Page 10

Seanna

Theorganization’sheadquartersaren’tfar from the DEA offices, but stepping inside feels like entering an entirely different universe—one governed by secrecy, shadows, and blunt, unapologetic purpose. Nestled discreetly within an industrial park, hidden behind layers of security and strategic obscurity, the nondescript building fades seamlessly into the background. Exactly how my family prefers it. No bullshit, no fanfare, just ruthless efficiency.

I park swiftly and stride inside, exchanging only the barest nods with guards who know better than to question or delay me. The hallways here hum quietly, sterile and cool, the air punctuated only by the steady drone of ventilation and the faint buzz of hidden machinery. This isn’t some flashy government office; it’s a nerve center for vigilantes who gave up waiting on a broken justice system years ago.

My parents founded this place right around the time I was born, fed up with the corruption and incompetence poisoning every branch of law enforcement. They built it for one reason alone—to hunt down predators that the system fails to touch. The ones hiding behind badges, wealth, or political connections. Over the years, the organization has grown into an intricate web, recruiting operatives at all levels. Some joined already embedded in well-placed positions, jaded and ready to fight from within. Others—like me and my sister—were brought in young, trained carefully, then strategically placed where we’d do the most damage.

I head straight to the back, toward Uncle Max’s personal sanctum. One of the largest rooms in the building, it’s been transformed into a digital war room—a fucking fortress of screens, wires, and data streaming ceaselessly from every corner of the globe.

Max’s domain is unique to him. Opening the door, I’m bathed in the neon glow of monitors stacked in precise tiers from floor to ceiling. Every screen displays a different torrent of information—video feeds, satellite imagery, databases, encrypted communications scrolling endlessly. More computing power sits crammed in here than NASA would probably use for a damn Mars mission, powered meticulously by generators, solar panels, and backup batteries carefully arranged so no one outside suspects a thing. Data servers take up an entire wall, lights blinking all over the place.

“Good evening, Seanna,” Max greets without turning, his gravelly voice laced with dry amusement. He makes a quick adjustment on one keyboard before swiveling in his chair, meeting my gaze over thin-rimmed glasses. “Took your sweet ass time.”

I smirk, folding my arms as I lean casually against the doorframe. “Hello to you too, Uncle Max. Still obsessively stalking my whereabouts?”

“Unnecessary,” he shoots back, dry as dust, spinning briefly to type something into a terminal. “Your Dad let me know you'd be coming tonight.”

“How considerate of him,” I deadpan, stepping further into the room and scanning the screens. My gaze locks onto familiar faces flashing on the largest monitor—Reyes’s known associates, surveillance stills, financial flows, everything my DEA unit has scraped together and then some.

“You’ve been busy,” I comment quietly, eyes narrowing. “Find anything worth my time?”

Max raises an eyebrow. “Define 'worth your time.'”

“Something that helps me get my hands around Reyes’s throat,” I answer bluntly, moving closer. “We’re stuck chasing Diego’s breadcrumbs. I need a breakthrough.”

Max nods thoughtfully, tapping a finger on the desk before pulling up a fresh wave of images. “I’ve been probing Reyes’s operations for vulnerabilities. Your informant, Diego—he gave you Sebastián Cruz, Valeria Mendoza, and Rafael Navarro?”

“Yeah,” I confirm, watching closely as profiles fill the screen. “Mid-tier, careful assholes keeping their hands mostly clean. Right now, it feels like spinning wheels.”

“That’s intentional,” Max mutters, contemplative. “Reyes built layers of disposable assets between himself and exposure. But you’re right—family might be his weak point.”

My pulse quickens slightly, interest sparking. “You have something solid?”

“Possibly,” he says slowly, adjusting his glasses. “Still verifying, but some names keep resurfacing. He’s wiped nearly every digital trace, but not perfectly.”

“Names?” I prompt impatiently, taking another step closer.

“His wife’s name might be Elena,” Max reveals, tone cautious. “Still verifying that. His children are even tougher to pin down—but I have one name that keeps popping up. Kingston, I believe it’s his eldest son.”

I test the name silently, tasting the weight of it. Kingston Reyes. A new player on this deadly chessboard, someone Javier would have been carefully grooming from birth. My mind churns with possibilities, threats, and strategic moves.

“What else do we have on Kingston?”

“Not much,” Max admits, obvious frustration crossing his features. “His digital footprint is virtually nonexistent. Encrypted conversations suggest he’s intimately involved in operations, yet careful enough to remain completely invisible.”

A slow, predatory smile curves my lips. “Age?”

“Late twenties, maybe early thirties,” Max estimates. “Hard to confirm exactly. Tread carefully—if he's half as dangerous as Javier, he’s lethal.”

“Good,” I murmur unapologetically. “Dangerous beats boring every damn time.”

Max shakes his head slightly, but amusement tugs at the corners of his mouth. “You inherited your parents’ twisted definition of fun.”

“It runs in the family,” I fire back smoothly. “Keep digging. I want every detail you can rip out about Kingston. If he’s Javier’s heir, he's exactly the opening we need.”

Max turns immediately back to his screens, fingers flying with renewed intensity. “Already on it. I’ll update you the second I have more.”

“Thanks, Uncle Max.” I hesitate briefly, remembering Mom’s earlier conversation. “Do you know anything about Hydessa’s upcoming mission? Mom mentioned it.”