Page 19

T he rage in my blood felt like a tangible substance, heavy and metallic as mercury. My head throbbed where Felix's baton had connected with my temple, but physical pain was nothing compared to the knowledge that Leo had been threatened while I lay unconscious and useless.

Maxime led us through the Sentinel's labyrinthine corridors toward one of the interrogation rooms. Leo walked beside me, close enough that our shoulders occasionally brushed.

"You should be resting," Leo murmured. "Concussions are serious."

"I'll rest when Walsh tells us where to find Felix," I replied, touching the bandage on my temple. The wound had mostly stopped bleeding, but the area around it pulsed with each heartbeat. "I can handle a headache."

"Just remember, your brain is already scrambled enough as it is. Try not to let Algerone push you too far."

"He's not pushing me anywhere," I replied. "I'm doing this my way."

Maxime cleared his throat. "Mr. Etremont is exceptionally skilled at information extraction. His methods have been refined through decades of experience."

"You mean he enjoys hurting people while listening to classical music?" Xander called from ahead of us. "Let's not dress it up."

Maxime's shoulders stiffened. "Mr. Etremont's approach is sophisticated and effective. The musical accompaniment merely provides structure to the proceedings."

"Sure," Xion drawled. "Nothing says 'sophisticated' like breaking fingers to Vivaldi."

As we approached a fork in the hallway, I made a quick decision. Leo didn't need to see what was about to happen with Walsh. Didn't need to watch as I embraced that darker side of myself that matched Algerone's methods too closely for comfort. There were parts of me I wanted to keep separate from him, shadows I didn't want touching the light he brought into my life.

Besides, the thought of preserving what innocence Leo still had, of keeping it for me to slowly claim later, sent a possessive thrill through me. That purity belonged to me alone.

"Leo," I said, stopping our procession. "This is where we split up."

Surprise and then defiance flashed across his face. "I'm not leaving you."

"Yes, you are," I replied, my tone leaving no room for argument. "This isn't a request. Go back to our quarters and wait for me there."

"Xavier—"

"What's about to happen in that room isn't something you need in your head," I cut him off, stepping closer.

His jaw tightened stubbornly. "I'm not some fragile thing you need to protect."

"No, you're not," I agreed. "But what's left of your innocence is mine to take. Not Walsh's. Not Algerone's. Mine."

Leo's breath caught as understanding dawned in his eyes, pupils dilating slightly at the possessive edge in my words.

"Security will escort you," I added, nodding to a stone-faced guard who had materialized nearby.

His hands came up to grip my arms. "Xavier..."

I crushed my mouth to his in a kiss that was more claim than comfort, my fingers digging into his hip with bruising intensity. He made a startled sound that quickly turned into a groan.

"Get a room, you two," Xander called from behind us. "Some of us are trying to maintain our appetites for lunch."

"Seriously, gross," Xion added, though his tone was more amused than disgusted. "We have an interrogation to conduct."

I pulled back just enough to speak against Leo's mouth. "I'll find you when I'm done," I promised, voice rough with intent. "After this... I'm going to need relief of a different kind."

"I'll be waiting," he managed, voice unsteady.

I turned back to the others. Xander was making exaggerated retching sounds while Xion just shook his head. Maxime stood with the perfect posture of someone deliberately not having witnessed something unprofessional.

"My children are rather upset, Mr. Walsh." Algerone's voice drifted from the room ahead as we approached. "And frankly, so am I."

We entered what looked like an ordinary conference room at first glance. Modern furniture, neutral gray walls, recessed lighting. But certain details marked it as something else entirely. The absence of windows. The drain in the center of the polished concrete floor. The soundproofing panels disguised as acoustic treatments. The carefully positioned cameras in each corner of the ceiling.

Gregory Walsh sat handcuffed to a metal chair bolted to the floor, his security uniform disheveled, a split lip and the beginning of an impressive black eye marring his otherwise unremarkable face. Algerone stood behind him, one hand resting casually on the back of the chair, looking for all the world like a CEO about to begin a difficult performance review rather than an interrogation.

"Ah, there they are," Algerone said, as if we'd arrived fashionably late to a dinner party. "I was just explaining to Mr. Walsh how disappointed I am in his recent choices."

Walsh's eyes darted nervously between the four of us as we entered, lingering briefly on the bandage at my temple before skittering away like a cockroach from the sudden light.

"Leave us," Algerone instructed the two security officers flanking the door. They didn't hesitate, exiting and sealing the room behind them with a pneumatic hiss.

I surveyed the room, noting the sleek sound system built into the wall and the rolling steel cart positioned by Algerone's elbow. A small metal case sat atop it, closed but unlocked.

