We slip from the vehicle, quiet, hugging the building’s shadow. The rain has slowed, but water pools in every crack, masking our footsteps. Around the corner, I spot Sandro crouched by a service door, pistol raised. He signals: two inside, visible.
I nod. Carmelo takes point, shoulder against the door. On my signal, he kicks it in, hinges shrieking. I sweep in after, muzzle first. The entry is a dim hallway—bare lightbulb, old tile, peeling paint. Someone runs up the far stairs, a pale blur.
We give chase, feet pounding loudly as we run. At the top, another door slams. Sandro gets there first, rips it open. The room is a storage closet, stacked with crates and rags. A woman cowers in the corner, hands raised. Blonde hair, ripped shirt, eyes wide but not crying.
She’s not who I expected.
Sandro grabs her by the arm, drags her upright. She spits in his face.
He laughs, wipes it away with the back of his hand. “She’s a fighter.”
I look her over. Strong posture, jaw clenched. “Name?”
She doesn’t answer.
I signal to Carmelo. He leans in, lifts her by the scruff like a cat. “You know why we’re here?”
She nods, defiant.
“Good,” I say. “You’re coming with us.”
Carmelo zipties her wrists, rough but not cruel. The girl spits blood onto the tile, turns her glare on me. I let it slide. Better that than a dead body to explain.
We haul her down the stairs, out into the freezing air. In the SUV, the defector’s eyes go wide when he sees her.
I slide into the front seat, Carmelo behind the wheel. The woman stares at me in the rearview, but I ignore her.
“Why her? Why did you betray us for her? She your wife?” I ask the defector. “She worth dying for?”
He shakes his head, trembling.
“Then why did you run?”
He whispers, “They said you’d kill her.”
I smile, slow. “You think I’m a monster?”
He says nothing.
I turn to the woman, meet her eyes. “You stay quiet, tell us what we need to know, and maybe we let you live.”
She doesn’t blink. “You don’t scare me.”
I believe her.
Carmelo hits the gas, peels into the night.
I lean back, close my eyes, and let the engine hum.
Whoever this woman is, was important enough for one of our grunts to feed the Castillo’s information on our warehouses.
It’s my job to find out exactly who the fuck she is.
The girl stands at the center of the room, arms tied up to a hook on the ceiling. No tears, no trembling— a posture that says if you cut her loose she’d break someone’s jaw before the rope hit the floor. Curly hair snarled, blood at the corner of her mouth, but her chin is high. Her stare is the only thing that registers as a weapon.
I say nothing, shut the door behind me.
She tracks my every step. “Is this the part where you threaten me?”
