She betrayed me.

That thought had eaten away at every ounce of Ghost’s heart, mind, and reason for the last 12 hours. Task Force 141 had known there was a mole for months. Someone was feeding information to the enemy, and they had a small intelligence team put together specifically to hunt them down.

Ghost refused to believe it at first. He snapped orders, yelled, demanded to see the pile of evidence. Every single thing he read from the reports about the traitor pointed to Wren. So they did what they did best—they interrogated Wren for information. It didn’t matter how much they made her cry. Or bleed. Or scream. She begged them to believe her.

Two days passed, and still she gave up nothing.

The blood drained from Ghost’s face when König threw the real traitor, Jameson, in front of him, bound tight and a look of fury and terror in his eyes. Wren wasn’t the traitor. Jameson was. They’d been deceived. Bloody hell.

“Take him to Pierce,” Ghost commanded lowly, his usual gravelly tone hiding the shaking in his voice. “I’ll handle Sergeant Cohen.”

König’s blue eyes pierced at him through his sniper hood. “Fix this, mein Freund. For all of us.”