Page 78 of The Mourning Throne
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’sso muchscarier shit out there.”
Morgan scoffed. “Like what?”
“Like thinking it’s care.” Lex’s voice dropped to a hush. “Likeevery single thingyou 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, everyhit, 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.
“Ineedto 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.
