Page 30

I really wished that beeping monitor would shut the fuck up.

The hospital room swarmed with the incessant beeping of monitoring equipment, every sound cataloging my weakness. My body had become a battlefield of competing discomforts: oxygen forcing itself through the nasal cannula, skin pulling tight where fourteen stitches closed the gash on my leg, burns scattered across my arms and back reminding me with each breath that I'd survived what should have killed me.

What would have killed me if Leo hadn't been so goddamn stubborn.

I turned my head to watch him. He'd fallen asleep in the recliner beside my bed, his body surrendering to exhaustion hours ago. The doctors had tried to admit him for his own smoke inhalation, but he'd refused to leave me. Even in sleep, his body betrayed the price he'd paid. Burns marked his exposed forearms. One hand was wrapped in gauze where he'd grabbed a super heated doorknob. His chest rose and fell with the slightly irregular rhythm of smoke-damaged lungs.

The memory of him appearing through that wall of flames sent electricity through my veins, a mixture of fury and something possessive that made my fingers curl into fists. He'd promised to stay behind, had looked me in the eye and lied. And I couldn't even hate him for it because that lie had saved both me and Algerone.

Xion sat in the darkened corner like a shadow given form, his knife dancing between his fingers in that restless motion he fell into when worried. He hadn't said much since arriving, but his presence spoke volumes. Xander had claimed the windowsill, his legs swinging in barely contained energy as he scrolled through his phone, occasionally murmuring updates about Felix Burns' death hitting underground forums.

My siblings. My responsibility.

Xion's eyes met mine. "Algerone's out of surgery," he said, voice pitched low to avoid waking Leo. "They removed the rebar fragments. Spinal cord intact."

"Maxime?" I asked, knowing Xion would have been watching him too.

"Haven't seen him leave the ICU waiting area. Looks like hell."

Leo stirred, his body tensing before his eyes opened. The whites were bloodshot, irritated by the toxic smoke. His gaze found mine immediately, running a visual assessment before his shoulders relaxed fractionally.

"How bad?" he asked, voice sandpaper rough.

"I'm fine."

"That's not what I asked." His stubbornness made something in my chest tighten.

"Alive. Functional. Nothing permanently damaged."

"Good." He pushed himself upright, wincing as the movement pulled at his own injuries. "Algerone?"

"Out of surgery," Xander supplied before I could respond. "They had to replace his hip, but they said he’ll walk again just fine with physical therapy and pain management."

Leo nodded, processing the information with the analytical precision I'd come to rely on. That brain of his, always calculating probabilities and outcomes even when half-conscious. Mine. My analytical counterpart. My tech expert. My Leo.

"I need to see him," I said, already eyeing the IV stand on wheels beside my bed. At least I wouldn't have to disconnect anything vital.

"They won't let you," Xander warned. "Doctors have been incredibly tedious about visitors. Something about nearly dying making them protective."

"Like I care what they'll allow."

Leo's hand caught mine, those clever fingers wrapping around my wrist in a way that should have felt restraining but somehow didn't. "What's the objective?" he asked quietly.

The question brought me up short. Leo understood me better than my own brothers sometimes. He knew I didn't just want to check on Algerone's condition. I wanted something specific. Needed it, even.

"Maxime knows I know what he did," I said, watching understanding darken Leo's eyes. "He's been waiting for me to tell Algerone. I need to see his face when I do."

I hadn't told Xander or Xion about the revelation yet. Hadn't had time between Felix's attack, the fire, and the hospital. The words felt like knives in my throat as I laid out Maxime's betrayal in clinical detail—the intercepted call from our mother, the threats, the manipulation that had kept Algerone from ever knowing we existed.

By the time I finished, Xander had gone completely still, a rare state I'd only witnessed a handful of times in our lives. His face cycled rapidly through emotions—shock, grief, rage—each one intense and genuine before settling into something darkly focused.

"That motherfucker," they whispered, voice cracking with raw emotion. "Mom killed herself because of him? He's the reason she gave us to Annie? Why we grew up without our parents?"

I caught Xion's gaze across the room. His expression hadn't changed, but something was off. No surprise. No shock. Just that same calculating assessment I'd seen a thousand times.

"You already knew," I said, the realization cold and certain.

