That was their first mistake.
My chest tightened—not panic. Control. Anger sharpened into something cold and lethal.
I keyed my radio.
“Wolf. I need eyes on the house. Rylie’s been taken.”
The pause on the other end told me everything.
“Copy,” Wolf said. His voice dropped. “We’re mobilizing.”
I crouched near the tire tracks just beyond the tree line. Fresh. Still wet from the frost. They’d moved fast—but not clean.
Plastic restraint fragments glinted near the ground.
Zip ties.
I closed my eyes for half a second.
They’d put their hands on her.
That thought nearly broke something inside me—but I locked it down. Rage would come later. Right now, I needed clarity.
They wanted leverage.
Which meant she was alive.
For now.
I followed the tracks on foot, moving through the trees as if the ground were a perfect guide, showing me which way they went. Every snapped branch. Every disturbed patch of earth. They weren’t amateurs, but they weren’t Rangers either.
A vehicle waited farther down the service road. Black van. No plates.
Of course.
I photographed everything. Logged time. Direction. Smell of fuel. The way the driver’s door had been opened too wide—right-handed, nervous, rushed.
Then I stood.
And I made the decision they didn’t think I would.
I didn’t chase blindly.
I hunted.
Back at the tavern, Wolf and Havoc were already sweeping. Albert stood frozen near the porch, face pale.
“She didn’t scream,” Albert said quietly. “I was on patrol five minutes before. I would’ve heard—”
“They didn’t give her time,” I said.
Wolf met my eyes. He didn’t ask if I was okay.
He knew better.
“Thomas?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “He didn’t plan this. But he paid for it. He’s still locked up. It has to be the cartel.”
