Page 44 of Ranger's Oath
I stop, turning to face her. “Would you listen if I did?”
She shakes her head, a glimmer of mischief lighting her eyes. “I'd listen, but I wouldn't count on me actually doing it.”
The laugh that escapes me is rougher than I intend. “Well, you're nothing if not honest.”
Her smile turns wicked. “Always. You should try it.”
I lean in, letting my breath brush her ear. “If I was honest right now, I’d tell you exactly what I want to do to you before I leave.”
Her inhale shudders, but she masks it with a roll of her eyes. “Careful, Ranger. I might hold you to it.”
It takes everything in me to step back instead of giving in. My pulse hammers, breath harsh in my throat, as I turn and leave her standing there with the burn of a promise sparking in the air between us—untouched, forbidden, and impossible to forget.
Engines thunder to life as the convoy grinds forward, heading for the dead-drop location the nephew gave us. The purpose is clear: secure the packet of intelligence and materials that can expose Pier One Logistics and the island operation. The evidence could break the trafficking network wide open, and the Marshals already have custody of the nephew, tightening the noose on the chain. If we succeed, dismantling that pipeline will not only strike at the heart of the network but also go a long way to keeping Sadie safe.
I ride point, gaze tracking every horizon line, every stretch of brush, every flicker of movement that could hide a threat. The road ahead lies empty, but the stillness is wrong, thick enough to itch across my nerves. Each mile drags us closer to the nephew’s dead-drop, yet the sense of danger only builds, a shadow riding with us that refuses to be shaken.
The early morning sun crawls higher, painting the road in molten light. Every mile marker passes like a countdown. My senses edge higher, muscles tight, the air too still.
A flash of light catches my eye too late. Spike strips glint across the asphalt, and the lead vehicle bucks hard, tires tearing apart, rubber bursting into shreds as sparks whip into the air. The convoy jolts and swerves, steel biting deep into rubber inbrutal unison. Radios explode with curses and clipped orders, the kind that mean only one thing: the ambush is live.
Through the windshield, I spot figures on the ridge, crouched low and waiting for the convoy to scatter. Their stillness brims with intent, proof they knew our exact route and timing. A hot surge of adrenaline drives through me as my grip hardens on the rifle, every sense narrowing to the threat above.
The SUV has barely had time to come to a stop before I throw the door open, boots slamming onto the asphalt. The smell of burning rubber mixes with dust, hot and choking. I wave Dalton to take the rear while Deacon scrambles to cover the flank. Gideon’s calm orders thread through the chaos, but adrenaline surges in my veins, sharpening every sound, every angle.
Shots crack from the ridge, snapping against the convoy’s armor. Glass explodes from a side window. The kid we flipped might not have been the only leak. My rifle snaps to my shoulder, scope sweeping until I find the silhouette perched against the horizon.
The shooter tracks me, barrel glinting in the sun. For a heartbeat, it’s just the two of us, predator against predator. My finger tightens, but Rush’s voice is in my ear, ordering clean extraction. Professionalism over bloodlust.
I force myself to hold, to signal the team instead of giving in to the rage. The SUV engines roar back to life as tires scream on ruined rims. We push forward, limping but moving, every Ranger holding the line.
Inside, fury builds, a storm I can’t unleash. And behind it all, the thought of Sadie waiting at the ranch, trusting me to come back. That trust is the only thing that keeps me steady when the ambush closes in.
CHAPTER 17
SADIE
The echo of gunfire rattles through the comms, static crackling like electricity in the air. My heart kicks hard, a wild rhythm that refuses to settle. I pace the edge of the den, staring at the map still pinned to the wall, wishing I could see what Gage sees out there. I catch only fragments—Rush’s steady orders, Dalton’s barked curse, Gideon’s clipped report, but it’s enough to tell me this is no drill. The convoy is under attack.
My nails press crescents into my palms as I ball my fists, the helplessness grinding through me until my arms tremble. Waiting has never been my strength, and the thought of staying penned inside while gunfire cracks across the comms feels like suffocation. I want movement, answers, any action that keeps me from being useless while others bleed.
Cassidy steps into the den, her expression carrying the same turbulence that rages inside me. Her eyes lock on mine, and the force of what passes between us is immediate, a current of shared determination and fear that hums louder than the crackle of comms in the air.
“We can’t just sit here,” I whisper, voice ragged with tension.
She nods once, jaw tight. “Perimeter sweep. If this is a diversion, they could hit the ranch.”
Adrenaline surges, burning away hesitation. I fall in behind her through the hall, boots hammering against polished wood. The air feels charged, each step quickening the pulse in my veins. We burst through the back doors into the expanse beyond the ranch house. The sky bruises deeper toward twilight, shadows thickening at the tree line as though the land itself is holding its breath.
My senses roar in warning, every sound slicing through the dusk, each rustle dragging at me like claws across raw skin. The cicadas choke off their song all at once, leaving behind a silence so thick it presses against my ears. The hush is heavy and unnatural, the air swollen with menace, as though the world itself has paused on the edge of violence.
A volley cracks from the north, each report splitting the air like bone breaking. Cassidy moves without pause. The mist swallows her, colors heaving up from the ground like storm light, thunder rolling low and electric through the soil. Her body dissolves into a blaze of brilliance, then snaps into form again—wolf where woman had stood. Copper fire streaks her fur, gleaming as though the storm itself had branded her.
The mist surges around me, thick and alive, wrapping my body in searing heat and rolling thunder. Lightning rips through the haze, the sound crashing through my bones until my teeth ache. The air trembles, then tears open as the haze dissolves. I crouch low on four legs, muscles vibrating, fur bristling with streaks of silver and gold. The world explodes into clarity—every blade of grass razor-fine, every tremor of the air pressing against my skin, every heartbeat nearby pounding steady and raw inside my ears.
Cassidy bolts along the fence, and I hurl after her, paws ripping into the dirt, wind shrieking past my ears. Running as awolf feels primal and clean, instinct guiding every motion where clumsiness once clung. Power rips through my muscles, each stride a surge of raw strength, control holding fast like tempered steel. Our paws pound the ground in rhythm, a war drum beating under the sky. My chest heaves wide with the feral thrill of speed, a savage joy braided tight with vigilance.
Even through the roar of the bond, my mind latches onto the war board I stared at for hours in the den—the convoy routes, the choke points Rush warned the team about. One curve south of the mesquite stands out like a trap, a place an ambush could fold shut. The voices on comms crackle with confusion, and before I can second-guess myself, I throw back my head and bark twice, sharp and deliberate, the signal Cassidy taught me. She echoes it, and the sound slices through the noise, carrying across the perimeter.
