath my skin, demanding release. It wants vengeance. Blood. It wants to rip apart every bastard involved in what we just uncovered. But I can’t let it. Not here. Not in front of the girls we just pulled out of hell.

They’re huddled together, shaking, eyes darting between us like they can’t decide if we’re their saviors or just another part of the nightmare. Most of them are too malnourished and drugged to put up a fight. A few still have enough spirit left to flinch when Gideon moves too fast. The girl in my arms, the one who nearly collapsed when I opened the trailer, is barely conscious, her body limp against me.

I tighten my grip, keeping her upright. “You’re safe,” I murmur again, but it feels like a lie.

They might be safe now, but they sure as hell weren’t before.

I take a slow breath, trying to keep my voice steady when I bark out an order to Deacon over the comms. “Call it in. Get the others here. We need transport and medical.”

I know I should be relieved that we got here in time, that we stopped at least one shipment from disappearing into cartel hands. But there’s no relief. Just fury. Because for every one of these girls we saved, there are others we didn’t. Others we might never find.

Gideon steps up beside me, his voice low. “They were ready to move. This wasn’t just a holding site. They were on their way to a handoff.”

I grit my teeth. “That’s what I figured.”

Gideon’s jaw tightens. “Means there are more. This isn’t their only route.”

The SUV with Deacon, Cassidy and Dalton rolls up beside the semi.

“Reinforcements and medical are on the way.”

I don’t respond, because I already know that too.

Behind us, the girl in my arms lets out a soft, broken whimper. She’s not crying—doesn’t have the strength for it—but her fingers clench weakly in my shirt, like she’s bracing for whatever comes next. It nearly breaks me.

Within short order. Several trucks and a transport vehicle rumble up the dirt road, headlights cutting through the dark. Texas Ranger reinforcements and medical personnel have arrived. I let out a slow breath, forcing the wolf inside me back down as the vehicles skid to a stop and the doors fly open. A couple of Rangers I recognize jump out, med kits in hand, their faces grim when they take in the scene. Medical personnel are exiting the transport vehicle.

Dalton moves to help organize the transport, speaking quietly to one medic as they assess the girls. Cassidy gasps behind me. I hear her sharp intake of breath, the way her heart pounds like a drumbeat against the silence. She steps closer, her hands gripping the edge of the door frame as her eyes scan the truck’s interior.

“Oh, my God,” she breathes.

She’s seen the financials. The coded transactions. The cold, hard numbers that prove Hollister has been financing the worst kind of operation. But numbers don’t prepare you for the reality.

The girls don’t scream. They don’t even move at first, just curl tighter into themselves, their fear so deeply ingrained that even with the doors open, even with their captors gone, they can’t imagine rescue.

One girl stirs, a thin thing with tangled dark hair and too-large eyes that dart toward me. She sways slightly, her pupils blown wide, drugs still coursing through her veins.

Deacon moves in first, stepping onto the truck bed, his voice softer than I expect. “It’s alright,” he says, hands raised. “We’re not here to hurt you.”

The girl flinches, her body curling tighter. The others stay silent.

Cassidy pushes past me, moving before I can stop her. “Hey,” she murmurs, crouching low, her voice softer than I’ve ever heard it. “You’re safe now. We’re not like them.”

One of the girls lifts her head, barely able to focus. She looks at Cassidy, then at me, then back to Cassidy again.

“They said no one would come,” she whispers.

Cassidy swallows hard. “They were wrong.”

I see her fingers tremble where they grip the edge of the truck bed. She doesn’t cry, but I can see the war happening inside her. Anger. Horror. A deep, soul-cutting sorrow. She looks at me, and for the first time in my life, I don’t have the right words.

I motion for Deacon to bring her over. The girl in my arms stiffens at the movement, her breath hitching, but she doesn’t pull away. Cassidy steps closer, dropping into a crouch beside me.

“Hey,” she murmurs, her voice soft but steady. “You’re going to be okay.”

