Page 2 of Doomed
I lean forward, grinning. “Lucky for you, brother, you happen to know someone with exquisite taste and an eye for the finer things in life.”
Both my brothers stare at me.
“What? I’m cultured as hell.”
Vane nearly chokes on his whiskey, and Xavier’s expression shifts from irritated to outright incredulous.
“Cultured?” Vane wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Knox, you think Michelangelo is a fucking ninja turtle.”
I throw my hands up in mock offense. “Hey, those are classic works of art right there. Renaissance masters, every one of them.”
“You hung a neon beer sign in your bedroom and called it ‘ambient lighting,” Xavier deadpans, leaning back in his chair, giving me a look that could freeze hell over.
“That was mood lighting, and it was very sophisticated,” I protest. “Besides, I also have that painting of dogs playing poker. That’s culture.”
Vane loses it completely, laughter shaking his shoulders. “The one you bought at a gas station?”
“It was a vintage gas station,” I correct. “Totally different aesthetic.”
Xavier pinches the bridge of his nose like I’m giving him a migraine. Probably am. “Knox, last week you asked me if the Louvre was a type of cheese.”
“In my defense, it sounds French and fancy. Could go either way.”
“You ordered chicken tenders at that fancy Italian place downtown,” Vane adds, grinning. “When the waiter tried to explain the specials in Italian, you asked if he could ‘speak American.’“
I wave dismissively. “Look, I know what I like, and I like things that don’t require a translator to order. That’s practical, not uncultured.”
“You called the winegrape juice for adults,” Xavier continues relentlessly.
“Accurate description.”
“You asked the sommelier if they had anything that goes good with pizza rolls.”
Vane’s practically wheezing now. “Remember when he thought ‘abstract art’ meant the artist was too lazy to finish the painting?”
“Those blobs could mean anything! That’s the point!” I lean forward. “At least I appreciate art. You two wouldn’t know good taste if it bit you on the ass.”
“Alright, enough.” Xavier holds up a hand, cutting through our banter like a blade. “This could go on all fucking night, and I have actual business to handle.”
I straighten up, wiping the grin off my face. When Xavier uses that tone, playtime’s over.
“Look, Knox,” he continues. “Do you want to find me a new artist to commission pieces for the back rooms or not?”
“Seriously?” I blink at him. “You’re actually trusting me with this?”
“You said you have exquisite taste,” Vane chimes in, smirking. “Time to prove it, little brother.”
Xavier’s expression doesn’t change. “I need someone who understands the atmosphere we’re cultivating here. Dark, seductive, expensive. Can you handle that without turning it into a fucking joke?”
The challenge in his voice sparks my competitive side. “Hell yeah, I can handle it. I’ll find you someone who’ll make these walls sing with sex and sophistication.”
“Good.” Xavier nods. “Budget’s flexible, but I want quality. Real quality, not gas station quality.”
“Ouch.” I clutch my chest. “My artistic sensibilities are wounded.”
“Your artistic sensibilities can heal on your own time.” Xavier pulls out his phone, and his jaw tightens. “Speaking of business—Vane, what’s the update on Tyson’s next shipment?”
Vane sobers instantly, the playful mood evaporating like smoke. “Should be rolling through Thursday night. Same route as usual—highway corridor through the industrial district.”
