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

SADIE

T he low rumble of his growl still vibrates through me, coiling in my chest and sinking lower until my whole body feels unsteady.

It wasn’t just sound, it was command, a primitive warning that set every nerve on edge and left me flushed, restless, aware of him in a way that unsettles me more than the danger outside these walls.

Cassidy hovers near the door, clearly torn between refereeing and running for cover. I press my palms into my thighs because the moment he walked in, the world tilted on its axis and I can't seem to get it back under control.

My stomach spins like I’ve been on a carnival ride for too long. His presence presses into the room, dense and commanding, and every nerve ending feels raw. My head buzzes with a high-pitched whine that won't quit, circling endlessly around my head. I swallow hard and push myself straighter.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” I mutter, shooting Gage a look as cutting as I can manage. “You're not going to get very far with me by thinking you can order me around like I’m some kind of rookie recruit for Team W.”

His gaze tracks over me, assessing, deliberate. “You’re alive, aren’t you? That’s what matters.”

Gage’s hand tightens on the back of the nearest chair, knuckles blanching before he forces his grip to ease. The slip is quick, controlled almost as soon as it shows, but I catch it.

“Oh, so I should be grateful?” My laugh comes out brittle. “Forgive me if gratitude isn’t at the top of my mood board right now.”

Cassidy clears her throat. “Sadie...”

I cut her off with a raised hand. “Don’t. You’ve already said your piece.”

Gage’s eyes narrow, green cutting into me. “Your sister did what she thought best..."

“For her? Maybe. For me? Jury’s still out.”

“You think this is a game?” he growls, producing an involuntary shiver from me in response.

“I think,” I say slowly, carefully, “that you’re used to people falling in line when you bark orders. That may work on your team, Ranger, but not with me. I’m not yours to command.”

A quick change crosses his expression, a brief fracture in that disciplined mask.

For a heartbeat I brace for him to advance, to press until I shatter, but instead he eases back, folding his arms over his chest. The posture should read casual, almost relaxed, yet on him it radiates control, a silent threat wrapped in restraint.

“Then maybe you’d like to explain,” he says, voice calm, “how you plan to survive the people who’ve already tried twice to kill you.

” The calm is clipped too sharply, his tone cut short in a way that betrays strain.

For a breath his jaw flexes hard enough that I see the muscle jump before he schools it back into stillness.

“You know the old saying, third time's a charm. Because I have to tell you from where I’m standing, your plan starts with you being stubborn and ends with you being dead.”

It feels like a slap in the face. I bristle, anger twisting through me, but beneath the heat is a sudden stab of fear. He’s not wrong, and I hate him for it. My hands ball into fists at my sides, knuckles tightening until they ache.

“Maybe stubborn is what’s keeping me standing,” I retort. “Not your protection. Not your rules. Me.”

His eyes gleam, wolf-bright for a heartbeat, and my pulse jumps. He doesn’t move, but I feel him closing in all the same.

Cassidy wisely slips out, muttering something about coffee. The door clicks shut behind her, leaving me alone with Gage. What follows is a weighted hush that swells until it feels like a third presence in the room, pressing close and demanding to be acknowledged.

“You’re volatile,” he says finally. “Your senses are spiking, your instincts are wild, and you don’t know how to handle them yet.”

A jagged laugh slips past my lips. “Thanks for the pep talk. It really made me feel better.”

“It’s not a pep talk, and it's not my job to make you feel better. It’s reality.” He steps closer, slow enough to feel deliberate, predatory. “You need to learn control. And until you have it, you need someone who won’t hesitate to stop you or step in when you put yourself in danger.”

“Let me guess,” I bite out. “That someone is you.”

His mouth curves, not quite a smile, more like a challenge. “You catch on quick.”

Heat gathers in my veins and spikes, and I take a step back before I can stop myself. His eyes track the movement, satisfaction smoldering there. Damn him.

“You keep talking about protection, but you’re wasting resources,” I snap. “This penthouse has three exposed angles anyone with a rifle could exploit. If I mapped sightlines and monitored the feeds, at least I’d be doing something useful.”

His reply is cool, all steel. “What you call useful is exactly what exposes amateurs to crossfire. A sightline is also a kill zone. You think you are planning defense, but all you are doing is giving a shooter a timetable.”

The words land heavily, too close to the truth. A band of pressure tightens around my chest, making each breath difficult and shallow. I shove the fear down and replace it with fire.

“Maybe I’d rather face the bullets than sit here waiting like bait.”

He shakes his head, a low sound escaping him. “You are your sister's sister. You're reckless. Exactly what I expected.”

“And you?” I tilt my head, glaring at him sweetly. “You’re exactly what I expected too. A control freak with a savior complex.”

His eyes flash. The answer comes too fast, too sharp. “Better a control freak than a corpse.”

The retort burns deeper than I want to admit.

My wolf—God, I can feel her—rises against his dominance, a raw growl vibrating inside me until every nerve feels stretched thin.

A shiver works its way down my arms, jagged with the urge to strike back.

I force a breath into my lungs, shaky and uneven, trying to control the beast clawing for release, but it bucks harder, wild and unbroken.

We circle each other like combatants, trading barbs in place of blows.

My head aches from the sensory overload, every sound from below drilling into me, the rumble of traffic, the muted grind of the elevator cables, even the ticking of the thermostat.

All of it piles on until I want to scream, but I refuse to let him see how much it rattles me.

If he thinks I’m weak, he’ll push harder.

He studies me for a long moment. “You’re not afraid of me.”

“Should I be?” I ask.

