25. Thomas
Thomas
Thomas snapped.
Not outwardly—not yet—but something inside him fractured cleanly and sharp.
They were bleeding.
Not badly. Not enough to slow them permanently. But enough to humiliate him.
Enough to prove that the Ranger hadn’t just escaped—he’d played them.
Thomas paced the narrow clearing where his men regrouped, boots grinding into the dirt. One man groaned nearby, clutching a bloodied arm. Another sat stunned, eyes darting too fast, too wide.
Useless.
“You let him dictate the field,” Thomas said coldly.
No one spoke.
“He wanted you to scatter,” Thomas continued, voice eerily calm now. “And you did.”
Diego shifted. “He knew the terrain better—”
Thomas turned on him, eyes burning. “Then why are you still standing, and he isn’t in pieces?”
Silence fell hard.
Thomas inhaled slowly, forcing his pulse down. Rage was a weapon—but only if you aimed it.
“You said the woman threw a rock,” Thomas said.
Diego nodded. “Yes.”
“She didn’t scream.”
“No.”
“She didn’t freeze.”
“No.”
Thomas smiled—and it was the most dangerous expression yet.
“She thinks she’s brave now.”
That was the problem.
Rylie wasn’t supposed to feel strong. She wasn’t supposed to act. She was supposed to wait to be told what to do.
He pulled out his phone and scrolled to a familiar contact.
The fatal mistake wasn’t violence.
It was where he aimed it.
“Call the town,” Thomas said. “Light it up.”
Diego’s eyes widened. “The sheriff—”
“Is exactly why,” Thomas snapped. “If I can’t scare her back into submission, I’ll remind her what running costs everyone else.”
A pause. Then obedience.
Thomas turned away, dialing another number—one he’d been holding in reserve.
The line rang twice.
“Sheriff Tate,” Thomas said smoothly when the call connected. “You should have insisted that your daughter marry me.”
Trigger felt it before he heard it.
The distant thump rolled through the forest like a heartbeat out of rhythm.
Then another.
Rylie stiffened beside him. “What is that?”
Trigger’s face went cold.
“Explosives,” he said. “Crude. Loud.”
Town-side.
His radio crackled to life a second later—Wolf’s voice tight, furious.
“Trigger—we’ve got fires near the edge of town. One of the old storage buildings. Civilians are clear, but this is a message.”
Rylie’s breath left her in a rush. “Thomas.”
Trigger closed his eyes once.
There it was.
The fatal error.
Thomas had shifted the battlefield.
And in doing so, he’d stepped into Trigger’s real strength.
Thomas called the Tavern.
“You hear that?” Thomas said smugly into the phone as Wolf listened. “That’s what happens when people stop listening to me.”
Wolf’s voice dropped to ice. “You just signed your death warrant.”
Thomas laughed. “No. I just reminded you who controls the fear.”
He ended the call and turned to Diego, eyes alight now—too bright, too reckless.
“Now,” Thomas said, “the Ranger comes to us.”
Back in the forest, Trigger opened his eyes.
“No,” he said quietly. “Now I end this.”
Rylie looked at him—really looked—and saw it.
The calm was gone.
What remained was precision.
“He wanted leverage,” Trigger said. “He chose the wrong kind.”
He turned west again—but this time, not to run.
To finish it.
And somewhere behind them, Thomas stood smiling—utterly unaware that his final move had just handed Trigger everything he needed.