Page 6 of Ranger’s Oath (Lone Star Wolf Rangers #5)

GAGE

T hat scrape at the balcony door won’t leave my head when Rush makes the call.

Cassidy’s voice comes through tight with worry, but the hard set of Rush’s jaw tells me it’s done.

The penthouse is too exposed, and Cassidy could also become a target if we linger here.

We need to move her somewhere safer. The catch is Sadie.

She’s fragile, balanced on a knife’s edge, and no one can say how she’ll handle being uprooted.

Cassidy argues, insisting they stay, but Rush doesn’t bend.

That’s why he leads. He can measure the risk on both sides and still carry the choice that puts them in motion.

Cassidy cuts in, voice rough. “Sadie’s not ready to be dragged across the city. She needs time, not another upheaval.”

Rush doesn’t flinch. “We don’t have time. If this place is burned, staying here puts you in the crosshairs right beside her.”

I stand at the edge of the room, arms crossed, watching the two of them lock horns.

My wolf wants to push forward, to take Sadie away right now, but discipline keeps me rooted.

I’ll move when ordered, not before. Still, when Sadie’s eyes flash, when she bites out that she isn’t some package to be delivered, it takes everything in me not to step in and muzzle her fire before it gets her hurt.

“You think I’m just going to hide out at your ranch?” Sadie snaps. "This penthouse is bad enough..."

"Thanks Sadie," drolls Cassidy.

"You know what I mean. I'm used to living in Houston. Galveston is way too small for me. I've never understood the allure."

"Ocean. Clean Air. Slower pace of life."

"Exactly," she says. "I'm an event planner, Cass. A major event planner. You know Cattlemen's Association, oil barons, the symphony? There's nothing for me to do here."

"Stay alive," I offer from my point of view at the back.

She whirls around. "This is a family discussion and you are not part of my family." She turns back to Rush. "The idea of being surrounded by the team is enough to make me puke."

"Cassidy is coming out to the ranch with me. You will remain here at the penthouse with Gage."

I recognize Rush's tone. He's made his decision, and that's the way it's going to be.

"What? How long am I going to be stuck here?"

“Until I know you’re safe,” Rush says evenly, “and in case you missed it, you don’t get a vote.”

Her lips part, ready to argue again, but Cassidy puts a hand on her arm. "Take it easy, Sadie. It's going to be okay."

Sadie yanks away, furious. “This is insane. I’m not built for this.”

She’s wrong. I can see it in the line of her shoulders, in the way her chin tips stubbornly higher every time someone tells her no. She’s built for fire, for surviving storms she doesn’t even believe she’s in. And my wolf is already pacing inside me, straining to prove it to her.

Moving Cassidy out and keeping Sadie penned in isn’t quick or clean.

We strip the penthouse piece by piece, comb through every room, sweep the cars twice, and map out fresh escape routes.

Dalton and Deacon have joined us and flank me through the work, adding extra eyes and muscle to the exit strategy.

Rush pulls me aside. “You’re glued to her until I say otherwise. She’s a target, and after the attempted breach at the balcony door, I’m not taking chances. Deacon and Dalton will stay on site to back you up, and Dalton will be upgrading the security systems while you keep her close.”

“I’ve got this,” I say.

His gaze hardens. “That’s not the problem. The problem is that you want her, and we both know it. I’ve seen that look before, Gage. Don’t let it screw with your head.”

I grind my jaw, keeping my voice level. “I know the line. I won’t cross it.” The words come out clipped, too sharp. My hand flexes against my thigh, fist curling once before I force it open. Rush’s eyes narrow, but he lets it pass.

Rush studies me another beat, then nods. But my wolf doesn’t nod. He growls.

I take point, barking orders and checking angles while Rush coordinates with Gideon and keeps Cassidy and Sadie safe and out of the way.

His presence is steady as he keeps the larger plan moving.

Sadie lounges on the sofa shooting me looks like I personally designed this operation just to ruin her night.

“You really enjoy this boss act, don’t you?” she mutters when I check the sight lines from the balcony.

