Chapter 26 Maddox
MADDOX
ME:
Please send evidence that you finished your meal, Miss Sinaga.
I tap my pen against the desk impatiently and watch the three dots appear on the screen.
Perhaps I am somewhat type A. In my defense, the more she eats, the faster she’ll recover, and the sooner we can get over this nonsense so she can be back in my bed.
REYNA:
You have no right to be controlling, Mr. Shaw.
Controlling? No.
Obsessive? Maybe.
In dire need of her attention? Possibly.
Scratch that.
Yes. A solid, one hundred percent yes.
Who would have guessed it only took her getting attacked for us to move to the next tedious stage of our relationship: texting.
I’d much prefer face-to-face interaction, but I suppose it makes sense that she needs space. However, in my opinion, there’s nothing for her to consider.
I want her. She wants me. Case closed.
Admittedly, the whole Surprise, I’m engaged to another woman would have thrown a spanner in the works. So I’ll let the distance slide. If the roles were reversed, Reyna’s fiancé would be a permanent fixture on the missing persons list.
ME:
Proof of life is also required.
The next message is a photo of her legs perched up on the couch with a movie and a table full of snacks in the background. Before I can demand more, a knock booms through my studio. It’s too loud and authoritative to be Spencer’s. Scowling, I set my phone on the table and rise from the stool.
Why do people keep bothering me? What is it about me that makes it seem like I am warm and inviting?
I yank the door open, frowning at whoever decided to interrupt me outside of office hours.
“Maddox.”
Unease churns in my stomach from the apparition standing at my door. Nothing good comes from being visited by the devil.
I fight the chill creeping up my neck, trying to appear completely unfazed by my visitor. If Shepherd sees any ounce of discomfort, he’ll latch onto it and make me bleed for the weakness. Without returning any greeting, I step back to let him into my studio.
In all my years working under him, I’ve never known Shepherd to make a house call. I come to him. Not the other way around. The only time he plays guest without warning is when the night will end with the host’s blood seeping out from under the door.
He wants me unnerved. Off balance. He’s intruding as a reminder that I can prance around and live my life, but he’s just around the corner.
With a single, calculated sidestep and one controlled glance, I see him catalog every inch of my room. He pauses on my current painting a beat longer than anything else, and my skin crawls at the intrusion.
I don’t let anyone look at my unfinished work. This feels like a violation of every degree—especially that piece.
When his eyes fix on me, something in the air twitches.
A violent undertone masks his face beneath a veneer of diplomacy.
I’ve trained under him. Fought for him. Killed because he said so.
Been beaten and whipped under his command, as he tried to tear apart my psyche to make me a better soldier.
But not once has he looked at me like this.
Usually, there’s the slightest, virtually unnoticeable tell in his facade. Like the barest tilt of his lips, a minute flare of the nostrils, the smallest shift in one of the wrinkles on his forehead.
This time it’s completely blank.
Empty.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” I ask, lounging back on the couch.
He stays standing. The difference in height bothers me to no end.
My lack of hospitality won’t be going unnoticed by him. Yet I can’t bring myself to fix it. I’m over being used and catering to the Order’s every whim.
“I believe you spoke to your father recently.”
“Unfortunately.” It was the same discussion we always have.
“Then you understand the importance of your union with the Dornmonts.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. Not this shit again.
“I’ve been well informed.” From the bottom of my heart, Roland and his campaign can go fuck themselves. Daniel can take my family’s station in the Order for all I care.
“And yet”—Shepherd unbuttons his suit jacket and settles into my office chair—“you aren’t acting like you understand.”
Why is he suddenly interested in my marriage? Over the past four years, he couldn’t have cared less. In fact, his only concern was whether it would hinder my ability to carry out the work he required.
“If I recall correctly, I attended a breakfast with my fiancée four days ago.” Spencer brought the aforesaid fiancée to my apartment, shouldering right past me despite my continuous refusal to let them in.
Abi looked like she was two seconds away from fainting when I kept telling Spencer to piss right off.
Then Reyna came down, and shit hit the fan.
Shepherd studies me for three unsettling seconds. “Remind me, was this before or after you were seen caring for a young woman?”
My stomach sinks below the floor. I’m being tailed, and I didn’t even know it. Anyone could have ordered that I be watched. Roland, the Dornmonts, Shepherd, even Daniel could have to get a leg up in the election.
I resist swiping a hand over my mouth. “Before.”
“A student.”
He better not fucking threaten her.
My breathing grows uneven. Not a question, but I respond regardless. “One I inherited after you asked me to teach Bradford’s class.”
“One you’ve been seen with many times.”
