The Mourning Game (Our Grave Games #1)
3. Prologue
Prologue
Six Years Earlier
Lex wasn’t sure what convinced him to go into the woods. Maybe it was how often Morgan was out of the house lately. That there was something off about the usual schedule: early breakfast, morning classes, coffee, afternoon classes, light lunch, and home.
Morgan was a goddamn machine, and Lex knew how every cog and gear fit together .
And—as always—Lex’s boredom had turned into curiosity, and then that frenzied, desperate need to know until he couldn’t ignore it anymore.
Trailing Morgan without getting caught? Not the easiest thing in the world, but he’d been doing it since he was thirteen and it was just engrained in his psyche.
Convincing himself his stepbrother was probably out here screwing some girl? Much less difficult.
But it didn’t take long to realize how very wrong he’d been.
Now he was stuck inside of a bush, breathing so hard his throat hurt, as he watched Morgan’s fists smash into some guy’s face, over and over. It was ugly. Brutal. The sound of crunching bone too loud between the trees, too loud inside Lex’s head.
This shit should’ve sent him running back, hollering for help. But he couldn’t stop staring.
This wasn’t Morgan. He wasn’t supposed to look so… alive.
Lex knew Morgan—had known him for years. Distant and cold. Mean. But this Morgan? Oh, this Morgan was someone else. The words rolling off his tongue sounded like he was talking to a lover, not beating someone to within an inch of their life.
“You’re fine now,” Morgan murmured, low and sweet, the words nearly drowned out by the rustling of leaves. “I know how much it hurts. Let it out. No one’s here to listen except me. No one will judge you if you scream.”
The guy on the ground groaned and Morgan crouched down, tilting his head to one side, then the other. It was like he was looking at an animal or a work of art, not a person . “You can’t even do that for me, can you?” he sighed. “It’s alright. I have you. Everything will be better.”
Lex’s stomach churned, heart hammering inside his chest like it wanted to bolt for safety. But he couldn’t move. He couldn’t even blink. The guy whimpered, and Morgan reached out, fingers sliding down the bloodied face in a way that seemed sexual as hell.
And that’s when he felt it— the sick twist deep inside his gut. It wasn’t envy or jealousy. It was something worse.
Wanting this was bad. He knew he shouldn’t be nearly drooling, his breath catching in his throat every time he tried to inhale.
God, he wanted to be the one under Morgan’s hands.
Maybe not like this though—not exactly like this. But fuck, close enough. He wanted to see what Morgan looked like up close, to feel the intensity coming off him, to be the one Morgan cared enough to shatter. Because you couldn’t break someone this badly without caring. You couldn’t leave someone twisted and brutalized without giving a shit.
Lex bit down on his lip until he tasted blood, trying to keep himself from making a sound. As much as he was enjoying this, he wasn’t dumb enough to not realize the consequences of being here. Watching .
Pulling out his phone, he should have dialed 911. He should’ve been on a call with the cops telling them what was happening.
Was he?
Hell no.
His finger hit the record button on his camera, and now he was taping this whole, grotesque mess.
Keeping this? That was the most important thing .
The guy was sobbing something incoherent, too wet and broken for Lex to make out the words, but whatever it was turned Morgan’s voice to velvet.
“That’s it. See? You’re learning. Good.”
This is the real him. The thought tightened Lex’s chest, his head spinning.
Morgan wasn’t the student who locked himself in his room, spending hours hunched over medical textbooks. That was the mask he wore for the world. This, r ight here , was who Morgan really was.
Picking someone apart just to put them back together again was the ultimate gift—a perfect, intimate moment. And Morgan made it look damn good.
Lex wanted that . He wanted it so badly it hurt.
Having Morgan unravel him bit by bit? Knowing they existed in the same place, forcing Morgan to actually fucking see him, and then letting those hands reshape the scraps and pieces into something so much more.
How great would that be?
After watching, nothing else compared. Not the friends he was with, not the girl he was making out with to keep his mind busy, not the beers he had drank.
It all just felt… dead. Boring.
He wanted to be alone in his room, looking at the video he recorded. His phone was calling to him, begging him to press play. Watching it in person was fucking electric . Now he just wanted to see if he could get that same buzz again.
Being here with these people? No thanks.
So when Lex saw the headlights of Morgan’s car pull into their driveway, he didn’t hesitate to latch onto the excuse.
“Why can’t that asshole just stay at the dorms?” the girl muttered, huffing when he pulled away. Lex couldn’t remember her name—Mia, Molly, something that began with an M . She wasn’t someone he knew personally. One of his friends had brought her over and, honestly? She was more annoying than hot.
“Could buy us something better than this shit,” someone else said, shaking the empty can of cheap beer in his face.
Lex almost laughed. He pushed himself off the couch and stretched the feeling back into his legs. “Doubt it. I can ask, though. Fair warning: if he chews me out, I’m gonna be pissed.”
Pissed wasn’t the right word.
If Morgan said more than half a sentence to him, Lex would’ve been over the fucking moon. Hell, something other than the curt “morning” would’ve sent his heart racing.
His mother always told him to be more patient, to be less in Morgan’s face. Morgan came from a different world and he needed to be more understanding. Lex had been understanding. Ever since his mom had started dating—then married—Morgan’s father and crammed them all under one roof, turning his easy life into a circus act.
The constant disapproval from both of his “new family members” was a nightmare .
Watching Morgan climb out of the car, all Lex could wonder was: how did he seem so damn casual, like nothing had happened? How did he make it look that easy? Normal?
By the time Morgan unlocked the front door, he was already there. Waiting.
“Where were you?” he asked, hoping for some sort of response. Something pissed. Something offhand. Something .
Nothing.
Morgan dropped his messenger bag by the front door and hung his jacket on the coat rack. His knuckles were swollen, scraped raw at the top, and the smears on his fingers could’ve been dirt or blood.
The sight sent a new thrill down Lex’s spine, curling into his stomach. He didn’t want to let it show, to say something he couldn’t take back, but. Fuck. It was hard. The bruising, the damp smell of the woods lingering on Morgan’s jeans, the bored look… it was all he wanted to talk about.
“Hey, would you buy us something?” Lex kept going, the words coming out faster— louder— than he intended. “Vodka? Tequila? I know you love bourbon. The guy at the convenience store won’t sell us anything but beer. We’ve got money.”
Halfway up the stairs, Morgan paused.
For a second Lex thought he wasn’t going to respond—that he’d just forgotten something from his car. From the person he’d left lying in the woods. But Morgan turned his head, and he was looking at him. Actually looking at him.
“You wanna come drink with us? With me?” Lex tried, a little quieter .
“The only time I’d buy you alcohol is when I wanted to see you choke on your vomit.”
That was it.
And then Morgan was up the stairs, shutting the door to his room.
It was cruel as hell, but Lex couldn’t tell if he was more humiliated or excited. Or both. His face was hot, his throat was dry, and he couldn’t move from his spot at the foot of the stairs.
He should’ve forced himself to turn around. He should’ve headed back into the living room with his friends. He should not have stayed there, frozen, replaying that sentence over and over inside his head.
Eighteen words.
That was the most Morgan had ever said to him. Ever .
Lex couldn’t stop the stupid grin.