Page 38 of Ranger's Justice

The moment I hear the approaching SUV, my wolf perks up, hackles rising. It’s not fear—it’s instinct. Anticipation. The hunt is still on, and every second wasted is a second too long for the people trapped inside that rig.

I catch the scent of Cassidy before I see her. Lavender and something deeper, something uniquely hers that sinks into my bloodstream like a drug I can’t shake. I push that down. I don’t have time for distractions, not when we’re standing at the edge of the abyss, staring into hell.

Dalton pulls the vehicle to a stop beside mine, dust swirling in the red glow of the taillights. The second the doors open, Cassidy is out, moving toward me with that damn stubborn set to her determined jaw.

Gideon swings out of the passenger side, rolling his shoulders. “Jesus, Rush. Could you have picked a darker, creepier place to bust up a trafficking ring?” He shakes his head and says nothing more as he comes up beside me, his eyes scanning the area. He’s a wall of lethal calm, but I see it in the way his fingers flex—he’s ready for a fight.

Cassidy moves to stand beside me. “Where are they?”

I don’t answer right away. Instead, I grip her arm, firm but not rough, pulling her toward Deacon, who’s watching from the other SUV.

“You stay here,” I tell her.

Her chin jerks up. “Like hell I will.”

I tighten my hold before she can dig her heels in. “I’m not arguing, Cassidy. You stay with Deacon until we secure the truck.”

She crosses her arms, defiance sparking in her green eyes, but for once she holds her tongue.

I step closer, close enough that she has to tilt her head back to keep eye contact. “This isn’t a negotiation.” My voice is low, firm, the kind that doesn’t invite argument. “There’s no telling what’s waiting in that trailer. You stay put until I say otherwise. Understand?”

She glares. “No.”

Deacon chuckles under his breath. “Damn, Rush. You sure you want me to babysit? Might be safer to take on the traffickers.”

Cassidy whips her glare toward him. “I am not a damn baby.”

Deacon clears his throat, stepping in before this goes sideways. “Cassidy, you can help once we know it’s safe. Until then, I got your six.”

I release her, my gaze lingering for a second longer than I mean it to. I don’t like this—not one damn bit—knowing there’s a fight coming and leaving her on the sidelines. But it’s not a choice. It’s a necessity.

She knows it too, even if she doesn’t like it. She turns and heads back to the SUV.

I nod to Deacon. “Keep her here.”

Dalton sits in the driver’s seat of the other SUV, rifle resting between his legs, his usual cocky grin nowhere to be found. Instead, his gaze stays sharp, scanning the side roads and tree lines, his whole body coiled for a fight that might not come but we both know could.

Gideon has joined Dalton in one SUV. Gage has moved out to find a spot from which he can cover us with his long-range sniper rifle. Cassidy sits quietly with Deacon, her silence heavy with unspoken words, and I feel the weight of her gaze, a silent pressure in the air between us.

“In position. No movement in or out since we got here,” Gage’s voice comes over the comms.

“Copy,” I reply.

Then I turn, already moving, my mind locking back onto the task at hand. Dalton and Gideon fall in beside me, their boots silent against the dirt as we approach the semi. Gage has taken a position where he can see everything. He’s armed with a high-powered sniper rifle and will give strategic cover if and when we need it.

The closer we get to the semi, the worse it smells. Sweat. Piss. Fear.

Dalton wrinkles his nose. “Christ.”

Gideon doesn’t react, but I know he smells it too. My wolf is already snarling beneath my skin, instincts screaming that whatever’s inside that trailer, it’s bad.

I motion them forward, and we fan out—Dalton left, Gideon right, me taking point. Although the trailer doors are still shut, I doubt it’s unguarded. Hollister’s people are professionals. If this is an active transport, there should be someone watching it.

And sure enough, there’s a flash of movement from the shadows. A man steps out from behind the cab, raising a gun. I move before he can blink.

I slam into him, knocking his shot wide before my fist crushes into his face. He stumbles, and I don’t give him the chance to recover. I grab his wrist, twisting it until the gun drops into the dirt, then drive my knee into his ribs.

He gasps, going down hard.

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