"We've been having a fascinating discussion about motivation," Algerone continued conversationally, circling Walsh's chair. "Mr. Walsh here was explaining how he accepted a substantial deposit from our friend, Phoenix."

"I didn't know what he was planning," Walsh blurted, his eyes wide with growing panic. "He just paid me to disable some security feeds and give him access codes. That's all!"

Algerone smiled, the expression never reaching his eyes. "A man in significant debt receives an unexpected windfall in exchange for a seemingly minor security breach. How could he possibly anticipate the consequences?" He glanced at me. "What do you think, Xavier? Does ignorance absolve responsibility?"

"No," I answered flatly. "It doesn't."

Algerone nodded. "Actions have consequences, regardless of one's claimed awareness." He moved to a small control panel on the wall, tapped a few buttons, and the room filled with the delicate, measured notes of Vivaldi's "Winter" from The Four Seasons.

Walsh went rigid in his chair, genuine terror flooding his expression. As Algerone's security personnel, he'd clearly heard the rumors about what happened when the boss played classical music.

His breathing accelerated, sweat beading along his hairline. “I'll tell you everything! You don't have to do this."

Algerone acted as though he hadn't heard, adjusting the volume.

"Really?" Xander drawled, breaking his silence with an exaggerated eye roll. "We're doing the classical music thing again? Could you be more cliché?"

"Some traditions have value," Algerone replied mildly, opening the metal case to reveal an assortment of torture tools.

Xion leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching with detached curiosity. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Algerone selected a pair of black leather gloves from the case, pulling them on. The leather stretched and creaked as he flexed his fingers, testing their fit. "This particular concerto has always proven effective at focusing the mind. Both mine and that of my subject."

"Your subject," I repeated, unable to keep the edge from my voice. "Is that what we're calling the man who endangered my entire family? Who left Leo at Phoenix's mercy?"

Walsh flinched at my tone, his eyes darting frantically between us. "I didn’t mean for that to happen! I’m telling you everything I know!"

What Walsh didn't understand was that extracting information was only part of why we were here. The betrayal demanded retribution. The fear Leo had felt while I lay unconscious required payment in blood and pain. This wasn't just an interrogation. It was catharsis.

But Algerone wasn't looking at Walsh anymore. His attention had shifted to me, watching with analytical interest as I reached into my back pocket and withdrew my own pair of black nitrile gloves.

"I don't like the mess," I said.

A flicker of approval crossed Algerone's face as he recognized our parallel preparations, the same purpose but different reasoning. Neither of us wanted to get our hands dirty directly, though for entirely different reasons.

Algerone gestured at the sound system. "Would you prefer something else for our accompaniment?"

The question caught me off guard. The concession, minor as it was, felt significant.

"Oh thank god," Xander exclaimed, practically lunging for the control panel. He connected his phone and scrolled through his playlist.

The Vivaldi cut off abruptly, replaced by a pulsing Euro pop beat that hurt my eardrums. Synthesized vocals auto-tuned within an inch of their life filled the room as Xander bobbed their head approvingly.

"Absolutely not," Xion, Algerone, and I said in unison.

"What?" Xander looked genuinely offended, hands on his hips. "Euro pop is a legitimate musical choice!"

"For a German nightclub maybe," Xion muttered, rubbing his temples.

"It's definitely not appropriate for interrogation," I added.

Algerone just stared at Xander with an expression that somehow conveyed both disappointment and utter lack of surprise.

"Fine," Xander huffed, disconnecting his phone. "You all have terrible taste, anyway."

"I have a better idea," I said, moving to the control panel. With a few taps, I connected my phone to the system and scrolled through my library.

I paused, considering. Algerone had made a concession in asking for our input, an unexpected gesture that deserved acknowledgment. As much as I wanted to play something aggressively electronic just to make a point, this moment called for something different. A compromise.

Algerone raised an eyebrow as the first electronic pulses replaced the violin concerto, but said nothing. The juxtaposition of his formal stance in his immaculate suit against the backdrop of industrial beats created a strange cognitive dissonance. Like watching a shark swim through neon lights.

"Finally," Xander approved, pushing off from the wall to move closer to Walsh. "At least we can all agree on Lindsey Stirling. Hating on that is unamerican."

Maxime cleared his throat.

"Keep your objections to yourself, Frenchie," Xion growled.

Maxime's spine stiffened to military straightness, his nostrils flaring slightly as he drew himself up. "I'm Québécois," he corrected with precise, clipped consonants.

Xander wrinkled his nose. "Wait…You're Canadian? I thought you guys were supposed to be nice?"

"The stereotype is that we are polite , Mr. Laskin," Maxime replied with glacial formality. "Politeness is a social convention. It has nothing to do with being nice."

