Page 2 of Ranger’s Justice (Lone Star Wolf Rangers #1)

CHAPTER 1

CASSIDY

T en Years Ago

Houston, Texas

The sky should’ve opened up. Should’ve poured rain, thick and unrelenting, the way it does in the movies. Instead, the sun beats down like it does not know the world just lost the only man worth a damn.

I keep my eyes forward, locked on the polished wood of my father’s coffin. My hand tightens around Sadie’s. She’s barely twelve, her fingers gripping mine like I’m the only thing keeping her anchored. Maybe I am.

Joseph Hollister’s voice drones on, sickly smooth, every word scraping over my skin like sandpaper.

The bastard is standing at the podium, dressed in a suit that’s too crisp, too polished for a man who’s supposedly grieving. His voice drones on, smooth and measured, the kind of practiced tone used for boardrooms and backroom deals—not eulogies.

Joseph Hollister. The man mother has leaned on since he brought us the news of my father’s death, the CFO of the family business, and my father’s right-hand man. The man I suspect was responsible for my father’s death.

I tighten my grip on Sadie’s small, trembling hand, forcing my nails to dig into my palm to keep my focus. My little sister stands beside me, her dark curls wild from the humidity, her tear-streaked face buried against my arm. She’s only twelve—too young to understand the truth. Or maybe, like me, she understands just enough to be afraid.

I should be crying. I should be screaming, demanding answers, clawing at the polished veneer of this farce of a funeral. But all I feel is cold fury, crawling under my skin like a living thing.

Because I know the truth—Hollister is responsible for my father’s death. He may not have set the explosive himself, but he orchestrated it. My dad had been onto something, digging too deep into his business dealings, sniffing around places Hollister didn’t want him to. And now he’s dead. His car turned into a fireball outside our home, and I’m supposed to stand here and pretend I believe it was an accident.

“My dear friend, Thomas Marlow, was a great man,” Hollister says, his voice thick with feigned sorrow. “A visionary. A man who dedicated his life to building a legacy of integrity and prosperity. His tragic passing is not just a loss to his family but to all who knew him.”

Bullshit.

A hand touches my back, and I know without looking that it’s my mother. She will be Claire Hollister in short order, although nothing has been said… yet. Her nails graze over the silk of my dress in what’s meant to be a soothing gesture, but I feel nothing but a chill. Her presence is a reminder—a warning.

“Cassidy,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. “Not here.”

As if that’s supposed to make a difference. As if holding my tongue here, among the polished headstones and carefully arranged mourners, will change the fact that my father is gone, his car obliterated in a so-called accident that left too many questions and not enough answers.

I glance around, taking in the sea of people dressed in black. Men my father did business with, women who had always pretended not to see the danger lurking behind their husbands’ polite smiles. The air is heavy, and it looks like the storm clouds are rolling in, promising rain. It should feel somber, but the only thing I can focus on is how many of these people are waiting to see what Hollister does next.

He’s already won. My father is dead. And whatever secrets he was unraveling before the explosion took him—Hollister will bury them just as deep.

I turn my gaze back to the man at the podium. He has the gall to look solemn, to press a hand to his chest as if he’s actually mourning. I can feel the anger rising, scorching the back of my throat like bile.

The ceremony ends in a shuffle of murmured condolences and forced smiles. Sadie grips my hand tighter as unfamiliar hands touch her shoulder, stroke her hair. “So sorry for your loss,” they say. “Such a tragedy.”

No one says anything real. No one asks the questions that should be asked.

Mom is standing beside Hollister, her expression vacant. She hasn’t cried once. Not at the hospital. Not at the house. Not now.

I don’t recognize her anymore.

“A terrible loss,” Hollister says, his voice a purring reassurance as he squeezes my mother’s hand. “But we’ll get through this. Together.”

I step between them; Mom barely reacts. She just nods, as if we’re discussing the weather, as if she doesn’t see the way Hollister watches me like I’m a puzzle he’s already solved.

Sadie follows me without question, her steps quick, her grip unrelenting. We make it past the crowd, toward the tree line at the edge of the cemetery, where the smell of freshly turned earth is less suffocating.

She swipes at her eyes. “I hate him,” she whispers.

I glance down, startled. “Who?”

She glares at the podium, where Hollister is shaking hands, smiling like a politician who’s just won the vote.

Sadie sniffles beside me. I squeeze her hand. “Almost done, kiddo,” I whisper.

She nods but doesn’t lift her head.

Hollister’s voice drops, taking on that oily tone he uses when he’s manipulating a room, but I can hear him. He’s speaking to a group of oil executives. “But though we grieve, we must also look to the future. We honor Thomas by carrying on his vision, by ensuring that his work does not go unfinished. His family, his daughters…” His gaze sweeps toward me and Sadie, his expression carefully schooled into something that mimics warmth. “I will ensure their protection and their well-being.

Cared for. The words land like a slap.

I want to scream. To lunge for him, to rip that mask off his face and make him confess to what I know he has done, or at the very least, had a hand in. But I can’t. Not here. Not yet.

