Page 18 of Ranger’s Justice (Lone Star Wolf Rangers #1)

CHAPTER 17

CASSIDY

I study him in the dim glow of the SUV’s interior, the play of light and shadow carving the sharp lines of his face into something raw and untamed. Rush Rushton, the man who has just irrevocably altered the course of my life.

He stands just outside the open door, his body braced in a way that makes it clear he’s holding himself back. He clenches his hands, his chest rising and falling in slow, controlled breaths, as if he’s forcing himself to remain still.

But his eyes—his eyes give him away.

A warm, golden hue, swirling with something deeper than possession, something more than hunger. A silent battle rages there, a war between instinct and restraint, between the man and the wolf. And for once, I don’t think either of them knows what to make of me.

I trace the mark on my neck with deliberate slowness, my fingers brushing the sensitive skin, still raw, still tingling. The sensation sends a shiver straight through me, an unfamiliar warmth pooling low in my belly. My body is different now—I feel different. I don’t have words for it yet, don’t fully understand it, but I know it. I belong to him.

The realization should send me spiraling, should have me clawing at my own skin in some desperate attempt to take back control, or perhaps at him for taking it away from me. But I can’t seem to work up the anger to do either. In this moment, with the scent of him still clinging to my skin and the wound of his teeth still seared into my flesh, I don’t want control.

I want him.

Rush moves slightly, his nostrils flaring, as if he can smell my thoughts. His pupils dilate, his body tightening in that barely leashed way that makes something hot curl low in my belly. He might not know what to make of me, but his wolf sure as hell knows what it wants.

I swallow hard, pressing my thumb against the bite, watching the way his jaw ticks when I do it.

“So,” I murmur, letting my voice draw out the tension between us, “you going to tell me what happens now, or do I have to guess?”

His gaze flicks from my fingers to my face, unreadable, calculating. The silence stretches, thick and heavy, before he exhales sharply and scrubs a hand down his face.

“You should fight this.” His voice is low, gravel rough, like the words scrape against his throat on the way out. “You should be pissed as hell.”

I arch an eyebrow, dragging my fingers away from the mark to rest in my lap. “Should I?”

Rush’s frown deepens, like he’s waiting for the explosion, waiting for me to come at him with every ounce of the fire I had before. And honestly? I could. I should. But I won’t.

Not because I don’t have my own damn mind, but because there’s no point in fighting something that’s already done, something I already know is true.

I feel it, deep in my bones. A pull, a thread linking me to him, woven into something I don’t understand yet but know in the way I know how to breathe.

I meet his gaze, unflinching. “I don’t think I want to fight it. I think I’d rather float.”

His entire body goes still. I can feel his wolf snapping to attention like it can’t believe what it just heard. For the first time since I met him, Rush looks surprised. And damn if I don’t love that.

He leans in, his fingers twitching at his sides, like he’s debating whether to touch me, whether I’ll bolt if he does. I don’t move. A charged, electric current, humming with something thick and primal, fills the air between us. I can feel the weight of his gaze as it drags over me, assessing, searching.

“You’re not scared,” he murmurs, more to himself than to me.

I consider his statement. “No. Not in the least.”

His throat works as he swallows, and I catch the barest flicker of emotion before he tamps it down. “Maybe you should be.”

I tilt my head, watching the way his shoulders flex, the way his breathing has gone deep and measured, as if he’s trying to put space between himself and whatever is running wild in his head.

I shrug my shoulders. “Maybe I should be, but then again, maybe not. But why?” I challenge softly. “Because you’re a wolf? Because you bit me?”

His hands curl into fists. “Because this is permanent, Cassidy.” His voice drops, rough and edged with something that sounds dangerously close to fear. “You don’t get to undo this.”

A slow, wicked heat unfurls inside me. Not fear. Not regret. Need. I don’t know if it’s the bond or if it’s just him, but I do know this—I don’t want to undo it. My lips curve into a grin. I am enjoying this far too much. “What makes you think I want to?”

