Page 8

Chapter 7

Seanna

The afternoon sun slices mercilessly 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.

We leave Rivas sweating, defeated. Outside, Jensen and Matteo wait, alert and watching. I give a curt nod.

"He’s ours. Narcotics can shadow in their surveillance vans tonight," I say, glancing at the local captain who now stands at a cautious distance. "They get credit. We get Cruz."

The captain nods in grudging acceptance, clearly unhappy yet too intimidated to protest further.

"Let's eat," Matteo suggests quietly, breaking the tension. "We can finalize our covers before the meet."

Ten minutes later, we’re at a food truck outside, grabbing quick meals to steady nerves and clarify our plan. Matteo leans casually against the table, eyes sharp as he outlines our next steps.

"Covers are simple," he says, voice calm. "Seanna and Jensen negotiate directly. Eli hangs back as our driver and surveillance. I’m security—silent muscle. We’re independent buyers looking to expand distribution, flush with cash and ambition."

I nod thoughtfully, scanning each face. "And remember—Cruz isn’t stupid. Confidence and consistency matter more than anything."

Eli cracks a grin. "Don’t worry. Jensen’s got the confidence, and Seanna definitely has the attitude."

Jensen nudges Eli, eyes glittering. "Keep it up, Eli. She might make you sit on surveillance in a trash bin."

"Rude," Eli chuckles lightly, eyes warm and teasing again now we’re outside the interrogation. "Just don’t fuck it up."

Matteo raises a brow. "Coming from the guy who almost broke his chair leaning back this morning, twice."

Eli scoffs. "That was tactical reclining, Matteo. Advanced skill."

I roll my eyes, amusement slipping through the tension. "Can it, children. Remember, tonight has zero room for mistakes."

They sober instantly, nodding firmly. My team. Irreverent one moment, deadly serious the next—exactly why I trust them implicitly.

"We’ll regroup at the usual spot, fully prepped. Jensen, give PD the heads up on where to be and when," I say finally, standing and glancing at my watch. "You've got two hours. Clean up nice, gentlemen."

“Don’t worry,” Eli says with exaggerated seriousness, slinging an arm around Jensen’s shoulders. “We’ll make Jensen pretty.”

Jensen rolls his eyes, shoving Eli away gently. “Get off, idiot.”

We split smoothly, the mood shifting again into steely determination as we prepare for the dangerous game ahead. Cruz and the Silver Orchid await—and we're going in ready to rip apart his world from the inside out.

Rather than waste precious time trekking back to my cabin, I drive straight to the organization’s headquarters. As usual, headquarters is mostly quiet at this hour, the silence broken only by the faint, rhythmic sounds of operatives training somewhere deeper within. I nod curtly at the guards as I breeze past security.

I make a beeline for the wardrobe room, a sprawling temple of transformation built over twenty-five years of undercover missions and operatives who understood that a good disguise is sometimes more lethal than a gun. Gowns. Suits. Combat gear. Streetwear. Wigs. Jewelry. Accessories arranged with almost religious precision. It’s a shapeshifter’s paradise—and tonight, I need to look like sin dipped in diamonds and power.

My fingers trail across satin and leather, silk and sequins, until I land on the perfect black dress. Sleek. Body-hugging. Sophisticated enough to own any room, and seductive enough to make Sebastián Cruz forget how to spell his own damn name. The fabric is cool, expensive, and screams danger wrapped in temptation. Exactly the kind of energy I bring when I want to be unforgettable.

In the changing area, I strip down and slide into the dress. It clings to my body like it was stitched with my sins in mind. Stilettos—sharp enough to stab a man if the conversation turns south. Silver jewelry that whispers elegance, not screams it. Makeup comes next: bold eyeliner sharp enough to cut glass, contouring to carve my cheekbones into something feral, and a swipe of deep crimson lipstick—the kind that warns you not to get too close unless you’re ready to burn.

One final glance in the mirror and I barely recognize myself. I don’t look like a federal agent. I look like the kind of woman you beg to ruin you.

As I step into the hallway, I nearly bulldoze a group of rookies loitering outside the training room. Their conversation halts. Eyes widening.

“Looking fierce, Seanna. Going hunting tonight?” One of them teases lightly.

I smirk back, head cocked. “A girl’s gotta eat.”