“I enjoy keeping you breathing,” I say without looking at her. “The rest is just window dressing.”

She snorts. “You’re insufferable.”

“Better than dead,” I remind her.

The silence from her lasts only a heartbeat before the next spark of temper lights in her eyes.

By the time Rush ushers Cassidy into the secured SUV bound for the ranch, Sadie is bristling, arms locked tight across her chest and her mouth pressed in a stubborn line as she watches from the penthouse.

I stay behind with her, not giving an inch, because if anyone makes a move on her they’ll have to go through me first.

Inside the penthouse the tension doesn’t let up.

Sadie paces the room and fires off barbed little remarks, testing boundaries, testing me, maybe testing herself.

I let most of it slide, but when she asks if I was born this uptight or if the stick got shoved up my ass later, I finally turn my head and give her a look that makes men twice her size back down.

She doesn’t back down. She laughs. “Thought so.”

But my wolf likes the fight in her. Likes it far too much.

Heat rakes down my spine, settling heavy and urgent, and I lock my hands at my sides, muscles tight as steel, because if I don’t anchor myself I’ll drag her against me and let instinct take over.

Every line of her body tempts me, every sharp word stokes the fire higher.

I remind myself again and again what I’m here for. Protect. Secure. Not touch. Not claim.

The next day I arrange to take Sadie to a small, high-end boutique where we can cover and control the exits.

She needs clothes, shoes, the simple things she didn’t pack when she fled the island.

It’s supposed to be routine, but nothing about walking through a store with Sadie Marlow is routine.

Heads turn. She glides through aisles like she owns them, even when she’s still pale from blood loss and the transition gnawing at her bones.

“Don’t hover,” she snaps when I shadow her through the racks.

“Not hovering. Guarding.”

“Feels the same from here.”

“Then you’re paying attention,” I counter.

She huffs, gathers a handful of dresses, and vanishes into the changing room.

I take up a position outside, arms folded, every sense keyed to threat.

To ground myself, I start counting floor tiles—lose track before I reach twenty.

The lapse unsettles me more than I’ll admit.

Then comes the quiet sound of her laugh, fabric shifting as she moves.

My gut knots. Instinct pushes me to imagine, to want.

I force my focus back to the tiles, hold the count steady, and wait until she emerges.

The first dress is short, blue, clinging in ways that make my pulse hammer. “No,” I say instantly.

Her eyes widen. “Excuse me?”

“Too short, too tight, and far too easy for someone to get their hands on you.”

She plants a hand on her hip. “So now you’re my fashion consultant?”

“If it keeps you alive, yes.”

She mutters something about cavemen but disappears to try another. This one is longer, flowing, cut low at the chest. My throat goes dry. “No again.”

She throws her hands up. “What, am I supposed to wear a burlap sack?”

“Preferably with Kevlar.”

Dalton coughs loud enough to draw a glare. “Fashion week, Ranger-style. Next up: Gage launches his fall line of sackcloth and bulletproof couture.”

Deacon adds without looking up from his phone, “I’ll model the Kevlar burlap. Real trendsetter.”

Sadie cackles. “Finally, men with taste.”

She vanishes back into the stall and a moment later something soft flies over the dressing room wall and lands on my head. I glance down to find a lace bra draped over me. I snatch it off. My eyebrows shoot up. “Real professional,” I call to her.

Her laugh is bright, wicked. “If you’re going to act like my bodyguard-slash-stylist, you’d better get used to seeing what’s in my bag.”

A second later a pair of silk panties sails over the top of the door, landing square on my shoulder like she’d been practicing her aim.

Dalton and Deacon, lounging nonchalantly a few feet away—at least that's what it looks like to the casual observer, but it’s anything but.

The two of them nearly choke trying to smother their laughter.

Dalton mutters something about Sadie’s pitching arm and Deacon pretends to examine a rack of blouses like it’s suddenly fascinating.

I cut them both a glare that promises consequences if they don’t rein it in.

“Keep it up, princess,” I warn. “Next thing I throw back won’t be lingerie.”