Rush sucks in a sharp breath, his control slipping just enough for his wolf to bleed through, turning his golden eyes molten with heat. Like fireworks on the Fourth of July. I feel it more than see it—the raw, unrelenting need clawing at him, tearing through every bit of logic and reason that might have kept him in check. He leans in, caging me within the SUV without ever laying a hand on me. His breath is hot against my skin, his voice a dangerous whisper.

“You really think you can handle this?”

I meet his gaze, feeling something dark and reckless twist inside me. “What do you say we find out?”

For a moment, neither of us moves, the desert heat is pressing in around us, the only sound the steady, heavy cadence of our breathing.

Then Rush exhales sharply, his mouth curving into something that isn’t quite a smile.

“Fuck, Cassidy,” he mutters, shaking his head. “You are a lot of trouble.”

I grin, lifting a shoulder in a careless shrug. “Perhaps, but then I’m worth it.”

His nostrils flare, his hands flexing, his entire body vibrating with restraint. For the first time, I can see he’s not sure what to do with me. And I love every second.

The ride back to the ranch is tense, thick with the weight of things left unsaid.

Rush tries to look casual, but I’m learning to spot his tells—muscles tight, gripping the steering wheel like his life depends on it. I should feel bad that I’ve got him on edge, but I don’t. This is kind of fun in a demented sort of way. The man is a storm barely contained, all coiled energy and restless power, but I don’t push him.

Not yet. Because I know what’s coming. I know exactly how hard he’s going to fight me on this.

We turn down the long dirt road leading to the ranch, and I watch the rugged terrain as we pass by it. There’s a savage beauty about this land. The others are already waiting on the front porch as we roll to a stop in front of the house. Gideon, Dalton, Gage, and Deacon, their expressions grim, their bodies tense with what they think is coming. They’ll take Rush’s side, of course, but it won’t matter. I mean to have my way on this.

Hollister is still out there, and we might not know exactly where he’s going to be, but we do know when.

I shove the SUV door open, stepping into the cool desert air, rolling my shoulders to work out the lingering stiffness from the long ride. Rush moves beside me, his presence a constant heat at my back, his hand twitching at his side like he wants to reach for me but knows better than to try.

Good. He’s learning, because I’m not in the mood to be coddled.

Dalton is the first to speak, his usual grin absent, his gaze sharp. “They settled on a location.”

Gideon nods, crossing his arms. “Hollister’s meeting is confirmed. Two days from now, he’ll be at a private estate just outside of Laredo. He’s bringing the Del Toro people in for a final negotiation before they move the next shipment.”

“My guess is we’ll be on the agenda,” says Deacon, “as in how do they get rid of us?”

I exhale slowly, my mind already working through the logistics. Two days. That’s all we have.

Rush steps forward, his voice even, steady. “Security?”

Gage answers. “Heavy. Hollister isn’t taking chances after what we did to his last two operations. We’re looking at cartel muscle, hired guns, and high-level players. This isn’t just a deal—it’s the opening salvo in an alliance. Nobody’s going to want to look weak.”

A prickle of unease skates down my spine. If Hollister is securing long-term backing from the Del Toro cartel, that means he’s not planning on cutting and running anytime soon.

He’s planning on expanding. And that is not happening.

I square my shoulders. “I’m in.”

The words land like a bomb in the quiet night.

Rush goes rigid beside me, his head snapping toward me so fast I’m surprised he doesn’t get whiplash. “No.” His tone is flat, final, brooking no argument.

Too bad for him. I turn to face him fully, my hands on my hips. “That wasn’t a request.”

His eyes flash, something dark and wild flickering there before he reins it in. “You’re not going.”

“I wasn’t asking for permission.”

He takes a step closer, his body a wall of barely leashed dominance, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle ticking beneath his skin. “Cassidy, this isn’t your fight anymore.”

