Page 12 of Ranger’s Justice (Lone Star Wolf Rangers #1)

CHAPTER 11

CASSIDY

T he prisoner groans, slumped forward in the chair, blood dripping from his split lip onto the concrete floor. I watch from the doorway, my arms wrapped around myself, forcing my breath to stay even. I should feel some kind of satisfaction seeing him like this. Seeing a man who facilitated the kind of evil we just pulled those girls from, broken, beaten, reduced to a trembling mess. But all I feel is a deep, hollow ache. Because this? This is just one of them.

There are more. So many more.

Rush steps back, rolling his shoulders like he’s barely keeping himself from launching at the bastard again. His knuckles are bloody, his breathing controlled but heavy. Dalton leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching the unconscious man like he’s debating whether to finish the job.

Rush turns to Gideon. “Get him cleaned up. Make sure he’s stable. I want him booked, not dead.”

Gideon nods, already moving. “I’ll call our contact to arrange the handoff.”

Rush doesn’t wait for more details. He’s already walking past me, headed toward the house. The moment he brushes by heat coils through me, the scent of him wrapping around me like a noose. Blood, sweat and something darker—something that speaks of the wolf inside him.

I hesitate for half a second, then follow.

Inside, the house is dimly lit, shadows stretching long against the hardwood floors. Rush heads straight for the kitchen, pulling open the fridge and grabbing a bottle of beer. He cracks it open, takes a long drink, then braces his hands against the counter, shoulders tight.

I step in behind him, my stomach twisting. “What did he say?”

Rush doesn’t look at me right away. He stares at the countertop, muscles bunching beneath his shirt as if he’s forcing himself to stay still. When he finally speaks, his voice is low. “There’s a deal going down tomorrow night. Midnight. South of the border.”

The words settle in my chest as if lead. “For another shipment?”

His jaw ticks. “Yeah.”

I swallow hard, gripping the back of a chair to steady myself. “Jesus.”

Rush finally turns, his gray eyes dark, unreadable. “It’s Del Toro’s people handling the transfer.”

The Del Toro cartel doesn’t just move drugs or guns—they move people. Women. Children. People vanishing without a trace, gone forever. And Hollister is working with them.

I close my eyes, nausea twisting my gut. “I should have seen it a long time ago.”

Rush exhales slowly, setting his beer. “Cassidy?—”

“No.” I shake my head, my nails digging into the wood of the chair. “I knew he was corrupt. I knew he was laundering their money. But this?” My voice cracks, and I force myself to swallow it down. “My father worked beside that man for years. My mother married him. How the hell did we never see him for who he was?”

Rush moves toward me, but I take a step back. I can’t let him touch me right now. If he does, I’ll break.

“Cassidy.” His voice is firm, steady. “This isn’t your fault.”

I let out a hollow laugh, shaking my head. “You don’t get it. My dad trusted him—trusted him and Hollister had him murdered for it. And my mom? She married that monster. She let him into our home. Into our lives.” I press my palms against my eyes, my breath hitching. “How the hell did I not see it?”

Rush’s gaze darkens. “Because he didn’t want you to.”

I lower my hands, meeting his eyes. “That’s not good enough.”

His expression hardens. “It’s the truth. You think you’re the first person to be fooled by a man like him? You think you’re the only one who didn’t see what was right in front of them?” He steps closer, his voice low, fierce. “People like Hollister are predators, Cassidy. They’re masters at playing the part. Hiding in plain sight. Making people believe they’re someone they’re not.”

I shake my head, wrapping my arms around myself. “My father worked with him for years. I think my father was beginning to figure it out when Hollister had him killed.”

Rush’s fingers flex like he wants to reach for me, but he holds himself back. “You got out. You started asking the right questions. That’s more than most people ever do.”

I let out a shaky breath, looking past him, my vision blurring. “What if I’d started asking sooner?”

