Page 24 of Ranger's Justice

Something almost like amusement flickers through his gaze, but it’s gone too fast to be real. He moves first, turning away and heading back to the truck, grabbing a sat phone from the console. I don’t know who he’s calling, and I don’t care.

I need answers. I take a slow breath, forcing my racing heart to steady. Whatever Rush is, whatever this means, it’s bigger than just him.

Bigger than me, but I will get the truth.

One way or another.

I don’t know how long I sit there, staring at the dark desert sky, trying to wrap my mind around what I just witnessed. I should be running. I should be screaming. But I’m not. Instead, my fingers are curled around my knees, holding on. My heart is still hammering against my ribs, and my mind is spinning at a million miles per hour.

Rush is a shifter. A real one. Not some myth or whispered legend. Not something from the kind of romance novels my sister, Sadie, likes to tease me about.

A real goddamn wolf… and also a human. And right now, he’s acting like I should just sit back, shut up, and pretend none of this is happening.

I drag my gaze back to him. He’s standing by the truck, speaking into a satellite phone, voice low and clipped, his posture rigid. Every muscle in his body is coiled tight, like he’s barely holding himself together.

I should still be reeling from the sight of him changing into something not human. Instead, all I can focus on is the way my body reacts to him—to the power radiating off him, to the barelyrestrained violence simmering beneath the surface. It should scare me. It doesn’t. In fact, I find it intriguing and, dare I say, if only to myself, arousing.

I straighten, dusting my hands off on my jeans as I take a few measured steps toward him. He glances at me, his golden-hued gaze sharp in the dim moonlight, and something inside me tightens.

“I’m not letting this go,” I say.

He ends the call, tucking the sat phone away. “You should.”

I scoff. “Not happening.”

His jaw flexes. He looks like he’s debating something, but then he shakes his head and jerks his chin toward the truck. “Get in.”

I don’t argue. I have too much riding on this to waste time bickering.

The drive is silent. Rush doesn’t speak, and I don’t push. There’s a tension in his shoulders—an unease that wasn’t there before. Whatever he told himself about keeping me out of this? It’s falling apart. And I know damn well I’m going to be the reason he loses control.

After nearly an hour of driving, he pulls onto a dirt road leading into a stretch of thick trees, the kind of place that swallows you whole if you aren’t careful. The ranch house is nothing like the one before. It’s larger, more fortified, with multiple outbuildings and enough vehicles parked out front to suggest we’re about to meet up with the rest of his team.

Rush kills the engine and turns toward me. “You stay close. You listen. You don’t cop an attitude or pull any of your usual shit.”

“Wow,” I deadpan. “You make me sound so difficult.”

He doesn’t rise to the bait. “I mean it, Cassidy. My team isn’t like the men you’re used to dealing with.”

I lift my eyebrow in question. “What does that mean?”

He mutters something under his breath before yanking open his door and stepping out.

Typical.

I follow, my boots crunching against gravel as we approach the entrance. The second we step inside, I feel it—the presence of something dangerous. The air is thick with authority, with power. And then, I see them.

The first man stands just inside the doorway, arms crossed over his broad chest. He’s got tanned skin, a military, close-cropped buzz cut, and an expression that says he doesn’t have time for whatever is happening. His eyes flick to me, assessing, but he doesn’t say a word.

I remember him from the first place we went. Gideon.

“Gideon,” Rush says in greeting.

Gideon grunts. “Thought you said you weren’t bringing her here.”

Rush’s jaw tightens. “Changed my mind.”

Gideon’s gaze drags over me once more before he steps aside, letting us in. The builders designed the main room for function, not comfort. There’s a massive table at the center, maps and files scattered across it. Three more men are seated around the table; each is lethal in his own way.

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