Chapter 51
Blood streaked her cheek from a cut near her temple. Bruises bloomed purple-black across her ribs where the fabric had torn away. Zip tie marks circled both wrists, raw and weeping, the skin scraped down to exposed flesh beneath.
Ghost's throat tightened. His face went hot, heat spreading down his neck and through his chest until his whole body felt like it was burning from the inside.
His hands curled into fists at his sides, knuckles already aching from the breach.
His trigger finger twitched against his thigh.
The need to cross back to where Rogue held Langley and put a round in him pulled at him, immediate and visceral. But Rachel needed him. She came first.
Around them, the team shifted. Boots scuffed on concrete as they turned, not completely away, but enough. Giving her space. Giving Ghost room to do what needed doing.
He stepped close. His hands moved to the torn fabric still hanging from her shoulders. The shirt was ruined, barely clinging to her by threads. He grabbed at the base of the tear and pulled. The cotton tore the rest of the way with a sharp ripping sound that echoed off the warehouse walls.
He peeled it down her shoulders carefully, his fingers gentle despite the rage building in his throat. The fabric stuck to her skin in places, sweat and blood making it cling. He worked it free and let it fall to the ground in a ruined heap at her feet.
Rachel stood there in just her bra and shorts, her arms instinctively crossing over her stomach.
Ghost's gaze traveled over her. Really looked at what they'd done.
Blood had dried in a dark line from the cut on her forehead, tracking down her temple. Her left cheek was swollen, the skin already turning purple from where someone had hit her. Split lip. Raw patches around her mouth where tape had been ripped off, taking skin with it.
Lower. The bruises on her ribs were stark against her pale skin, deep purple marks, some with the distinct shape of boot treads. Multiple impacts.
His eyes dropped to her wrists. The zip tie marks circled both, not just red, but raw. Bleeding. The plastic had cut deep enough to expose flesh beneath. Blood had run down her palms, dried brown between her fingers.
Her knees. Jesus, her knees. Torn open, gravel still embedded in the wounds. Blood had run down both shins.
Each bruise on her body, each cut, each raw mark where the zip ties had bitten in, Ghost catalogued all of it. Fuel for what came next.
But first—
Ghost stripped off his tactical vest and let it drop. The impact with concrete echoed through the warehouse. He grabbed the hem of his shirt and dragged it over his head, the fabric catching on his shoulders before pulling free. Cool air hit his bare chest and back.
He stepped close. His hand touched her shoulder, her skin warm beneath his palm, almost feverish. He guided her arms up, slow and careful, then tugged his shirt down over her body.
It swallowed her. The hem hit mid-thigh, but it covered her. Protected her from the eyes, from the cold warehouse air, from everything that had just happened.
His hands stayed at her waist. The cotton bunched between his fingers. Through the fabric, her skin felt cooler now, clammy with shock. Her breathing still came too fast, too shallow, each inhale hitching slightly like her ribs couldn't expand fully.
Rachel looked up. Her lips parted. Eyes found his, brown and clear despite everything. "I'm okay," she whispered.
She wasn't okay, not even close. Ghost cupped her face, his palms rough against her cheeks, careful to avoid the swelling. He leaned down and kissed her, soft, brief, his lips barely brushing hers so he didn't hurt her split lip.
When he pulled back, his hands stayed on her face. "Torch is going to help you outside."
Rachel's eyes searched his. "Where are you going?"
"I need to take care of something."
"Langley?"
"Yes, baby." His thumb brushed along her cheekbone, gentle despite the rage roaring through him. "He needs to pay for what he did. For touching you. For hurting you."
"I want to stay."
"No." His voice stayed quiet but firm. "I need you to look away. To not see this."
Rachel reached up. Her fingers curled into the sides of his face, pulling him down. She kissed him, harder this time, her split lip be damned.
When they parted, Ghost's eyes were still locked on hers. His hand slid to cradle her neck, thumb running along her jaw. The touch was gentle, reverent, completely at odds with what he was about to do.
"Torch." His voice carried across the warehouse, but his gaze never left Rachel's face.
Torch appeared at Ghost's shoulder.
"Carry her out."
Ghost's thumb traced along her jaw one more time, slow and deliberate. He looked into her eyes, brown and clear and trusting despite everything. Memorizing the moment before he became someone else.
Then he dropped his hand and stepped back.
The tenderness in his expression drained away. His eyes went flat. Cold. Operative mode settling over him like a second skin.
He turned toward where Rogue had Langley pinned against the far wall.
Behind him, he heard Torch move. Heard the quiet rustle of fabric as Torch lifted Rachel into his arms, cradling her against his chest. Heard her breath catch, not in protest, just acceptance.
