Page 78 of High Reward

My mind drifts to Lili and Grace, waiting for us back at the club. For Lili’s sake, I should let the legal system handle Phineas. A public trial, exposure of his crimes, the validation of her suffering. The closure she deserves.

But for Grace’s safety, for both their safety, he needs to disappear. Permanently. No loose ends, no chance of revenge or retaliation.

“We should update Hunter,” Owen says, breaking the silence. “He’ll want details.”

“You handle that,” I say. “I need to check on the girls.”

Matteo catches my eye in the rearview mirror. “And Harper? What’s our plan there?”

“We find out who drugged her,” I answer. “And why. If it wasn’t Phineas, someone else got to her. Someone inside our perimeter. Owen is digging through the security footage as fast as he can.”

The implications hang heavy in the air. A traitor in our midst. Someone we trusted enough to let close to our operations, our people.

“One problem at a time,” Owen advises, though his furrowed brow betrays his concern.

I turn to look out the window as we merge onto the highway back toward the heart of Las Vegas. The city rises from the desert like a fortress, glittering and deceptive. Somewhere in that maze of lights and shadows are the answers we need. The peoplebehind the threats. The next move in a game I’m only beginning to understand.

But one thing is absolutely clear, Phineas Draven’s fate is sealed. He just doesn’t know it yet.

Chapter 20

Victor

WedropOwenoffat The High Card, then Matteo says he needs to go to Skylar’s penthouse on The Strip for some of her things. I offer to take him and have him take one of Luke’s drivers back to the club because I need to go out to my house for some things for Lili and Grace. Really though, I just need some time alone, and the hour-long drive out to my place is just the ticket. Matteo offers to tell Grace where I went when he gets back to the club, and I thank him and head for the open road.

The roads are clear, traffic almost non-existent, and I’m free to let my mind wander as I make the familiar drive. My mind drifts to Lili, to the bruises on her skin. To Grace, still unaware of the full extent of the danger stalking her. To Phineas, waiting in our warehouse, a loose end I’m not yet allowed to cut.

An hour later, I pull up to the gate at the edge of my property and punch in the code.

As I get closer to my house, my grip tightens on the steering wheel.

A black Escalade sits in my driveway, gleaming and immaculate. Two men stand beside it—thick necks, darker skin, impassive expressions. Not Phineas’s people. Not local muscle. I recognize that stance, those watchful eyes.

Cartel soldiers. My father’s men.

And there he is, sitting on my front porch as if he owns it. Like he belongs here.

Alejandro Serrano. Head of the Serrano Cartel. My father.

I park behind the Escalade, blocking it in. A petty move, but it makes me feel better. The engine dies, and silence settles over the property. None of us move.

My father watches me through the windshield, face unreadable. He’s aged since I last saw him. More silver in his black hair, deeper lines around his mouth. Still fit, still dangerous. The guards straighten as I exit the car, hands drifting toward concealed weapons.

“Stand down,” my father says in Spanish, voice carrying across the yard. The men relax marginally.

I approach slowly, hand resting near my own weapon. “You’re a long way from home.”

“My son doesn’t visit. I must come to him.” He doesn’t stand, just sits there in one of my porch chairs, claiming my space. His eyes, a reflection of my own, assess me coolly.

I stop at the bottom of the steps. “How did you find this place?”

A thin smile. “You think I don’t keep track of where my own son lives? That I don’t keep tabs on my blood?”

The guards watch our exchange with carefully blank expressions. I recognize one of them now. Miguel, my father’s right hand for the past decade. The other is younger, new since my departure. Both are armed and ready.

“What do you want?” I ask.

My father gestures to the empty chair beside him. An invitation. A command. “You called me for help. Sit. We have matters to discuss.”