Chapter 19
Victor
Morning light filters through the front windows of the sandwich shop, casting long shadows across the dining area floor.
I’ve been awake for hours, watching the sun rise, mind churning through every threat, every angle.
Late last night, we sent everyone to bed in the long hallway of suites, but I suspect many of us got very little sleep.
I stand and stretch, muscles protesting after hours of sitting in the same rigid position, and head back into the darkness of the club.
Owen’s office door is closed, but I can see light bleeding from beneath it.
He hasn’t slept either. No surprise there.
The door opens and Bellamy steps out, a small smile playing at her lips.
“Good morning, Master Victor,” she says, nodding at me.
“Convince him to get some sleep, will you? I fed him, but that’s all I can do. ”
I squeeze her shoulder as I pass. “You take good care of him. He’s lucky to have you. Has he been in there all night?”
She blushes and shakes her head. “He came to the room for a couple of hours to fuck me, but then when he thought Toby and I were asleep he put his pants back on and slipped out.”
I chuckle. “At least there’s some fun happening in this building. It would be a shame for so many of us to be here and not one orgasm.”
“Well, I certainly didn’t get one. He’s been on a goddamn denial kick lately.”
That makes me grin despite the circumstances. “You can commiserate with Grace about that later.”
She narrows her eyes and shakes her head. “Bastards, all of you.”
“What’s that?” I say a little louder outside Owen’s door.
She just shakes her head. “I’m going back to bed. Maybe I can talk Tobias into breaking Owen’s rules. Might be worth the punishment.”
As she walks away, movement near the entrance to Owen’s play space catches my attention.
Samuel Carter stands in the doorway watching us.
He arrived sometime after midnight with his wife, Erin, both of them looking grim and battle-ready.
Hunter called them in without telling me, a move I’d be pissed about if Samuel wasn’t exactly the kind of reinforcement we need right now.
Samuel was a godsend when it came to rescuing Lili, so he has a place here if he wants it.
I know very little about him. Just that he’s former black ops or special forces, and his wife is chief of staff for a United States senator and currently expecting their first child.
I’m making my way over to him, when Luke steps into the room and stands next to Samuel, his usually immaculate appearance replaced with rumpled clothes and hair from what was likely a brief nap with Zara. He nods at me, then at Samuel.
“Any developments?” he asks as we meet in the center of the room, voice rough from lack of sleep.
I shake my head. “Not yet. But Phineas has had enough time to stew.”
Luke’s eyes sharpen. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“That it’s time to have a conversation with our guest? Yeah.”
Matteo appears from the direction of the kitchen, coffee cup in hand. “If by ‘conversation’ you mean ‘interrogation,’ I’m in. He’s been sitting in that warehouse for long enough.”
“I’ll get Owen,” Luke says, already turning toward the office.
Owen joins us a moment later, tablet in hand, dark circles under his eyes. “Hardware’s ready. Everything’s recording. Our boy is still securely restrained according to our hourly check-ins.”
Hunter’s voice cuts through our huddle. “I’m coming with you.”
I turn to see him standing near Trinity’s wheelchair. She’s awake, pale but alert, her hand resting on his arm as if to restrain him.
“Hunter,” she breathes.
He ignores her, eyes locked on mine. “I want five minutes alone with him.”
Samuel steps forward, positioning himself between Hunter and our group. “With respect, Hunter, that’s not a good idea.”
Hunter’s jaw tightens. “He put my wife in that chair. I have a right.”
“Yes, you do,” Samuel says, his voice steady and reasonable. “And if this were just about you, I wouldn’t stand in your way. But it’s not. Phineas is just the tip of the iceberg, and you’re not stupid enough to think otherwise.”
Erin appears at Trinity’s side, her presence a silent support. She doesn’t speak, but her eyes meet Samuel’s in silent communication.
“Your priority is Trinity,” Samuel continues. “And the best thing you can do for her right now is stay here, where she can see you, where she knows you’re safe.”
Hunter doesn’t respond, but I can see the internal struggle playing across his features. Rage versus reason. Revenge versus responsibility.
Trinity squeezes his arm. “Listen to him, Hunter. Please.”
The simple plea breaks through his anger. His shoulders drop slightly, and he nods once, sharply.
“Fine. But I want updates. Every hour.”
“You’ll have them,” I promise. “And when we’re done, you’ll be the first to know what we’ve learned.”
