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.
