Page 41 of Seek Me Darling

There’s noise in the background—Jensen’s voice, clipped and sharp, talking to someone else on another line. Probably PD.

“You better get down to the Orchid, boss,” Eli says, his voice low, tight.

I freeze.

“We’ve got a situation.”

Chapter 18

Seanna

Thesceneinfrontof me is more than a ‘situation’. It’s a fucking nightmare come to life.

Blood pools like dark lakes across the polished floors, crimson splashes painting a grotesque masterpiece. Bodies litter the club, twisted and sprawled in unnatural positions—Cruz and his creepy lackeys reduced to nothing but broken puppets, their strings cut suddenly. No spray of bullets, no messy firefight. Each of them was executed quickly, efficiently, and methodically. Even the man at the door lies slumped over, surprise still etched permanently on his slack face.

But it’s not the violence that freezes me in place, muscles taut and pulse hammering—it’s the message scrawled across the wall in blood-red strokes near Cruz’s corpse:

Rage detonates in my chest, molten and wild. I charge forward, instincts screaming to do something, to hunt, to punish—but Eli steps into my path before I get too far. His arms wrap around me, locking me in place.

"Seanna—stop," he says firmly. "You know we can’t contaminate the scene, not now."

I struggle in his grip, chest heaving, throat raw with a scream of frustration I don’t even realize I’m letting out. He holds firm, his voice low in my ear, steady even as my fury shreds through me like shrapnel.

"I know," he says quietly. "I know what this looks like. But we can’t touch anything. Not yet."

I stop fighting. Not because I’m calm. Because I’m shaking too hard to stand.

Matteo arrives seconds later, his boots skidding slightly on a blood-slick tile. Jensen is already here too, his expression grim, scanning the carnage with professional detachment. Matteo takes one look at the scene, at me half-collapsed in Eli’s grip, and his expression darkens. But before any of us can speak—

"Darling!"

The voice barks across the room. Ford.

He pushes through the side entrance, a group of agents close behind. He doesn’t even glance at the bodies. His eyes are locked on me.

"You and your team. With me. Now."

We follow him out into the alley, silent and stunned.

Once we’re out of earshot, Ford turns on us. "You’re all on leave. Effective immediately."

"Excuse me?" I snap, stepping forward. "You can’t just—"

"I can. And I am." He doesn’t yell. He doesn’t have to. His voice cuts like glass. "This entire op is now under internal review. Until I say otherwise, you’re benched."

"Ford—"

"No. Not this time, Seanna." He points a finger at me. "You show up at the scene of a cartel massacre with a personal message in blood? You think I’m not pulling you off the board?"

I want to argue. To scream. To punch a wall until my hands break.

But I don’t.

Because I know the worst part isn’t being pulled off the mission.

It’s knowingtheygot here first.

And they did this for me.

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