Algerone's lips twitched, the closest thing to amusement I'd ever seen on his face. "Perhaps we could return to the matter at hand?"

Walsh's eyes widened further, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead as the music's intensity built. "Please," he tried again, voice cracking. "I only met Burns twice. He contacted me through an encrypted messaging app. Paid half upfront, half upon completion."

"And what exactly were you meant to complete?" I asked, stepping closer. The violin melody merged with electronic beats, synchronizing with the throbbing in my temple.

"Just... disable certain security protocols. Give him access to the east service corridor. That's it! I swear!"

His role had likely been minimal. People like Walsh were just cogs in a machine, carefully kept ignorant by people like Burns. But that didn't absolve him. That didn't cleanse the blood from his hands.

"Your actions nearly got Leo killed," I said, my voice dropping dangerously low. "Your greed put everyone at risk."

"It was just—I didn't think anyone would get hurt!" Walsh's eyes darted frantically between my face and Algerone's, searching for the mercy he wouldn't find. “He said he just wanted to talk!”

Algerone sighed, the sound almost lost beneath the rising music. "Mr. Walsh, we're not particularly interested in what you thought." He flexed his hand, brass knuckles gleaming under the sterile lights. "We're interested in making sure you understand the consequences of your choices."

Algerone unleashed a vicious blow to Walsh's floating ribs. The sound it made was a sickening, wet crack. Walsh doubled over as far as his restraints would allow, a high-pitched wheeze escaping him as he fought for breath.

"My son nearly died today," Algerone continued calmly, brushing a speck of blood from his knuckles while Walsh gasped like a fish on land. "His partner was threatened. My trusted assistant was injured. And you facilitated all of it."

I moved to stand behind Walsh, mirroring Algerone's earlier position. "You let Phoenix into our sanctuary. You sold us out. Sold Leo out."

Walsh couldn't even twist to look at me, still struggling to regain his breath after Algerone's strike. "Please," he wheezed. "I needed the money!"

"Perhaps you should have focused more on living within your means," Maxime said, fingers racing across the surface of his tablet. "Gambling debts. A waterfront vacation condo. And..." He made a face. "Apparently, a very expensive taste in escorts."

"So you betrayed us for a fucking lifestyle upgrade?" I growled, the rage surging fresh in my veins.

"How disappointingly predictable," Algerone observed coldly.

He landed another blow, this one across Walsh's face. The brass knuckles carved a path from cheekbone to jaw, leaving a trail of split skin in their wake. Blood immediately welled up, running down Walsh's face in crimson rivulets. The smell of copper filled the air, mingling with the scent of Walsh's fear-sweat and the expensive cologne Algerone wore.

"You're not the only one Burns turned," I said, yanking Walsh's head back by his hair. "Who else? How deep does this go?"

Walsh's blood-streaked face contorted with fear. "Maybe... Jones in east wing security. I saw them talking once. And Chelle in communications might be involved too. I overheard them on a call that sounded suspicious."

"Maxime," Algerone said, not looking away from Walsh.

"Already flagged and detained, sir," Maxime responded, fingers still moving across his tablet. "We're replacing the entire shift with personnel I've personally vetted."

"Excellent work, Maxime." Algerone's eyes lingered on Maxime a moment longer than necessary, a subtle concern in his gaze that seemed at odds with his otherwise detached demeanor.

The efficiency of their operation was impressive, even while watching them handle a breach in their ranks. I filed this away, another similarity between Algerone and myself. Neither of us tolerated betrayal, and both of us had contingencies for everything. Though it seemed Algerone might have one particular vulnerability I hadn't noticed before.

I studied Walsh. "Where would Burns go? If he needed to regroup, operate from somewhere. Where?"

Walsh shrugged helplessly, wincing as the movement pulled at his injuries. "How the fuck would I know? I'm just security. He never told me anything like that."

I glanced at Algerone, who nodded slightly. Walsh was telling the truth. Of course Burns wouldn't tell a disposable asset like him anything important about his operation.

"How did he contact you?" I asked instead, changing tactics.

"Encrypted messaging app. He paid me in bitcoin. It's all on my phone. The wallet details, the messaging app. Everything. You can trace it, right?"

"Maxime?" Algerone asked without looking away from Walsh.

"Already recovered from his personal effects, sir," Maxime confirmed. "Our tech team is analyzing it now."

"How much?" I asked, taking the wire from Algerone's hands. "How much did it cost to betray us?"

"Five hundred thousand," Walsh whispered, swallowing hard.

"That's all it took? Half a million to endanger everyone in this compound?" I looped the wire around Walsh's index finger, below the knuckle.

