Chapter 17
Bea felt a little bit of excitement as she walked into another interrogation. The room they used for questioning was cold on purpose.
Bea noticed things like that, the deliberate choices people made when they wanted to strip away someone’s humanity.
The overhead light was industrial, the kind that hummed with a frequency just high enough to set a person on edge after the first hour.
Too bright. Unforgiving. It cast harsh shadows that made every line on a person’s face look deeper, every bead of sweat more pronounced.
The walls were concrete, painted a shade of gray that wasn’t quite neutral.
It was the color of despair, of institutional cruelty, of places where hope went to die.
No windows. No clock. Nothing to anchor a person to the world outside.
Just four walls, a metal table bolted to the floor, and two chairs, one significantly less comfortable than the other.
The temperature was kept at exactly sixty-two degrees. Cold enough to make them feel exposed, vulnerable, aware of their own body in ways that bred discomfort.
Every element worked together like instruments in an orchestra, all playing the same song: You are small here. You are nothing here. You will break here.
Bea stood in the doorway for a moment, taking it all in.
She wore black slacks and a cream silk shirt, her dark hair pulled back in a neat ponytail.
Professional. Composed. The kind of woman who looked like she belonged in a boardroom, not a place where men came to confess their sins or die trying to keep them.
Behind her, she could feel the weight of three presences.
Dimitri moved past her first, He took his position against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest, and became perfectly still.
Killian followed, he moved to the door and leaned against it, blocking the exit.
His expression was unreadable, but Bea had learned to read the tension in his body.
He was coiled tight, waiting for an excuse.
Nico was the last to enter, he carried a tablet in one hand and moved to the side of the room, already pulling up files, data, surveillance footage.
The man sitting in the metal chair looked like he’d spent his entire life making sure no one ever got the upper hand on him again.
He was heavyset, with a thick neck and shoulders that strained against his shirt.
His face was ruddy, marked with old acne scars and a nose that had been broken more than once.
A scar cut through his right eyebrow, giving him a permanent sneer.
His hands were cuffed to the table, but he sat like he was the one in control.
Chin up. Eyes hard. Mouth curled with contempt.
He’d already been stripped of his weapons, two guns, a knife, and a set of brass knuckles, and searched twice. But he still somehow managed to radiate menace, like violence was so deeply embedded in him that it didn’t need tools.
Bea walked to the empty chair across from him and sat down slowly, deliberately. She crossed one leg over the other and folded her hands in her lap. For a long moment, she just looked at him.
He stared back, unblinking. The silence stretched.
Nico tapped something on his tablet. The sound was soft but distinct in the quiet room.
Killian shifted his weight, and the man’s eyes flicked toward him for just a second before returning to Bea. She smiled.
“Well,” she said lightly, her voice pleasant, almost friendly, “I’d really love to move on with my day. So let’s get this over with, shall we?”
The man said nothing. His jaw worked slightly, like he was chewing on something bitter.
Bea tilted her head, studying him the way Nico studied his data. “You know who took the shipment.”
Still nothing.
She let the silence get heavier for another beat, then continued as if he’d responded.
“See, the thing is, I already know you know.” She kept her voice conversational, like they were discussing the weather.
“Your eyes gave you away when Dimitri mentioned the docks. Right there, that little flicker. You tried to hide it, but it was there.”
The man’s nostrils flared slightly.
“Then your pulse spiked when Nico brought up the strange man that took the shipment away.” She gestured vaguely toward Nico without looking away from the prisoner.
“He’s got your biometrics up on that tablet right now.
Heart rate, respiration, even the temperature of your skin.
You’re not nearly as unreadable as you think you are. ”
Something flickered across the man’s face. Tiny. Brief, but it was there. Nico looked up from the tablet, catching Bea’s eye. He gave a small nod.
Bea saw it and pressed forward, leaning in slightly.
“You’re not protecting your real boss,” she said softly, her tone shifting to something more intimate, more dangerous.
“That’s what’s interesting to me. Men like you?
You puff up when it’s loyalty. You wear it like a badge of honor.
You sit up straighter. Your breathing evens out.
You get this look in your eyes like you’re a soldier, like you’re part of something bigger than yourself. ”
She paused, letting her words sink in. “This isn’t loyalty,” she continued. “This is fear.”
