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Chapter 3

Seanna

Sleep is overrated anyway.

At least, that's the lie I feed myself as I stride through my cabin just before dawn, yanking on boots and shrugging into my jacket in the near-darkness. Restlessness kicked me out of bed long before sunrise had a fighting chance, my mind tangled in knots, refusing even the briefest respite. Sleep? Not today—not with all the chaos swirling relentlessly in my brain.

Catching a glance in the mirror, I smirk at my reflection. Even with minimal sleep, I still look ready to cut someone down—long, dark hair piled into a tight bun, blue eyes sharp enough to pierce steel. Good enough. Hell, better than good enough.

The rich, bitter scent of coffee fills the kitchen as I pour the steaming dark roast into my travel mug, inhaling deeply. Coffee isn't a luxury; it's survival—especially when the job involves dragging information out of reluctant cartel assholes like Diego. I’m practically buzzing with anticipation at the thought of breaking him.

My phone buzzes suddenly, startling me just enough to annoy me. My mother’s name flashes across the screen, and I sigh—she always manages to call precisely when I'm at my edgiest. Must be some twisted motherly sixth sense.

"Morning, Mom," I say, leaning against the counter and bringing the phone to my ear.

"Good morning, sweetheart," she replies, voice warm, soothing, entirely too pleasant for this ungodly hour. "Your dads and I were wondering if you'd join us for breakfast at the main house."

I glance at the clock, already knowing my answer but making a show of pretending to consider it. "Thanks, but not today. I've got a date with an interrogation room and a stubborn bastard who doesn’t know when to quit."

She laughs softly, knowing better than to argue. "Everything okay, Seanna? This case seems to have you wound pretty tight."

"I'm always wound tight," I quip dryly, swirling the coffee in my mug. "You should worry more if I'm calm. But yeah, it's been a pain in the ass. How are things at home?"

"Good. Actually, we're heading to Chicago today—just a routine investigation," she adds quickly, preempting my instinctive worry. "But there’s something else—about your sister."

My brows lift sharply, instantly suspicious. "Hydessa? What's she done now? Alphabetize the file cabinet wrong?"

Mom chuckles, amused. "She found something online, a blog we think is worth investigating. Honestly, it would be good for her to handle it personally—get her out from behind that fortress of paperwork."

I snort, skepticism practically radiating from me. "Have you told her this grand idea yet? Because we both know she'll wiggle out of it faster than you can say 'fieldwork.'"

"Not yet," Mom admits with a resigned sigh. "But maybe she'll actually listen if you talk to her. She might take it seriously coming from you."

I roll my eyes dramatically, even though she can't see. "I'll talk to her, but I'm not holding my breath. Knowing Hydessa, she'll just delegate it to one of those eager newbies—like Bodhi or Thorn. She loves handing off responsibility."

Mom hums thoughtfully, clearly planning her next move. "I'll figure something out. It's time she steps up—she’s hidden behind reports long enough. Besides, Max found the blog is being posted from a small island, she could do with the holiday."

"Good luck with that," I mutter dryly, lips quirking into a smirk. "We both know stubbornness runs deep in this family."

"Definitely inherited," she counters, laughter coloring her tone.

"Guilty," I retort, finishing my coffee in one swift gulp and grabbing my keys. "I'll nudge—or shove—her in the right direction. Whatever works."

"Thank you, Seanna," she says softly. "Be careful today."

"Careful is overrated," I tease back, heading toward the door. "But I'll stay alive, at least. Love you, Mom."

"Love you too, sweetheart."

Sliding the phone into my pocket, I step outside, greeted by crisp air scented with pine and damp earth. Climbing into my car, I can't help but dwell on Hydessa. My sister's always been too cautious, content hiding behind routine. Maybe Mom's right—it’s time she learned to embrace a little chaos.

The car roars to life beneath me, headlights slicing through mist as I race away from the quiet sanctuary of my cabin. The conversation with Mom gets tucked neatly away for later—right now, I have a stubborn asshole named Diego to break. Javier Reyes won't topple himself, and today's interrogation will bring me one step closer to finally nailing the bastard.

