Page 64 of Rebel Protector

The bastard would pay for what he’d done to Becca, rotting in a Colombian prison for the rest of his miserable life. Death was too easy.

Markov pushed on. Ghost followed.

He was gaining on him, but every few seconds, Markov would turn and fire, forcing Ghost to dive for cover. His aim was terrible, hampered by the dense cane and the uneven terrain.

“It’s over, Markov!” Ghost’s voice echoed through the field. “There’s nowhere to run!”

Markov stopped, realizing he was cornered.

Slowly, he turned to face his pursuer.

For a moment, Ghost thought he was surrendering, but he had underestimated the slimy bastard. Markov held up his phone. “Back off, or she dies.”

Ghost could tell by his voice he wasn’t bluffing.

He froze, but kept his gun leveled at Markov’s head.

One shot. That’s all it would take. He could end this right now, blow the bastard’s brains out and be done with it.

“I said, stand down.” Markov’s finger hovered over the send button.

Ghost slowly lowered his arm.

Fuck.

He couldn’t risk it. Not with Becca’s life on the line.

“Toss the gun,” Markov ordered.

Ghost hesitated, then threw the gun into the cane. He wasn’t about to hand it over for Markov to use as backup.

“Stay there,” the arms dealer cautioned. “One move, and Carlos knows what to do.”

Ghost glared but didn’t move.

Markov began inching away, eyes on his phone. He pushed a button, then slipped the phone into his jacket pocket.

No fucking way.

Had he just sent the kill order?

Over my dead body.

Markov wasn’t going to murder Beccaandvanish into the ether.

Ghost dove into the cane, tearing it apart until he found his gun.

Markov zigzagged madly through the stalks, trying to make himself harder to hit. Ghost could only catch glimpses of his dark jacket, but that didn’t matter. He stood, gun gripped in both hands. He stilled his breathing, focused, and anticipated where Markov would dodge next.

A low exhale—then he squeezed the trigger.

The shot echoed through the field. Ghost heard a sharp cry and saw Markov spin from the impact.

Gotcha.

Ghost sprinted forward. He had to get that phone and call Carlos off.

When he reached Markov, the arms dealer was on his knees, clutching his bloody shoulder.