Page 73 of High Reward

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?”

“We start with standard interrogation techniques,” Owen continues. “Sleep deprivation, which we’ve already begun. Isolation, which he’s had plenty of. And psychological pressure. He can’t be sure what information we do or don’t have.”

Matteo nods, taking a left onto a less populated street. “We use what we have. The mayor’s resignation. His mother’s betrayal. That the entire city thinks he’s dead.”

My fingers drum against my knee. “And if he doesn’t crack?”

“Then we escalate,” Owen says simply. “But we need to be smart about this, Victor. Not just for our legal protection, but for tactical advantage.”

“Torture is a last resort,” Matteo adds. “Not because we’re squeamish, but because it’s messy and inefficient.”

I stare at them both, irritated by their logic. “Fine. We’ll do it your way. For now.”