Page 2 of Ranger's Justice

He doesn’t need us. He could fly for private contractors, make a fortune running ops for billionaires with too much money and not enough sense.

But when I tell him what we do? What we are?

His expression changes.

“I don’t enjoy following orders,” he says, kicking back in his chair, boots up on the table.

Dalton grins. “Neither do we.”

Gage watches us for a moment, the corners of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. Then lets out a low whistle. “Well, hell,” he mutters. “Guess I just ran out of excuses.”

Five men with no family. Five men who bled for this country and came back to nothing but ghosts.

We were built for war. So, when the Texas governor called us in, sitting behind his heavy oak desk like he’s handing down a death sentence, I already know what’s coming.

“The cartels have taken Texas law and pissed all over it,” he says, hands folded in front of him. “Our Rangers fight them, but it’s never enough. The Feds are too slow. The politicians are too scared.” His eyes narrow. “We need something different. Something stronger. Something that doesn’t play by the rules.”

Dalton leans back in his chair, boots crossed at the ankle. “You saying we get a badge, or are we just the governor’s personal hit squad?”

The old man sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. “You’ll be Rangers. Officially, you’re Company W—an experimental unit focused on borderland crimes. Unofficially? You’re ghosts. You answer only to me.”

Gideon doesn’t react. He never does. But I see the glint in his eye. The one that recognizes an opportunity when it’s staring him down.

I don’t hesitate.

“You put us together for a reason,” I say, my voice even. “You know what we are.”

The governor nods. No hesitation. No shock.

Because he knows—knows we’re not just men. Knows we’re wolf-shifters. He knows that’s why we’re going to win.

Because he knows the cartel isn’t afraid of men. But then we’re not men. The cartel doesn’t know what’s coming, doesn’t know who’s hunting them yet.

CHAPTER 1

CASSIDY

Ten Years Ago

Houston, Texas

The sky should’ve opened up. Should’ve poured rain, thick and unrelenting, the way it does in the movies. Instead, the sun beats down like it does not know the world just lost the only man worth a damn.

I keep my eyes forward, locked on the polished wood of my father’s coffin. My hand tightens around Sadie’s. She’s barely twelve, her fingers gripping mine like I’m the only thing keeping her anchored. Maybe I am.

Joseph Hollister’s voice drones on, sickly smooth, every word scraping over my skin like sandpaper.

The bastard is standing at the podium, dressed in a suit that’s too crisp, too polished for a man who’s supposedly grieving. His voice drones on, smooth and measured, the kind of practiced tone used for boardrooms and backroom deals—not eulogies.

Joseph Hollister. The man mother has leaned on since he brought us the news of my father’s death, the CFO of the familybusiness, and my father’s right-hand man. The man I suspect was responsible for my father’s death.

I tighten my grip on Sadie’s small, trembling hand, forcing my nails to dig into my palm to keep my focus. My little sister stands beside me, her dark curls wild from the humidity, her tear-streaked face buried against my arm. She’s only twelve—too young to understand the truth. Or maybe, like me, she understands just enough to be afraid.

I should be crying. I should be screaming, demanding answers, clawing at the polished veneer of this farce of a funeral. But all I feel is cold fury, crawling under my skin like a living thing.

Because I know the truth—Hollister is responsible for my father’s death. He may not have set the explosive himself, but he orchestrated it. My dad had been onto something, digging too deep into his business dealings, sniffing around places Hollister didn’t want him to. And now he’s dead. His car turned into a fireball outside our home, and I’m supposed to stand here and pretend I believe it was an accident.

“My dear friend, Thomas Marlow, was a great man,” Hollister says, his voice thick with feigned sorrow. “A visionary. A man who dedicated his life to building a legacy of integrity and prosperity. His tragic passing is not just a loss to his family but to all who knew him.”

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