Page 19 of Raven

“What are we walking into?” he asked.

“Wolfthorn Syndicate. Beatrice Jones used to work undercover for our government, mostly CIA the rotten side of the government. They used her when she just graduated from college, telling her she was saving her country. While they did some corruption, she burned one of Wolfthorn’s compounds in Guatemala down. Now they’ve tracked her here. Her government acted like they never knew her.”

“And now they’re tracking her.”

“They’re already watching the beach.”

A pause. Then: “We’re on our way.”

* * *

Thirty minutes later,Gage, Cyclone, Tag, Faron, and River walked through my front door like a silent storm. Each of them carried the calm confidence of men who knew how to clear a building, drop a threat, and vanish before local authorities ever noticed.

Mandy perked up at the sound of Gage’s voice but didn’t move from her post near the door. Smart girl knew something was coming.

“Anyone made contact yet?” Cyclone asked.

“Not directly,” I said. “But Slate’s in town, I met him, and he told me his name, so I ran it. Still on the grid, still attached to Wolfthorn. My guess? He’s got a small team already set up nearby.”

Gage scanned the perimeter through the glass. “Then we hit first.”

“No,” I said. “Not yet. I want to know what they’re after. If this is just revenge, or if they want something else from her.”

“Like what?” Cyclone asked.

I looked at them.

Then turned and said the words that made everything real:

“She went off-mission in Guatemala. Rescued a group of trafficked kids. Lit the place up on the way out. Slate ran ops for the mercenary team guarding it. She was hoping he died in the explosion, but he didn’t.”

Gage cursed under his breath.

River’s jaw tightened.

“She’s not just running from a man,” I said. “She’s running from men who profit off pain. And now they want her dead.”

“Then we make sure that doesn’t happen,” River said, already opening his satchel. I hate anyone who trafficks children and women.”

He pulled out a drone kit and set it on the table. “We’ll map the area. Find every route in and out. We don’t let them anywhere near her.”

I nodded, gratitude burning in my chest. These weren’t just teammates.

They were brothers.

* * *

Across the street,in a dented blue van, Connor Slate watched the house through high-powered binoculars.

He smiled slowly.

“So the Golden boys came to play,” he muttered.

Beside him, another man passed a sealed black case into the back seat.

Slate checked his watch.

“Two hours,” he said. “We move at dusk.”

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