Page 51 of Tag
Aponi’s gaze didn’t waver. “Then get your hands bloody.”
Faron’s shout cut through—“Tag, MOVE!”—as he fired, forcing Sable to twist, the shot ripping the sleeve off her tactical jacket. Blood running down her arm. Aponi used the opening, twisting under her and driving her elbow into Sable’s ribs.
I was already moving, ignoring the tearing pain in my shoulder as I grabbed Sable’s gun arm and wrenched it away. She fought like a damn storm—sharp, fast, relentless—but I slammed her into the canyon wall hard enough to rattle teeth.
Her head snapped back, eyes locking on mine. “This isn’t over, Tag.”
“Damn right it’s not,” I growled—
But before I could finish it, she threw herself sideways into a shadowed crevice and was gone, swallowed by the rock.
Faron was on us in seconds, sweeping the ridge for any sign of her. “She’s pulling back.”
“Not for long,” I said, pulling Aponi up. Her hands trembled, but her eyes burned with something fierce. “You should have killed her.”
“And if she turned with you, it would have been you I killed. I would never risk losing you.”
We ran.
Through the bend, past the last rise, until the canyon spat us out into open desert, and the burn in my lungs was the only thing louder than the pounding in my head.
Behind us, the silence settled again.
But it didn’t feel like victory.
It felt like a promise.
41
Aponi
We didn’t stop until the trucks were hidden behind a ridge of sunbaked rock, far enough from the canyon that no one could track us without leaving a trail.
The air out here shimmered with heat, the sun already climbing.
“I didn’t think you were coming back for me,” Kaylie said from the back seat. “I’m glad all of you are still alive because I never learned to drive.”
We chuckled, “I’ll teach you to drive,” I said.
Faron kept watch on a rocky outcrop while I found the med kit in the back of the truck. Tag sat on the tailgate, pale beneath the dust, his shirt dark with blood at the shoulder.
“Shirt off,” I said.
The wound was ugly—clean entry, but the edges were raw from him moving. I worked fast, flushing it, wrapping it tight, my fingers brushing warm skin.
“You should’ve let me take that shot,” I said quietly.
His eyes found mine, steady despite the strain. “Not happening.”
I finished the wrap, securing it with a strip of tape, but didn’t step back. “You almost died for me.”
“You almost died because of me,” he countered.
We stayed like that for a long beat, the air thick with things neither of us wanted to say yet. Then Faron’s voice carried from above. “All clear for now. You two had better start talking before she finds us again.”
I glanced at Tag, then at the ground. “Fine. You want the truth? Here it is.”
I leaned against the side of the truck, arms crossed, keeping my voice steady. “It was three years ago. I was working with a civilian outreach in Phoenix—rehab programs for vets. I had a friend who got me involved. I would fly out there once a month. One of our guys, Benji, used to run tech for a defense contractor. He got drunk one night and told me about something he’d copied before Graves’ people burned his office to the ground. Said it was too dangerous to keep, so he hid it.”
