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," herasped, 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, bodycrumpling 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.
52
