Page 20

I n the car, Lex seemed a little more like his usual self. Radio blasting. Fingers drumming against the passenger door.

He’d put the directions into his own phone, though.

Not the car’s GPS.

And that—

Morgan didn’t like that.

He had half a mind to turn the car around.

Surprises— any surprise— where Lex was concerned, wasn’t good news.

And the closer he got, the less he liked the sudden shift in the quiet. The less he liked Lex’s newly forming grin—glittering, teeth bared, as if daring Morgan to ruin the fun.

It wasn’t until they pulled into the parking lot—bright fluorescent signage screaming SAL’S PET SHOP above beige cement and a row of economy sedans—that Morgan clocked the implication.

“No,” he said flatly.

Lex didn’t answer. Just unbuckled, opened the door, and left it swinging in the breeze.

Morgan sat there for a long beat, the car still idling.

He didn’t move.

Not until he saw Lex saunter through the sliding doors like a prince returning to a kingdom he hadn’t bothered to learn the name of. That walk—too light, too smug—made Morgan’s stomach twist.

No.

And yet—he got out anyway.

The air inside was stifling. A synthetic assault of artificial bacon, sawdust, and piss-disguised-disinfectant. The overhead lights buzzed faintly. Something yapped in a metal pen. Somewhere else, a parrot screeched, “Hi!” in a voice too human.

Morgan spotted Lex by the metal kennels.

Standing with his hands clasped behind his back, rocking on his heels with a satisfied little smirk. He didn’t look out of place. If anything, he looked too comfortable.

Cruelty had taught him to camouflage better.

Morgan approached, slow. “Lex.”

“Morgan,” Lex said without looking. “What size do you think he is?”

“I thought we had a cat .”

Lex gestured to a large crate marked XL — Breed Examples: Great Dane, Bullmastiff. “He’s obedient. Jumps when you speak. Whines when you pet him wrong. I think he’s part spaniel. Not cat.”

“Lex…”

“You’re not seriously gonna argue with me in front of the damn chew toys, are you?”

“I don’t think you know what you’re doing.”

Lex didn’t look up. “Says who? You?”

“Yes.”

Lex turned then. Not fast. Not sharp. Just steady. Certain. Like he’d already made peace with whatever came next.

“Why?” he asked. “Because it doesn’t align with your vision?”

The vein in Morgan’s eyelid twitched. “Because you’ve never done this. Your show last night was proof enough.”

“You only care when you’re the one holding the knife.”

Morgan stared at him. Waiting for the unravel. The tantrum. But Lex didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch.

“You make them afraid of pain.” Lex stepped in closer. “It works, yeah. But there’s so much scarier shit out there.”

Morgan scoffed. “Like what?”

“Like thinking it’s care.” Lex’s voice dropped to a hush. “Like every single thing you put me through last year.”

Where was this even coming from?

Had the paranoia about Steve finally jostled something loose in Lex’s head?

Lex didn’t smile when he spoke again. Didn’t even raise his voice.

“I lived through you, Morgan. Every second, every hit , every fucking breath. Don’t ask if I can handle this. ”

Morgan remembered the cabin just as well. The bruises on his knuckles the next morning. The smell of Lex’s flesh when he branded him.

Then, it clicked into place.

Lex made sense, yes. But Lex was also twisting parts of the narrative.

He didn't include how excited he was when Morgan pulled off the faux-blindfold. Didn't mention how he wouldn't stop talking the entire car ride back.

This was just another—far less subtle—manipulation tactic.

Morgan didn't argue. He waited.

“I—I need this.”

There was the truth.

Lex would never hide it from him, but it always felt like pulling teeth to get it to come out.

“I need to do this,” Lex said quietly. “Today. Right now. ”

“And if you go too far?” Morgan asked.

Lex shrugged, but it barely lifted his shoulders. “You’ll stop me, I guess.”

Morgan didn’t know what unsettled him more: the certainty in Lex’s voice or the knowledge that he wasn’t sure he would.

Lex turned back to the crate and crouched beside it, testing the latches. “We’ll take this one.”

Morgan watched the line of Lex’s spine, the bounce in his heel. His composure was too calm. Too clean. But Morgan could feel something violent curled underneath. Like rotting fruit left on the counter too long.

Maybe London was simply too much for Lex, and he needed a release .

Maybe the only thing Morgan could do was make sure he didn’t implode from the pressure.

At the register, the teenage cashier squinted at the box. “That’s a big crate. You got a Shepard or something?”

Lex didn’t miss a beat. “He’s not housebroken yet. I’m working on it.”

Housekeeping had been in while they were gone.

The bed made, but the comforter turned down wrong. Fresh sheets. Fresh towels. The wet bar restocked. Even the two glasses Morgan hadn’t gotten around to cleaning last night—vanished from the sink.

