Page 18 of Ranger’s Oath (Lone Star Wolf Rangers #5)

SADIE

T he war room hums with low voices, the soft scratch of pens, and the tap of keys.

I sit with Cassidy and Kari at the long table, laptops open, a tangle of charging cords and half-finished coffee cups between us.

It feels like a late-night study session back in college, only instead of exams, we’re digging through donor rosters, logistics invoices, and staff rotations tied to a Caribbean island that tried to erase me.

The atmosphere is thick with focus, each of us leaning closer to our screens as though the answers might jump out if we stare long enough. The lamps cast warm halos over our work, shadows stretching across the walls like they’re listening too.

Cassidy leans over, scrolling fast. “I’ll take PAC donors. Political money always leaves crumbs. Kari, you said you can handle the staff rotations?”

Kari nods, hair falling forward as she types. “Already cross-referencing with immigration records. If anyone’s shuffling in and out under a fake name, I’ll find it.”

That leaves me. Logistics invoices. Not my specialty, but I’ve wrangled budgets for galas where egos cost more than caviar.

I know how to track where money bleeds, and there’s a ruthless satisfaction in catching the hidden lines others try to bury.

I tap my nails against the keyboard in rhythm with my thoughts, forcing myself not to look at the clock.

Hours stretch, broken by muttered curses and quick discoveries.

Cassidy grumbles about a donor trying to hide contributions through a shell.

Kari snorts when she finds a staff member listed twice under two different IDs.

I scan invoice after invoice until my stomach knots.

The monotony frays my nerves, but the thrill of the hunt keeps me anchored.

One name jumps out. Briggs Foundation. Listed as a donor to my own Gulf Coast Heritage Foundation.

And also tied to Falcon Shield Security—the same vendor linked to the island network.

My blood chills. A man who smiled at luncheons and praised preservation projects also funnels money into the same company hunting me.

The betrayal bites deeper because he’d clapped me on the shoulder once and called me 'the pride of Galveston. '

Cassidy notices the change in my breathing. “What is it?”

I turn the screen so she can see. “Briggs. He backed one of my gala campaigns. If this is the same Briggs who funds Falcon Shield, then I’ve been shaking hands with the enemy.”

Her lips press thin. “That doesn’t mean you knew. Donors hide their games all the time.”

“It means I let him get close. It means he saw me, saw everything I cared about. And maybe that’s how they knew where to cut deepest.”

Cassidy reaches for my hand. “Sadie...”

“I’m not stopping.” My voice is flat, final. “If he’s in this, I’ll trace every dollar until it leads me to the island’s doorstep.”

The scrape of a chair pulls me back. Gage stands in the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable. His shadow fills the frame before he does. “That’s enough for today.”

I arch an eyebrow. “You handing out curfews now?”

“You’ve been at it for hours. Get off the laptop. Go to bed.”

I glance at the screen. “I’m not finished.”

He strides in, presence filling the room. “Sadie.” One word, heavy with command, wrapping around me like a tether.

My pulse quickens, but I lean back in my chair, cool as I can manage. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were scared of me finding something.”

His jaw tightens. “I’m not scared of you. I’m worried you’ll drive yourself into the ground.”

“Sweet,” I say. “But I’ve handled forty-eight-hour gala builds with less coffee than this. I can manage a few more invoices.”

Cassidy coughs into her hand, wisely gathering her laptop. “I think I'll finish checking the rotations in our room. Night all.”

Kari follows, grinning on her way out. Their departure strips the room of its background noise, leaving me and Gage alone in a silence so weighted it presses down on my chest.

He leans closer. “Bed. Now.”

I tilt my head, lips curving. “Yours or mine?”

“Knock it off, Sadie. It’s advice. If you don't give the body and mind the rest it needs, they may fail you when you need them the most.”

I stand, pushing the chair back slowly. “Isn't that where my she-wolf comes in?" I wave him off, not really caring what his answer might be. "No matter, but I'll make you a deal: let me finish this board, and maybe I’ll think about listening to you.”

For a heartbeat, sparks crackle in the space between us, so fierce I forget to breathe. His eyes darken, not just with irritation but with something heavier, something that makes my stomach flip. He steps back before I can push further, voice low.

“You test me too much.”

I smile, cool and cutting. “And yet here you are.”

He exhales hard, raking a hand through his hair. “You make everything harder than it has to be.”

“Harder doesn’t mean worse.” I let the words hang, loaded, before I add with a grin, “Sometimes harder is better.”

His mouth twitches, like he’s choking back a laugh, but instead of giving me the satisfaction he pivots on his heel.

He leaves with a muttered comment about me being impossible.

My pulse keeps hammering long after the door shuts behind him, heat lingering in my skin, and only then do I notice the grin stretching across my face in the dark.

I try to force my attention back to the invoices, but my focus slips apart.

The memory of his gaze and the weight of command in his voice tug at me until the rows of numbers smear across the screen.

Frustration spikes and I slam the laptop shut before I give in to the dangerous urge to chase after him.

The worst part is that a small, reckless corner of me longs to do exactly that.

Cassidy pokes her head back in a few minutes later. “Don’t let Gage get to you. He hovers when he cares. Drives me insane, too.”

I snort. “Hovering is an understatement.”

“You’re good at rattling him, though. I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you.”

“Like he wants to strangle me?”

“Like he wants to devour you whole.” Cassidy grins, eyes wicked. “Trust me. I know the signs.”

Heat floods my cheeks, and I throw a piece of crumpled up paper at her. “Get out.”

She bats away the ball of paper and laughs as she retreats, leaving me with a heart that won’t slow. I put my head in my hands, wondering when surviving became tangled with wanting.

Later, twilight bleeds across the sky. Cassidy beckons me outside, past the inner fence. “You’re strung too tight,” she says. “Run with me.”