A satisfied smirk curls my lips as I slam the pedal down, road stretching endlessly ahead.

The day’s just getting started, and I intend to make it count.

The drive to the DEA offices is mercifully quick at this time of morning, the familiar route letting my restless thoughts settle into something resembling clarity. Headquarters looms ahead, a sleek, faceless building blending seamlessly into the mundane corporate landscape. Unremarkable from the outside, but within these walls, we hunt monsters and tear entire worlds apart—my kind of place.

I flash my ID badge at the guard, who nods with practiced indifference, waving me through without a second glance. Parking my car in my usual spot, I step out, savoring the briskness of the early-morning air against my skin as I head toward the entrance.

Inside, I breeze through security on autopilot—badge, metal detector, brief nod—and immediately get hit by the scent of cheap coffee, paperwork, and crushed dreams. Phones ring, voices chatting, and for some twisted reason, it feels like home.

Striding into the bullpen where my team congregates, I nod to a few familiar faces, murmuring greetings as I pass without inviting conversation. I’m halfway to my desk when Eli looks up from his mountainous pile of reports and flashes a grin.

“Morning, boss,” he drawls, lifting a steaming mug in mock salute. “Bright-eyed and ready to ruin someone’s day as usual, I see.”

I raise an eyebrow at him, smirking faintly. “Someone has to pick up your slack, Eli. That coffee isn’t going to fill out your paperwork for you.”

Jensen snickers from the desk behind Eli, leaning back in his chair with arms crossed, his grin wide and lazy. “Ouch. You really gotta cut him down first thing, Seanna? Can’t you let the poor guy finish his caffeine first?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” I retort lightly, draping my jacket over my chair and pulling out my notes from yesterday’s bust. “Besides, I prefer him slightly terrified. Keeps productivity high.”

Matteo strolls past, dropping a fresh cup of coffee onto my desk without looking away from his phone, dark brows furrowed in concentration. “Remember, she likes to break men’s spirits before breakfast,” he says dryly, moving toward his own workspace. “Keeps her young.”

“Careful, Matteo,” I warn lightly, not bothering to glance up as I shuffle through paperwork. “You could be next.”

He snorts, finally lifting his eyes to meet mine, a spark of amusement dancing in their depths. “I’ve survived worse.”

I laugh under my breath, slipping easily into the familiar rhythm of our banter. My team might be a chaotic collection of misfits, but I trust these men with my life.

Just as I’ve started mapping out Diego’s interrogation strategy, my phone buzzes sharply against my desk. I glance at the screen, rolling my eyes dramatically at my dad’s name.

DAD

Your mom, Papa, and I are leaving for Chicago soon, so we won’t catch you today. Can you call into the organization HQ at some point? Uncle Max needs to talk to you about your case.

Of course Uncle Max wants to talk. If it’s not my parents poking around, it’s Max’s paranoid hacker brain digging into every digital breadcrumb. Still, irritation aside, I can’t ignore him. Max has a sixth sense and the uncanny ability to find things that even the DEA can’t.

Mentally bookmarking a visit to HQ later, I stand up smoothly, sliding my phone into my pocket.

“Leaving us already?” Eli feigns disappointment, pressing a hand dramatically to his heart. “You just got here.”

“Some of us actually have work to do,” I shoot back, heading toward interrogation. “I’ve got a date downstairs with our stubborn cartel asshole.”

Jensen pushes away from his desk with a stretch, a grin spreading across his face. “Perfect. I love a good intimidation session before breakfast.”

“Better than TV,” Eli quips, trailing after us eagerly.

Matteo shakes his head with mock resignation, falling silently into step beside us as we head toward the interrogation rooms downstairs. “Remind me again why I spend everyday with you three?”

“My charming personality, obviously,” Eli says smoothly.

Jensen snorts loudly. “Yeah, let’s go with that.”

Stepping into the elevator, silence settles around us as we shift from banter to cold focus. Jensen straightens, a wall of muscle radiating quiet menace. This dance is one we’ve perfected—me leading the charge, Jensen playing executioner, and Eli and Matteo dissecting every twitch from behind the glass.

