Page 55 of The Mourning Throne
“You’re rich enough to have a chauffeur?” Pete asked, half-laughing, half-incredulous.
“Being a doctor has its benefits.”
Half-truths wrapped in lies were Morgan’s easy go-to. It was simply the most efficient way. Lex, on the other hand, worked in near complete honesty, but he had the demeanor to back it up. Sweet and unassuming. Sugar first, detonation second. No one dared bat an eyelash when he opened his mouth.
Normally.
Except now.
Lex’s eyes flicked to the rear view mirror, and even that tiny motion was sharp.
“Where to.”
Not a question. A command. Flat and clipped, like he’d said it too many times already and was barely clinging to the final thread of civility.
Poor, darling Lex. His nonexistent patience had burned out sometime between the thirty-minute mark and Morgan’s last set of texted instructions.
Morgan should’ve known better. Should’ve accounted for Lex’s inevitable unraveling the moment things didn’t unfold at his preferred, breakneck pace. A child in an adult’s frame, demanding the world spin faster for him.
Unfortunately for Lex, the world didn’t move onLextime.
Not in Morgan’s world.
Not inanyworld rooted in reality.
Morgan leaned into the backseat, one arm lazily draped over the headrest behind Pete’s shoulders.
“You remember that trailhead we passed this afternoon? I’m sure it has amazing views of the city.”
“Which?” Lex asked, and there it was—that excitement slipping in, high-pitched and eager beneath the irritation.
Morgan didn’t smile, but the edge of his mouth twitched.
“The one with the little sign, something about historical gardens.”
“I remember it.”
Next to him, Pete shifted. A breath too deep. Maybe still infinitely curious. Maybe trying to figure out if the situation had taken a turn without him realizing.
A little concern bleeding into his tone now.
“Whyare we going there?”
“Because if I have another drink, I may pass out on your lap,” Morgan said quietly. “Fresh air sounds nice, doesn’t it?”
They reached the overlook just as the wind picked up—low, sharp, storm-slick. Threading through the branches, rustling leaves and errant birds. The scent of rain lingered, sweet and electric, though the sky hadn’t opened yet.
Streetlights blinked behind them, faint and distant through the haze, but out here, on the hill, everything was tinted blue and black. A perfect stage.
Pete stepped up to the low concrete barrier, still talking. Still laughing a little too loud. Nervous.
Morgan didn’t hear a word of it. Not really.
Lex had parked just far enough away to gift them silence, but not so far he couldn’t watch. And he was—watching through the windshield, camera already raised. Morgan could spot that steady red light anywhere. Perhaps even hungrier than Lex himself.
Morgan placed a hand on Pete’s shoulder. Slipped the compact mirror from his blazer pocket and set it in Pete’s hand.
“Would you do me a favor?” he asked softly. “Hold this.”
