Page 21 of Ranger’s Oath (Lone Star Wolf Rangers #5)

GAGE

K ari’s message still burns in my head, the revelation twisting tighter around my chest with every breath.

Corruption at the state level, ties to the island, and now the nephew connection—it feels like we’re standing on the edge of a pit with no bottom.

I can feel the tension in my jaw as I replay it, and even though I kept Sadie in my arms through the night, my mind never stopped mapping the next move before the sun rose.

Her warmth lingered against me, but strategy kept me awake.

I cannot afford distraction, even when every instinct pulls me back toward her.

Rush calls the team into the den—our war room—and the weight in his voice makes every Ranger sit straighter. The map on the table glows under the overhead lights, dotted with pins and notes scrawled in thick marker. The smell of burnt coffee hangs in the air, familiar and grounding.

Sadie hovers in the doorway, her hand on the frame as if testing whether she belongs inside.

I tilt my head, inviting but not insisting.

She stays planted, back just far enough to make her defiance deliberate.

The set of her shoulders says she refuses to be dismissed, and that stubborn fire in her eyes sharpens my focus until it feels like a taut wire pulling me in two directions— discipline on one side, the urge to cross the room and claim her attention on the other.

Rush lays it out clean and sharp: two fronts.

One, expose the donor and the political link before it can bury us deeper.

Two, flip the trooper’s nephew. He's the weak point in the chain.

If we can break him, we unravel the operation.

He speaks with the calm authority of a man used to walking through fire. The rest of us take our cues from him.

Sadie’s eyes narrow, calculation flickering in their depths.

I can almost see her thoughts moving faster than most civilians could manage in a room like this, already stringing connections together.

She’s weighing what this revelation means for her family's foundation and reputation, as well as her own role in a web she never asked to enter. The intensity of her focus makes it clear she isn’t content to sit on the sidelines.

I can tell she’s already plotting her way in deeper.

When the meeting breaks, I linger. Rush waits me out until the room clears.

The silence is taut, the tension pressing against my chest. Finally, I admit what I’ve fought to hold in: Sadie isn’t just my assignment.

She’s my mate. Saying it aloud feels redundant.

Rush and the others have already guessed, every one of them having found their own fated mate, but the admission lands heavily all the same.

Rush studies me, face carved from stone, then says only, “You don't have a choice. you have to lead like a Ranger, not a jealous mate. If you don't, you could easily lose both.”

The words bite deep. I swallow them down, nodding once. Orders first, instincts later. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. My wolf snarls in the back of my mind, reminding me that instincts are what have kept me alive this long. Still, Rush’s warning echoes louder than the animal inside me.

Dalton and Deacon take the sweep of the ranch’s systems. Hours later, they haul in a stripped piece of conduit, wires spliced with precision.

A passive relay, hidden on the irrigation control line.

We were leaking data and granting them access to our systems every time we ran the sprinklers.

The thought of Sadie unknowingly living under that kind of watch makes me straighten, every muscle coiled and ready to strike.

I picture her moving through the kitchen, bare feet whispering against the cool tile, completely unaware that hidden eyes might be fixed on her. The thought twists my stomach, a sick mix of anger and fear that makes my vision narrow.

“Clean work,” Deacon mutters, setting the conduit on the table. “They knew what they were doing.”

“They won’t get another chance,” I promise, my voice low enough to carry weight. Dalton gives me a look that says he knows I mean it literally.

Sadie slips into the room while I’m still glaring at the conduit. She crosses her arms, chin lifted. “So all this time you’ve been lecturing me about caution, and meanwhile they’ve been watching from the damn sprinklers?”

Her sarcasm cuts close, biting deeper because she’s right. I meet her gaze. “We found it. It’s gone.”

“That doesn’t erase the fact it was there.” She steps closer, close enough that I catch the stubborn lift of her mouth. “You keep acting like I’m safer in the dark. I’m not.”

I lean in, lowering my voice so only she can hear. “You’re safer because I make sure you are.”

