Page 22 of Tag (The Golden Team #9)

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T he dock reeked of diesel, salt, and secrets.

Aponi crouched beside me behind a stack of shipping containers. She wore all black, her long braid tucked into her jacket, her movements precise and quiet. I’d seen a lot of warriors in my life—but none that looked like her.

She held up two fingers—movement to the left.

I raised my binoculars and scanned the entrance. Two guards. Armed. Casual posture. Not cops. Definitely not kids.

Then I saw him.

Malik Voss.

He stepped out of the shadows like he owned the night.

Same arrogance. Same shark eyes.

He’d traded street clothes for sleek tactical gear and expensive boots. A heavy duffel bag was slung over his shoulder. No doubt packed with the kind of weapons meant for warzones, not city streets.

A black SUV pulled up.

New players. Not locals. Probably buyers.

Aponi’s voice was a whisper. “Recognize them?”

“Not by face,” I murmured, “but that plate’s linked to a cartel contact out of Baja. Real serious players. One mistake is that they always put that emblem on their plate. They are too cocky to care if they are recognized.”

She muttered a curse. “So Malik’s not just trafficking girls anymore. He’s arming people who are already neck-deep in blood.”

“Which means we can’t let that deal go through.”

“And we can’t go in guns blazing without getting slaughtered.”

I glanced at her. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

She arched an eyebrow. “That we need a distraction?”

“Exactly.”

I opened my comms. “Gideon, you copy?”

His voice crackled in. “Loud and clear.”

“We’ve got eyes on Malik. He’s dealing with a Baja cartel buyer. Need a soft breach with hard options if things go loud.”

“Copy that. You want smoke, sound, or chaos?”

I looked at Aponi. She smiled.

“Chaos,” we said in unison.

“Good choice,” Gideon replied. “Give me five.”

We moved into position—silent, fast. Aponi took the south wall. I moved to the opposite end, watching from a broken window as Malik opened the duffel and pulled out an AR-15 fitted with a suppressor and scope.

The cartel buyer nodded.

Cash changed hands.

And then…

Boom.

The explosion hit the other side of the dockyard—one of Gideon’s planted charges, just loud enough to startle but not injure.

Shouting erupted. The buyers pulled weapons. Guards scrambled. Malik reached for his radio.

That’s when Aponi moved.

She dropped two guards with stunning precision—one shot each. I charged in through the service door, hitting the back of the SUV and knocking one man unconscious before he could turn his rifle.

Malik spun, firing wildly.

“Aponi!” I yelled.

She ducked, rolled, and came up firing.

Malik went down.

Chest shot. Clean. Non-lethal—because she wanted answers.

I rushed to his side and kicked the weapon away, then cuffed him to a rusted pipe.

“You’ve got five seconds to tell us who else is on your payroll,” I said, pressing my boot against his shoulder.

He just laughed, blood in his teeth.

“You think this ends with me?”

Aponi stepped up, eyes dark and unflinching. “No. But it damn sure starts with you.”