Page 3 of His to Possess
"Control—that's what it all comes down to. In a world of chaos, we each found our way to exert dominance," I murmured.
The others nodded, a heavy silence falling over us. We had never been so open with each other and had never allowed our vulnerabilities to show quite like this. It was uncomfortable, but there was a strange sense of relief in it, too. I was about to steer the conversation back to safer ground when Remy intervened.
"While this trip down memory lane is enlightening, I think we're losing sight of why we're here."
I turned to face him, intrigued. Remy had always been the most focused among us, his obsession with perfection extending to every aspect of his life. Now, his gray eyes were blazing with an intensity that captured everyone's attention.
"We didn't form this circle to wallow in our pasts," he continued, standing up and pacing the room. "We came together because we recognized in each other the same drive, the same… hunger that society deems unacceptable."
He stopped, turning to face us all. "Dr. Cummings and her ilk tried to fix us and mold us into their idea of normal. But we knew better. We saw the potential in our so-called flaws." I watched as the others straightened, their expressions sharpening. Remy had always had a talent for reading a room and knowing exactly what to say to manipulate the mood. "Look at whatwe've accomplished since then," he continued, his voice gaining momentum. "Colton, your clubs are the talk of the city. Luka, your work pushes boundaries that others are afraid to even approach." He turned to me, and I met his gaze steadily. "And you, Rex. This painting you're after… It's not just about owning a beautiful object, is it? It's about the thrill of the hunt, the satisfaction of acquiring something that others can only dream of possessing."
I nodded, a slow smile spreading across my face. Remy understood, perhaps better than anyone, the drive that pushed us all.
"We're not broken," Remy declared, his voice ringing with conviction. "We're evolved. We've taken our obsessions and turned them into strengths. So instead of dwelling on the past, why don't we focus on the future? On what we can achieve when we embrace who we truly are?"
As the night wore on, I found my mind drifting back to the upcoming auction. The Veiled Maiden called to me, and her mysterious allure demanded my full attention. I began to formulate a strategy, mentally reviewing my resources and potential obstacles. August Mendelson, my long-time rival, would undoubtedly be there. I would need to be prepared for his tactics.
Half-listening to the others, I caught snippets of their plans. Colton was enthusiastic about his new club opening, his eyes gleaming with the promise of fresh conquests. Luka spoke in hushed tones about his search for a new muse, and I couldn't help but wonder what poor soul would fall into his web next. Greyson's interest in a new submissive piqued my curiosity briefly—his tastes were always unique. As they spoke, I observed the loaded glances exchanged between us. Every word, every revelation was potential currency in our world.
The conversation seemed to stretch out endlessly, until Remy prompted us to reach for a more traditional entertainment. "Shall we move to the poker table?"
There was an immediate shift in energy. Backs straightened, eyes sharpened. The real competition was about to begin. We moved to the green felt table, each of us settling into our chosen seats with practiced ease. There was a moment of silent understanding as we assembled—this was more than just a game. It was a microcosm of our lives, a battleground where we tested our wits and nerves against each other.
High stakes, calculated risks and the thrill of the chase. It was all there, condensed into this ritual we had cultivated over the years. As I reached for the deck of cards, I took a final glance around the table. Tristan's face was a mask of calm, but I could see the calculation in his eyes. Declan's posture was relaxed, but his fingers tapped a steady rhythm on the table's edge—a tell I had learned to read over time. Colton's trademark grin was in place, but there was a predatory edge to it now.
I began to shuffle, the familiar sound of cards sliding against each other filling the air. This, like the auction tomorrow, was a game I intended to win.
Chapter 2
Rex
The scent of power and opportunity had hit me the moment I stepped into The Ethereal Gallery. It was intoxicating, a heady mix that set my pulse racing.
I adjusted my cufflinks, a habitual gesture that grounded me as I surveyed the room. The Ethereal lived up to its name that day, the late afternoon sun streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a golden hue on the polished marble floors. The air was thick with anticipation and the cloying scents of wealth—designer perfumes, aged leather, and the subtle musk of ambition.
My eyes scanned the crowd, sweeping over faces and potential threats. I recognized several high-profile collectors, their presence confirming the significance of that day's auction. All of them would undoubtedly be here to claim the piece they had coveted for so long. It was just how this sort of event functioned—why I was here, too. A waiter glided past, offering flutes ofchampagne. I declined with a subtle shake of my head. I wanted to keep all my focus on tonight's mission.
As I moved deeper into the gallery, eyes were upon me. Dozens of them, at least. Good. Let them look. Let them wonder. I had cultivated my reputation carefully, and the whispers that followed in my wake were a testament to its potency.
I made my way towards the display area, my stride purposeful. And then I saw her, the painting that had consumed my thoughts for weeks. She hung on the far wall, bathed in soft light that accentuated every brushstroke. My breath caught for a moment, desire coursing through me. I wanted it. I needed it. The artwork was even more beautiful in person than in photographs. None of them could truly capture her full glory.
"Rex!"
I turned, smoothly masking my irritation at the interruption. Charles Worthington, a fellow collector with more money than taste, beamed at me. His wife, Rebecca, hung on his arm like a shiny ornament. She was a good twenty years younger than him, an addition to his collection more than an actual partner to spend the rest of his life with.
"Charles, Rebecca." I nodded, lips curving into a practiced smile. "I trust you're both well?"
"Splendid, simply splendid!" Charles boomed. "I hear there's quite the bidding war expected for that Renoir. You wouldn't happen to be throwing your hat in the ring, would you?"
I chuckled, the sound low and calculated. "Now, Charles, you know better than to ask a man his intentions before an auction."
Rebecca tittered, her laughter high and false. "Oh, Rex, you're always so mysterious. It's part of your charm."
My eyes flicked to her, noting the way she leaned slightly towards me. Predictable. Boring. I had collected far more intriguing specimens. Charles, on the other hand, didn't even notice the subtle signs. Or perhaps he didn't care at all. It wasknown that Rebecca had wandering eyes, but he didn't seem to mind.
"You're too kind, Rebecca," I said, voice smooth as silk. "I'm afraid I must excuse myself. Do enjoy the auction."
I moved on before they could protest, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease. Eyes followed me—some curious, some envious, some hungry. I memorized each gaze, filing away the information for future use. It came from years of practice—one had always to be aware of their surroundings.
