Page 1 of His to Possess
Chapter 1
Rex
In a city where shadows danced like ghosts, I welcomed the chaos with open arms, like a predator among my pack of wolves.
I stepped out of the private elevator, the smooth glide of the doors opening to reveal the luxurious penthouse suite I had secured for tonight's gathering. Everything in here was a clear display of wealth—from the expensive marble tiles to the sleek furniture and a million-dollar view that stretched out below the windows. The penthouse loomed above the city like a fortress, but within its walls, we were anything but safe from our own obsessions.
As I moved into the space, the low murmur of familiar voices greeted me. My friends were already there, scattered around the opulent room like carefully placed chess pieces. I scanned the area, memorizing every detail with the precision that had made me both feared and respected in my world. Among the elite of Chicago, the assembly felt more like a den of wolves, each with their own hungry gaze locked on both the prey and the game.
"Colton." I nodded to the charismatic nightclub owner pouring drinks at the bar. His eyes gleamed with mischief as he raised a glass in my direction, his blonde, shoulder-length hair messily falling around his face.
"Rex, my friend," Colton smirked. "Care for a drink? I've concocted something special for tonight."
I shook my head, a small smile playing at my lips. "Perhaps later. I prefer to keep my wits for now. Especially around you."
Moving on, I spotted Luka lurking near an abstract painting, his eyes darting between the artwork and the room. His expression was unreadable, the sharp lines of his face tight, matching the intense darkness of his hair and cold eyes. "Luka," I acknowledged. He nodded silently, his gaze intense and searching. I didn't linger around him for a moment longer than necessary, and instead settled to greet the rest of my guests.
"Greyson," I said, approaching the former military interrogator standing rigid near the windows. His posture relaxed slightly at my approach. Though he was dressed up in a suit tonight, some of the tattoos that covered most of his skin still peeked just above his collar, reaching the base of his bald head.
"Rex," he responded, his voice low and controlled. "Impressive view. You've outdone yourself this time."
I allowed myself a moment of pride. "Only the best for our little friendly meetings."
Continuing my circuit, I greeted the others in turn. "Tristan, Nolan, Declan, Remy." Each man responded with a nod or a quiet word. We weren't the kind of men who bothered themselves with meaningless little chit-chat. Instead, we preferred to get to business. Or our version of it, anyway.
"Gentlemen," I addressed the room, my voice a perfect blend of warmth and authority. "Welcome to another night ofentertainment. Shall we get comfortable before the real games begin?"
Colton chuckled, raising his glass. "And here I thought the conversation was the real game. You know how I love a good verbal sparring match."
I turned to face Tristan, his smirk as irritating as ever. "Always the last to arrive, even when you're the host," he quipped, eyes glinting with amusement.
"I prefer to make an entrance," I responded, my smile cold and precise. It was a dance we had perfected over the years, this verbal sparring. Incredibly fun, and a fantastic way to assert dominance.
As if on cue, the others drifted towards us, forming a loose circle in the center of the room. The air crackled with tension and unspoken challenge. We were allies, yes, but also rivals—each of us acutely aware of the others' power and potential threat.
"Gentlemen," Remy said, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, "so good to be together as a 'group' once again. Maybe it will help us with our attitudes." A collective chuckle rippled through the assembly. We all knew what he was referring to—the therapy sessions that had brought us together.
"Ah, yes, Dr. Cummings and her misguided optimism." Colton grinned, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Remember how she thought group activities would help us 'channel our energies positively'?" The mere thought of it was comical. Some things simply weren't meant to be fixed. Not entirely, at least.
Greyson snorted, a rare display of amusement from the usually stoic man. "You mean like that disastrous attempt at team building in the park?"
"God, yes," Nolan chimed in, shaking his head. His dark curls followed each movement. "I think we traumatized those poor joggers for life."
Another round of laughter, darker this time. We all remembered that day—how our competitive nature had turned a simple exercise into something far more sinister. It had been the first time we realized how alike we truly were.
"I wonder what dear Dr. Cummings would think of us now." Tristan's calculating eyes swept over the room, his tone light. "Her star patients, now celebrating our shared interests."
I couldn't help but smirk at the understatement. "I doubt she'd approve of our methods of channeling our energies."
Declan, who had been quiet until now, spoke up. "She never understood. None of them do. They see our drive as something to be fixed, when it's what makes us who we are." A murmur of agreement rippled through the circle. It was why we continued these meetings—the shared understanding that our obsessions weren't flaws to be corrected, but integral parts of our being.
"To Dr. Cummings!" Luka raised his glass in a mocking toast. "May she never know how spectacularly her therapy failed."
We all raised our glasses, a twisted tribute to the woman who had unwittingly brought us together. As I looked around at these dangerous, obsessive men—my allies and rivals—a surge of dark satisfaction rose through me. We might have entered that therapy session as individuals seeking to change, but we had emerged as something far more potent.
A brotherhood of shadows, each of us fueling the others' darkest impulses.
I listened intently as the conversation shifted, Declan's deep voice cutting through the ambient noise of the penthouse. "While I enjoy our usual banter, I'm curious about your recent activities." His eyes, sharp and assessing, swept across the room. "Care to share any notable revelries?"