Everywhere but the second bedroom. The room they kept locked.

Morgan had made sure they were the only ones with a key.

Lex lugged the box in himself, humming the same tune he’d been singing for days.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t ask for help.

Just unfolded the crate section by section, the metal clinking together like bones snapping into place.

It wasn’t quick or clumsy.

A ritual with its own pace .

Morgan stood by the bar, watching. He hadn’t asked how Lex planned to introduce it. He assumed Lex would try something… on brand.

He should’ve known better.

Should have known Lex didn’t have a brand yet. Just inklings and ideas floating around his head.

Morgan poured himself a glass of bourbon and inhaled.

This was going to be a catastrophe for the ages.

Lex stepped back, admiring the finished structure. Then he unlocked the second bedroom.

A few minutes later, he guided Ollie out by the shoulders, torn sheets sticking to the bottom of his shoes.

Ollie’s eyes darted from Morgan, to Lex. Finally to the cage.

“Um—what… what’s that?” Ollie asked, voice too thin. He crossed his bandaged arms over his chest, shoulders tight.

Lex didn’t answer.

He walked to the closet, fetched a towel, folded it in half, and laid it neatly across the floor of the cage like a cushion.

Ollie froze.

Lex straightened, glanced over his shoulder. “Come here.”

Ollie didn’t budge. “I don’t—I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I don’t understand.”

Lex’s head tilted and he sighed. Not angry, or cold. The sigh a parent might give their overactive child.

“Come here. Please?”

Morgan could see the moment hesitation shifted into dread. Ollie’s jaw locked. His hands curled into fists against his sides. But still, no movement.

“Lex,” Morgan murmured, low .

Lex didn’t even glance his way. He walked, slow and patient, to Ollie’s side and reached out—not with force. With two fingers under Ollie’s chin, tilting his head up.

“You said you’d face the scary stuff head-on, remember?” Lex asked.

Ollie’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “I—I am! I am, I am! I’m trying—”

“This will only be scary if you let it .” Lex leaned in, so close Morgan could barely see the space between them. “Follow the rules. That’s all. Not hard, right?”

The silence stretched. Then broke—crackling under the pressure of tension unspoken too long.

Ollie tried to run.

It wasn’t elegant. It wasn’t even fast. But he turned on his heel like a spooked colt and took two staggering steps toward the door.

Lex caught his arm.

There was no struggle. No flailing.

Lex pulled him back and whispered, “Now, Ollie.”

Ollie’s knees buckled. He hit the floor.

Lex didn’t gloat. He didn’t mock. He just guided him—hands at his shoulders, knees to the carpet—until Ollie was in front of the crate.

Morgan’s hand stilled, drink halfway to his mouth.

He didn’t interfere.

Not when Lex opened the cage door and brushed a piece of hair behind Ollie’s ear.

Not when Ollie whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry,” in a voice that already sounded hours older .

“I know you’re scared,” Lex said. “That’s why this isn’t punishment. It’s structure. It’ll be okay. I promise.”

Morgan knew those words. He’d used them himself once or twice.

Hearing them now, in Lex’s mouth, didn’t feel like flattery. It felt like acknowledgement.

That’s when the tears started to fall. Slow at first, traveling down Ollie’s cheeks, then faster, like he couldn’t contain them.

“Now,” Lex whispered, and that was all it took.

Ollie crawled in.

He didn’t cry out. He didn’t fight.

He curled, as best he could, into the space that wasn’t built for him. And Lex, humming under his breath, shut the door behind him. The latch clicked like a lock on a vault.

Ollie looked toward Morgan once, just once—as if asking for something neither of them would say aloud.

Now he doesn’t know who to trust.

Morgan raised his eyebrows. Took a drink.

That could’ve gone far worse.

Lex may have more of a knack for this than he first thought.

Lex didn’t speak for a while.

Not right away.

He kneeled beside the cage with deliberate grace, smoothing the towel Ollie was curled on. His palm brushed against bare skin—Ollie’s ankle, pale and goose-pimpled. The contact was light, meaningless. But Ollie flinched anyway, like he’d been struck.

Lex didn’t react.

He reached for the room service cart and opened the cloche.

Dinner arrived on time.

Something Lex was insistent on ordering—alone—on the car ride back.

Seared lamb, blushing pink at the center. Garlic mashed potatoes, piped into rosettes. Roasted carrots, fanned into a spiral.

Lex dragged the cart to the side of the cage with the kind of patient choreography Morgan had only seen once before—in a hospice nurse who’d fed his dying father.

Morgan had made his home on the windowsill, nursing his second glass of bourbon for the night.

Watching.

Listening.

He’d stopped pretending he wasn’t fascinated.

Now it was just a matter of whether Lex would let this act fall apart, or if he’d figure out his lines while it was happening.