Page 35 of Faron (The Golden Team #8)

Blue

T he morning light slipped through the blinds like it was afraid to wake me.

Pain came first—a deep, sharp ache beneath a fog of morphine. My body throbbed in protest, but it wasn’t the physical pain that hollowed out my chest. It was the knowledge I’d woken up with.

Someone had tried to end me.

The moment I shifted, a groan escaping my lips, Faron was there. Like always. Like a damn storm I could count on.

His hand cupped my cheek, eyes scanning my face with that blend of relief and fury I’d come to know too well. “Easy,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

“Still here?” I rasped, voice hoarse from the trauma and the breathing tube they’d shoved down my throat.

He gave a half-laugh, but it cracked. “You trying to get rid of me again?”

“Just checking. Thought I might’ve dreamed the whole thing—the building, the pool, you turning into a full-blown bodyguard.”

“It was real.” His voice dropped lower. “All of it. And you scared the hell out of me.”

My fingers curled around his. His touch anchored me.

“He’s still out there,” I whispered.

“Not for long.”

Cyclone

One hour earlier – Dawson Motel – 5:04 a.m.

We parked two blocks away. Boots silent on cracked pavement, we moved like ghosts through the shadows.

Room 107. Curtains drawn. One rusted pickup out front.

River gave a tight nod. “One man inside. Maybe two. Someone’s pacing.”

I drew my suppressed Glock. “Quiet entry?”

“Always.”

The door didn’t stand a chance. One solid kick from Gage and we were inside. No shouting. No warnings. Just muscle memory from Fallujah to South Sudan.

River slammed Diego against the wall before the man could react. “Why were you at the clinic?”

“I don’t—”

Wrong answer. River’s forearm hit his throat, pinning him hard.

“Okay! Okay!” Diego wheezed. “They told me to scare her! Make her stop expanding. She’s messing up our numbers—if the kids have somewhere safe to go, we can’t recruit ’em!”

“And shooting her in the gut was just what? A hug?” I growled.

“She wasn’t supposed to die! Just quit.”

River’s voice turned deadly. “She didn’t die bastard. She lived.”

Diego spat blood. “Then someone else will finish it. There’s a list.”

I went cold.

“What list?” I asked.

Diego grinned with bloodstained teeth. “You think she’s the only one? They’ve got files. Names. Every do-gooder standing in the way. Even some of you Golden Team freaks.”

River met my eyes.

This wasn’t a hit.

It was a purge.