His breathing accelerated, eyes wild with terror. "Please. Please! I'm telling you everything!"

I pulled the handles apart.

The scream that tore from Walsh's throat was primal. Raw. The sound bounced off the soundproofed walls as blood sprayed in a fine mist across the concrete floor. The severed finger dropped with a wet plop, rolling a few inches before coming to rest.

"Seriously?" Xander drawled, glancing down at his designer boots, where specks of blood had landed. "These are Balenciaga. The least you could do is aim away from the fashion, Xavier."

Xion checked his watch, leaning against the wall with the resigned posture of someone stuck in a boring meeting that was taking too long. "Can we just get this over with? There are more efficient ways to extract information than this theatrical shit."

Their casual responses to the violence struck me as bizarrely normal. Growing up Laskin meant understanding that pain was sometimes necessary, that boundaries most considered sacred were merely guidelines for people like us.

"Please…" Walsh sobbed. "I swear I told you everything! I promise!"

Algerone watched me with quiet approval, not intervening as I took control of the interrogation. I met his eyes over Walsh's head. A silent communication passed between us, the decision already made, the only question being who would deliver the final blow.

"You know," I said conversationally, returning the wire to the metal tray, "my father was never a fan of prolonged suffering. 'If a job is worth doing,' he always told me, 'it's worth doing well.'" I selected a straight razor from the tray, testing the edge with my thumb. "Clean. Efficient."

I wasn't talking about Algerone, of course. I meant Yuri, the man who'd raised me. But the way Algerone's lips twitched in what might have been approval, he clearly thought I was referring to him. Let him think that. The line between manipulation and connection was blurry at the best of times. In this moment, with blood on my hands and the taste of vengeance on my tongue, it was practically nonexistent.

"Elegant," he agreed, watching as I moved behind Walsh.

Walsh's breathing quickened again, reality finally sinking in. "Please," he whispered. "You promised—"

"I promised mercy if you cooperated," Algerone interrupted. "But it wasn't just me you wronged. You have to answer to my son as well."

My son. The casual way he claimed me made something twist in my chest. Not rejection, which would have been simpler. Not quite acceptance either. Something more complicated, a recognition of a connection that transcended my feelings about him.

I moved behind Walsh, one hand tangling in his sweat-soaked hair to pull his head back, exposing his throat. "You chose financial gain over loyalty," I told him, voice devoid of emotion. "You endangered my family. You endangered Leo."

The blade caught the light as I brought it to his throat. This close, I could smell the sour stench of his terror, could feel his pulse racing beneath my fingertips.

"You don't get to endanger what's mine and live." The blade moved in one swift, practiced motion. Clean. Efficient. A sudden rush of warm wetness over my gloved hand, and then the gurgling sounds of a man drowning in his own blood.

I stepped back, watching dispassionately as Walsh's body convulsed, blood painting his uniform in grotesque patterns before he finally stilled. Death claimed him with surprising gentleness, his eyes going blank as his final breath rattled through suddenly slack lips.

In the silence that followed, the music continued to play, electronic violins rising and falling with elegant precision. The juxtaposition of beauty and brutality felt appropriate, almost poetic.

"Maxime will handle the cleanup," Algerone said, removing his gloves and placing them in a disposal bin. "You did well."

I stripped off my own gloves, sticky with Walsh's blood. "We have what we need."

"Indeed." Algerone studied me with those eyes so similar to my own. "How are you feeling? After all this."

The question caught me off guard. Not because it showed concern—Algerone didn't experience empathy in the traditional sense. His words had acknowledged me as something more than just an operative.

"I'll be fine," I replied, not quite answering his question.

"Of course you will." He nodded, accepting my deflection. "I'll be overseeing security personally from now on. I've moved into the east wing. If you need anything, you know where to find me."

The words hung in the air between us, heavy with implications I wasn't ready to examine. Algerone had never been so directly involved in our protection before. The fact that he was staying at the Sentinel, personally taking charge of our security, spoke volumes about the seriousness of the situation.

"I should check on Leo,” I said.

"Of course." Algerone nodded. "Family first."

As I moved toward the door, I caught a glimpse of Algerone turning to Maxime. He reached out, taking Maxime's chin in his hand, tilting his face to examine the bruise forming along his cheekbone.

"You should have that looked at," he said, his voice softer than I'd ever heard it.

Maxime's skin flushed visibly beneath Algerone's touch, his professional composure slipping for just a moment. "It's nothing, sir."

"I'll be the judge of that," Algerone replied, his thumb brushing lightly over the discolored skin.

I left them to their moment, stepping into the corridor with Walsh's blood still staining my clothes and Burns' threat hanging over my head. But right now, none of that mattered. All that mattered was getting back to Leo.