Page 92 of Playing with Fire

My control snapped. I moved with the speed that had made me such an effective hunter, grabbing Maxime by his shirt and slamming him against the nearest wall. The impact knocked a framed photo to the floor, glass shattering across the hardwood.

"You destroyed three lives because you were too cowardly to tell him how you felt," I snarled, face inches from his. "You let our mother die! Let us grow up thinking we'd been abandoned. All so you could keep Algerone to yourself!"

Maxime didn't struggle against my grip. His expression was almost serene, as if he'd been waiting for this moment. "What are you going to do, Xavier? Kill me? Go ahead. It's what I deserve. Without him, I have nothing left to live for, anyway."

The naked misery in his voice caught me off guard. This wasn't just grief. It was despair so profound it had crossed into a death wish. He wanted me to hurt him. Wanted punishment for decades of manipulations and lies. For the loss of the one person who had given his life meaning.

I released him abruptly, stepping back. "I'm not going to give you the easy way out."

Confusion flickered across his face. "What?"

"You don't get to escape your guilt that easily," I said, my voice cold. "You're going to help me find Phoenix. Help me make him pay for what he's done. And then you're going to live with what you've done for the rest of your miserable life."

"He should have been more careful," Maxime continued, grief shifting back to anger as he paced. "He should have anticipated the trap. He's survived assassinations, coups, and betrayals from his inner circle. And he falls for a simple explosive device? It's... it's unacceptable. It's incomprehensible."

The desperation in his voice was almost painful to hear, the bargaining stage of grief in full force. If Algerone had just been more careful, if he had just followed protocol, if he had just listened to Maxime's constant warnings about security, he would still be here. The litany of "if onlys" that always followed unexpected loss.

"He made a choice," I said quietly. "In the moment. To push me clear of the blast."

Maxime rounded on me, eyes flashing. "And that's supposed to comfort me? That he chose to die for you? The son who has rejected him at every turn? Who has thrown his efforts at reconciliation back in his face for years? What about those of us who actually valued him? Who needed him?"

The accusation hit harder because there was truth in it, truth I wasn't ready to confront. I had rejected Algerone consistently, had maintained my distance even as he'd tried to bridge the gap between us. And yet, in that final moment, he'd chosen to save me without hesitation.

"He wanted you to be happy," I said, the words feeling inadequate even as I spoke them.

Maxime froze, his expression shifting from anger to confusion. "What?"

"His last words," I explained, meeting his gaze steadily. "Before I left. He said, 'Tell Maxime to be happy.' That's it. That's all he said."

For a moment, Maxime simply stared at me, disbelief warring with something like hunger in his expression. Then, to my alarm, he began to laugh. Not the warm laughter of genuine amusement, but something broken and jagged that seemed to tear its way out of his throat.

"Be happy," he repeated, the laughter dying as suddenly as it had begun. "Be happy without him. As if that were possible. As if he hadn't become the axis around which my entire existence revolved."

He moved to the bar cart that stood against one wall, pouring himself a generous measure of bourbon with hands that trembled ever so slightly.

Maxime studied me over the rim of his glass, something calculating replacing the naked grief in his eyes. "Once we've finished with Phoenix, then what? What happens to Lucky Losers then? Do you take the reins permanently? Dismantle it? Sell it off in pieces?"

It was a fair question, one I hadn't fully considered in the chaos of the past twelve hours. What did I want with Algerone's empire once our immediate threat was neutralized?

"I don't know," I admitted honestly. "But I'm open to discussion. To finding a solution that honors what Algerone built."

Maxime's eyebrows rose slightly, genuine surprise breaking through his grief-hardened expression. "That's... unexpectedly reasonable of you."

He set his glass down, straightening his shoulders in a visible effort to regain his composure. "Very well. I will assist you in utilizing Lucky Losers' resources to locate and neutralize Phoenix. After that, we can discuss the future of the organization."

His professionalism was reasserting itself, the familiar mask sliding back into place despite the redness rimming his eyes, the slight tremor still visible in his hands. It seemed the conversation was drawing to a close when he suddenly spoke again, his voice quieter than before.

"Was he in pain? At the end?"

The question caught me off guard. It was the first truly personal inquiry, devoid of the anger and bitterness that had characterized our exchange thus far. Just a human being wanting to know if someone they loved had suffered.

"No," I lied, the mercy coming more easily than I expected. The reality of being pinned by rebar, slowly bleeding out while waiting for enemy forces to find him, was not something Maxime needed to carry. Sometimes lies were kinder than truth.

Maxime nodded once, accepting the comfort offered without further question. Perhaps he knew I was lying. Perhaps he preferred the fiction to reality. Either way, he didn't press.

"I suppose we should begin immediately," he said, the professional assistant once more. "I have full access to all operational databases. We can start by—"

A sharp knock at the door interrupted him. I tensed instinctively, hand moving toward the weapon concealed at my waist.

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