Page 60 of Rebel Protector

Becca.

Two of the thugs grabbed him by the arms and hauled him out of bed, while the third punched him in the face and then again in the gut. He doubled over with a grimace. It wasn’t the worst hit he’d taken, but it wasn’t soft either.

“What the fuck is going on?” he snapped, glaring at Markov, who was scowling at him like he’d just murdered his best friend.

“This is what’s going on,” the arms dealer said coldly, holding up his phone.

Ghost’s stomach twisted painfully as he stared at the screen. There was a picture of Becca tied to an old wooden chair in a concrete room. She’d been worked over. Her beautiful face was black and blue, one eye swollen shut. Her head hung forward, and blood dripped from her nose and mouth. She didn’t look conscious.

He growled like a cornered animal, hot fury spreading through his veins. “How could you do that to your own daughter?” If looks could kill, Markov would be dying a slow death right now. “What kind of monster are you?”

“She betrayed me,” Markov snarled. “As did you. Becca told Carlos everything.”

Ghost balled his hands into fists. So, it was Carlos who’d done that to her. Just wait until he got hold of that scumbag. He was going to throttle the life out of him with his bare hands. Markov thought he was tough, just wait until he saw what damage Ghost could inflict.

“I know you work for the U.S. government, and you’ve been screwing my daughter under my nose. Used her to get to me, huh?”

Ghost spat at Markov’s feet. “No. She was for pleasure. I got to you all on my own.”

Another punch landed, harder this time, sending stars flickering across Dom’s vision.

“Easy,” Ramirez warned. “We need him for the handover.”

Ghost had purposely kept Markov in the dark about the details, making sure he’d be there when it all went down.

“It was you who set up Suarez, wasn’t it?” Markov growled, obviously having figured a few things out, based on this new information. “He went down because of you.”

Ghost managed a laugh, despite the ache in his jaw. “Wrong again. I was brought in after Suarez went down. The Feds saw an opportunity and took it. I work for the highest bidder.”

He could tell Markov wasn’t fully convinced, but if he wanted the arms dealer to show up at the handover, Ghost had to sell it.

“I don’t believe him,” Ramirez hissed. “He could have the cops waiting for us.”

“Nobody, except me, knows where or when this is going down,” Ghost gritted out. “Not even the buyers. They’re waiting for me to text them the location.”

There was a long pause as Markov considered his options.

Eventually, he held up his phone again, showing the picture of a battered Becca. “Just make sure you don’t try anything, or you’ll never see my daughter again.”

CHAPTER 24

This was sugarcane country.

Ghost peered out of the small plane window at the landscape below. Endless cane fields stretched out, eventually swallowed by the rainforest. Through the dusky haze, he spotted the farmhouse where Miguel lived with his family, along with several other outhouses scattered across the sprawling property.

Miguel was a wealthy, well-respected farmer in these parts, but despite his subpar harvests, he still managed to provide a lavish lifestyle for his family. His real income didn’t come from agricultural produce.

As they descended toward the dusty road that would serve as a landing strip, Ghost made out the large, semi-derelict barn on the edge of Miguel’s property where the deal was set to go down. Surrounded on three sides by cane fields, there was nothing nearby for miles except the encroaching jungle.

From a distance, the barn looked abandoned, but closer inspection revealed its fortifications: a steel-reinforced door, boarded-up upper windows, and no back entrance. The place was a fortress.

Miguel, paranoid about his own safety and his family’s, never attended these deals. Entry to the barn was controlled by a ten-digit code that had to be entered into a sophisticated security panel hidden behind a crooked wooden slat. Despite its rundown appearance, the barn had a state-of-the-art setup powered by an internal generator.

The Cessna’s engine growled as they landed hard on the bumpy road, the wheels kicking up dirt and gravel. The plane rattled along the makeshift runway before coming to a stop.

“Follow me,” Ghost said to the others, three of whom were armed, their fingers twitchy. One wrong move, and this would all go to hell.

Ghost led them to a beat-up pickup truck parked by the side of the road, its keys in the ignition.