Her laugh is soft and mocking. “You plan on wrapping me in bubble wrap next? Or are you going to post yourself at my shower door, too?”

Images flash unbidden—her body slick with water, mine pressed against her. My jaw tightens. “Don’t tempt me.”

The spark in her eyes tells me she knows exactly what that admission costs me. She brushes past, deliberately slow, and every muscle in me strains not to grab her and settle the heat right there. Instead, I force myself to focus when Gideon calls from the hall.

Later, she corners me again in the hallway, refusing to let the tension fade. “Admit it, Gage. You want me locked down because you don’t trust yourself, not because of the bad guys.”

I step closer, crowding her back against the wall, stopping short of touching her. “Don’t confuse control with fear. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

She tips her head, a sly grin curving her lips. “Really? Because from here, it looks like you’re barely hanging on.”

Her words hit harder than a blow. I drag in a breath, fighting the urge to prove her right. “You’re reckless.”

“And you’re wound so tight you might snap,” she fires back, voice husky with something that isn’t anger. The air between us hums, thick with the pull neither of us can ignore.

Before I can close the distance, Gideon’s voice cuts through, pulling me back to the mission.

His tone carries the weight of steel as he lays out the plan to meet the trooper’s nephew.

The urgency in his words makes my pulse slow from the heat of Sadie’s challenge to the cold clarity of the op ahead.

We tracked the nephew to a quiet diner outside Galveston, the kind of place where the vinyl booths sag and the waitress barely looks up when two Rangers in tactical jackets sit down.

He already looks unsteady, shoulders hunched and eyes darting like he feels the walls closing in, buckling under secrets far too heavy for someone his age.

He fidgets with his coffee cup, trembling fingers and a smile that does not reach his eyes.

Gideon sets a tablet on the table and the island murder plays full screen, the audio clean and cruel in the close space.

His jaw hardens, but it is not only the footage that breaks him.

He lets out a sound under his breath, something near a confession.

“They threatened my sister when I missed a payment to one of the contractors,” he says, voice small.

The memory crosses his face like a bruise.

For him this is not just exposure. This is family tied up in debt and fear, leverage pressed against someone he loves.

He loses the bluster fast. Color drains from his face. He swallows so hard I can see the tendons in his neck. “I will talk,” he says, words tumbling out. “But I need guarantees. Relocation. New papers. Protection for me and my sister. If I talk, they’ll kill us both.”

Gideon does not flinch. He flips the tablet closed and meets the kid’s eyes. “Talk first,” he says. “Give us what you know. Then we get you into a program that keeps you alive. We do this by the book.”

Before the kid can push back, two black SUVs ease up outside.

Men in suits and badges move through the diner with a calm authority that makes even the waitress straighten.

A marshal steps inside, lays a folder on the counter and nods to us.

“We were asked to take custody,” he says.

“We will guarantee your cooperation is handled under federal protection. You give us what you have. We will handle the rest.”

The nephew’s hands go white around his mug. He looks from the marshals to Gideon to me, searching for a rope he can cling to. “How do I know you can keep me breathing?” he asks, his voice cracking.

I lean forward, steady. “You are still breathing because we are sitting here. That is proof. Give us the drop, the names, the times. The marshals will take care of the paperwork and the relocation. We will keep her safe while you disappear from their list.”

He nods, the surrender sudden and total.

He talks then, spilling addresses, dates and contacts in a rush, as if unloading the weight will make it stop pressing on his chest. When he finishes, the marshal closes his folder, stands and says, “You will go with us now. We will file for immediate witness protection measures.”

The nephew rises, hands shaking, and the marshals take him. It is official and clean, federal custody replacing our informal promise. We watch him move out of the diner, away from the life that held his sister hostage, and for the first time that night the weight in my chest eases a little.

On the ride back, Gideon breaks the silence. “He won’t last long. Nephew or not, once they know he's talked, he's a walking dead man.”

“No,” I agree. “But long enough to give us what we need.”

Once back at the ranch, the tension wraps around my lungs and pulls tighter.

