Page 13

Part Two

T he car ride to the restaurant was beautifully uneventful—calm, normal. The blur of the city outside softened under the evening haze, and for once, the constant shuffle between hotel and office receded into the background.

The repetition was beginning to wear on him. Suite. Elevator. Conference room. Elevator. Suite. It was nice to get out. To exist somewhere that didn’t reek of recycled air and pointed glares.

Lex had forwarded him the address earlier, and Morgan half-listened as Lex rambled on about how tired he was of ordering room service. How the restaurant had thousands of reviews and every single person swore it was the best risotto they’d ever had in their entire lives .

For an à la carte menu—with mashed potatoes starting at ￡ 28—Morgan could only hope it was the best food known to man. He couldn’t care less either way.

It wasn’t the stifling corner office with Gabriel.

It wasn’t the hotel with Ollie.

The restaurant was… fine. Tolerable, even, if he ignored the prices that made his jaw tense.

They were seated near the side, close to the bar and foot traffic. Open enough that Lex couldn’t raise his voice too much without drawing attention.

Once you’d seen one fancy, Michelin-starred restaurant, you’d seen them all.

It was like fundraisers.

Dim lighting that made it too hard to see what Morgan was eating. Deep, velvet walls—of course, they were velvet. Navy blue and overdone. Everything was velvet. The booth. The curtains. Even the menu had some sort of suede texture.

And then there was the chandelier. One of those godawful, dripping-crystal centerpieces that loomed overhead like a spider mid-descent.

The oversized painting above their table was a different choice—classical, violent, baroque. Some saint mid-martyrdom, draped in robes while angels mourned him. The candle light caught the gold leaf in all the wrong places, making the blood look like box wine.

Lex snorted so loud the second he looked up that people two tables over actually turned.

“ That is a statement piece,” he mumbled, picking at the bread basket. “I can’t tell if it’s kinda pretty or just, like, a lot . ”

Morgan flipped open the menu, scanning his finger down the wine and drink list. Overpriced, but the selection of reds were decent enough.

“It’s meant to be a conversation starter,” he said evenly.

“Do we want one of those for the house?”

Morgan didn’t look up. “Why? Are you wanting to start a bizarre and unorthodox art collection?”

“I dunno. The more I look at it, the more I like it.”

Their conversation slid into the mundane.

Lex asked a dozen questions about how Morgan had guessed Ollie’s size.

Practice, it was really that simple. But Lex, insatiable, wanted every detail.

Every. Single. One. He turned insistent, louder, with each question, and when Morgan rolled his eyes, Lex only laughed.

“I’ve decided,” Lex announced, swirling the last bits of his fruity, virgin daiquiri. “I want the painting. I’ve fallen in love with it.”

Morgan glanced up at it one more time. He still didn’t see the appeal. The smell of aged oil paint turned his stomach.

“Why?”

“It’s somewhere between the depressing and depraved line.”

“If that’s the case, you’d love the auctions.”

“What auctions? Like slave auctions or some shit?” Lex asked, flippant, unconcerned.

Morgan pulled the knife through the steak, inspecting the piece before it went into his mouth. Too cooked, and not nearly salty enough. Flagging down their waiter seemed like a bigger waste of time than eating it .

Lex put down the fork, leaning in. His voice dropped to a whisper. “You’ve got to be screwing with me.”

“I am not.”

“They still—they still have that kinda thing? Isn’t that really fucking illegal, Morgan?”

Telling Lex this… perhaps it wasn’t the smartest decision. His tone hadn’t changed, but something bubbled beneath the surface. Morgan could feel it. A pull behind Lex’s voice, sharper than curiosity. He should’ve stopped.

But Lex was no longer the little brother he had to keep his eye on. Not the wide-eyed creature begging for a place beside him. Last year, Lex couldn’t have been trusted. Their games had been simple. Controlled. Contained. Just them.

Now Lex was clever and restless. Too sharp to be handed scraps and told they were a feast.

“ Morgan ,” Lex hissed, even quieter. “Don’t do that. Answer me.”

Case in point.

Setting the knife down, Morgan blotted the sides of his mouth.

“I never used the word slave . You did that all on your own.”

“So what kind of auctions?”

“The kind where people become food.”

Lex’s mouth stayed open. A grain of rice clung to his bottom lip, but he didn’t notice. His face didn’t move. Then he sat back, blue eyes narrowing until they turned to slits.

“You’d like it,” Morgan said after a moment, when the quiet turned sour. He cut into the steak again .

“ People—”

“The show.”

“They like…” Lex trailed off, fingers drumming against the table. “Jesus, I lost my train of thought. You’ve been to them?”