"Maxime told me," he confirmed. "Before the Kevin Calcin mission.”

"And you kept it from us?" Xander's voice rose dangerously. "All this time?"

"You both had enough to deal with," Xion replied, his calm only making Xander's fury burn hotter. "What good would it have done to tell you? It wouldn't have changed anything."

"It would have changed everything," Xander snapped. "Information about our mother. About why she killed herself. About why we grew up with Annie instead of her. You knew all along and said nothing?"

"I was protecting you," Xion said simply. "Both of you."

"Bullshit," Xander snapped. "You don't get to decide what we need protection from. Not about this."

“It doesn’t matter who found out when,” I said firmly. “What matters now is what we do about it. We can’t just let him get away with what he did.”

Xander paced the small room, movements sharp and erratic with barely contained rage. "I vote we finish what Felix started and give Maxime a slow, painful death."

"No," I said, voice flat. "Death is too quick. Too easy."

"You've got something worse in mind?" Xander asked, pausing his pacing to look at me.

"Living with the consequences," I replied. "Watching Algerone reject him. Seeing us claim our birthright. Losing everything he's spent thirty-two years building."

"Psychological torture," Xion nodded approvingly. "More effective in this case. Physical pain would only strengthen his martyr complex."

"Fuck that," Xander argued. "I want him to suffer physically. I want him to feel a fraction of what Mom felt when she was desperate enough to—"

"He will suffer," I cut him off. "But on our terms, not his. Maxime would welcome a quick death if it meant protecting Algerone from the truth. I don't intend to give him that option."

Xander's jaw worked. "So you're going to tell Algerone everything? Make Maxime watch his world collapse around him?"

"Yes." I kept my voice cold, detached. "And I want to see his face when it happens."

"I'm coming with you," Xander declared, already moving toward the door.

"No," I countered. "You're too volatile right now. Algerone would shut down if all three of us descended on him at once."

"So I'm just supposed to sit here while you confront the man who fucked up our entire lives?" Xander demanded, hands curling into fists.

"Yes," I replied, unwavering. "Because I need you here with Leo. And because we need someone to create a distraction while I get to Algerone's room without interference."

Xander wavered, the calculation visible on his face—his need for immediate action against the tactical advantage of the plan I was proposing.

"Fine," he conceded finally. "But you tear him apart, X. Make sure Algerone understands that whatever was between him and Maxime is over. Non-negotiable."

"Believe me," I said, my voice dropping to a register I usually reserved for my prey, "when I'm done, Algerone will never look at Maxime the same way again."

T he hospital corridors were eerily silent this late at night, lighting dimmed to simulate normal circadian rhythms for patients.

My injured leg protested every step, but I adjusted my gait to compensate, distributing weight differently. The IV stand rolled quietly beside me as I approached where Reid stood at the end of the hallway, guarding access to Algerone.

He didn’t stop me as I approached, simply gave me a small nod and stepped aside, holding the door open for me.

My biological father was lying in the bed, connected to more monitors than I had been. His skin had a waxy pallor, the usual power and authority stripped away by injury and medication. Maxime sat beside him, shoulders hunched in a posture I recognized as defeat. His hand held Algerone's, fingers intertwined in a gesture that spoke of years of intimacy.

Perfect.

Maxime's head snapped up as I moved the curtain aside. "Xavier," he said, standing quickly. "You shouldn't be out of bed."

"Sit down," I ordered, voice flat and cold. The kind of tone that Leo had once noted was more frightening than when I shouted. Maxime obeyed instantly, conditioned by decades of taking orders.

Algerone's eyes opened, alert and clear despite what must have been considerable pain from his injuries. He took in my appearance with the same calculating assessment I'd seen in the mirror all my life. "You look like hell," he observed.

"Apparently running into burning buildings is genetic," I replied, the barb deliberately aimed at both of them. "How touching to see you playing nursemaid, Maxime. Still controlling who has access to him?"

Maxime's face drained of color, his eyes widening in unmistakable panic. "Xavier," he said, voice suddenly tight, "perhaps we should discuss this in private." His eyes darted to Algerone, then back to me, silently pleading.

"I think Algerone deserves to know exactly what you did. After all, you've had thirty years to tell him the truth yourself."

