Page 47 of Faron (The Golden Team #8)

River

“ R eyes is in the penthouse,” Cyclone said through comms. “Four guards. Maybe five. All armed. No idea we’re coming.”

“Good,” Gage replied. “I brought the party favors.”

We took the service elevator—quiet as shadows.

The hallway smelled like wealth and blood. Marble floors. Crystal wall sconces. And Reyes behind a bulletproof door.

Didn’t matter.

Cyclone took out two guards like he was brushing lint off his coat. Gideon neutralized a third with barely a whisper. The fourth almost reached his weapon—until Gage stuck him with a tranquilizer dart that dropped him like a stone.

Reyes sat behind a mahogany desk worth more than most homes.

“I’ve heard of you,” he said as we entered. “Golden Team. Government ghosts with guns.”

“You’re done,” I told him.

He smiled. “You have no proof.”

Viper dropped a folder on the desk. Every transaction. Every alias. Every name on the hit list.

“We don’t need proof,” I said. “We need you to disappear.”

“You’re not cops.”

“No,” I said, stepping closer. “We’re what shows up when the cops aren't enough.”

We didn’t kill him. We handed him off to a federal agent with a grudge and a badge.

By dawn, the operation collapsed.