She giggles, strutting out of the dressing room, clearly delighted with her own antics.

She tosses a wink toward Dalton and Deacon like they’re her co-conspirators.

The look she gives me is pure challenge, smug and daring me to react while the other two struggle to hold back laughter, shoulders shaking with the effort.

Her glare is fierce enough to burn, yet beneath it there’s a teasing glint that hooks me. The clash of our words shouldn’t ignite heat in my veins, but her every barb carries the charge of foreplay.

Once Deacon wraps the upgrades on the security system, he heads back to the ranch, leaving Dalton behind to continue sweeping the perimeter and running extra patrols.

I walk Sadie through the door of the penthouse, scanning as we enter, and that’s when I catch it—a hairline seam in the crown molding, just slightly off, enough to set my instincts on edge.

I signal Sadie to stay back, climb up on a stepstool and work a knife into the groove.

The molding shifts, revealing a pinhole camera, freshly wired and ready to transmit.

“Shit,” I mutter.

“Surveillance. Somebody’s been in here and set up a camera.”

What should’ve been a single device turns into a damn pattern.

I find another tucked behind the smoke detector, and a third buried under the lip of a wall sconce—both positioned with perfect sight lines on the living room and balcony doors.

Whoever set this up wasn’t sloppy. They knew exactly where to watch, mapping angles like they’d walked the space for hours.

“Two more,” I tell Deacon. “One over the common area, one near the balcony.”

He swears into the comm. “That’s not random. That’s a grid.”

Her face drains. “What is it?”

I rip it out and start tearing through the rest of the penthouse, calling Deacon to tell him he needs to come back. By the time I’m done, I’ve pulled three more devices from the walls and fixtures. Whoever planted them was good. Too good. They got past Deacon's upgraded security net.

Deacon doesn’t waste a second. He patches into the system from his rig, keys clacking rapidly in the background while a stream of curses bleeds through the comm. The harder he digs, the more I know I’m right—we’ve been compromised, and whoever did it is still out there.

Sadie’s hands tremble as she hugs herself. “So what’s in the file you and Rush keep quoting? Don’t feed me scraps. I want the truth.”

I grip the back of a chair hard enough to crack the wood. “You will get what you need, not what gets you killed. The threat brief is redacted for a reason.”

Her eyes blaze hotter. “Then here’s my bargain. You want me to follow your protocols? Give me more than black bars on a page. If I play by your rules, you play straight with me.”

For a breath I almost refuse, but the fire in her stare hooks me. I unclench my fist, slow and deliberate. “Fine. You get more detail when you show you can follow the basics. That is the deal.”

She looks at me, eyes blazing. “And if they’ve already been watching?”

I meet her stare. “Then let them watch me break every one of their toys.”

Night falls heavily. Deacon is working on the feeds, Rush keeps in touch via phone.

and I keep myself stationed in Sadie’s orbit.

The danger is more real than ever, but what rattles me worse is how my wolf reacts every time she’s close.

The brush of her arm, the tilt of her smile, the defiance burning out of her—it’s a constant assault on my control.

When she finally curls on the sofa, drained from the weight of it all, I hover close, arms folded tight across my chest, every muscle rigid with restraint.

The urge to reach down, to feel her warmth, burns through me, but I lock myself in place.

The way her breathing slows, the curve of her body against the cushions, it all claws at me.

Her presence seeps into my blood, testing the edges of my control until I can almost hear my wolf’s snarl beneath my own heartbeat.

“Go to bed,” I tell her quietly.

Her lashes lift. “Afraid I’ll bite?”

My jaw tightens. “No, I'm afraid I will.”

Her lips part, but she doesn’t answer. She just holds my gaze, steady and unyielding, until a rush of heat surges through me so fierce it makes my chest tighten and forces me to turn away before I do something reckless.

Dalton continues a slow circuit of the perimeter when Deacon’s voice slices through the comms, low and edged with alarm: “Gage, I’ve got eyes inside your system. Whoever planted those bugs isn’t finished—they’re active right now, watching you, watching her.”