I watch Rex’s reaction carefully, savoring the subtle shifts in his expression. His jaw clenches, a muscle twitching beneath the skin. It’s barely perceptible, but to someone like me, it might as well be a neon sign flashing his discomfort.
“You’re assuming quite a lot, Tristan,” Rex responds, his voice low and controlled. But I catch the undercurrent of tension, the slight strain in his words.
Tristan’s lips curl into a smirk. “Am I? I’d say it’s more… professional observation.”
I lean back in my chair, fingers steepled beneath my chin. This is the part I enjoy most—watching these powerful men dance around each other, probing for weaknesses, desperate to maintain their carefully crafted facades.
“Professional observation?” I interject, unable to resist stirring the pot further. “And here I thought you left your work at the office, Tristan. Or do you always psychoanalyze your friends?”
Tristan’s intense gaze shifts to me, a challenge glinting in those swirling hazel eyes. “Friends, Remy? Is that what we are?”
A chuckle ripples around the table, dark and knowing. We all understand the nature of our relationships—alliances born of shared darkness, not friendship.
“Now, now,” Colton cuts in, his charm slicing through the tension like a knife. “Let’s not pretend we’re here for group therapy. Though I must say, the idea is… intriguing.”
I watch as Rex’s fingers twitch toward his glass, a tell he’s trying desperately to hide. “If you’re all quite finished dissecting my personal life,” he growls, “perhaps we could return to the game?”
“Of course,” I reply smoothly, but I can’t resist one final twist of the knife. “After all, we wouldn’t want to keep you from your… perfect match for too long.”
Rex’s eyes lock onto mine, a silent war raging behind that steel-gray gaze. For a moment, I wonder if I’ve pushed too far, if the carefully controlled mask will finally slip.
But then he smiles, cold and sharp as a blade. “Worry about your own life, Remy. Or lack thereof.”
The table falls silent, the tension palpable. I feel a thrill run down my spine, a mix of excitement and something darker. This is the game within the game, the real reason we’re all here. Not for cards or money, but for the delicate dance of power and control.
I lean back, savoring the shift in the conversation. Luka’s question hangs in the air, heavy with implication. I watch as the masks slip, just a fraction, revealing the darkness that lurks beneath each man’s carefully constructed facade.
“Do any of us really think we can keep someone long-term?” Luka’s voice is quiet, but it cuts through the room like a blade. “We’re too twisted for that.”
His frosted irises fix on Rex, but I can feel the weight of his words settling on all of us. It’s a truth we’ve all danced around but never quite faced head-on.
Nolan Sutton grunts, tossing his chips into the pot with a casual flick of his wrist. “I’ve accepted it,” he mutters, his deep voice carrying the weight of years of isolation and violence.“There’s no happily ever after for us. Just more blood and pain. Apart from Rex for now.”
I can’t help but smirk at that. Rex’s relationship with Laurel has been a point of fascination—and skepticism—for all of us.
“Is that what you think, Nolan?” I ask, unable to resist probing further. “That we’re all destined for solitude?”
Nolan’s dark eyes meet mine, unflinching. “You telling me you see a white picket fence in your future, Remy?”
A chuckle ripples around the table, dark and knowing.
“Maybe Rex’s onto something,” Colton chimes in, his charm barely masking the bitterness in his voice. “Find someone who’s as fucked up as we are. Match made in hell.”
Tristan leans forward, his eyes gleaming with that predatory intelligence that makes him such a dangerous psychiatrist. “But can any of us truly let someone in? To see all the darkness, the obsessions that drive us?”
“Bold of you to assume we haven’t already,” Declan mutters, his fingers drumming a restless rhythm on the table.
I arch an eyebrow at that. “Care to elaborate, Declan? Sounds like there’s a story there.”
Declan’s green eyes flash with something dangerous. “We all have our ghosts, Remy. Some of us just choose to keep them closer than others.”
The tension around the table ratchets up another notch. We’re treading on dangerous ground now, each man guarding his secrets while simultaneously probing for weaknesses in the others.
“Maybe that’s the key,” Luka muses, his voice barely above a whisper. “Finding someone who can dance with our demons without getting consumed by them.”
I turn my gaze to Rex, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet during this exchange. “What do you think, Rex? Is Laurel your demon dancer?”
Rex’s eyes meet mine, a storm raging behind that steel-gray gaze. For a moment, I think he might lash out, but then his lips curl into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