I let out a sharp laugh, shaking my head. “The hell it isn’t.”

He growls, low and deep, and I swear I feel it in my bones. “You got your revenge. You got your proof. I’m handling the rest.”

My temper spikes. “You think this is about revenge?” I shove a finger against his chest, ignoring the way his muscles flex under my touch. “You think I spent years putting this together just to walk away before it’s finished?”

His nostrils flare. “You don’t have to be there.”

“Neither do you,” I shoot back.

His breath leaves him in a sharp exhale, his control slipping, his wolf so close to the surface I swear his eyes darken, just for a second.

I press on. “You don’t get to decide how this ends. You don’t get to finish what I started without me.”

Gideon clears his throat. “She’s not wrong.”

Rush whips his head toward him, eyes narrowing.

Gideon lifts a shoulder, unfazed. “This started with her. If she wants to see it through, she has every right to.”

Rush exhales slowly, rolling his neck like he’s trying to physically shake off the frustration vibrating through him.

I soften my tone, placing my hand over his. “I’m not asking to go in unprepared. I know I’m not as skilled as you guys, but I can handle myself. And more importantly? I need to see this through.”

His fingers twitch beneath mine, and for a moment, I think he’s going to argue again. But then he exhales sharply, his shoulders dropping just slightly.

“Damn it, Cassidy,” he mutters.

I grin, sensing acquiescence. “That’s a yes?”

He scrubs a hand over his jaw, shooting a glare at Gideon before turning back to me. “It’s a ‘don’t make me regret this.’”

I beam. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Dalton snorts. “She’s lying.”

Rush sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I know.”

The tension eases just slightly, the weight of the argument settling into something more manageable. We’re still on edge, still running on adrenaline and instinct, but at least we’re moving forward.

Gage claps his hands together. “Alright, now that that’s settled, we’ve got work to do.”

Gideon nods. “We’ll get the layout of the estate, run surveillance, and figure out the best entry points. We do this right, we end this in one move.”

Rush is still watching me, his eyes unreadable, his body wound tight. I don’t know if he’s accepted my decision or if he’s just picking his battles. Either way, I’m in. And when this is over, when Hollister is nothing but a bad memory? I’ll deal with whatever this thing between Rush and me has turned into.

The strategy meeting lasts for hours. Maps, surveillance footage, weapons load outs—it’s all thrown across the dining room table, every man in the room locked in, fine-tuning our final play. This isn’t just another op. This is the endgame.

I sit between Dalton and Gage, absorbing everything, asking questions where I need to, but mostly listening. This is their world, and I know enough to recognize that I’m still learning to navigate it. But one thing is clear—Hollister isn’t slipping through our fingers again.

Gideon circles the table, his voice even, measured. “We’re not waiting for him to settle in at the estate. If we hit them as they arrive, we control the battlefield.”

Rush nods, arms crossed over his chest. “We keep the element of surprise. Hit hard, hit fast.”

Dalton grins. “Make sure no one walks away.”

I inhale sharply, keeping my expression neutral. I’ve made my peace with the fact that this isn’t a mission for arrests. There won’t be a trial, no carefully constructed legal arguments to dismantle what Hollister has done. The system failed. This is something else entirely—something permanent.

And if the governor is okay with that—and apparently he is—I’m okay with it too.

I glance at Rush, and for a moment, I think he’s watching me, waiting for me to balk, to show some sign of hesitation. But I don’t. I gave up that luxury when I threw in with a bunch of wolf-shifting Texas Rangers.

Gideon continues, pulling up a blueprint of the estate. “We’ll split into three teams. Deacon and I will take the eastern perimeter. Dalton and Gage will be at the west boundary, cutting off their escape route.” He looks at Rush. “You and Cassidy will breach from the south.”

Rush stiffens beside me. I don’t need to look at him to feel it—the tension humming through his body, the war still raging inside him about letting me be a part of this. I press my knee against his under the table, a silent reminder. I’m not backing down. Rush exhales through his nose but doesn’t argue.

