Page 68 of Faron
When the video ended, I stood up too fast and slammed my shoulder into a crumbling wall.
Cyclone looked over from the window. “Problem?”
“Yeah,” I growled. “A big one.”
I stared out at the horizon, fists clenched. Jungle heat pressed in from all sides, but I felt cold.
“Tag says they’ve got her secured,” I muttered. “But if the guy Knox, whom she thought she killed, is back, she’s in deeper shit than she realizes. Why did he show his face now?
Gideon groaned from the floor. “We getting pulled out?”
I looked toward the sky—dark, humid, thunder rolling in.
“No. We finish this. Then I’m going home. And when I get there…”
I looked down at my hands.
“…someone’s gonna answer for hunting down my sister.”
65
Tag
We didn’t take him to a station. We didn’t need the red tape.
Knox was cuffed to a chair in the old supply room behind the clinic—soundproofed, dim, and empty except for a steel desk, one bulb, and a first aid kit that was about 90% adrenaline and 10% sarcasm. We didn’t want to stay at the apartment in case someone heard us.
Blue stood against the far wall, arms crossed, eyes locked on him.
I leaned forward, resting both palms on the desk.
“Let’s make something clear,” I said quietly. “You don’t get a lawyer. You don’t get a phone call. You’re in my world now.”
Knox just grinned. His lip was split, and he had a black eye forming, from his fight with Aponi, but he still looked cocky.
“I gotta say,” he rasped, “your sister’s prettier than you, Tag.”
She’s not my sister; if her brother Faron were here, you’d be dead by now. He’s got that Indian blood in him and does things before thinking.
Blue was on him in a flash—shoving his chair back against the wall, hand on his throat.
“You say one more thing about her, and I’ll make sure you never use that mouth again,” she whispered.
He blinked, stunned. Then—laughed. But it was weaker this time.
“Okay,” he said, choking out the word. “Fine. Let’s play. You must be her sister.”
Blue stepped back, silent again, shaking her head.
I picked up the folder I’d dropped on the table. Laid out three photos—burned girls, cartel stash houses, a grave with no name.
“You trafficked minors for La Serpiente cartel. You cut ties with the DEA after flipping a handler in Tucson. Then you vanished, until Aponi thought she killed you. That’s not the behavior of a man with friends.”
“I have friends,” he said, smirking. “One of them paid a lot to find Aponi.”
My jaw tensed. “Name.”
He chuckled. “You think it’s about revenge? About me?”
