Page 20 of Ranger's Justice

I already know. I whip the truck around, cutting through the side lot of an abandoned gas station, losing them in the maze of narrow alleyways and service roads.

They try to follow. They fail.

After another three turns, I know—for now, we’re in the clear.

I keep driving. Neither of us speak.

The highway stretches ahead, black asphalt cutting through the vast nothing of the Texas desert. The city lights disappeared behind us over an hour ago, swallowed by miles of scrub and sand.

I tun onto a back road leading eventually to the new safe house, my grip still locked on the wheel, my heart a steady, punishing beat.

Cassidy lets out a breath, still gripping the gun. I glance at her. She meets my gaze.

And I know this isn’t over.

The last cartel tail lost us miles ago, but I don’t slow down. Not yet. Not until I get Cassidy as far from civilization as possible.

She doesn’t fight me on it. Doesn’t argue, doesn’t push—at least not right now. She sits in the passenger seat, silent, gripping the gun I gave her like she actually intends to use it.

Good.

She’s going to need it.

This is where I need to be. Somewhere open, somewhere isolated. Somewhere I can do what needs to be done.

Cassidy moves beside me, uneasy. I can feel it—the way her body tenses, the way she finally breaks the silence.

“Are you going to tell me where the hell we’re going?” she asks in a calm voice.

I grip the wheel, voice steady. “Somewhere safe.”

She snorts. “Yeah, because being in the middle of the desert is real comforting.”

I don’t answer.

Because comfort isn’t the goal.

The road curves, leading toward an abandoned stretch of land, an old airstrip the Rangers used in the past. The perfect place for what’s coming. I pull the truck off the road, rolling to astop near a ridge of jagged rock formations, the kind that could hide a thousand things in their shadows.

Cassidy eyes me warily. “You’re being weird,” she mutters.

I push the door open, stepping out into the cool desert air. The stars overhead burn bright, a stark contrast to the darkness creeping at the edge of my control. The wolf inside me knows what’s coming. Knows what I need to do.

Behind me, Cassidy slams her own door, crossing her arms. “Seriously, Rush? You gonna start brooding now? Because if this is your way of telling me you’re feeling guilty for dragging me out here…”

“I’m not feeling guilty,” I interrupt, my voice sharper than I mean.

I turn to her. She stops short, her breath catching, eyes locking onto mine. She can feel it—the energy swirling around us.

Her instincts are good. Too good. But she still doesn’t understand.

Not yet.

Her gaze flicks to my hands, to the way my fingers curl into fists, the way my stance widens, bracing. Like I’m preparing for a fight. And in a way—I am.

She steps closer, wary. “What are you doing?”

“Showing you.”

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