“Many times. Last September was the most recent one. I haven’t had a chance to get away since then.”

“It was the night I moved in, wasn’t it?” Lex said, and then answered himself. “Holy shit, that gives a whole new meaning to I’ll get food while I’m out .”

The laugh that came out of Lex was breathy, thin. Too manic for Morgan’s liking.

“Did Kate know?”

“Of course she did. Her family set it up.” Morgan finished the food, folding his napkin in his lap. “You jump to conclusions so often, it’s easier to agree with you than explain.”

Lex leaned back, arms crossed so tight his shirt looked seconds away from ripping at the seams. “And you withhold half the damn conversation. I have to make it up as I go so I don’t lose my goddamn mind . Explain.”

“When you think ‘mob,’ what’s the first thing that pops up in your head? Old gangster movies from the 1970’s and 80’s?”

“Uh, Goodfellas .”

Morgan couldn’t recall which one that was. He didn’t care enough to ask.

“The Sterlings aren’t like the movies. No cigars and razors. No messy street wars.”

Lex tapped his foot against the table, eyebrows raised. Waiting.

“They don’t flaunt power. They inherit it. Old money. Think private schools and marble foyers. Their bloodline’s so clean, you could drink from it. Some do. I think that’s Kate’s biggest concern. Being gifted to a different buyer that she doesn’t know.”

“Anyway,” Morgan reached for the wine.

Lex’s voice cut through again. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait. Hold the fucking phone.”

Morgan sighed. “Which conclusion did you jump to this time, little brother?”

“What do you mean a different buyer? She said her parents introduced you two. Are you telling me she like—what—lied?”

“Not at all. Like I said, I’ve been going to their functions for… years. Before the Sterlings had any idea of who I was. When I became a frequent buyer, so to speak, and my late night entertainment started running into theirs—that’s when they made the introduction.”

Lex skewered a piece of chicken and shoved it into his mouth. He didn’t look away once.

“May I continue?” Morgan asked. “They don’t sell drugs or run weapons. They trade in flesh. Not for sex, or anything gaudy. It’s less mainstream and more curated.”

Lex’s face twitched like his brain had short-circuited for a second. “Like eating people.”

“That’s one of the ways, yes. The market is much larger than you think. But, like anything in business, once a body is opened, it’s considered spoiled. There’s no resale value. It’s why they have functions: auctions, shows, exhibitions. It’s a fun time if you’re interested.”

“I’m gonna really regret asking this,” Lex mumbled, still chewing. “What did you buy exactly..? ”

“My favorite cut is liver. Does that clear things up for you?”

“So you wouldn’t eat me. Got it.”

Once, he’d considered it.

Had planned to, actually. After he’d killed Lex.

But that was almost a year ago now.

Morgan chuckled, lifting a shoulder in half-shrug. “You’d never survive the intake process, Lex. They’d slice you apart and feed you to the dogs or the cleaning crew.”

“Thanks,” Lex grumbled. “Appreciate that.”

“That’s a very strange thing to be upset about.”

Lex didn’t answer right away. He stabbed at a piece of chicken twice, metal scraping against ceramic. The risotto had gone gluey, clumping on his fork as he shoved it into the corner of his plate.

“Would it make you happy if I went to one of the uh—”

“Functions.”

“— functions with you?”

Morgan didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Not only because I know you’d enjoy it, but because I think it would be something else we could enjoy together .”

The grin that broke across Lex’s face was immediate—sharp, brilliant, and blinding in its intensity. It lit up his whole expression, like someone had switched the current on behind his eyes. That vibrating happiness poured off him in waves, and Morgan felt himself smiling too.

It was such a small thing. A sentence he normally wouldn’t have added.

“Then do something for me,” Lex said.

There it was.

Every good deed was met with greed.

“What else would you like?” Morgan took another drink of the wine, already bracing himself.

“Another video. Someone new.”

Morgan slammed the glass down. “You said one on the plane.”

“Yeah, but he’s breathing. Now I want someone who isn’t.”

Even if Lex was quiet, that still sounded too loud for public.

“Do you understand how entitled you sound?”

Lex tilted his head to the side, the smug smirk back. “Tell me no.”

Of course, he wouldn’t. Lex was easier to manage when Morgan said yes—it was that simple. He thrived in excess: pretty and gleaming, over-indulged, attention-fed, praise-drunk. A creature of appetite.

And it wasn’t as if Morgan was giving him anything he hadn’t already bled for. He’d earned the golden cage, every inch of it wrapped in satin and gore.

Morgan let his hand linger over Lex’s. He traced each of the silver rings and watched the goosebumps ripple up Lex’s arms like static.