Their laughter trails behind me as I move down the corridor, quickly drawn to deeper, familiar voices echoing from around the corner. A moment later, I spot a group standing in casual conversation near the training room—Bodhi and Thorn are there, along with Kayla and Jaxon, both highly skilled operatives at around the same level as the two men. Kayla’s red hair gleams beneath the overhead lights, her green eyes sharp and perceptive, while Jaxon’s calm demeanor contrasts nicely with the energy radiating from Bodhi and Thorn.

Thorn clocks me first. “Well, well,” Thorn drawls warmly as his eyes sweep appreciatively over my attire. “Look who decided to grace us with her presence again tonight.”

Kayla whistles low, eyes glittering. “Hot damn, girl. I hope that’s for work, or someone’s about to have a very, very good night.”

“Undercover op,” I say with a lazy smile, leaning into the sass. “Thought I’d dress like someone who doesn’t ask for permission.”

“Shame you two missed yesterday,” Thorn says, nodding toward Kayla and Jaxon. “You would’ve witnessed Seanna wipe the floor with Bodhi.”

Bodhi snorts, crossing his arms loosely. “Funny. I remember things differently.”

“Selective memory,” Thorn counters lazily. “It’s okay, Bodhi. We still respect you.”

Jaxon smirks, interest lighting his dark eyes. “What happened? You two finally get shown up?”

I laugh softly, leaning back against the wall. “Bodhi gave me a decent run—managed to tire me out just enough for Thorn to swoop in afterward and claim victory.”

Bodhi grins faintly, clearly enjoying my subtle compliment. “See? Told you she’d admit it eventually.”

Thorn rolls his eyes, scoffing good-naturedly. “A win’s still a win. Don’t let him downplay it—I pinned her fair and square.”

“After I did most of the heavy lifting,” Bodhi interjects with dry amusement. “You barely had to break a sweat.”

Kayla laughs warmly, shaking her head in mock disappointment. “And here I thought missing out meant missing drama. Turns out it was just the usual testosterone-fueled circus.”

“You’re jealous,” Thorn counters immediately, eyes sparkling with mischief. “It’s okay to admit it.”

Kayla snorts, eyeing him skeptically. “Of your ego, Thorn? Not likely.”

Jaxon chuckles, nudging Thorn’s shoulder. “Careful, Thorn—Kayla fights dirty. You’ll end up losing next.”

“I’d pay to watch that,” Bodhi mutters with a sly grin.

“You know,” Kayla drawls, her green eyes dancing with humor, “I might take you all up on that challenge. Maybe tomorrow.”

I shake my head, amused. “You’re all impossible.”

Thorn steps forward, his grin cocky. “So what’s the op? Want backup? I could wear something tight, too. I’d volunteer my exceptional services.”

“Exceptional?” Bodhi asks, his voice incredulous. “Now you’re just lying to her face.”

I laugh. “Appreciate the enthusiasm, boys. But the DEA team’s already in place. This one? It’s personal.”

Jaxon leans in, voice sly. “One day, you’ll slip and tell us who you’re after.”

I lift my brow. “If I do, check the skies. Pigs will be flying.”

Kayla shrugs. “Can’t blame us for being curious. You certainly look ready to take someone down.”

Bodhi glances briefly at me. “I doubt whoever it is stands a chance.”

“Careful, Bodhi,” I tease lightly. “Keep flattering me and you’ll give me an ego as big as Thorn’s.”

Kayla chuckles, elbowing Bodhi lightly. “Impossible. There isn’t enough room in this building for another ego of that size.”

Thorn rolls his eyes good-naturedly, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m feeling very attacked right now.”

“Poor baby,” Kayla says dryly. “You’ll survive.”

Laughing, I take a step back, prepared to leave. “Behave yourselves.”

Kayla smirks mischievously. “We make no promises.”

I offer a final amused wave, leaving their comfortable, teasing banter behind as I slip outside into the crisp night, the air electric with tension. I inhale deeply, the weight of the evening settling across my shoulders.

Cruz is the kind of man who confuses wealth with power and power with untouchability. That’s the fun part. He won’t see me coming until I’m already slicing through his empire.

Tonight, I walk in smiling.

He’ll never see the teeth underneath.