The man’s hands flexed against the cuffs.
Bea smiled again, but this time it didn’t reach her eyes. “You’re terrified. Not of us, well, maybe some of us, but mostly of whoever you’re protecting. Because you know something we don’t know yet. You know that the second you say his name out loud, you’re a dead man.”
The man laughed. It was rough, mocking, the sound of someone trying to regain control of a situation that was slipping away from them. “You think you’re smart,” he said. His voice was gravelly, like he’d spent years smoking cheap cigarettes and drinking cheaper whiskey.
“I know I’m smart,” Bea replied evenly.
That made Killian’s mouth twitch. Not quite a smile, but close.
The man’s eyes shifted to Dimitri for a second, then back to Bea. He was trying to figure out the dynamic, trying to understand why these three men, men he’s be working under for years, men whose reputations preceded them, were letting a woman do the talking.
“You really think they’re going to let you walk out of here after this?” he asked, his tone dripping with false concern.
Bea gave a small shrug, unbothered. “If they planned to kill me, I assume they would have done it before I sat down. Seems inefficient otherwise.”
“No,” he said, grinning now. The expression was ugly, revealing yellowed teeth. “They will.”
She didn’t react. Didn’t blink. Didn’t shift in her seat. Didn’t give him anything. That, more than anything, seemed to irritate him.
He leaned back in his chair as much as the cuffs would allow and looked her up and down slowly, deliberately. His gaze was meant to be violating, meant to make her feel exposed and uncomfortable.
Bea met his eyes and waited.
“Maybe they’re keeping you around for entertainment,” he said, his grin widening.
Killian pushed off the wall, his movement sharp and sudden. Dimitri didn’t move, but the air in the room changed. The temperature seemed to drop another five degrees.
Bea lifted one hand without looking away from the prisoner. A small gesture, barely more than a raised finger. Killian stopped.
His hands were clenched into fists, and the muscle in his jaw was jumping, but he stopped.
Bea smiled at the man again, and this time there was something almost pitying in her expression. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension, “if that’s your attempt at intimidation, I’m embarrassed for you.”
His grin slipped a little.
Bea’s voice stayed calm, almost bored. “You know what I think?” she asked, not waiting for an answer.
“I think you were told this would all be over by now. I think someone promised you protection. A payout. Maybe passage out of the city, new identity, new life, all that romantic nonsense. Something shiny enough to make you forget that you were always disposable.”
His jaw flexed.
“I think,” Bea continued, her voice dropping lower, more intimate, “the second this went sideways, whoever you’re protecting started planning your death. You’re a loose end. And men like him don’t leave loose ends.”
“Fuck you,” he spat.
“Ding ding, what do we have here?” Bea sat back in her chair, looking almost pleased. “Anger. Not outrage. Not righteous indignation. Not loyalty. Just anger.” She clicked her tongue softly. “He lied to you, didn’t he? Promised you the world and left you here to rot.”
The man’s nostrils flared, his breathing coming faster now. Too shallow. Too quick.
Nico spoke without looking up from his tablet. “His heart rate is spiking.”
Bea nodded once. “I know.”
She kept her gaze locked on the prisoner, watching the war play out across his face. Fear versus pride. Survival versus ego.
“Here’s the part where you decide how this ends,” she said softly.
“You can say the name, and maybe, just maybe the men behind me decide you’ve been useful enough to die quickly.
Painlessly. Or…” She let her eyes drift over him slowly, the way he’d looked at her earlier.
“You can keep playing your little game, and we can make this uglier than it needs to be.”
He barked out another laugh, but there was sweat on his temple now, glistening under the harsh light. “You think I’m scared of you?”
“No,” Bea said simply. “I think you’re scared of the man who set you up.
I think you’re scared that if you say his name out loud, it becomes real.
It becomes a betrayal you can’t take back.
” She leaned forward again, her voice dropping to almost a whisper.
“So say it. Say his name. Get this off your chest.”
His eyes locked on hers. For one second, one brief, fragile second, she thought he might.
She could see it in his face, the way his mouth opened slightly, the way his throat worked like he was trying to force the words out.