Page 33 of Tag (The Golden Team #9)

Faron

I hadn’t been this angry in years.

Not in the worst firefights. Not when I was locked in a foreign prison, wondering if I’d die there.

This was different.

This was personal .

Kaylie was barely conscious, her skin pale and her breathing shallow, but Aponi held her steady as we carried her through the underground corridor and out into the bitter New Mexico wind.

Tag brought up the rear, arms loaded with hard drives, documents, and just enough tech to keep Gideon’s hackers happy for weeks.

We cleared the ridge and laid Kaylie in the back of the SUV, covering her with emergency blankets and locking the vehicle from the inside.

“I left a burner in the glovebox,” Tag said. “If something happens—she calls Gideon.”

Aponi stared at the girl like she was seeing every missing child in her all at once. “She should’ve never been in that place.”

“She’s not going back,” I said. “But Graves is.”

We went back down into the dark with a different mission.

Tag pulled out the plastic bag of C-4 from his rucksack and got to work—placing it on main support beams, behind the electrical junction, and right under the file cabinet Graves had used to catalog every girl he ruined.

I found the fuel tanks in a locked back closet. Siphoned out enough gasoline to coat every inch of the floor from the cages to the hallway.

When we were done, it reeked of vengeance.

Aponi stood in the center of the dungeon for a long moment, staring at the space where Kaylie had been caged.

She struck a match.

The flame danced between her fingers.

“Say when,” she whispered.

Tag checked the final detonator. “You light it—we’ve got twenty seconds to clear.”

Aponi flicked the match onto the fuel trail.

The fire whooshed to life instantly, curling like a living thing around the walls and cages.

We turned and ran.