AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Their shadows stretched out before them.
"Stop right there!" One of the gunmen stepped forward, his stance rigid with loyalty and the confidence of the armed.
Rachel's focus narrowed; she catalogued every detail—the way the gunman's finger rested too close to the trigger, the second man's nervous twitch—a landscape of threat, painted in fear and bravado.
"Easy," she said, her tone steady but her hand edging towards her own weapon. She could feel Ethan's presence.
"We just want to talk." Ethan's words were measured, but his eyes betrayed an awareness of the risk.
"Joaquin doesn't talk to the likes of you," the first gunman spat, his words laced with contempt.
Mad Jack himself just watched, rubbing at his beard with one calloused hand. His eyes never left the rangers.
"Your choice, Terra," Rachel replied coolly, her badge still aloft, a shield of authority against the rising tide of danger.
She heard the slight shift of gravel, a prelude to confrontation, and her muscles tensed, ready to spring into calculated action. But in the stillness that followed, she felt as if they were waiting for a coming storm.
The two gunmen were joined by two more. All four of them puffed out their chests and fingered triggers, glaring at Ethan and Rachel with a threat in every glance. Mad Jack just remained behind the threat.
"Think real hard about what you're doing," Ethan's voice cut through the stillness, low and steady.
The gunmen remained motionless, their eyes narrow slits of resolve. They were statues with triggers, their loyalty to Mad Jack an unspoken vow etched into their stony expressions.
"Nobody needs to get hurt," she added, her words floating on a whisper of hope that reason might yet prevail.
But hope was a fragile thing here, lost amidst the iron will of men who believed bullets spoke louder than badges. The air was thick with the scent of pine and the unyielding determination of those who stood before them.
Ethan's gaze met hers, a silent conversation in a glance. The danger was clear; these men would not yield. Their retreat had to be measured, a show of caution, not fear. Every muscle in her body resisted the impulse to draw her weapon, to escalate. But this was a chess match, not a brawl.
"Let's go, Rach," Ethan murmured, his hand gesturing subtly towards the way they had come.
It irked at her to retreat... but clearly, a new tactic was in order. And her mind was already flitting. She could hear the buffalo groaning, and could smell them on the air. The paddock creaked and groaned as the buffalo pressed against it. Hungry. They were hungry. A few had turned over a trough.
She nodded at Ethan.
They stepped back in unison, their movements deliberate. To run would invite chaos; to fight, a bloodbath. Neither option served justice nor survival.
"Turning tail, huh?" one gunman taunted, but his mockery was a hollow victory.
Her eyes never left the gunmen as she retreated. The crunch of gravel underfoot was a countdown to safety or disaster.
They retreated to their waiting vehicle, and then stepped behind the hump of earth which had initially enshrouded their approach. Now, in the shadows, Rachel began to move again.
Rachel's breath came in short, controlled bursts as she crouched low, her boots gripping the earth with practiced ease. The paddock loomed ahead, a pen of restless energy and snorting fury. She could feel the bulls' anger.
"Keep them busy," she whispered to Ethan, her voice a tight coil of resolve. He nodded once, his sandy hair catching the sun, an unspoken promise glinting in his eyes.
Ethan moved off to the left, back where they'd come from, his figure blending with the scrub pines, drawing the attention of the patrolling men with subtle disturbances—a snapped twig, a dislodged stone. She went over the small hillock, moving amidst the rough terrain, her feet finding purchase where a less experienced tracker would falter.
As the gunmen kept an eye on Ethan, Rachel used the diversion, her body low and fluid, moving unseen across the rugged terrain, each step closer to the paddock.
She reached the fence, fingers tracing the rough wood, finding the latch hidden beneath layers of rust and dust. Her mind raced, strategizing, anticipating the chaos about to unfold. The padlock surrendered with a soft click, a sound lost in the vastness of the Texas landscape.
The bulls shifted inside the enclosure, their massive bodies a symphony of muscle and might. Rachel hesitated for a fraction of a second, her heart hammering against her ribs. This was it—the moment where precision meant everything. Her gaze flickered over the paddock, ensuring none of the gunmen glanced her way.
"Go on, big guys," she murmured, easing the gate open just enough. "Time to raise some hell."
She retreated a few steps, her presence a ghost among shadows. The animals sensed freedom; their agitation grew, hooves scraping the ground, hot breath fogging in the air. She could almost taste their desire to break free, mirroring her own longing for justice that had gnawed at her since childhood.
