Chapter 16 Maddox
MADDOX
I shouldn’t be here.
I’ve done a lot of stupid shit in my life, but this is by far the dumbest of them all. And I’ve done it three times now. This has the potential to be a giant cock-up.
My eyes dart away from her sleeping form long enough to put pencil to paper and crosshatch the shadows beneath her jaw.
Reyna has a cute little room. An exposed-brick feature wall decorated with old movie posters and art prints, filming equipment everywhere, photos of her mother and friends, a couple of packets of Hello Panda and Kusuka, a bookshelf with four different editions of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, and six special editions of H.
P. Lovecraft’s works. It’s the type of room I pictured her having.
The part that pleases me to no end is the switchblade on her bedside table. It seems she has survival instincts after all. Terrible ones if she hasn’t sensed my presence.
Like the other two times, I wait until she falls asleep before letting myself into her apartment. I’m half tempted to throw her over my shoulder and bring her home since I can’t seem to find a moment of peace unless she’s around.
I can’t find it when she’s there either.
However, sitting here in the dark, or back in class, with my sketchpad in hand, I find myself enjoying the process of creating again.
The pressure is there to do her beauty justice, but the perfectly imperfect drawings have become the rare thing that brings me solace.
I’d forgotten what it means to draw for myself, without worry of judgment.
Admittedly, I’m a tad disappointed that she sleeps in pants, fluffy socks, and a T-shirt. I would’ve preferred she slept nude, though I doubt my Reyna-related sensibilities would have been able to withstand such a sight.
I was less like a man and more like a feral beast when her tights were on earlier today. Once they were off, I was sure the chains around my self-control were going to snap.
She was in my office hours ago, and I still can’t get the image of her on my couch out of my head.
The sounds she made. The way her legs shook.
The outline of her nipples through her bra.
The taste of her. The sound of my fucking name on her lips.
It sounded like a melody. A torturously tempting one.
She’s lucky she kept one foot on my chair to keep me back. If not, I would have fallen to my knees and shoved my face between her divine thighs. My mouth would have been on every inch of her: her scars, tattoos, her luscious, tanned skin.
If it weren’t going to be a titanic rip-off, I would have asked her to stay exactly where she was so I could draw her.
But of course that acolyte twat had to fucking ruin it.
Bloody Shepherd couldn’t have sent me a text like a normal person, could he?
No, he had to come and ruin my day. The graying twat sent his latest bloodhound in training to deliver my next assignment, and the curious expression Alex gave Reyna rubbed me the wrong way.
Another member of the Order is on the chopping block. An issue I can deal with tomorrow. For now, I can sit here and just be next to her.
It was for the best that she left earlier. Something like that cannot happen again. There are simply too many risks that I can’t afford.
Murder isn’t only an art form, it’s a method of control.
Because of her, I have none. It’s both liberating and vexing.
Worse. It’s addictive.
The same way getting lost in a painting is magnetizing and taking a life is thrilling.
I know what the definition of obsession is. I understand its implication. Feeling it is something completely different.
She should never have crossed paths with someone like me. This is the last night I will allow myself to watch her sleep. The next time I’m alone with her, I might try to fuck her. If that happens, she’ll never escape me, because I’ll never let her go.
I’d make Reyna Sinaga mine. But it would cost me everything.
She’s avoiding me.
I keep expecting to see Reyna around campus, except I never do. Not once have I spotted her golden highlights running away from me. Which means one thing, and I hate it.
I was worried when she missed class yesterday. In fact, I assumed the very worst. I thought the Order had gotten to her and my father had put a bullet in her head to ensure I solidify the alliance with House Dornmont. I thought she went searching for my kills and ended up in a ditch.
Joke’s on me, though, because I found her having bubble tea with her friend Kimi instead.
Thinking that she regrets what we did leaves a nasty pit in my stomach. I sure as shit don’t regret it. In fact, the whole interaction is constantly playing in my head. I’ve been sporting a semi for the past week.
I should be happy she’s putting distance between us since it’s apparent that I’m incapable of doing so. Instead, I’m livid beyond measure. I’m not remotely pleased unless she’s somewhere I can see her, and when I do see her, I’m somehow even more pissed off.
This morning, I hid outside of her film-editing class like some bloody stalker to confirm she was alive.