Torch's boots moved toward the exit, steady and measured. Carver fell into step beside him, one hand still clamped to his bleeding shoulder. Predator brought up the rear, rifle up, covering their exit.
The door opened. Closed. The sound echoed through the warehouse.
Ghost crossed the warehouse floor. Each step deliberate. His boots hit concrete with measured rhythm, the sound bouncing off empty walls and high ceilings.
Langley hung against the wall where Rogue held him.
The man was a mess. Blood smeared across his face from his broken nose.
One eye swollen completely shut, the skin around it purple and bulging.
His lip split wide, still bleeding. His knees sagged, weight held up only by Rogue's forearm across his chest. His hands trembled where they hung at his sides.
Ghost's pulse slowed. His breathing steadied. The way it always did before he pulled a trigger.
He stopped in front of Langley.
Langley's breath turned ragged. He shifted against the wall, bloodied and trembling. "No—please—don't—"
Ghost's fist drove forward.
The impact jarred up through his knuckles, his wrist, all the way to his elbow. Bone met bone with a crack that echoed off the warehouse walls. Langley's head snapped sideways. Blood sprayed across concrete in a wide arc. A wet grunt burst from his throat.
Ghost's knuckles throbbed. The skin had split across two of them, warm blood seeping down between his fingers.
Another punch. Deeper. Harder. Right into the jaw. The shock of it vibrated through Ghost's hand, up his forearm. Langley's body jerked, then sagged forward.
Ghost grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled him back upright. Blood-soaked cotton twisted in his grip, warm and slick. "Not so smug now, are you?" The words came quiet. His voice didn't shake.
Langley wheezed. One eye swollen shut. The other blinked slow and unfocused, pupil blown wide.
Ghost didn't wait for an answer. He drove his fist into Langley's ribs.
He felt it give, bone cracking beneath his knuckles, the sensation traveling up through his hand. Langley doubled over with a wet, gasping cough. Blood spilled from his mouth, thick and dark. His breath rattled in and out, broken.
Ghost hauled him upright again. His fingers dug into Langley's collar, the fabric cutting into his palms. Because Langley needed to understand exactly what it cost to touch her.
Rachel, bound to that chair. Wrists bleeding where she'd fought the zip ties. Face bruised. Voice shaking as she tried to stay strong. Her body trembling beneath torn fabric. Langley's hands on her. His fingers hooking under her bra.
Ghost hit him again. And again.
His knuckles split wider. Blood, his and Langley's, slicked across his hand, warm and sticky between his fingers.
The pain registered somewhere distant. What he felt instead was the memory of Rachel's voice through comms. That sharp inhale when Langley tore her shirt.
The tremor in her hands when Ghost cut the zip ties away.
He grabbed Langley by the collar and dragged him up until they were eye to eye. Blood ran from the corner of Langley's mouth, dripping onto Ghost's wrist, warm against his skin. The man's legs buckled, his full weight sagging against Ghost's grip.
"You really thought you were untouchable, huh?" Ghost's voice came out quiet. Steady. "Thought you could take her... hurt her... and just walk away?"
Langley coughed, sputtered, then smiled, a broken, blood-slick mockery that showed red teeth. "You’re just a grunt, Hayes," he rasped, voice wet and bubbling. "A soldier. You don’t make the rules."
Ghost's hand shifted to Langley's throat. His fingers pressed in, not choking, just enough pressure to make breathing difficult. A reminder.
"You're right," Ghost murmured. "I don't make the rules." He leaned in closer, close enough to smell the blood and fear-sweat. "I just decide who gets to live with them."
Langley's eye widened.
Torch's voice crackled through comms. "She's out. Clear of the building."
Ghost didn't respond. Just held Langley's stare long enough to register that Rachel was away from this. Safe.
His hand moved to his thigh holster. Drew the pistol. The metal was warm from his body heat, familiar weight settling into his palm.
Langley saw it. The smirk died. "Wait—"
Ghost fired.
The shot punched through the warehouse, sharp, final. The recoil kicked up through Ghost's wrist. Langley dropped, body crumpling to the blood-slick floor in a heap of broken limbs and torn fabric.
Ghost stood over him. Smoke drifted from the barrel, acrid in his nose and throat.
One breath in. One breath out.
The rage cooled. Faded. Left him standing in a cold warehouse with blood drying tacky on his hands and a corpse at his feet.
Rogue stepped forward. Checked the body. Looked up. "We done?"
Ghost wiped the blood from his knuckles on his pants, the fabric came away dark and wet. He holstered the weapon. "Yeah."
He turned and walked out without looking back.
Rachel was safe.
And Langley was done.