"What is he talking about, Max?" Algerone asked, gaze shifting between us. For the first time since I'd entered the room, uncertainty had replaced his usual commanding presence.

Maxime's grip on Algerone's hand tightened convulsively, as if he might physically hold on to the relationship that was slipping away. "I don't—" he started, looking frantically between Algerone and me, desperate for a way out. "This is a misunderstanding."

"A misunderstanding?" My voice was cold but controlled. "Thirty years of deception is hardly a misunderstanding, Maxime."

Algerone's attention focused fully on me now, his confusion deepening. "Xavier, explain yourself clearly. What exactly are you accusing Maxime of?"

I met his gaze steadily, anger simmering beneath my controlled exterior. "I'm not the one who needs to explain." I turned to Maxime, who looked like he might collapse. "Tell him. Tell him about my mother. About what you did to us."

Maxime's face drained completely of color. His eyes, wide with panic, fixed on me with desperate intensity. "Xavier, please," he whispered, voice trembling. "Not like this. Not now." He was on the verge of tears, hands clasped in front of him like a prayer. "I'm begging you. He's still recovering. There's a better way—"

"There is no better way," I cut him off, unmoved. "The truth. Now."

Maxime's hands trembled. He turned to Algerone, resignation and terror mingling in his expression. "Algerone, I... you have to understand, everything I've ever done was with your best interests at heart. I've only ever wanted to protect you, to ensure your success—"

“Maxime,” Algerone said firmly. “Explain yourself. Now.”

Maxime looked like he might be sick.

"Imogen, she…She tried to tell you," he began, voice barely above a whisper, words tumbling out in a desperate attempt to justify himself now that the secret was exposed. "She called the company. Said she needed to speak with you urgently about a personal matter. I... intercepted the call."

"You knew." Algerone's voice was deadly quiet, each word precise and controlled despite the betrayal etched across his features. He removed his hand from Maxime's grip as if the touch suddenly burned him. “You knew she was pregnant with my children and you didn’t tell me ?”

Maxime's entire body was shaking now, his composure crumbling with each passing second. "The entire future of the company hung in the balance. I thought... I believed I was doing what was best for you. For your legacy."

"My children are my legacy," Algerone said, each syllable precision-cut. His eyes remained fixed on that same distant point, refusing to meet Maxime's desperate gaze. His hands gripped the bedsheet until his knuckles turned white, the only outward sign of the fury and betrayal churning within.

I watched Maxime's confession with cold detachment, no satisfaction in seeing him fall apart. This wasn't about enjoyment or revenge. It was about the truth. About forcing the man who had destroyed my family to finally face what he'd done. The righteous anger that had driven me here remained, but tempered with something unexpected: a hollow feeling where satisfaction should have been.

I folded my arms over my chest. “Go on. Tell him the rest.”

“Please.” Maxime was shaking visibly now, tears welling up in his eyes. “Please don’t…”

“Tell him or I will.”

Maxime let out a resigned puff of breath and wiped away a single tear, staring at the floor. "I tried to pay her off,” he admitted quietly. “At first, I tried to pay her to…deal with the situation medically. I told her you’d pay for everything. The best doctors. She wouldn’t do it. She insisted on not terminating the pregnancy. When she stayed firm, I tried to pay for her silence. I told her you wanted nothing to do with her, that you weren’t interested in further contact. She…accepted that. Initially. Everything was fine until…” He took another shaky breath. “Until it wasn’t. I didn’t know there were three. Not until after the birth. That’s when everything went wrong. She became…erratic. Paranoid. Threatened to go public. I tried to calm her down, offered her more money, a house, whatever she wanted. But she wouldn’t take it. She was having some sort of mental break and wanted to do interviews and talk to paparazzi.”

"So you threatened her," I supplied, every word precise as a scalpel. "Frightened her so badly she contacted Annie Laskin and begged her to take her babies if anything happened."

"I never meant—" Maxime began.

"What exactly did you say to her?" Algerone interrupted, his voice dangerously soft.

Maxime's face was ashen, a fine sheen of sweat on his brow as he struggled to form words. His hands clutched at each other, white-knuckled. "I... I was only thinking of your future," he whispered, voice barely audible. "I had convinced myself it was the right thing to do."