I also paid a visit to her screenwriting professor to bump up her grade from a B to an A?.
But several hours have passed. I’ve killed people for the Order in substantially less time.
I’m not sure what her schedule is like this afternoon, but I’ve been taught how to hunt. I’ll find her.
It’ll all be much easier once I put a tracker on her.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out to read the text.
SHEPHERD:
Confirmed.
Fantastic. More work. Just what I wanted. I don’t exactly find it fun playing assassin for a tyrannical system when it doesn’t benefit me.
Jogging up the steps to my room, I give a curt nod to the students passing by. It’s lunchtime when the university is busiest, so the polite expression slips right from my face after my shoulder brushes one too many people.
At least there’s something good waiting for me in my office. I can check Nicole’s and Kimi’s social media to see if they’ve posted anything with Reyna in it to confirm she’s still fine. Otherwise, I’ll stop by the library to see her.
Once that concern is out of the way, I can focus on painting. I’ve finished the cliffside angel painting and started two new pieces that I’ve been working on while Reyna ignores me. One of them has pushed me in ways I never thought it would, but all the nights I’ve spent—
“Mads.”
I pause with my foot on the step.
“Mads,” she repeats. Quieter this time.
If I turn around, I better not find who I think is standing there. Running my tongue over my teeth, I take a deep breath, and slowly pivot to look at the woman waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs.
Abigail Bloody Dornmont.
Good.
Now I’m in an extra-bad mood.
Her lips curl into a nervous smile as she grips a brown paper bag so hard that it’s shaking. Holding back a sigh, I meet her at the bottom of the stairs, where she glances around at the students milling about before leaning in for a kiss that I sidestep.
“What do you want?” I sigh.
“I brought you lunch,” she squeaks, and holds the bag out.
I stare at it. Controlling my personal life wasn’t enough, now my parents are ruining my workplace too?
“I’m sure I have Mother to thank for this visit.” I scowl, then wipe the emotion from my face when she flinches.
If this were Reyna and I looked at her this way, she’d double down and give me a run for my money. I’m pretty sure she gets off on pissing me off. Other than my brother, there hasn’t been a single person who’s been able to tolerate my candidness. Until her.
Abi lowers her eyes so her gaze is somewhere around my chest. “She said we need to try to sell it more.”
Sighing, I squeeze my eyes shut before cautiously extracting the bag from her hands like it might be a bomb, then say my thanks. I can’t be mad at her when she’s here under orders. Still, “Don’t come to my work again.”
She hesitates. “But I was told that we need to make more appearances. Outside of our dinners. Mom says that people are saying that the whole marriage is for the election.”
“Not all acolytes are stupid, then.” I scoff. “It doesn’t matter what you’re told. My work is off-limits. If you want to organize something, text me. I don’t appreciate being blindsided like this.”
My voice is moderately soft, but she swallows and stares at her feet like I just yelled at her in front of the entire student body. “Okay.”
“Good.” I try to give her a friendly smile. The key word there is try. “Great chat. Thanks for lunch.”
I turn to leave her to do whatever it is she does during the day—shopping, probably. My socialite fiancée’s hobby is spending Daddy’s money.
And soon mine, unless I can find a way out of it.
Storming back up the steps, I head toward my office and throw the food into the nearest rubbish bin. I wouldn’t put it past Mother to poison it or hide razor blades in there to keep me on my toes.
My mood takes more of a nosedive when I pass Alex, the kid who showed up at my door seconds after my religious experience with Reyna last week. He just gives me a sideways glance before continuing down the stairs.
What is this? Am I meant to be seeing every member of the bloody Order today?
Either I need to drink enough to become comatose or I need to turn someone into a creative piece to release some steam. Picking up a paintbrush when I’m in this state won’t go down well for me. My exhibition is quickly approaching, and I can’t afford to screw it up.
I’ve barely slept since I last visited Reyna’s bedroom. If I keep running on fumes the way I am, I might decide it’s a good idea to confront the little naga and demand to know why she’s avoiding me.
When I get to my floor, my eyes lock with a pair of coffee-brown eyes that look like hers.
Fucking hell. Now I’m hallucinating.
No.
Not hallucinating.
That’s her. Waiting in front of my door. Fidgeting with her fingers right before she shoves them into her pockets.