Page 24 of Tag
19
Aponi
Malik bled slowly—enough to weaken him, not enough to kill him.
That was intentional.
We had him cuffed to a rusted pipe inside the warehouse, surrounded by crates full of illegal weapons, two cartel buyers zip-tied and groaning in the corner, and the Golden Team cleaning up the rest outside.
Tag stood beside me, arms crossed, jaw tight.
“You want to do the honors?” he asked.
I didn’t answer.
I stepped forward, crouched in front of Malik, and let him get a good look at my face.
“You’re not as dead as everyone thought,” I said.
His grin was lopsided. Blood-stained. “Neither are you, Detective.”
I didn’t blink. “Give me the name.”
He chuckled. “You think this is about girls and guns? That was just a side hustle. The real operation… that’s higher than you’ll ever reach.”
I grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him forward until our faces were inches apart.
“The name,” I growled.
He looked past me. At Tag.
Then back at me. “You want the truth?”
“I’m not leaving without it.”
His smile disappeared. “There’s a woman. East side. She runs a shelter. Real sweet, does a lot of interviews. People like her.”
I went cold. My grip tightened. “Who?”
“She used to go by Feather. But she changed it. You might know her as your mother.”
The world tilted.
No.
No, it couldn’t—
“She’s not part of this, you liar. My mother is dead.” I whispered.
Malik leaned in, voice ragged. “She’s not just part of it. She helped fund it.”
Something in my chest cracked open and bled.
I stood so fast I nearly staggered.
Tag caught me, steadying me with both hands.
“Aponi,” he said softly, eyes locked on mine. “We don’t know if he’s telling the truth.”
