Page 2 of His to Possess
Nolan was the first to speak. "Let's just say a certain businessman who thought he could evade justice found out the hard way that karma has a name." He paused, a flickerof something—guilt, perhaps?—crossing his face before his expression hardened again. "And it's mine."
I arched an eyebrow, intrigued by the cryptic statement. Nolan's brand of vigilante justice had always walked a fine line, and I found myself wondering just how far he had gone this time. With him, it was wise to expect the worst. The only problem was, he'd push the limits further each time.
Declan nodded approvingly before launching into his own tale. "I've recently taken on a new client—a rising political star with more enemies than friends." His voice dropped, taking on a possessive edge that piqued my interest. "She's challenging. Refuses to follow even the most basic security protocols." A dark chuckle escaped him. "But I'll keep her safe, whether she likes it or not."
I fought the urge to smile myself. This was how we operated. Most of the time, we'd share stories for entertainment, but usually, we'd keep the names out of them. Sure, we all had some things in common, and were quite possibly the only people to understand each other, but none of us was stupid. At the end of the day, the fact remained—we were also rivals.
I filed away this information, noting the way Declan's eyes had gleamed when he spoke of this woman. There had been more than professional interest there—a fact that could prove useful in the future.
Greyson spoke next, his tone clipped and precise. "I've been experimenting with new techniques in my private sessions." He didn't elaborate, but the cold smile playing at his lips spoke volumes. "I've found some particularly effective ways to extract information."
Colton leaned forward, his charismatic grin firmly in place. "Well, I've just acquired a new club downtown. The previous owner was persuaded to sell." He winked, and I could onlyimagine the type of persuasion Colton had employed. "It's the perfect venue for my tendencies."
As each man spoke, I listened carefully, my mind cataloging every detail. These men, dangerous and obsessive as they were, were also predictable in their own ways. Their loyalty to our circle was unquestionable, but that didn't mean their weaknesses couldn't be exploited if necessary. That was why I had to keep my ears open. Always.
Luka, usually reticent, surprised us all by speaking up. "I've found a new muse," he said softly, his eyes distant. "She doesn't know it yet, but she's already become the centerpiece of my latest collection."
The room fell silent for a moment, our shared depravities hanging heavy in the air. I could feel the tension, the unspoken desires and dark intentions that simmered just beneath the surface of our carefully maintained facades. Each of us, in our own way, was driven by a need that went beyond typical desires. It was what bound us together, this shared understanding of what it meant to be consumed by something greater than ourselves.
Nolan broke the moment with a question pointed at me.
"So, Rex, what's your target for this month? Your tasks are always so intriguing."
I felt the weight of their attention as Nolan's question hung in the air. A slow smile spread across my face, savoring the moment. These men, dangerous and obsessive in their own right, were hanging on my every word. It was intoxicating.
"Ah, Nolan," I said, my voice smooth as silk. "Always so direct. But you're right, of course. I do have my eye on something… special."
I moved to the window, gazing out at the Chicago skyline. The city lights glittered like the facets of a precious gem, reminding me of my latest fixation.
"There's an auction tomorrow." I turned back to face the room. "A painting is going up for sale. 'The Veiled Maiden' by Ishnii Volkov." I paused, noting the flicker of recognition in Tristan's eyes. Of course, he would know. The man's knowledge was as vast as it was dangerous. "It's not just any painting," I continued, my voice taking on a reverent tone. "It's Volkov's lost masterpiece. Thought to have been destroyed during the Russian Revolution, it resurfaced in a private collection last year."
My pulse quickened as I spoke, the thrill of acquisition already coursing through my veins.
"The brushwork is exquisite, the use of light and shadow unparalleled. But it's the subject that truly captivates." My eyes gleamed with intensity. "A naked woman, half-hidden behind a gossamer veil. Her expression… It's a perfect blend of abandon and submission. You can't quite see her full face, but what's visible is hauntingly beautiful." I realized I had been speaking faster, my usual composure slipping in my excitement. I took a breath, reining myself in. "The work is priceless, gentlemen. And tomorrow, it will be mine."
A moment of silence followed my declaration. Then Colton chuckled, breaking the spell.
"Oh, Rex," he said, his tone light but with an undercurrent of mockery. "Always chasing after inanimate objects. Don't you ever tire of art that can't reciprocate?"
A ripple of dark laughter spread through the room. I kept my expression neutral, but I could feel a flicker of irritation.
"Some of us prefer our art to be a bit more… responsive." Colton's eyes glinted with mischief. "Remember that lovely redhead from last year? Now she was a true masterpiece."
Another round of laughter, louder this time. I could see the amusement in their eyes, mixed with something darker. Theywere recalling my reputation, the women I had pursued in the past with the same fervor I now reserved for my art collection.
"My tastes have evolved, Colton," I replied coolly, refusing to rise to his bait. "I find inanimate objects far less disappointing."
As the night progressed, the conversation shifted, a darker undercurrent pulling us into shared memories. I watched as the façade of control slipped from each man's face, revealing the cracks beneath. I leaned back, allowing the others to speak first. It was a calculated move—I preferred to observe, especially when reminiscing about our common past.
Luka, usually so guarded, surprised me by speaking up. "The isolation," he said softly, his gaze fixed on some point beyond the room. "That's what she never grasped. How it shapes you and molds you into something else." I could see the others nodding, a shared understanding passing between us. We had all felt it—that crushing loneliness that came from being fundamentally different from those around us.
Greyson's voice cut through the silence, sharp and bitter. "War breaks you. Rebuilds you into something harder and colder." His eyes met mine, and I saw the reflection of my own darkness there. "She thought she could fix that with therapy and trust falls." I couldn't blame her for trying, though. She more than likely saw us as a challenge, something that could use her help to be rebuilt back into functioning members of society. What she didn't understand, though, was that some of us were far beyond rehabilitation in any way.
A humorless chuckle rippled through the room. We all remembered those futile exercises, the patronizing way Dr. Cummings had tried to normalize our behaviors.
Tristan spoke next, his tone measured but with an underlying current of pride. "I discovered something in those sessions, though," he admitted. "Not what she intended, of course. Butwatching her fumbled attempts to understand us… It showed me the power of the mind. How it can be shaped and manipulated."
As they spoke, I found myself reflecting on my own past. The chaos of my childhood flashed before me—the unpredictability and the constant fear. Most would say it was the kind of environment no child should ever grow up in, but I liked to consider it the thing that built me into the man I was today. Or, at the very least, one of many factors. I remembered the first time I had felt the rush of control, of bending the world to my will. It had been intoxicating ever since.