"Tell him what you said," I demanded, my voice hard. "Tell him exactly what you threatened her with."

Maxime's shoulders hunched defensively. "I merely suggested that certain behaviors could have consequences. I reminded her you were a mercenary with connections. Enough influence to make a B-movie starlet disappear. I threatened her.”

A muscle in Algerone’s jaw flexed. “You threatened the mother of my children, knowing she was mentally unstable, knowing that she needed help, and you kept all of this from me? For more than twenty years?”

“I-I thought she would back off!” Maxime stammered. “I thought she’d stop calling. I didn’t think… It never even occurred to me that she might… That she would…”

The monitors tracking Algerone's vitals spiked again, a nurse appearing briefly at the door before Algerone waved her away with a sharp gesture. His face tightened with pain he refused to acknowledge.

When he finally spoke, his voice was barely a whisper, yet it filled the room with more menace than any shout could have. "You threatened a mentally unstable woman," he said. "The mother of my children. And as a direct result, she took her own life. Then, for almost twenty years, you kept it a secret. Even after I came to you, after I began searching for them, trying to piece together what had happened, you said nothing."

"To protect you!" Maxime's composure finally cracked completely, his hands gesturing wildly. "Everything I've ever done has been to protect you!"

Algerone didn't respond. He simply turned his head away, eyes fixed on a point on the far wall, a muscle working in his jaw. The silence stretched between them, oppressive and heavy with decades of betrayal.

"Algerone, please..." Maxime reached for his hand again, but Algerone shifted it just beyond his reach—a small movement but devastating in its finality.

The silence continued, broken only by the steady beeping of the monitors and Maxime's increasingly ragged breathing.

"Get out." The words were so quiet I barely heard them, but they carried a weight that made even me flinch. There was no emotion in Algerone's voice. No rage. No hurt. Just a void where thirty-two years of trust had been.

Maxime froze, eyes wide with disbelief. "Algerone—"

"Get. Out." Still no rise in volume, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. His eyes remained fixed on that distant point, refusing to even acknowledge Maxime's existence.

I watched something break in Maxime then, something fundamental and irreparable. His shoulders slumped as if the strings holding him upright had been cut. He stood slowly, movements those of a man three times his age, and backed toward the door.

"I never meant for her to die," he whispered. "I never wanted anyone to get hurt. I just..." He trailed off, the futility of his justifications finally sinking in. "I'm sorry." The words fell into the silence like stones into a bottomless well, disappearing without impact.

Algerone didn't respond, didn't move, didn't so much as blink. The silence was his weapon now, wielded with the same precision he brought to everything.

Maxime released a shuddering breath and opened the door. At the threshold, he paused, looking back at the man he'd devoted his life to with such raw longing that I had to glance away from the intimacy of it.

"I truly am sorry," he said simply. "For everything."

Then he was gone, the door closing with a soft click that somehow held the finality of a prison gate slamming shut.

The moment Maxime left, something shifted in Algerone's expression. Not a softening, exactly, but a minute relaxation of the rigid control he'd been maintaining. A single tear tracked down his face, shocking in its unexpectedness. This man who ruled his empire with clinical detachment, who calmly oversaw torture, who faced death without flinching—reduced to silent weeping by the revelation of what might have been.

The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken words. I studied Algerone's face, searching for any sign of the man who had built an empire from nothing, who had inspired such devoted loyalty that Maxime had sacrificed everything, including his own soul, to protect him. All I saw was exhaustion and loss etched into lines that hadn't been there days ago.

"You look like her," Algerone said finally, his voice rough. "Around the eyes."

I kept my expression neutral, even as something shifted uncomfortably in my chest.

His gaze met mine, measuring. A moment passed before he spoke again. "The worst part is that Maxime was right."

I raised an eyebrow, not expecting this admission.

"If I had known about your mother, about the pregnancy... I would have walked away from everything." His voice was quiet, contemplative. "Lucky Losers was still fragile then. I would have married her, tried to be a father, a family man." He let out a hollow laugh. "It would have been a disaster. I'm not built for that life. Never was."

"So Maxime saved you from yourself," I said flatly.

"In a very twisted, fucked up way... yes." Algerone's eyes were distant, looking into a past that never happened. "Twenty years ago, I didn't know who I was yet. I thought I could fool everyone, play normal. It would have destroyed all of us."

