Page 106 of Rafe’s Future

Don’t let him control you.

“Why are you doing this?” he demanded of Stanton, forcing his gaze to leave hers and move to her captor’s. “It was done. Your father is behind bars, where he belongs. What happened had nothing to do with you.”

“You’re wrong!” Stanton seethed, taking a broad step in Rafe’s direction. “I lost everything because of what you and your daughter did! My reputation. My friends. My job. So did my mother. The feds seized our money. They took our house, our cars . . . and they kept taking and taking until we had nothing left.” Daggers shot at Rafe from the man’s narrowed eyes. “And it’s all because of you.”

“Wrong.” Rafe kept his weapon trained on him. “Your father broke into my home in the middle of the night, and he killed my wife in cold blood. He made that choice, just like he chose to become a dirty agent.”

Behind Stanton, Lena shifted slightly. Rafe didn’t let on, but he’d seen her fingers working against the plastic ties. She was attempting to create an opening.

Stanton was unaware.

“My father did what he had to do to survive,” Stanton growled. “Same as me.”

He was right about one thing. He and his father were one and the same. They were both self-centered, self-righteous, egotistical men whose first defense is to play the victim.

“Drop the gun, Henry,” Rafe ordered. “There’s nowhere to go. It’s over.”

The other man’s smile disappeared. “I’ll do it.” He swallowed nervously. “I’ll put a bullet through her head.”

“You do, I’ll put one through yours.”

Uncertainty flickered across Stanton’s face. Rafe saw it. Lena, too. She took advantage, abandoning the ties to twist and throw her weight sideways.

Stanton’s attention snapped toward her, and Rafe rushed to him. He moved quickly, his surroundings little more than a blur.

Rafe slammed into Stanton as the man started to pull his trigger. The shot went wild as they crashed against the concrete wall.

Stanton fought back like a man with nothing to lose. Rafe hit him once. Twice. The other man staggered but came back hard. He caught Rafe across the jaw, but almost immediately, Rafe drove him backward.

The two continued to struggle. Stanton started to raise his gun. He barely moved it an inch before Rafe knocked it away. Together, they tumbled down to the floor. A moment later, Stanton was beneath him, and Rafe’s forearm was across his throat.

“We’re almost to you,” Digger’s voice came through the comm.

But Rafe immediately hollered back, “Hold!”

Stanton made a move for Rafe’s gun. He reacted on reflex, grabbing the guy’s wrist with his free hand, and slamming it to the floor hard enough to break bone.

The sound was almost as satisfying as his opponent’s howl of pain. Rafe pressed the barrel of his gun against Stanton’s forehead, but he hesitated to pull the trigger.

“Go ahead.” The prick dared him. “You’re going to kill me anyway, so just do it already.”

His finger tightened around the trigger. Stanton’s eyes grew wide, but then Rafe glanced over at Lena. He took in her battered face. Her bound hands and legs.

This man had hurt the woman Rafe loved, and yet, it was in that moment that Rafe knew⁠—

No more.

Justified or not, there was already enough blood on his hands. Enough death to last him ten lifetimes. Maybe more. He had more than his fair share of ghosts, and so did the woman looking back at him now.

“Enough.” Rafe lowered the weapon before pushing himself back up to his feet.

Digger and the others rushed into the room. Rafe turned to them with a rough, “Secure him.”

Digger rushed over to Stanton and hauled him to his feet. He tied his hands—ignoring the defeated man’s shouts of pain—while Bones got busy searching the man’s pockets.

“Knife,” Bones announced, holding up a folding blade. “And an extra mag.”

Rafe dropped to his knees beside Lena.