Page 84 of Tag (The Golden Team #9)

Tag

S he wouldn’t speak.

Not even after we got her into the safehouse and wrapped her in a blanket. Not when Aponi gave her warm tea. Not when I crouched beside her and asked her name.

She just sat there on the couch, curled into herself, eyes flicking between every exit like she was waiting for someone to break in and take her back.

“She’s been trained to keep quiet,” Aponi whispered to me. “Or threatened.”

We hadn’t plugged the drive it in yet. We were waiting on Faron to finish sweeping it for malware.

“Let me try,” Aponi said.

She eased down onto the edge of the couch, close but not touching. “You’re safe here, okay? I promise. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”

The girl blinked slowly. Her lips moved, but no sound came out.

Aponi gave her a small smile. “My name’s Aponi. This big guy over there? He’s Tag. He may look scary, but he’s actually a big softie who drinks hot cocoa and listens to jazz when no one’s watching.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I do not.”

The girl’s mouth twitched—almost a smile.

“You don’t have to tell us anything yet,” Aponi continued. “But you gave us that flash drive for a reason. If someone’s in danger, we can help.”

The girl stared at her hands. “He said... he said if I ran, they'd kill the others.”

Aponi’s voice went soft. “Others?”

She nodded. “Seven of us. Girls. He had us in different places. Some were locked up. I got out. The others... they didn’t.”

My pulse pounded.

“How long were you with him?” I asked gently.

“Too long,” she whispered. “He said someone was coming to take over. Worse than him. Said I was a loose end. Said they’d make me disappear.”

Faron stepped in, holding up the flash drive. “It’s clean. I cloned it, ran it through a filter. You’ll want to see this.”

We followed him into the ops room. He plugged it in and up popped dozens of files—photos, audio clips, PDFs, blueprints.

But it was the folder labeled “Rec Center” that chilled me.

Aponi’s face. Her schedule. The list of children she worked with. A set of images taken from inside her home. Another from the park two blocks away. One of her car.

Aponi stared at the screen. “He’s been planning something.”

“No,” Faron said, voice grim. “This isn’t planning. This is staging.”

I stepped in front of Aponi, shielding her from the screen, even though I knew it was too late. Her face had gone pale. Her hands clenched at her sides.

“He’s not touching you,” I said firmly. “Not ever again.”

She looked up at me, eyes shining but fierce. “I’m not scared for me.”

I leaned in, voice low. “Then let me be scared for you.”

Her mouth parted slightly at that, but she didn’t say anything—just nodded once.

Faron cleared his throat. “One more thing. There’s a name buried in the metadata. The girl couldn’t have known. It’s a codeword Graves kept referencing— Chimera. We’re pulling everything we can. But this might not be over.”

I exhaled slowly. “No. It’s just beginning.”

We left the ops room in silence. Aponi walked with me down the hall, her shoulders tight with tension, her face unreadable. When we got to her room, she stopped.

“Stay?” she asked.

That one word hit harder than a bullet.

I stepped inside, shut the door behind us, and for the first time in what felt like forever, we let the world fall away.

She turned to face me, her fingers brushing the hem of my shirt. “I don’t want to be strong tonight,” she whispered. “I just want to feel something real.”

I cupped her face, searching her eyes. “Then let me give you that.”

Her mouth met mine, soft but urgent, and I backed her slowly toward the bed, our bodies colliding like fire meeting gasoline.

Her lips tasted like resolve breaking, like fear melting into heat. I kissed her deeper, slower, my hands sliding to her hips as she gripped my shirt like she needed me to hold her together.

I didn’t rush her. Didn’t push.

I let her take.

She backed toward the bed, drawing me with her, her fingers tugging my shirt up, baring inch after inch of skin. When it hit the floor, she touched me like she’d never touched anyone before —like she needed to memorize every scar, every muscle, every breath.

“Aponi…” I whispered her name like a prayer, my forehead resting against hers. “You sure?”

Her eyes met mine, fire and vulnerability mingling. “I don’t want to be afraid of losing people anymore. I want this. With you. Right now.”

That was all I needed.

My hands slid under her shirt, palms gliding along warm, smooth skin. I kissed the side of her throat, heard the hitch in her breath. She lifted her arms, and I peeled the shirt over her head, revealing soft curves and strength beneath.

I stared at her, every inch of her, and shook my head. “You’re so damn beautiful, you ruin me.”

She smiled—shy, but sure. “Then let’s be ruined together.”

I lifted her, and laid her down gently, reverently. We shed the rest of the space between us like armor, piece by piece, until nothing was left but skin and heat and the weight of everything we hadn’t said.

When I sank into her, we both exhaled like we’d been drowning.

Her fingers dug into my back, her legs wrapping around my waist, urging me deeper, closer, until there was no space left between us—only motion and breath and raw, aching need.

We moved in a rhythm that belonged only to us—slow, then wild, then slow again—each kiss a promise, each touch an anchor. She whispered my name like it meant something sacred, and I held her like she was my last chance to make the world right.

When we broke together, it was quiet—just her gasp in my ear, my name on her lips, and the pounding of two hearts finding home.

I stayed there, wrapped around her, my body still pressed to hers, her breath soft against my neck.

She was quiet for a long time.

Then she whispered, “I think Graves knows who I am.”

I stiffened slightly. “What do you mean?”

She pulled the sheet up to her chest, eyes dark. “Not just who I am now… I think he knows who I used to be. Who I was before I became Aponi Lightfoot.”