"Including us," I observed.

He nodded slowly. "Including you and your brothers. You would have grown up with a father who resented the chains of family, who didn't know how to love properly. Instead, you grew up with no father at all."

"That's not true," I corrected him, my voice hard. "We had a father. We had Yuri. And Nikita. We even had Uncle Sacha." The names carried weight, representing a family that had chosen us, raised us, shaped us. "Blood doesn't make you a father. Presence does."

Something flickered across Algerone's face - perhaps regret, perhaps recognition. "Fair point. The Laskins gave you what I couldn't."

"And we survived just fine," I replied. "Better than fine."

Algerone studied me with calculating eyes. "Yes. You did. All three of you becoming exactly what I would have molded you into had I been there. Hunters. Strategists. Survivors." A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Ironic, isn't it?"

I didn't respond to that, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of acknowledgment. Nature versus nurture was a debate for another time, one I had no interest in engaging with while he lay in a hospital bed.

He reached for the water glass beside his bed, his hand trembling. I watched him struggle briefly before helping, not out of sentiment but because the vulnerability was uncomfortable to witness.

"Thank you," he muttered, the words sounding foreign on his tongue.

I stood back, assessing him clinically. "How will Lucky Losers function without Maxime?"

Algerone's laugh was hollow, edged with something that might have been despair. "Lucky Losers can't function without him. I know that better than anyone." He took a sip of water, composing himself. "Thirty-two years. He's been by my side for thirty-two years, Xavier. Every decision, every acquisition, every success and failure. There's not a single aspect of my organization he hasn't touched."

"So he stays," I stated, not a question.

"He has to," Algerone admitted, the words clearly costing him. "The company would collapse within weeks without him. No matter my personal feelings, I can't afford to let that happen."

"Yet you sent him away."

"What would you have done?" Algerone's eyes were suddenly sharp, the fatigue momentarily eclipsed by something fiercer. "If it had been Leo who betrayed you so completely? Who kept you from your own children for over two decades?"

The comparison made my skin crawl, anger flaring hot beneath my control. "Leo would never."

"You sound certain."

"I am."

Algerone studied me with that calculating stare I recognized from my own reflection. "Then you're fortunate. Because until an hour ago, I would have said the same about Maxime."

The monitors beeped steadily, counting heartbeats in the silence that followed. I found myself wondering if Maxime had left the building or if he was sitting somewhere in this hospital, falling apart as his world collapsed around him. The thought brought no satisfaction.

"Xavier," Algerone said finally, his voice steadier now. "Lucky Losers is yours if you want it."

The offer hung in the air between us, unexpected despite the master password he'd given me at the warehouse. Having access was one thing. Ownership was another entirely.

"Why?"

"Because it's your birthright," he replied simply. "Because I built it for my legacy, and you and your siblings are that legacy, whether I knew it or not. Take it. Transform it. Burn it to the ground if that's what you want. But make the choice yourself, instead of having it made for you."

I considered the offer carefully, weighing implications and consequences with the precision that defined my hunts. Lucky Losers represented power, resources, a global network I could use to protect what was mine. It also represented entanglement with Algerone, complications I wasn't certain I wanted.

"No."

Algerone blinked, genuine surprise crossing his features. "No?"

"Not yet," I clarified. "I'll maintain the access you've granted, use the resources to clean up whatever remains of Phoenix's network. But I'm not ready to take over your empire."

"May I ask why?"

I thought of Leo, waiting for me back in that hospital room. Of how he'd walked through fire rather than let me face death alone. Of the life we might build together if we survived this.

"Because I need to figure out who I am without Phoenix hunting us first. Because taking Lucky Losers means becoming you, and I don't know if that's who I want to be."

Algerone absorbed this, something that might have been respect flickering across his face. "Fair enough. The offer remains open."

His gaze traveled to the door where Maxime had disappeared. "He'll be back, you know. Once my initial anger fades."

"You'd forgive that level of betrayal?"

"Forgiveness may not be possible," Algerone admitted. "But thirty-two years creates a bond that can't simply be severed, no matter how sharp the blade is ." His eyes found mine again, unreadable. "You'll understand someday, if you're lucky enough to build something lasting with Leo."