Interrogation is in the basement, buried beneath layers of concrete and secrets. The hallway echoes quietly under our footsteps, tension rising. Outside Diego’s room, Eli and Matteo veer toward the observation area. When I take a deep breath, Matteo pauses briefly, offering a small nod.

“Go get him, boss,” Eli whispers with a smirk, slipping inside.

I glance up at Jensen, who cracks his knuckles menacingly. “Ready?”

“Always.”

Pushing open the heavy metal door, I step inside with deliberate calm. Diego snaps his head up sharply, eyes bloodshot, his arm wrapped tightly from Matteo’s well-placed bullet yesterday. His jaw tightens immediately.

I smoothly pull out the chair opposite him and settle gracefully into it. Jensen takes up a position slightly behind me, towering in silence, massive arms crossed over his chest. His shadow alone seems to swallow the room whole, and Diego visibly shrinks under his icy stare.

“Good morning, Diego,” I greet calmly, placing my notes in front of me. My tone is pleasant, bordering on friendly. “I trust your accommodations were comfortable?”

Diego spits something colorful in Spanish, glaring daggers. “Fuck you.”

Behind me, Jensen’s deep chuckle vibrates dangerously. “Wrong answer.”

“Remember Jensen?” I ask sweetly, leaning forward slightly. “Six-foot-five, zero patience, capable of snapping you like a toothpick? Might want to reconsider your attitude.”

Diego swallows hard, eyes darting nervously between Jensen’s unforgiving scowl and my calm gaze.

“Now,” I continue, leaning forward slightly, “Let’s try again, Diego. Tell me what you know about Javier Reyes. I want names, locations, meeting points—every single thing.”

His mouth tightens stubbornly, though the fear flickering in his eyes betrays his facade of defiance. “If I talk, Reyes will kill me.”

I lean back slightly, letting out a soft sigh as I shrug. “Sure, that’s a possibility. But Jensen here?” I glance briefly over my shoulder. “He’s a certainty. You really want to gamble with certainties, Diego?”

Jensen takes one slow step forward, his eyes narrowing. He looms silently, every inch of him dangerous, but even Jensen’s quiet menace doesn’t seem to hold a candle to the invisible threat of Reyes in Diego’s mind.

“You think you scare me more than Reyes?” Diego scoffs weakly, defiance lingering stubbornly in his voice despite the faint tremor betraying his fear. “You have no fucking clue.”

Jensen’s muscles tense visibly, danger rolling off him in waves. Diego flinches slightly, but Reyes clearly terrifies him more. The realization settles unpleasantly—Reyes is even worse than we thought. He must truly be a monster. Even locked safely away with Jensen’s imposing bulk hovering over him, Diego clings to silence as if it’s his only lifeline.

“Think carefully, Diego,” I say softly, drumming my fingers on the cold metal tabletop. My voice lowers, velvet-edged and deceptively gentle. “Reyes isn’t here. We are. You should be more worried about what we can do.”

Diego’s jaw tightens again, eyes flicking nervously between me and Jensen. I see him mentally weighing threats and fears against each other. “If I give you Reyes, I'm a dead man. Worse than dead.”

I sigh softly, leaning back and exchanging a meaningful glance with Jensen. He shifts his weight subtly, arms still crossed, a silent wall of intimidation behind me.

“You don’t want to talk about Reyes himself, fine,” I concede lightly, offering Diego an out. “Give me something else. Names. I want to know who else we can reach out and touch. You’re mid-level, Diego—you’re disposable. But I bet you know a few names that are a step or two above you. People who might be useful.”

He hesitates, still trying to balance the consequences. “You promise protection?”

“No promises,” Jensen answers coldly before I can respond, voice rumbling with dark authority. “But talk now, and we might consider it.”

I offer Diego a small smile, the kind that doesn’t reach my eyes. “It’s the best offer you’re going to get. Reyes won’t make you any offers at all.”

Diego’s shoulders slump slightly, resignation slipping through the cracks in his stubborn facade. “Fine. But I don’t know how much it’ll help you.”

My smile sharpens. “Start talking.”