A slow smile touches his lips. “Most people are.”

“Well,” I say, lifting my chin, “lucky for me and unfortunately for you, I’m not most people.”

The tension between us stretches, humming through the room with dangerous energy.

My pulse stutters, warmth flooding in a rush I can’t disguise.

His gaze narrows, catching each slip in my composure.

He notices, and the edge of his mouth curves, savoring my falter like a predator tasting first blood.

The awareness in his eyes makes my stomach tighten, heat spreading through me in a way that feels both threatening and inviting.

“You keep looking at me like that,” he murmurs, “and I’ll start to think you like having me around.”

I snort. “Don’t flatter yourself. I just haven’t decided if you’re part of the solution or part of the problem.”

“Why not both?”

The air grows dense, heavy enough that each breath feels like an effort. A tremor runs through me when his gaze dips to my mouth before climbing back to meet my eyes, the intensity of it holding me fast as if the room itself has narrowed down to only him and me.

I turn away, breaking the spell. “Don’t get comfortable, Ranger. You’re only temporary.”

“Maybe,” he says. “But until I’m gone, you follow my lead.”

“Keep dreaming.”

Time drags until it feels stretched thin.

He stalks me through the penthouse like a shadow that never lifts, his presence brushing against me no matter where I turn.

Each step I take, each breath I draw, I feel the weight of him there.

The steady grind of his watchfulness wears at me, fraying my patience, yet beneath my irritation stirs a dangerous pull I refuse to put words to.

The hours bleed together until hunger finally drags me to the table.

Cassidy and Rush have slipped out, leaving the penthouse to just Gage and me, and their absence makes the tension in the room climb higher.

The silence between us has settled into something taut, like a thread stretched to snapping.

He watches every move I make, a silent wall of focus that makes even the simplest action feel like a performance.

By the time food is set out, I’m almost grateful for the distraction, though his eyes never soften.

At dinner, he insists on checking the locks himself, circling the room like he owns the place. I stab my fork into my salad. “Do you ever relax?”

“Not when someone’s targeting my boss’ family, and his sister-in-law is sitting right across the table from me.”

“Romantic,” I mutter. “You sure know how to sweep a girl off her feet.”

He leans in, his breath grazing my ear, voice pitched low and intimate, sliding through me like a dangerous caress. “Careful, Sadie. You’re making it sound like you’d like it if I swept you off your feet.”

My cheeks burn hotter, betraying me. I spear a bite of lettuce and shove it into my mouth, chewing just to keep from blurting out the reckless reply trembling on my tongue. His chuckle rolls across the table, low and insufferably smug, like he knows exactly how far under my skin he’s gotten.

Later, when Cassidy reappears, Gage stations himself by the balcony doors like a sentinel. I can’t stop watching him, even as I tell myself I hate him. The way he fills the space, the way he carries himself with that mix of discipline and raw danger—it gets under my skin, burrows deep.

I mutter to Cassidy, “Where did you even find this guy?”

She smiles faintly. “I didn’t. Rush did. He's part of the team. Trust me, Sadie, you could do worse.”

I roll my eyes but don’t argue. The infuriating and undeniable truth is that she’s right, and worse, part of me can’t stop noticing how dangerous and magnetic Gage looks standing there, a pull I don’t want to admit I feel.

The night stretches out like a lazy cat.

Every creak in the building startles me awake.

Gage prowls the perimeter of the penthouse like a captive wolf, silent but radiating energy.

Once, when I pad into the kitchen for water, I find him leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching me. The sight freezes me mid-step.

“Do you ever sleep?” I ask, my voice hushed.

“Not when you’re pacing around like prey.”

The words hit too close. I stiffen. “I’m not prey.”

His gaze dips, lingers, then returns to mine. “Then stop acting like it.”

The glass shakes faintly in my hand. Anger flares, bright and cutting. “You don’t get to define me.”

“I’m not trying to define you, I’m trying to keep you alive.”

I swallow the retort trying to claw its way out and set the glass down harder than necessary. “You’re infuriating.”

“And you're sexy as hell,” he counters, his mouth curving as if he’s enjoying every second of the interaction.

Hours later, I curl on the couch, staring out the windows at the sprawl of Galveston lights. My mind won’t still. My body feels like it’s vibrating from the inside out. Gage takes the chair opposite, lounging like a man at ease, though every muscle in him is tight with vigilance.

“Why do you keep staring?” I ask, irritated.

He doesn’t blink. “Because the second I don’t, someone might take another shot at you.”

My laugh is sharp, too loud in the quiet room. “Paranoid much?”

“Prepared,” he corrects. “There’s a difference.”

A heavy pause settles between us. I draw my knees closer to my chest. He doesn’t look away, and something in me thrills at the intensity even as it terrifies me.

Later that night, as I drift toward an uneasy sleep, a faint scrape reaches me, like something brushing against the frame of the French doors.

My eyes fly open, pulse racing. For an instant I tell myself it was nothing, the mind playing tricks in the quiet.

Yet the silence that follows feels too heavy, too watchful.

I strain to listen and think I hear the lock give a slow, deliberate rattle.

A shape seems to gather beyond the curtains, darker than the night itself, but when I blink it melts away.

Cassidy’s words echo back— Turning without consent isn’t just frowned on. It’s forbidden. My stomach knots. What if the danger at the door isn’t just cartel or mafia… what if it’s someone who’s come because of me? Because of what Cass did?

I freeze, lungs tight, unable to tell if the door truly trembled beneath a hidden hand or if it is only my own fear pressing in.