Page 71 of Ranger's Justice

She stiffens, already bristling at my tone, but I don’t give her a chance to argue. Not now.

“If something happens,” I continue, my grip tightening on the rifle slung over my chest, “you fall back. You let us do what we do and you and Dalton make sure we have a way out if this goes sideways.”

Gage’s voice cuts through the tension. “Guards rotating. We’ve got a sixty-second window before the next pass.”

I check my watch. Time’s up.

I move in close, grabbing Cassidy by the wrist, yanking her toward me. She gasps, her body colliding with mine, and I don’t hesitate—I take her mouth in a deep, consuming kiss, pouring every ounce of my frustration, my rage, my need into it. “I love you.”

She gasps against me, but she doesn’t resist. Her hands fist in my jacket, her body molding against mine, and fuck, it’s not enough.

I tear away, resting my forehead against hers, my breath hot and ragged. “No matter what happens,” I growl, my fingers tightening at her waist, “you are mine.”

Her chest rises and falls, her breath unsteady, her lips swollen from my kiss. She doesn’t say a word, but she doesn’t have to. Her eyes tell me everything.

A gunshot cracks through the night, followed by a scream.

CHAPTER 19

CASSIDY

The gunshot shatters the silence like a thunderclap, echoing through the darkness, and then everything erupts into chaos.

Shouts. The sharp crack-crack of gunfire. The acrid scent of smoke and blood thickens the air.

Rush shoves me behind cover before I can react, his body a shield between me and the battlefield. I push against him, my heart hammering, my instincts screaming at me to fight, not hide.

“Stay down,” he snarls, his voice rough with command. His eyes—wild, feral—burn into mine. “Don’t argue.”

I open my mouth, but before I can respond, he’s already moving, his gun raised, his body blending into the shadows like the predator he is. And then, just like that, he’s gone.

The estate is a war zone. Bullets tear through the night, sparking off stone walls, burying into bodies with dull, sickening thuds. The air is alive with the sharp pops of suppressed gunfire and the occasional scream—some cut off mid-sound.

I force my breathing to steady, gripping my gun, scanning the battlefield. I told Rush I’d stay back. I swore I would, but I lied.

Keeping low, I inch forward, pressing my back against the cold stone of a decorative wall. Just ahead, I spot Dalton moving like a phantom through the carnage, his rifle raised. He takes out one of Hollister’s men with a single, silent shot, then slips back into the shadows.

To my right, Gideon and Deacon have breached the eastern perimeter, working together in perfect, ruthless synchronization. One by one, they eliminate the guards, their movements swift, merciless. The plan was to catch them off guard. To hit hard and fast, to end this before they had a chance to fight back.

But Hollister was ready. He knew we were coming.

My stomach churns as I push forward. The heavy oak doors stand open, spilling flickering light onto the bloodstained courtyard. Bodies litter the ground—all of them are enemies.

I spot Rush through the chaos, a blur of motion, his gun blazing as he cuts down anyone who dares cross his path. His movements are brutal, efficient, lethal. But I see the way his eyes scan the battlefield, the way his head turns, seeking—looking for me.

I don’t have time to let him find me, because I see him. Hollister.

He’s standing near the far side of the estate, a group of Del Toro enforcers flanking him, his suit pristine despite the blood and chaos around him. He’s calm. Too calm. Like a man who still believes he has the upper hand… and maybe he does.

A tall man at his side whispers something in his ear. Hollister nods, his cold gaze sweeping over the carnage, his lips curling in distaste. And then, as if sensing me, his gaze locks on mine. A slow, satisfied smile spreads across his face.

“Come out, Cassidy,” he calls over the gunfire. “I think it’s time we had a little chat.”

A cold knot tightens in my belly. He knows I’m here. I grip my gun harder, my pulse hammering in my ears. I should wait for Rush. Should let the team handle this. But this was my fight long before it was theirs.

I step forward. A gunshot rings out, kicking up dust near my feet, a warning shot. Hollister’s guards raise their weapons, but he holds up a hand, stopping them.

“There’s no need for that,” he says smoothly. “We’re family.”

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