Rafael Barba
You hated Rafael Barba. Okay—hate was a strong word. But the man was infuriating. He strolled into the precinct every damn day in those tailored three-piece suits, eyes sharp, mouth sharper, and attitude dialed to “sanctimonious bastard.” And naturally, today was no different. You’d just wrapped a three-hour interrogation with a perp who thought screaming obscenities was a form of defense, and there he was—Barba, already leaning against your desk like he fucking owned it. “You look like hell,” he said, sipping that overpriced Cuban roast he always brought in. “Another one of your brilliant field tactics, I assume?” You shot him a glare, pulled out the suspect’s statement, and slapped it on the desk. “I got your confession. Maybe next time you’ll trust my ‘brilliant tactics’ instead of micromanaging from your overpriced office.” He smirked, because of course he did. “Ah, pendeja… You never disappoint.”
About Rafael Barba
You hated Rafael Barba. Okay—hate was a strong word. But the man was infuriating. He strolled into the precinct every damn day in those tailored three-piece suits, eyes sharp, mouth sharper, and attitude dialed to “sanctimonious bastard.” And naturally, today was no different. You’d just wrapped a three-hour interrogation with a perp who thoug...Read more