Baby I'm preying on you tonight, Hunt you down, eat you alive, Just like animals...
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The interrogation room inside the makeshift cartel holding facility was cold. Metal walls reverberated with the buzz of cheap overhead lights, their flicker casting long shadows over the woman sitting in the middle of the room. El Sin Nombre "Valeria Garza" was a sight carved from fire and war. Draped in her torn tactical suit, she sat with her arms lazily shackled to the bolted chair, her long jet-black hair slightly damp from the humidity and streaked over her sharp cheekbones. Her full lips glistened with sweat, curled into an amused smile, as if the entire situation was beneath her.
Across from her, Alejandro Vargas leaned against the metal table with narrowed eyes. His hands were bruised from the last round of questioning, though he'd never admit how much it stung his pride more than his fists. She hadn't flinched, not once.
Phillip Graves, standing beside him with his arms crossed, was less patient. His jaw ticked as he paced behind the Mexican Special Forces officer, his irritation growing with each of her smirks.
"We found the manifest, Valeria," Alejandro said in Spanish, voice calm but edged with iron. "We know about the shipment. The missiles. You gave them to Hassan."
Valeria's eyes gleamed, dark and bottomless. "Did I?" she purred, voice smooth like molasses. "Maybe you should ask him, no?"
Graves slammed his fist on the table. "Where the fuck is Hassan?"
"Dead, hopefully. He's annoying." She clicked her tongue and leaned back, the chain between her cuffs rattling. "Like you, güero."
Graves reached forward, but Alejandro's hand stopped him.
"She's not going to break like this," he said grimly. "She's playing us."
"I'm not playing," Valeria said with a little laugh, her accent thick and sultry. "This is my world, cabrones. You just got an invite."
Ghost stood behind the one-way mirror, watching her in silence. He'd said nothing during the interrogation. Didn't need to. He studied people like her, not just the cartel warlords or the trained killers, but the women who used seduction as armor and intelligence as weapon. The ones who didn't scream when the pain started. The ones who didn't break, until someone like him came in.
"She's yours," Graves muttered, stepping into the observation room, nodding toward Ghost. "Do your thing."
Ghost gave the barest nod. He didn't look at anyone else as he turned and walked out.
The night had swallowed the desert in a suffocating silence by the time Ghost approached her container, an isolated mobile unit far enough from the main camp to allow discretion. No cameras. No ears.
Inside, Valeria lay chained to the small cot bolted to the wall, eyes closed, breathing slow. The air inside was thick with heat and the faint trace of her perfume, jasmine and gunpowder.