Rush’s expression tightens, and for a long moment, he doesn’t speak. He enters my personal space, forcing me to tilt my head. “You can drive yourself crazy with what-ifs, but it won’t change a damn thing.” His voice is quieter now, but no less intense. “What matters is what we do next.”

I scrutinize his expression, seeking solace, yet find only resolute composure. That dominance stems from his character, not arrogance.

A man who doesn’t flinch when faced with monsters.

A man who I am quite certain will burn the world down to stop them.

Something in me settles, just slightly. “What are we going to do next?”

Rush’s jaw sets. “We’re going to end this.”

The finality in his voice sends a shiver down my spine. Because I know he means it. There’s no hesitation, no doubt.

Hollister made a mistake. He thought he could play the game, move his pieces, and never get caught. His calculations failed to include the Rangers, Rush, or me.

I straighten my shoulders, my pulse steadying. “Then let’s make sure we don’t miss.”

Rush watches me for a long moment, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. Then he nods, once.

“Damn right.”

Rush is still watching me, his gray eyes dark, unreadable. The air between us feels heavier than before, charged with something I can’t name. Maybe it’s the rage still thrumming through my veins. Even amidst this, my body remains acutely aware of his presence.

Or maybe it’s the way he’s looking at me—like he sees everything I’m trying to keep locked away.

I swallow hard, trying to hold on to my anger, trying to hold on to the frustration and guilt that are the only things keeping me upright. But it’s slipping. Fast. And the way he’s standing there, so damn steady, isn’t helping.

His jaw tightens. “You think you should have seen it, that you should have done something sooner.”

I scoff, looking away. “Do you think I’m wrong?”

Rush exhales sharply through his nose. “No, but for the record, I’d have been just as wrong.”

His words slam into me harder than I expect. I shake my head, gripping the edge of the counter behind me to keep myself from breaking apart. “I should have known.”

Rush moves. I don’t even hear him cross the space, but suddenly he’s there, right in front of me, towering over me, his presence wrapping around me like a damn vice.

His fingers hook under my chin, forcing me to look at him. His touch isn’t rough, but it’s firm—commanding. “You listen to me, Marlow.” His voice: low, deadly, inexpressible. “This isn’t on you.”

I shake my head, my throat tightening. “Rush…”

“I mean it.” His grip on my chin tightens just slightly, keeping my eyes locked on his. “You think I don’t get it? You think I haven’t carried that kind of guilt before? Wishing I’d gotten there sooner, wishing I’d seen what was right in front of me?” He lets out a humorless chuckle. “That line of thinking would've driven me mad long ago.”

His thumb strokes over my jaw, rough, calloused, a reminder of the kind of man he is—one who fights, one who protects. One who feels.

I exhale; my anger wavering under the steady weight of him. “Then how do you stop it?” My voice is barely above a whisper.

Rush is silent for a moment. Then he steps even closer, until his heat is pressing into me, until his scent—leather and smoke and something dark—wraps around me. “You don’t,” he murmurs. “You just find something stronger to hold on to.”

Something stronger.

I don’t know if it’s the way his voice drops, the way the world narrows to just him, or the way I can feel every breath he takes. But suddenly, the emotions I’ve been trying to control snap loose.

I grab his shirt, fist it in my hands, pulling him closer before I even realize what I’m doing. “I hate that you make sense,” I whisper.

Rush lets out a low, rough chuckle, but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah, well, I hate that you make me feel things I shouldn’t.”

Then he kisses me.

It’s not soft. It’s not gentle. It’s hard, desperate, fueled by something deeper than lust—something that feels a hell of a lot like need.

I don’t hesitate. I kiss him back just as fiercely, just as wildly, my nails digging into his chest as I push into him. I need this. I need him. I need something to hold on to, something that makes me forget, something that drowns out the noise in my head.

Rush growls against my mouth, his hands sliding down my back, gripping my hips, pulling me flush against him. The second I feel him—hot, solid, ready—a shudder rolls through me.