I glance at my watch. “We should move, before the others wake up.” It’s a chicken move to want to be gone before Lili and Grace wake up. But after Lili’s scolding last night, I have no desire to face her wrath if I hide something else from Grace in her presence.
Luke and Matteo head toward the back exit to bring the car around. Owen collects his gear, loading it into a black duffel.
I take a moment for my own preparations. My gun is secured at my back, knife in my boot.
I’m about to leave with the others when a feminine voice speaks behind me.
“Going somewhere, Master?”
I turn to see Grace staring at me with worried eyes. Lili is a few feet behind her, watching us.
I cup Grace’s jaw in my hand. “Good morning, Mariposa. Yes, I’m going somewhere, but I didn’t want to wake you.”
“You’re going to see him,” she says. Not a question.
“Yes.”
She studies my face, then nods once. “Be careful.”
“Always am.”
Her arms wrap around my waist, her head tucking beneath my chin. I hold her tight, breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo. It grounds me, centering the chaos of my thoughts.
“I love you,” she whispers against my chest.
“I love you too, butterfly.” The words come easier now, less foreign on my tongue.
When I pull back, my eyes find Lili’s. She hasn’t moved from her spot, her posture carefully neutral. But her eyes are sharp, assessing. Still angry with me about last night, about the secrets I’m keeping from Grace.
I reach a hand toward her. “I’ll be back soon.”
She takes it after a beat of hesitation, her fingers cool against mine. “Do what you have to do.”
The double meaning isn’t lost on me. She’s giving permission for the interrogation while simultaneously demanding I fix things with Grace. Clever girl.
“I intend to,” I say, matching her tone.
She stands then, moving closer but maintaining a careful distance. “Just remember what we talked about.”
I meet her gaze directly. “Impossible to forget anything you say to me, Spitfire.”
Grace looks between us, sensing the tension but not understanding its source. I watch her brow furrow slightly, questions forming.
“Is everything okay?” she asks.
“Fine,” Lili and I say in unison, which only deepens Grace’s suspicious expression.
I cup Grace’s cheek again, redirecting her attention. “We’ll talk when I get back. All of us.”
It’s as close to a promise as I can make right now. Lili’s expression softens slightly, recognizing the concession.
“You should go,” she says. “The others are waiting.”
I nod, letting my hand fall from Grace’s face. “Stay together. Don’t leave the club for any reason.”
“We won’t,” Grace promises. “Hurry back.”
I kiss her once, quickly, then turn to Lili. She allows a brief kiss too, her lips softer than her eyes.
Owen calls my name from the back door, impatience clear in his tone. I step away from the women, already shifting mental gears from lover to interrogator.
“Keep them safe,” I tell Samuel as I pass.
He nods once, already moving to secure the exits after our departure. “Like they were my own.”
Outside, the morning sun is harsh after the dimness of the club. Matteo sits behind the wheel of an armored SUV, engine already running. Owen waits in the passenger seat, leaving the back for me.
I slide in, closing the door with a solid thud. The soundproofed interior cuts off the city noise instantly.
“Let’s go get some answers,” I say.
Matteo pulls away from the curb, heading toward the edge of town where our warehouse waits.
The car moves through morning traffic, each of us silent with our individual thoughts.
Owen taps away at his tablet, running through security footage from the warehouse.
Matteo drives with mechanical precision, eyes scanning constantly for tails or threats.
I stare out the window, already mapping out exactly how I want to make Phineas Draven suffer.
“We need a plan,” Matteo says finally, breaking the silence. “For the interrogation.”
I turn from the window. “I have a plan. It involves pliers and a blowtorch.”
Owen doesn’t look up from his tablet. “That’s not a plan. That’s a fantasy.”
“An effective one,” I counter. “Ten minutes with me and those tools, and he’ll tell us everything.”
“And then what?” Matteo’s eyes find mine in the rearview mirror. “We hand a mutilated, tortured man over to the police? Or we kill him and bury the body?”
I shrug. “Either works for me.”
“Victor.” Owen sets his tablet down, turning to face me. “You’re not thinking clearly. We need information more than we need vengeance right now.”
“Why not both?”
“Because torture is unreliable,” Owen says, his voice taking on the precise, academic tone he uses when he’s trying to talk sense into one of us.
“People will say anything to make the pain stop. He could feed us bullshit just to get a break from the blowtorch, and we’d have no way to verify it in real-time. ”
I clench my jaw, knowing he’s right but not wanting to admit it. “So, what’s your suggestion? Ask nicely?”