A strong hand clamps around my wrist, stopping my thoughts from becoming actions. I whip my head to the side and meet the steady gaze of Marcus Kane, my father’s closest friend and the head of Kane Global Assurance, a company specializing in insurance for oil executives. The only man in this cemetery who doesn’t look like he’s playing a role.

“Steady, Cass,” he mutters under his breath. “The time isn’t right, but the day will come.”

I look at him sharply. Steady, he says. Like I haven’t spent the last two weeks unraveling, drowning in the knowledge that no one is going to do a damn thing to find out the truth.

“What are your plans for college?” Marcus asks.

“I was accepted by the university in Dallas. I thought to study finance.”

“Good. Come see me when you graduate. I think with your background and the right schooling, you’d be an asset to my company. Please promise me you’ll think about it at least.”

“I will. Thank you. My father considered you a good friend.”

He releases my hand. “And I considered him to be one of mine. Do not fail to look to me if you are ever in need.”

I nod as Hollister approaches, his hand outstretched, his expression carefully arranged into something sympathetic. I force myself not to recoil.

“Cassidy,” he says, his voice warm, familiar—like he has any right. “Your father was a good man. He would want you to know that you and Sadie are safe.”

I tilt my head, meeting his gaze with all the cold calculation I can muster. “Safe from what, exactly?”

Something flickers in his eyes—just for a second. A warning. Then it’s gone, replaced by an amiable smile. “From the uncertainty of what comes next,” he says smoothly. “I’ll take care of things, Cassidy. You don’t need to worry.”

I hold his stare, my pulse pounding in my ears. If I let him, he’ll take everything my father built and twist it into something corrupt, something foul. He thinks I’m too young, too grief-stricken to do anything about it.

He’s wrong.

I force a smile. “Of course,” I say, my voice as sweet as poison.

His gaze lingers for a moment before he moves past me, placing a hand on my mother’s back as he steers her away. Sadie grips my hand tighter, watching them go.

“They’re going to take everything, aren’t they?” she whispers.

I swallow the lump in my throat. “Not if I can help it.”

As I look at Hollister—at the way he holds my mother like a possession, at the slick curve of his practiced smile—I make myself a promise.

I will find the truth.

The sky rumbles above us, the first drops of rain dotting the marble headstone that bears my father’s name. The storm is coming. But I’m ready for it.

One day, I’ll make damn sure Joseph Hollister regrets ever thinking I was just another piece on his board.

Five Years Later

I swirl the champagne in my glass, letting the bubbles fizz and pop against the crystal rim. Across the grand ballroom, Joseph Hollister holds court, his laugh booming, his hand resting at the small of my mother’s back. She smiles, polite and distant, the way she always does now. The way she has ever since she married him.

Five years, and she still doesn’t see it, or maybe she does and just refuses to admit it. Either way, the sight of them together makes my skin crawl.

“Cassidy,” a smooth voice says behind me.

I don’t startle. I’ve felt Marcus Kane’s gaze on me all night, watching, waiting.

I turn, taking in the man who has been a family friend for as long as I can remember. He’s older than me by a good twenty years, his dark hair touched with silver at the temples, his sharp blue eyes assessing. He’s never been the touchy-feely type, which is why it surprises me when he clinks his glass lightly against mine.

“Congratulations, kid.”

I arch a brow. “Kid?”

A flicker of amusement passes over his face. “Fine. Ms. MBA Graduate.”

I huff a laugh, taking a sip. Marcus isn’t just some insurance executive. His company specializes in insuring oil executives, and if they get themselves in trouble, finds a way to get them out of it. He’s a fixer, a strategist, the man who makes things happen behind the scenes. He’s the kind of powerful that isn’t loud, isn’t flashy, but makes itself known in the way people step aside when he walks into a room.

And right now, he’s looking at me like he’s been waiting for this moment.

“Got a minute?” he asks.

I set my glass down. “I thought you’d never ask.”

We step onto the terrace, the noise of the party dimming behind us. The Houston skyline glows in the distance, the air thick with summer heat.

Marcus leans against the railing, taking his time before he speaks. “I hear you’ve got offers.”

I cross my arms. “Hollister expects me to join the company.”

His expression doesn’t change, but I know better than to think he doesn’t have an opinion.

“And what do you expect?”

I glance back through the glass doors. Hollister is still there, shaking hands, spinning his web. My mother laughs at something he says, her hand curling around his arm.

My gut clenches as I hear my father’s voice as clearly as if he were standing beside me.

“Follow the money, sweetheart, and you’ll always find the truth.”

“Trust your gut—most people aren’t as honest as they seem or as we’d like them to be.”

My gut has been screaming at me for five years.

I look back at Marcus. “I expect to tell him to go to hell.”

A slow smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Good.” He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a business card, flipping it between his fingers before holding it out to me. “There’s an office at Kane International with your name on the door.”

My fingers tighten around the card.

He lets that sink in before adding, “We do things my way. You learn the business from the inside out. No shortcuts, no reckless plays.” His voice drops, deadly soft. “We take our time. And when we make a move, we don’t miss.”

I don’t hesitate.

I don’t ask for time to think.

I don’t play it safe.

I slide the card into my clutch, meet his gaze, and nod.

“I’m in.”