Page 15

Big mistake.

Game fucking on.

Chapter 7

Seanna

Theafternoonsunslicesmercilessly through the blinds, streaking harsh golden lines across the chaos of files littering my desk. Frustration throbs just behind my temples, threatening to break loose. Jensen mirrors my agitation, scowling at the reports as though they personally offended him.

Eli groans dramatically, leaning so far back in his chair I briefly wonder if he’ll crack his skull on the linoleum floor. "We've been spinning in goddamn circles all day. My brain is about to dribble out of my ears if we don't make a move soon."

"Not sure you'd miss it," Matteo says without glancing up, dark eyes scanning his monitor, still deep in thought. "But Eli's right. Diego gave us Cruz, Mendoza, and Navarro. Three leads, but Cruz and the Silver Orchid nightclub remain the most viable first step."

I nod slowly, picturing the neon-lit facade, the heavy beats thumping through expensive speakers—a beacon of luxury and filth. "Agreed. Cruz values money and power. Flash enough cash in front of him and his eyes might glaze over. Still," I say, leveling my gaze at each of them, "we can't just walk in cold. Cruz isn't a fool. We need an 'in', something concrete."

A beat of silence hangs as Jensen finishes a phone call and he straightens slightly, eyes sparking. "Actually, as luck would have it, that was our local PD contact. Their narcotics team picked up one of Cruz’s footmen early this morning. A low-level dealer named Carlos Rivas—easily spooked."

"Perfect," I say instantly, grabbing my keys and jacket. "Jensen, call them right fucking now. Tell them to hold Rivas and keep their mouths shut. That guy is ours, end of discussion. Eli, Matteo—move. We're leaving five minutes ago."

They surge to their feet, phones out, jackets in hand, the lethargy evaporating instantly. Jensen's voice is low and commanding as he calls the local PD. I hear him bark quick orders, giving them just enough to keep them cooperating. By the time we hit the cars, he snaps his phone shut and grimaces at me.

"Local narcotics are being pains in the ass," he says tightly. "They're making noise about turf and jurisdiction. They want in on Cruz if they're giving us Rivas."

I sigh, rolling my eyes sharply. "Fine. Tell them whatever bullshit they want to hear. Just get us to Rivas—now."

"On it," Jensen mutters, rapidly sending a text to smooth feathers. "We're set."

We hit the precinct hard and fast, our reputation clearing a path for us. The local narcotics captain eyes me warily as I pass, and I flash him a dismissive smile, cold enough to warn him off speaking. He doesn't dare follow.

"Interrogation room three," he grumbles to Jensen. "Don’t break our suspect."

I turn sharply, narrowing my gaze at him. "Don’t fucking test me. Your little fish is helping us catch a shark—play nice, and I'll let you tag along when we hook him."

He backs off, raising both hands in surrender. "All yours, Agent Darling."

I give a curt nod, motioning Eli forward. The interrogation room is windowless, starkly lit, and intentionally oppressive. Carlos Rivas sits cuffed, twitching nervously as we step inside. Eli closes the door firmly behind us.

It always surprises me how utterly Eli changes when we step into an interrogation room—like flipping a switch. Gone is the playful, flirtatious man from earlier; in his place is someone cold and sharp-edged, lethal as a blade. He stands silent and deadly beside me, a clear warning etched in his gaze.

Rivas squirms in his seat, sweat beading at his temples. "Who are you? I already told those cops—"

"I'm DEA, sweetheart," I interrupt calmly, sliding slowly into the chair across from him, meeting his panicked stare evenly. "And I don't give a damn what lies you spun to the locals. Here's what's going to happen: Tonight, you're introducing me to Cruz at the Silver Orchid."

Rivas’s eyes widen in terror, his breath catching audibly. "Are you fucking insane? Cruz? He’ll slit my throat and yours too—he doesn’t meet strangers."

Eli shifts slightly, the subtle movement somehow more threatening than if he'd shouted. His voice comes out cool, controlled. "Trust me, Rivas, we’re far more dangerous than Cruz on his worst day."

I lean forward slightly, locking eyes with the trembling dealer. "You have two choices. Play nice and introduce us convincingly tonight, then walk away free. Or refuse—and I pick out the nastiest federal hole imaginable to stick you in. Five years minimum, surrounded by every violent psychopath I can find."

His Adam’s apple bobs, fear warring with self-preservation. "I—I can’t—"

"You can," Eli interrupts smoothly, softly lethal. "And you will."

I lean back, smiling coldly. "Better practice that ‘yes’, sweetheart. If Cruz smells your fear, you're dead before you blink."

He slumps in defeat, shoulders dropping. "Fine. I'll do it."

"Good boy," Eli murmurs, voice edged with faint mockery.