Page 70 of Playing with Fire

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."

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