Chapter 4 Maddox #3
The high saints and the grand magistrate will do anything to convince the rest of the acolytes in the Order that their house is strong and should be voted in for the next five-year cycle.
If the Shaws and Dornmonts provide a united front, it guarantees our two houses seats at the table.
Thus, the Shaws and Dornmonts can continue running the world as they see fit.
It’s why every man, woman, child, and dog would happily sit as a neophyte at the bottom of the food chain, eating crumbs the higher-ups let trickle down. Being an acolyte means they’ve touched power, and through it, when they eventually die, for better or worse, they’ve left a mark on history.
True separation of powers doesn’t exist in this universe. There are four branches of government: legislative, executive, judicial, and the Order of the Hallowed Hive. Only one of them carries real weight.
And men like my father, they’ll settle for nothing less than the crown. Even if it means wielding both offspring as a bargaining chip for reelection.
It never ceases to astound me that a four-hundred-year-old secret society that meddles in government election fraud practices democracy. It is, however, still incredibly corrupt.
Spencer leans back on the couch, wearing a smug expression as he kicks his legs up on the armrest. I’ve given up on telling him to show my furniture the respect it deserves.
“Need I remind you of the arrangement, Maddox?” Mother says, far too smug.
My muscles stiffen. “No need.”
Everything in this godforsaken world is about some form of contract.
The only time I can simply be is in front of a canvas.
At least that used to be the case. Now, I’m second-guessing every stroke.
Everything that’s ever given me any semblance of control is slipping through my fingers, and I have no idea how to get it back.
“What arrangement?” Spencer mouths.
By my design, my little brother’s knowledge of the inner workings of his reality is abysmal.
I would have abandoned everything to do with the Shaw name the second I finished high school if it weren’t for the person dirtying my sofa.
Hell, I would have moved back to England, or anywhere my father isn’t.
Maybe even purgatory, since Roland is guaranteed to be in hell.
As it happens, Spencer wants to stay here to study, so he can work at Wilson Shaw and eventually take over from our sperm donor to run the family’s global accounting firm. I protected my brother so well that, at the ripe age of twenty-one, he still thinks Roland is a god.
I’ve fucked up successfully.
“Then I’ll have Jessica arrange for the two of you to have dinner at the yacht club on Friday night.” Mother’s voice holds the same arrogance it always does. Except this time there’s a tilt that matches the battle she thinks she won against me.
Everything in this town is a scheme.
Dinner at the Order’s breeding ground on the busiest night of the week would send a hum through the grapevine.
Abi and I have been playing this charade for years; we have a public outing every once in a while, pretend like we can stand each other’s company, then live our separate lives. Spencer finds it amusing.
A couple of years ago, I moved her into one of the properties I own to sate the vultures.
And I do visit the property. Not to see her, of course.
But every person deserves to have a place where they can clean, bleach, and grind parts of the human body without anyone around to hear.
I can’t very well be doing that in my studio on campus.
I’ve been ignoring Abi’s calls as well. She isn’t going to get me out of my artistic block, so why bother wasting time with her when the only thing we have in common is our desire not to be married to one another?
“Very well,” I relent. “I suppose I should look forward to a night of mind-numbing boredom this Friday. How exciting.”
“Your father and I have concerns that you are not as enthusiastic about this proposal as you should be. If you’re having reservations, Roland will consider alternative options.”
My grip tightens around the armrest of my chair. My sperm donor has been lording Spencer’s happiness over me since the second he came out of the womb. The threat is simple and effective: Stay in line or your brother’s next.
I’m not worried about swapping engagements with him. Abigail and Spencer are already friends—her boyfriend is on Spencer’s football team. My concerns are for the more nefarious sides of the Order’s dealings that he’d be dragged into. The real reason I sacrificed so he didn’t have to.
“Are the bells I’m planning on wearing not loud enough? Or should I hire a mariachi band for dessert as a declaration of my adoration?”
“Find the ring, Maddox,” Mother warns.
The line goes dead. Spencer snatches the phone off the table and frantically taps away at the device, grinning to himself.
“What shit are you stirring?”
He shows me the screen where he’s turned Mother’s contact name from Birthgiver to Sauron. “She wants the ring.”
“Bloody hell.” I chuckle, shaking my head. “Please don’t show her that.”
“She’d probably poison me.”
I won’t disagree.
My own phone pings. I click the notification to see the pin-drop emoji that was texted to me.
Good. Someone needs killing. It’s like my muse is being handed right to me.