He backs me against the counter, pinning me there, his mouth dragging down my throat, his teeth scraping just enough to make my breath hitch. “You need an anchor?” he mutters, his voice rough, dangerous. “You need something stronger?” His fingers grip my waist, hard enough to leave bruises. “Then let me be that.”

I gasp, my head tipping back, giving him access to whatever he wants. His hands slide under my shirt, yanking it over my head, tossing it somewhere behind him.

“You’re still fighting me,” he murmurs, dragging his lips down to the swell of my breast, nipping at my skin through my bra. “Still trying to keep control.” He tugs at the fabric with his teeth, his hands moving to my jeans, popping the button free in one swift motion. “But that’s not what you need right now, is it?”

I barely manage a breathless, “No.”

Rush pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, his pupils blown, his wolf barely caged beneath the surface. “Then stop thinking, Cassidy.” His voice is dark, commanding. “Let go.”

Then he lifts me onto the counter, spreading my thighs, stepping between them, and takes exactly what we both need.

Rush doesn’t hesitate. The second I let go, the second I give in, he’s all over me. His hands grip my thighs, spreading me open, pulling me against him like he can’t get close enough. His mouth is on mine again, rough, desperate, dominating.

I should push back, fight for control, but I don’t. For the first time, I relinquish control. I want to feel. I want to drown in this, in him, in the fire raging between us.

He rips my jeans down my legs, dragging my panties with them, the fabric barely hitting the floor before his hands are on me again, fingers digging into my hips as he pulls me to the very edge of the counter. His body is solid between my thighs, his heat searing into me, his scent overwhelming my senses.

“Rush,” I gasp as he trails his lips down my throat, his stubble scraping against my skin, sending a delicious shiver straight through me.

His hands tighten, his grip possessive, demanding. “You need me to remind you who’s in charge here?” His voice is gravel, dark and thick with promise.

I nod, because I do.

A growl rumbles in his chest. “Words, Cassidy.”

“Yes.”

He doesn’t waste another second. His belt clinks almost inaudibly as he yanks down his jeans, pressing his cock against my entrance.

I don’t even have time to brace myself before he thrusts inside me, filling me in one deep, unrelenting stroke.

I cry out, my body arching, gripping him so tight he groans against my throat.

“Fuck, Cassidy.” His hands grip my ass, holding me still as he drags back, then slams into me again.

I can’t answer, can’t do anything except cling to him as he takes. Every thrust sends another wave of heat crashing through me, his pace punishing, brutal, perfect.

His mouth finds my ear, his breath ragged. “You are mine.”

Something inside me snaps. I don’t argue, don’t push back—I accept it.

Because it’s the truth.

Rush owns me now.

His hands tighten, pulling me harder against him, and I feel it—the change in him, the way his wolf is clawing for control, barely leashed. He’s holding back.

“Rush,” I breathe, rocking against him. “Don’t…”

A snarl cuts through the air, his restraint snapping like a live wire. His hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back as his teeth scrape along the curve of my throat.

“I told you this changes everything,” he growls.

He slams into me, deeper, harder, demandin g my surrender.

And I give it.

I break, pleasure ripping through me so violently I can’t even scream. My body clenches around him, my nails digging into his back as I shatter.

Rush follows with a vicious, guttural groan, his body locking, his cock pulsing deep inside me. His arms tighten around me, holding me to him, his breath hot against my skin.

For a moment, neither of us moves. The world narrows to nothing but the sound of our breathing, the pounding of our hearts.

Then Rush lifts his head, his eyes locking onto mine.

“I warned you,” he murmurs, his fingers still gripping my hips like he’s afraid I’ll slip away. “This isn’t something we come back from.”

I swallow hard, my chest still heaving, my body still tingling in the aftermath.

I should say something, make some smartass remark, but I don’t.

Because I know the truth now.

There’s no going back.

I belong to him.

Whether or not I’m ready for that.