Page 10 of Ranger's Justice

RUSH

Cassidy Marlow is a damn problem—a reckless, stubborn, infuriating problem wrapped in a body that’s all legs, curves and attitude.

And right now, she’s sitting in the passenger seat of my SUV, fuming like I just offended her by dragging her out of a goddamn war zone.

She’s in my SUV, still breathing, still glaring at me like she’d rather shoot me than thank me, and I should focus on the fact that I just pulled her reckless ass out of a cartel firefight.

Instead, all I can think about is how close I came to losing her before I ever really had her.

She’s lucky I didn’t toss her over my shoulder and haul her out of there like the sack of trouble she is, because every single instinct inside me—the human ones and the wolf—was telling me to do just that.

And that too is a problem—a big one.

I tighten my grip on the steering wheel, my knuckles flexing as I force my breathing under control. The warehouse is already in my rearview, the chaos of gunfire and shouting fading into the distance, but my pulse is still pounding. Not from the op, but from her.

I’ve shown her the file we have on her and given her a basic rundown of what’s in it. She looks as if she’s trying to decide whether to be impressed or concerned. She should be both.

“Are you going to tell me what the hell that was?” I grind out, keeping my eyes on the road.

Cassidy crosses her arms, the leather of her jacket creaking as she glares at me. “I was gathering evidence.”

“Gathering evidence?” I repeat slowly, barely resisting the urge to slam the brakes and let her feel just how pissed off I am. “You mean walking into a cartel deal with nothing but a damn cell phone and a bad alias? That kind of gathering evidence?”

She doesn’t flinch. “It was a good alias.”

I bark out a laugh, sharp and humorless. “Not good enough to keep you from getting made.”

Silence. She knows I’m right. She looks away, staring out the window as the city lights streak past. Her scent lingers in the tight space, something sharp and determined under the mix of gunpowder and sweat. It shouldn’t affect me.

But it does, and that pisses me off even more.

“You don’t get to be reckless with your life,” I say, in a voice rougher than I intend.

Cassidy’s head snaps back toward me, her eyes flashing. “It’s my life.”

Something dark stirs in my chest. “Not anymore.”

She blinks. “Excuse me?”

“You just put yourself on the Del Toro cartel’s radar,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “They don’t forget a face, and they sure as hell don’t forgive an insult.” I shoot her a look. “You showing up in their warehouse and sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong? That was an insult.”

Cassidy lifts her chin, stubborn as hell. “If you think that’s going to scare me off…”

“It should,” I growl, cutting her off.

Her jaw tightens. “Then maybe I don’t scare as easily as others.”

I grit my teeth. She’s playing tough, but she doesn’t get it. Doesn’t understand the kind of men she just pissed off.

The cartel doesn’t give warnings. They don’t make idle threats. They don’t come at you once and let it go. They make you disappear, and everything in me—human and wolf—is not about to let that happen.

That realization rattles me more than the bullets that flew past my head tonight. I made a promise when I took this job as a ranger, the same promise every man on my team swore—no attachments, no weaknesses, no fated mates.

We were made for war, for hunting men who thought they were untouchable. We weren’t made to settle down, to claim what shouldn’t be ours.

But my wolf doesn’t give a damn about promises.

My hands tighten on the steering wheel until the leather creaks. I need to get my head on straight. Fast.

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