I hesitate. “Now?”

“Yes. Trust me. Come on; the guys have built a small changing room for us.” She pulls her shirt over her head without hesitation.

“We can stash our clothes in here.” She leads me into a small changing room built off the porch.

Baskets line the wall for clothes and shoes, with a few stools to sit on.

She folds her clothes with practiced ease, tucks them into a basket, and waits.

My cheeks heat, but I strip down too, tucking everything into a basket. The air prickles cool against my skin. Cassidy takes my hand. “Close your eyes. Let it come.”

The mist rises from the ground, rolling thick, curling around us.

It shimmers with streaks of violet, green, and gold, lightning snapping, thunder rumbling soft as a drumroll.

My heart kicks faster, body weightless for a breathless instant.

Then it’s over. Four paws press against the earth where my feet had been.

I give my coat a hard shake, every strand alive with sensation as the world sharpens into startling clarity.

Light feels richer, sound layered and immediate.

Cassidy presses her flank against mine in encouragement before surging ahead.

I match her stride, and together we launch forward into the open space.

I move easily into stride, paws steady on the ground as if they have always known this rhythm.

Cassidy keeps close, her presence a steady beat beside me.

My body stretches into motion, muscles working in harmony, and exhilaration surges through me.

The wind rushes past, carrying with it a sense of power and release so fierce it makes me want to howl.

Cassidy barks once, playful, and I answer, the sound tearing free in pure delight.

We chase each other along the fence, paws drumming, mist still sparking overhead.

She veers left, daring me to follow. I leap over a fallen branch and surge ahead, strength pouring through me like it’s always been there.

The thunder from the sky fades, leaving only the pulse of life in my chest. By the time we slow, my sides heave with joy more than exhaustion.

I can’t remember the last time I felt this alive.

We pad back to the ranch and slip into the small changing room. The mist rises once more, swallowing us in light and thunder, and when it clears I’m human again, lungs heaving and skin buzzing as if charged with a hidden current.

Cassidy smiles. “See? Not so terrifying.”

“Terrifying and amazing.” I laugh, shaky but real. “Like holding lightning in your hands.”

Cassidy grins. “Exactly. And you’ll get better each time. Stronger. Faster. You’re already adapting faster than I did.”

We dress in silence before stepping into the main hall of the house. The earlier tightness in my chest loosens, ebbing away as a rare calm spreads through me, steady and grounding, a kind of peace I never thought I could claim.

Gage waits in the kitchen, braced casually against the counter like he belongs there, though the tightness in his stance betrays control held on a short leash.

His gaze fixes on me, steady and unreadable, yet when our eyes lock there’s the briefest flash of something raw before it vanishes.

Cassidy squeezes my arm in a silent nudge of encouragement and drifts past, leaving the two of us facing each other in the quiet.

He studies me. “Better?”

“Much.” I pause, listening. There’s a subtle hitch in his breathing, a pause so small most would miss it. But I hear it. Clear as a note out of tune.

I step closer. “You just hesitated.”

His eyes narrow. “What?”

“Your voice. You tried to sound calm, but you caught yourself. I heard it.”

He straightens, shoulders taut. “You’re imagining things.”

“No,” I say softly. “I’m not. I can hear you now. Every crack in your armor.”

For the first time, I see him unsettled. He glances away, jaw tightening. I press my advantage. “You can keep your secrets, Gage. But I’ll know when you lie.”

He steps forward, close enough that I feel the heat of him. “Careful, Sadie. You don’t know the weight of what you’re poking at.”

I swallow, but don’t back down. “Maybe not. But I know I want the truth.”

The silence between us vibrates, taut and dangerous.

He exhales hard, as if forcing himself to stay in check.

I see it in the rigid line of his shoulders, the locked set of his jaw, the restless way his hands tighten like they need to seize something, and the terrible thought strikes me that the only thing he wants to seize is me.

“Why do you do this?” he asks finally, voice low. “Why push so hard?”

“Because everyone keeps me in the dark,” I say with an edge in my tone. “And I’m tired of being treated like porcelain. If I’m in this, then I deserve the truth.”

His gaze burns hotter, but before he can reply, my phone buzzes. A secure ping from Kari. I open the message and a file pops up. A single highlighted line slams into me: Elliott Hargrove.

The name is small on the screen and enormous in my chest. Elliott Hargrove is the man who mentored my family for decades, the one who clasped my hand at the last gala and called me the pride of Galveston.

He chaired the advisory committee that pulled strings to get my foundation its first major donor.

He gave me my first public praise and then posed for photos by our sign.

Now his signature sits linked to a shell company that paid for the limo in Aruba.

The betrayal is a physical thing. I feel the floor tilt.

Memory after memory rises unbidden: him smiling across a luncheon table, praising my plans, that handshake that felt like a promise.

The warmth of those moments curdles into something cold and bright.

I close the laptop with a little too much force. My hands tremble but my voice comes out steady, low and hard. “He taught me how to build this,” I say, and the words taste like ash. “He taught me to trust.”

Rage and a sharp, hollow grief thread through me at the same time. “If Elliott Hargrove helped fund this,” I whisper, “he sold us out.”

Gage is suddenly there, his grip on my arm firm and possessive.

He does not speak. He does not need to. The single look he gives me is equal parts promise and readiness.

I breathe once, forcing myself to steady the tremor in my hands.

“I will trace this,” I say. “I will follow every dollar until it stops.”

The plan hardens inside me like iron. Betrayal just made this personal in a way that will not let me go.

My blood runs cold. Someone we once welcomed into our family’s inner circle, someone woven into our legacy, is tangled up in this. The betrayal feels like a trapdoor opening under my feet, and I can’t tell how far the fall goes... or what waits at the bottom.