Page 68 of Playing with Fire

"Xavier," I said, kneeling beside him, my hands hovering over his shoulders, afraid to move him too quickly. "Stay down. You probably have a concussion."

"Leo," he slurred, reaching for me with an unsteady hand. "You okay? Did he hurt you?"

"I'm fine," I assured him, catching his hand and squeezing it. "Felix is gone. Algerone's security team showed up."

Xavier tried to sit up again, grimacing. "Need to... go after him..."

"You need to stay down," I insisted, gently pressing my palm against his chest. "You were just unconscious!"

"Mr. Laskin needs medical attention," the security team leader said, helping his wounded men to their feet. "Mr. Etremont has a medical team standing by."

Xander, who had managed to wriggle partially free of their restraints during the chaos, jerked their chin toward one of the security officers. "Hey, a little help here before my hands go completely numb?"

As a security officer cut Xander free, Maxime spoke up from his chair where another team member was removing his restraints. "Perhaps now you'll appreciate why Mr. Etremont insisted on keeping you here, Mr. Laskin. Phoenix is clearly targeting you specifically."

Xavier ignored him, his focus solely on me. "He was going to hurt you," he said, the words slurring slightly but filled with quiet rage.

"But he didn't," I said softly, helping him sit up with my arm around his shoulders. "And now we know who he is. We're going to find him."

The doors to the security room slid open with a hydraulic hiss. The security team parted, making way for a tall figure striding purposefully into the room. Algerone Caisse-Etremont himself surveyed the scene with cold fury, his tailored suit immaculate despite the hour, his silver-streaked hair perfectly styled. The resemblance to Xavier was unmistakable in the sharp angles of his face and the glacial intensity of his eyes.

"Status," Algerone demanded.

"Target escaped through the east service corridor, sir," the team leader reported. "Two casualties, non-fatal. We've initiated full lockdown protocols."

Algerone's gaze swept the room, pausing briefly on each of us before settling on Xavier, still on the floor with my arm supporting him. Something flashed across Algerone's face—concern, perhaps, or calculation—before his expression hardened again.

"Medical team," he ordered, and within seconds, a medic appeared with a tactical stretcher and a field kit.

"You need to get checked out," I told Xavier as the medic approached.

Algerone crouched beside us. "What did Phoenix want?"

"To make Xavier watch while he hurt us," I replied, meeting his gaze. "He's recreating what happened to his father."

Algerone's jaw tightened, the only sign that the information affected him. "Richard Thackery's son," he said, not a question but a statement.

Two security officers dragged in a man in a tactical uniform—one of their own, with a bloody nose and the beginnings of an impressive black eye.

"Found this one trying to climb the perimeter fence," one of the officers said.

Maxime, having retrieved his tablet from where it had fallen during the attack, quickly tapped through several screens. "Gregory Walsh, sir. Security detail, east wing. Military background, four years with us. Divorced. Financial records show significant debt and..." Maxime paused, eyebrows rising slightly. "A sudden deposit to his account six hours ago."

Algerone's eyes never left Walsh's face. "And why were you trying to leave so urgently, Mr. Walsh?" His voice was deceptively gentle.

Walsh swallowed visibly. "I... I…" Walsh's eyes darted around the room, looking for sympathy and finding none. "I didn't know what he was planning! He just paid me to disable a few systems!"

Algerone moved with startling speed for a man in a tailored suit. One moment he was standing calmly in front of Walsh, the next his hand was around the man's throat, lifting him off the ground with minimal effort. Walsh's feet scrambled for purchase as he gasped for air.

"You opened my home to an enemy," Algerone said, his voice terrifyingly quiet, his expression unchanged despite the violence of his action. "You endangered my children."

What made the display truly chilling was the complete absence of emotion in Algerone's eyes. No rage, no hatred—just cold, calculated violence applied with precision. As though strangling a man was simply another business transaction to be completed efficiently.

The security officers who had brought Walsh in took an instinctive step back. Even Maxime looked momentarily unsettled before his professional mask settled back into place.

Xavier's attention snapped to Walsh, his eyes clearing slightly with the surge of adrenaline. "You let him in?" he growled, attempting to push himself up despite his obvious dizziness.

"Stay down," Algerone ordered, placing a restraining hand on Xavier's shoulder. But there was no rebuke in the gesture, only a calculation. "We'll handle him together. When you're medically cleared."

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