Page 10 of Tag (The Golden Team #9)

Aponi

T he warehouse squatted like a sleeping animal at the edge of the city—dark, silent, and surrounded by razor-wire fencing that was more for keeping people in than keeping them out.

We parked a block away and made the rest of the way on foot, cutting through alleyways that reeked of oil, piss, and something far worse.

Tag moved like a shadow beside me, his expression tight.

We crouched behind a broken stack of pallets across the street, using an old delivery van for partial cover.

“There,” I whispered, pointing to a flicker of movement behind one of the shattered windows.

Tag raised his binoculars. “Infrared lights just kicked on. Someone’s inside.”

I pulled out my phone and tapped through the department database again. “That building is still listed as unoccupied. The LLC hasn’t filed a tax return in two years. This place is off-grid.”

“Perfect place for a holding site,” Tag muttered.

My stomach turned. I wanted to kick in the door. Run in guns blazing. But he grabbed my arm, voice low and firm. “Wait.”

We watched.

Time stretched.

Then a black SUV rolled up. Lights off. No plates.

Two men climbed out. One wore a hoodie pulled low over his face. The other held something that looked like a long duffel bag—too stiff to be clothes.

My heart seized. “That’s a body bag.”

Tag’s grip on my arm tightened.

The men unlocked the gate with ease. Not forced entry. Keys.

They disappeared inside, the warehouse swallowing them whole.

Tag finally spoke. “We need to get closer. See what’s inside.”

“There’s a service ladder along the south wall,” I said. “I saw it earlier on the satellite image. Might lead to the roof.”

He gave a grim nod. “Let’s move.”

We kept low, using shadows as cover until we reached the ladder. I went first—Tag right behind me.

At the top, we belly-crawled across the gravel-lined rooftop to a skylight cracked just enough to peek through.

What we saw stopped my breath cold.

Inside were cages. Not dog crates. Not animal pens.

Human cages.

Some were empty.

Some weren’t.

My hand gripped the edge of the skylight so hard my knuckles went white.

Girls.

Three of them.

Barely teenagers. One was crying. Another just stared, hollow-eyed. The third clutched a broken shoe as if it were her last possession on Earth.

“I’m going in,” I whispered.

“No, you’re not,” Tag said, his voice a warning. “We don’t have backup. No exits. No confirmation on how many guards are in there. If we blow this now—”

“Then we lose them,” I choked out.

He didn’t argue. Just stared through the glass.

I looked at him. “What do we do?”

“We get them out,” he said. “But we do it right. We find their routine. We map the exits. We come back tomorrow night—with everything we’ve got.”

I nodded slowly, fury curling low and tight in my belly.

“They picked the wrong city,” I said.

His eyes met mine.

“No,” Tag said. “They picked the wrong woman.”