I check the weapons, run comms, and keep my wolf buried under the discipline drilled into me.

Sadie’s eyes follow me from across the room, questions she doesn’t voice pressing heavier in my gut than any mission prep.

I want to tell her she’s safe. I want to promise I’ll be back.

But Rangers don’t make promises they can’t guarantee.

As I pass, my hand brushes against hers, the contact brief yet searing, a jolt that lingers in my chest and refuses to fade, leaving both of us restless and wanting more.

This time, she doesn’t let me slip away with silence. She trails after me into the hall, voice low. “You’re not going to tell me to behave while you’re gone?”

I stop, turning to face her. “Would you listen if I did?”

She shakes her head, a glimmer of mischief lighting her eyes. “I'd listen, but I wouldn't count on me actually doing it.”

The laugh that escapes me is rougher than I intend. “Well, you're nothing if not honest.”

Her smile turns wicked. “Always. You should try it.”

I lean in, letting my breath brush her ear. “If I was honest right now, I’d tell you exactly what I want to do to you before I leave.”

Her inhale shudders, but she masks it with a roll of her eyes. “Careful, Ranger. I might hold you to it.”

It takes everything in me to step back instead of giving in. My pulse hammers, breath harsh in my throat, as I turn and leave her standing there with the burn of a promise sparking in the air between us—untouched, forbidden, and impossible to forget.

Engines thunder to life as the convoy grinds forward, heading for the dead-drop location the nephew gave us.

The purpose is clear: secure the packet of intelligence and materials that can expose Pier One Logistics and the island operation.

The evidence could break the trafficking network wide open, and the Marshals already have custody of the nephew, tightening the noose on the chain.

If we succeed, dismantling that pipeline will not only strike at the heart of the network but also go a long way to keeping Sadie safe.

I ride point, gaze tracking every horizon line, every stretch of brush, every flicker of movement that could hide a threat.

The road ahead lies empty, but the stillness is wrong, thick enough to itch across my nerves.

Each mile drags us closer to the nephew’s dead-drop, yet the sense of danger only builds, a shadow riding with us that refuses to be shaken.

The early morning sun crawls higher, painting the road in molten light. Every mile marker passes like a countdown. My senses edge higher, muscles tight, the air too still.

A flash of light catches my eye too late.

Spike strips glint across the asphalt, and the lead vehicle bucks hard, tires tearing apart, rubber bursting into shreds as sparks whip into the air.

The convoy jolts and swerves, steel biting deep into rubber in brutal unison.

Radios explode with curses and clipped orders, the kind that mean only one thing: the ambush is live.

Through the windshield, I spot figures on the ridge, crouched low and waiting for the convoy to scatter.

Their stillness brims with intent, proof they knew our exact route and timing.

A hot surge of adrenaline drives through me as my grip hardens on the rifle, every sense narrowing to the threat above.

The SUV has barely had time to come to a stop before I throw the door open, boots slamming onto the asphalt.

The smell of burning rubber mixes with dust, hot and choking.

I wave Dalton to take the rear while Deacon scrambles to cover the flank.

Gideon’s calm orders thread through the chaos, but adrenaline surges in my veins, sharpening every sound, every angle.

Shots crack from the ridge, snapping against the convoy’s armor. Glass explodes from a side window. The kid we flipped might not have been the only leak. My rifle snaps to my shoulder, scope sweeping until I find the silhouette perched against the horizon.

The shooter tracks me, barrel glinting in the sun. For a heartbeat, it’s just the two of us, predator against predator. My finger tightens, but Rush’s voice is in my ear, ordering clean extraction. Professionalism over bloodlust.

I force myself to hold, to signal the team instead of giving in to the rage. The SUV engines roar back to life as tires scream on ruined rims. We push forward, limping but moving, every Ranger holding the line.

Inside, fury builds, a storm I can’t unleash. And behind it all, the thought of Sadie waiting at the ranch, trusting me to come back. That trust is the only thing that keeps me steady when the ambush closes in.