Gage gestures toward the map. “Hollister’s supposed to be arriving with a small security team. Five, maybe six. But Del Toro’s men? We’re looking at fifteen, maybe twenty. We don’t know if he’s bringing any higher-ups, but in either case, his men will be heavily armed.

“Which means we bring out the big guns,” Dalton grins, leaning back in his chair, tapping the edge of his knife against the table.

Deacon nods. “We hit them before they even know we’re there.”

Rush finally speaks. “No mistakes. No loose ends.”

A heavy silence settles over the table as we all absorb what that really means. No one in that estate walks away. And for the first time since this all started, I don’t hesitate. I don’t flinch. I simply nod. Hollister dies. End of story.

The meeting wraps up just before sunset, the tension still hanging thick in the air as the team disperses. The team checks and re-checks their gear, initiating final preparations. We leave the day after tomorrow.

I step outside, needing the cool air, needing to clear my head. Deep oranges and purples paint the sky, and the first sliver of the moon begins to rise over the trees.

I hear him before I see him. Rush steps onto the porch, his presence wrapping around me like a living thing. He says nothing at first, just leans against the railing, watching the horizon.

“You should be resting,” he says finally.

I smile serenely. “I’m not tired. Fact is, I can’t remember when I last felt this good.”

He turns, and for the first time since this whole thing started, I see something different in his eyes. A question. A challenge.

“You’re not scared,” he murmurs, studying me.

It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “No.”

His gaze sharpens. “Not of the fight. Of this.”

I know exactly what he means. The claiming bite. The bond humming beneath my skin, the tether tying me to him in ways I don’t fully understand.

Rush steps closer, his fingers brushing my wrist, his touch sending a jolt of heat through me. “You can’t possibly understand all of this, and you don’t have to—not now, not all at once.” His voice drops, rough and raw. “You just have to feel it.”

I shiver. “Rush…”

“Come with me.”

He doesn’t wait for my answer, just grips my hand and tugs me toward the woods that surround the house. I follow. The deeper we go into the trees, the more I feel it—the strange pull in my chest, the way the night air feels electric against my skin. Rush stops in a clearing, the rising moon casting long silver streaks through the branches. He turns to face me, his expression unreadable.

“Do you trust me?”

I swallow hard. “Yeah.”

“Then let go.”

I blink. “What?”

His lips twitch. “Just accept the bond and let it permeate every part of your being. Stop fighting what’s already inside you.” He steps closer, gripping my waist. “Stop thinking. Let go.”

My breath hitches as his hands slide up my arms, his warmth sinking into my skin.

“How?” I whisper.

Rush grins, his lips brushing my ear. “I’ll show you.”

And then he moves. One second, he’s standing in front of me, the next—lightning, thunder, color. Mist. That same crackle of energy I’ve seen before, only this time, I feel it. The air thickens, the space around him warping, twisting—until Rush is no longer a man but a massive wolf, his golden eyes locking onto mine.

My heart pounds. Not in fear. In awe.

He’s beautiful.

He pads forward, nudging his massive head against my stomach, his fur soft beneath my fingers. My chest tightens, something deep inside me stirring, clawing its way to the surface.

I gasp, stumbling back, heat blooming in my veins, my vision swimming… and then it hits. I can see her in my mind’s eye—my wolf. A sharp, shattering sensation ripples through me, not painful but all-consuming. The world tilts, colors bleeding together, my body stretching, shifting… and then I’m running.

The trees blur past me; the wind rushing over my fur, my senses sharper, my body lighter. My paws hit the earth in a steady rhythm, the night alive with scents I never noticed before. Rush runs beside me, his massive form moving effortlessly through the darkness, his presence a steady anchor, guiding me, pushing me faster.

I let go. I run. I feel. And for the first time in a very long time, I am free.