The girl doesn’t respond, but her eyes flick toward Cassidy, barely focusing.

Cassidy reaches out, hesitating for only a second before brushing a hand over the girl’s arm. “I know you’re scared,” she says gently. “But we’re going to get you somewhere safe. No one is going to hurt you again.”

Something in her tone must get through, because the girl sags against me, her body relaxing just slightly.

I glance at Cassidy, my throat tight. “Can you take care of her?”

She nods immediately. “Of course.”

I hand the girl off, careful, slow, making sure she doesn’t panic. Cassidy takes her weight without hesitation, holding her like something fragile and precious, whispering reassurances as she guides her toward the transport vehicle.

The others follow, helped along by our medics, until they’re all loaded up and on their way. I don’t let myself breathe until the taillights disappear down the road.

Gage joins us and claps me on the shoulder. “We did good here, boss.”

I don’t answer. Because good isn’t enough.

Now that the girls are in the capable hands of the medics and other Rangers, the six of us—me, my team and Cassidy—retreat to the SUVs.

Cassidy sits beside me in one of the SUVs, her arms crossed, silent, her expression unreadable. I don’t know what she’s thinking, and I don’t ask. Not yet. I’ve got my own thoughts spinning too fast, my body still wired, adrenaline still burning under my skin.

But even through the chaos in my head, I can feel it—her. That damn pull. The one I’ve been trying to fight since the moment I laid eyes on her.

It’s getting stronger.

Like a leash tightening around my throat, dragging me toward something I have no business wanting.

I grip the wheel tighter, forcing my hands to stay steady.

Cassidy finally breaks the silence. “Rush.”

I glance at her. “Yeah?”

She opens her mouth, then hesitates, her fingers tapping against her thigh. “Never mind.”

I want to push. Demand to know what she was about to say. But I don’t, because now isn’t the time.

When we get back to the ranch, there’s no time for rest.

We secured the surviving trafficker—one of Hollister’s men, the one I left bleeding in the dirt—inside an old storage building, his hands zip-tied behind his back, and a chair bolted to the floor beneath him.

He’s conscious when I walk in, barely. His face is swollen, he has one eye nearly shut, and blood crusts along his temple. He looks up at me and tries for a laugh, but it comes out more like a wheeze.

“You’re wasting your time,” he mutters. “I’m not telling you shit.”

I step closer, slow, deliberate. My wolf surges inside me, eager, hungry.

I grip his shoulder and yank, dragging him forward so fast his breath stutters.

“You really think I need you to talk?” I murmur, my voice low, lethal.

His eyes widen. Dalton leans against the wall, arms crossed. “Boss gets a little impatient with scum like you. You might wanna rethink your strategy.”

The man swallows hard, but says nothing.

I sigh. Then I hit him. His head snaps to the side, blood spraying from his mouth.

I crouch beside him, gripping his jaw, forcing him to look at me. “You’re going to tell me everything you know about the next shipment. Where it’s going, who’s buying.”

He lets out a wet laugh. “Fuck you.”

I bare my teeth. “Wrong answer.”

Another hit. Harder this time. The sound of cracking bone fills the room. The man gasps, blood pooling between his lips. He coughs, struggling for breath.

Dalton sighs. “Jesus, just tell him before he gets really pissed.”

The man shudders. “A deal,” he finally chokes out. “Tomorrow. Midnight. South of the border. Some kind of special shipment.”

I grip his throat, pressing just enough to make him panic. “Where?”

“An old airstrip.” His words come fast now, terrified. “Del Toro’s people are handling the transfer.”

Del Toro. The cartel.

I release him, standing to my full height.

“That’s all I know,” the man wheezes.

I nod. “Good.”

Then I hit him one last time.

He slumps forward, unconscious, his body limp.

Dalton exhales. “Well. Guess we know where we’re going next.”

I wipe the blood off my knuckles, my wolf finally quieting. Cassidy steps through the doorway, eyes locking onto mine.

I can still feel it—the pull.

And I know, without a doubt, that I’m already too far gone.