I looked directly at Algerone. "Maxime is suicidal."

Algerone's expression remained controlled, but something flickered in his eyes. "What?"

"Earlier, when we thought you were dead, I found him drunk in his suite. His entire facade had collapsed. He was a hollow shell, staring at nothing. He told me directly that without you, he had nothing left to live for. Asked me to put him out of his misery. I recognized that look. I've seen it before in people who've made their decision to die."

A muscle in Algerone's jaw twitched. "So?"

"So despite what he did, I'm guessing you don't actually want him dead." I kept my voice neutral, analytical. "I'll assign someone to watch him. As a professional precaution. Lucky Losers can't afford to lose both of you right now."

Algerone was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he gave a slight nod. "A reasonable security measure."

"He stays at Lucky Losers," I added. "The organization needs his expertise."

"I'm aware." His voice was cold, but I heard the complexity underneath. "Personal feelings aside, business must continue."

The thought of Leo waiting for me sent a pulse of possessiveness through me. "I need to get back to Leo."

Algerone nodded. "Go. We'll talk again when I'm discharged." He paused, then added, "And Xavier? Thank you. For coming back for me in that building."

The corridors were still eerily quiet as I made my way back toward my room. I passed a small waiting area and noticed a familiar figure hunched in a chair, staring at nothing. Maxime.

For a moment, I considered continuing past him. Then I remembered his expression when he'd confessed earlier, the subtle signs I'd recognized from years of hunting those who had nothing left to lose. The same emptiness I'd seen in targets right before they chose a permanent exit.

"Maxime?"

He looked up slowly, eyes vacant. "Come to gloat?"

"No." I studied him clinically. "You'll remain at Lucky Losers."

Something flickered in his eyes, a spark in the emptiness. "What?"

"The organization can't function without you. Algerone knows that. I know that."

"He told me to get out," Maxime said, voice hollow.

"From his hospital room," I clarified. "Not from the company. Not from his life."

His hands trembled slightly. "You don't understand what I've lost."

"I understand more than you think." I paused, choosing my words carefully. "He'll need time. But thirty-two years creates bonds that don't break easily."

Maxime looked away, his profile sharp in the harsh hospital lighting. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because Lucky Losers needs you alive." I kept my voice cold, pragmatic. "And because I recognize when someone's contemplating all the ways they might not make it through the night." He didn't deny it, which confirmed my suspicion. "I'll assign someone to watch you. Not for your benefit, but for the organization's. And for Algerone." I turned to leave, then stopped. "One more thing. Your betrayal might be unforgivable. But Algerone will try anyway. Eventually." I let my voice drop to that register that made even my brothers uneasy. "Earn it. Or answer to me."

Without waiting for his response, I continued down the corridor.

When I reached my room, Xander was waiting. "Maxime?"

"Destroyed," I said simply. "Algerone knows everything."

Satisfaction spread across his face, darkly beautiful in its intensity. "Good. Did you—"

"Later," I cut him off. "Everything is under control. For now."

Inside the room, Leo straightened immediately, relief on his face as he saw me.

Xion slipped down from the windowsill and patted my shoulder on his way out. “Me and Xander are going down to the cafeteria. We’ll be back in an hour.”

I nodded.

"How did it go?" Leo asked quietly.

"It's done," I said.

His hand found mine, fingers twining together with the familiarity that still surprised me after so short a time. The trust in his eyes, the way he fit against me when I sat beside him, these things had become essential in ways I couldn't fully articulate.

"I've made arrangements for discharge papers in the morning," Leo said, ever practical. "We'll need somewhere secure to recover."

I nodded, already calculating next steps, contingencies, safe houses. But beneath the tactical planning, beneath the cold assessment of our situation, something else stirred. Something that had taken root that night in the bedroom after the fire, that had grown stronger with each touch, each surrender, each time Leo had proven himself not just mine to possess but mine to protect.

I pressed my lips against his temple, breathing in the scent of antiseptic and smoke that couldn't quite mask what was essentially him. What came next would require careful planning, calculated risks, the precision I brought to every hunt.

But for now, in this moment between breaths, there was only Leo. Only us. Only the certainty that whatever future we carved from the ashes of Phoenix's vengeance, we would face it together.