Page 77 of Hero Worship

"Did I?" The rage I'd suppressed during the call threatened to choke me. "Because what I just did was convince a psychopath I want to turn Xander into a fucking art piece."

"No." Xander's hands found my face. "What you did was give us a way in. A way to stop them before they hurt anyone else."

"He's right." Xavier was already typing again. "The drug angle is perfect. Gives us a believable reason why Xander would be present despite normal survival instincts. Plus, it aligns with how they control Misha."

"I don't like it." The words came out rougher than intended. "Putting you in a vulnerable position like that."

"Better vulnerable than dead." Xavier's smile was sharp. "And we can control exactly what kind of vulnerable. Something that looks like compliance without actually compromising function."

I caught his meaning immediately. "You want to fake the effects?"

"Better." He pulled up what looked like chemical formulas. "Something real enough to show in a blood test, but carefully calibrated. Just enough to make him seem pliant without actually being helpless."

"No." The word came out like a growl. "Absolutely not. We're not actually drugging him."

"We have to." Xander's voice was soft, but certain. "You know we do. They'll be watching for exactly that kind of deception."

The rational part of my brain knew they were right. Knew this was our best chance at maintaining cover while keeping everyone alive. But everything in me rebelled against making Xander vulnerable on purpose.

"Think about it." Xander turned in my lap to face me fully. "I have enough residual tolerance that a careful dose would give the physical signs they expect to see without completely compromising function. My pupils would dilate, my responses would slow, but I'd still be alert enough to react if needed."

"He has a point." Xavier's voice was clinically precise. "They'll be looking for specific physiological markers. Pupillary response. Muscle tension. Basic reflexes. Things that can't be faked through performance alone."

"You're talking about taking whatever the fuck Roche is using to control Misha." The words came out rough with suppressed rage. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?"

"Less dangerous than trying to fool them with just acting. You've seen how thoroughly they watch him. One missed detail and our cover is blown."

"And what happens if something goes wrong?" I couldn't keep the protective fury from my voice. "If the dose is too high or you have an unexpected reaction?"

“I know my body,” Xander insisted. “I know what I can handle.”

"You're both insane." But I could hear the defeat in my voice. Could see the tactical logic even as everything in me screamed to protect Xander from this risk.

"Maybe." Xander pressed closer, offering comfort even as we planned to put him in danger. "But we're also right. This is our best chance at making it convincing enough to get close to Roche."

I buried my face in his hair, breathing in his familiar scent while I could still be certain it was untainted by chemicals. "I hate this."

"I know." His lips brushed my throat. "But you'll be there to keep me safe. Both of you will."

"Always." The word came out like a growl.

Shadows lengthened across ourhotel suite as I stared at my reflection, trying to find my father in the lines of my face. The same heavy brow. The same cruel set to the mouth when I let my careful control slip. Twenty years running from his legacy, and now I needed to become him completely.

I closed my eyes, remembering how he would survey his collection of preserved butterflies, each perfect specimen pinned and labeled with scientific precision.

The bespoke suit felt like a second skin as I opened my eyes, channeling my father's ghost. I had spent decades building walls against this part of myself. Now I needed to let it all come flooding back.

"People are just like butterflies," he had told me, words slurred with expensive scotch as he pressed another pin through delicate wings. "Pretty to look at, but fragile."

I watched my expression shift in the mirror as I let his words fill me. Let myself become the son he had always wanted. The kind of man who could look at Viktor bleeding out on marble floors and see only the beauty in stillness. In silence. In perfect, permanent submission.

Xander caught my eye in the reflection as he slid into the white silk dress. But I forced myself to see him as my father would. As Roche would. Not as someone to protect, but as a specimen to pin down. To own. To make perfectly, permanently still.

"Almost time," Xavier said softly from his position by the windows. His fingers never stopped moving across his laptop keys as he monitored surveillance feeds around Roche's estate. The constant click of typing had become its own kind of warfare rhythm, marking time until we had to move.

I stayed in character as I crossed to Xander, letting my father's possessive nature color every movement. My hands found his hips with bruising force as I studied our reflection. The picture we presented was exactly what Roche would want to see. Not a protector and his charge, but a collector and his prize. A connoisseur who understood that true beauty only emerged once you stripped away the illusion of free will.

"Last chance to back out," I murmured against his ear, my voice carrying that same cultured cruelty I remembered from childhood lessons about power and ownership.

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