Page 41 of Rebel Protector

Hard to believe that this time last night, he’d been inside her. Hell, he wanted to call it making love, but they both knew that wasn’t what it was. It had been raw. Urgent. Desperate. He could still smell her hair, taste her skin.

Fuck.

Why had he gone and told her who he was? It had wrecked whatever this thing between them was. He didn’t think she’d run to her father, but if it came down to it, whose side would she take?

Ghost exhaled, long and slow. He thought he knew—and it wasn’t his.

CHAPTER 17

Becca lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about the man who had brought her to the brink of something raw and intense just twenty-four hours ago.

Where was he now?

Probably deep in the jungle, hauling her father’s illegal merchandise through rebel-infested terrain, surrounded by criminals, danger lurking in every shadow.

She missed him. His scent, the roughness of his touch, the heat of his body pressed against hers. Hell, she missed everything about him.

Her heart sank. She’d fallen for him—it hit her like a punch to the gut. Hard. Unavoidable. Even though he was supposed to be the enemy.

Or was he?

It had been easier when she thought he was just a badass mercenary, wrapped up in the same muddy waters she was. At least then, they’d been on the same side. The rules were simple—survival, profit, no questions asked.

Now everything was upside down. Dom wasn’t just another hired gun. He was the guy gunning for her father. The good guy,doing what he thought was right, setting up her old man just like he’d set up Suarez.

But she couldn’t hate him for it. He wasn’t wrong. Not about her father, at least.

So where did that leave her?

She turned over, punching her pillow in frustration, trying to force herself into some semblance of comfort. Her father was one of the most dangerous men in Central America—everyone knew that. And by staying silent, she was complicit. She wasn’t running the guns, or laundering the money, but wasn’t turning a blind eye just as bad?

God, what was she doing?

The heat in her room became unbearable. She kicked the sheets off and stumbled to the window, pushing it open. Outside, the rain was soft, pattering against the dense jungle, a muted sound that echoed the turmoil inside her. It wasn’t like rain on city streets—no harsh splatter on concrete, no cars splashing through puddles. It was gentler, more natural, almost soothing. Except she couldn’t relax.

She leaned out, inhaling deeply. The air smelled different out here too—clean, like freshly cut grass and damp earth. She wondered if it was raining where Dom was. Was he huddled under a shelter, waiting it out? Or did he not even care? Rain was probably just another thing to endure for a man like him.

Was he thinking of her?

Shaking her head, she climbed back into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. Closing her eyes, she remembered how alive she’d felt in his arms. She tried to recapture the feeling of safety, of rightness, from that night. For a few precious moments, she could almost believe it. Almost forget about the lies and the looming storm of betrayal.

But it didn’t last. Soon she was tossing and turning again, her thoughts swirling with questions she had no answers to. Thesun was poking its head over the horizon when her body finally succumbed to sleep.

The next morning, Becca sat at her desk, bleary-eyed and unfocused, entering the receipts from housekeeping into the accounting software. It was a routine she did monthly, more out of habit than necessity. There wasn’t really a budget to stick to, but it gave her something to show Alek at the end of the month. More importantly, it kept her mind from spiraling into the chaos she couldn’t control.

She froze at the sound of tires crunching over gravel, her heart skipping a beat. She’d done this a dozen times today—rushed to the window at every car that pulled up, hoping. But this time, she got lucky.

It washim.

Her pulse quickened as she watched Dom climb out of a khaki Jeep, dirty from the road but somehow more imposing for it. The vehicle was perfect for rough terrain, but what surprised her most was that he was driving—alone.

Before she could process that, Carlos stormed into the quad, flanked by two burly guards, weapons drawn. Rapid-fire Spanish erupted between them, Carlos gesturing wildly as if Dom’s very presence here unaccompanied was an affront.

“What the fuck is he doing here by himself?” Alek’s voice boomed as he stormed out of his study, the door flying open with a bang.

Becca straightened, choosing her words carefully. “The guy used to be a U.S. Marine. He probably knew the location of the hacienda this whole time.”

Used to be.