Page 93 of The Mourning Throne
But ofpossibility.
Morgan hadn’t stopped him.
Just like he hadn’t stopped him last night.
Lex stared at the photo. Let it carve its way into his very being.
Then closed the camera roll.
Put the phone on the pillow beside him.
“Tonight,” he whispered into the quiet, “he’s going to see exactly who I am.”
He smiled at the ceiling.
“And it’s going to be thebest showhe’s ever fucking seen.”
Chapter 17
The air outside the club hit hot and humid. Lex liked it better that way.
London was sweatingfor him.
He hadn’t spoken since they left the hotel. hadn’t needed to. Morgan had looked at him once—flashed that sharp, toothy grin that made Lex’s insides soft and his dick hard—and he was still riding the high of that.
Because that? That was proof they wereequals.
And tonight was all about proof. Precision. Control.
He hadn’t brought Ollie here for fun.
He brought Ollie to see how much Ollietrusted him. To show Morgan that this washis gamenow.
It had started as a test.
Leave Ollie alone.
Sit him at the bar, surrounded by dozens of people—music, liquor, lights—and see what happened.
No hand around the back of his neck. No whispered threats.
Just a single instruction:Stay put and I’ll keep you out of the cage tonight.
Lex sat at one of the booths close by, one shoulder pressed into the velvet, one knee lodged against Morgan’s thigh. He could see Ollie’s profile perfectly from here, the way his posture remained rigid, the slight tremble of his fingers when the bartender asked if he wanted another drink.
He said no.
Nothank you, actually.
Lex smirked.
Ollie didn’t run this time.
The illusion of freedom was a beautiful thing. Ollie didn’t question him. Didn’t scream or cry when Lex told him to get dressed in his regular clothes.
Not one single outburst in public.
This wasbetterthan the cage.