I don’t answer. Can’t. There’s no lie I can tell. No explanation to sway his assumptions since I have no gauge of how long he’s been watching me. He’s well aware of the fact that I’ve kept to myself. I’m sure he knows that I’ve never been one to bring women to bed. Let alone students.
There’s no way he could have seen any video footage of Reyna and me at Halenbeek Museum.
Mathijs Halenbeek holds one of the highest positions within his secret organization, and if the Order were to hack into or tamper with his footage, it would be seen as a hostile act.
As for the offices on this floor, the only cameras here are owned and operated by me.
The only possibility for Shepherd to have gathered information is if someone’s got eyes on me.
My fury develops its own heartbeat. It has a deafening roar in my ears that makes me want to tear the entire Order to the fucking ground.
“Following Bradford’s departure, she approached me and requested further assistance to improve her grades and filming techniques, as she found Bradford lacking as an instructor. I believe teaching is part of my job description.” I stop myself from saying more.
Shepherd stares at me. To make me squirm, no doubt. I know his tactics because he taught me them.
“I am beginning to question your dedication to the Order.”
I try to match his callous demeanor. I’ve been commanded to say that very line to men right before I killed them.
“It would be much more appropriate for one of your colleagues to teach the class,” Shepherd states.
The thought of anyone else teaching Reyna—seeing her videos—fills me with blind anger. I’m half a second away from telling him to shove it up his bloody ass, except my desperation would only prove his point.
Because that’s what I am.
Desperate.
“Very well. I’ll advise the class that Bradford will be returning. What would be his start date?” It would be an absolute disservice to the class for Bradford to start “teaching” again, let alone to do so by video call, seeing as the Order has him under house arrest. Or so I’ve been told.
“He remains unavailable. Another person from your faculty will have to take over.”
“The initial issue we had remains. Very few people are qualified, and those who are aren’t available.
” I faffed around for days trying to find a replacement for the useless wanker, and it was Shepherd who decided that I was the only person who could do it.
“I believe there is one somewhat competent student who tutors on the side. However, I will need to speak to the dean to get permission for her to run a class by herself.”
Hook. Line. Sinker. I’m the only option.
Shepherd knows I’m not lying either. He had one of his own men looking into suitable options. It was odd to see him so involved, but I stopped looking deeper into things Shepherd takes interest in a long time ago.
The first glimmer of a reaction crosses his features. It’s the barest pinch of his brows. “Until we can find a suitable substitute, your attention will only be directed toward one woman. That woman is not your student.”
Rage slices a path down my spine. I’m vibrating with it. He’s forbidding me from seeing her? Like fuck am I going to let them get in the way of the one thing I bloody want. I’ve given them everything, but they always take more.
“Also, I do believe congratulations are in order.”
Shepherd’s comment makes me frown without intending to. The first crack in my composure. My muscles tighten as he draws his phone from the front pocket of his jacket, unlocks it, then holds it out to show me a live feed of my brother’s sleeping form.
They’ve hidden a camera in Spencer’s room.
The blood drains from my face.
“He requires a lot of work but will make an adequate addition,” Shepherd states.
I jump to my feet and close the distance until I’m towering over him. “Don’t you dare lay a fucking hand on my brother.” My fists shake with the need to pummel his face. If only I wouldn’t be six feet under the second I lay a hand on him.
When did this start? If Shepherd’s watching him and saying congratulations, it can only mean that he’s recruited Spencer already—and my own brother didn’t even fucking tell me. What have they got him doing? Fighting? Killing? Torturing people for information?
It’s one thing for Roland or the grand magistrate to require that he takes a life to prove his worthiness to the Order.
It’s another story altogether if he’s being taken under Shepherd’s wing to play hitman for the rest of his life, because that means he’ll go through what I went through.
He’ll have the same scars—the same wrecked skin and broken mind.
Unamused, Shepherd stares up at me and slides his phone back into his pocket. The video of Spencer tossing and turning in bed is replaying in my head.
All bets will be off if I discover they’ve gone anywhere near Reyna.
I will drag my brother and Reyna to the other side of the world if I have to. We’re all getting the fuck out of here.
At least that sounds great in theory, but I know Spencer won’t go. He’s only aware of a fraction of what really goes on in the Order. Every acolyte knows that the only way to end their tenure is death, whether by natural causes or at the hands of one of Shepherd’s soldiers.
Most members think that people like me are the only ones who do the killing. They don’t realize it can be part of someone’s initiation into the Order. If people know what the grim reaper looks like, they’ll know who to hide from.
So my brother lives blissfully naive thinking that the only people who pull the trigger for the Order are those who want to.
He’ll learn the truth once he reaches my rank as medicus.
Until then, he can sleep his way through the student body, drink, party, play football, do everything that makes him feel like a normal human before it all goes away.
Taking Shepherd out won’t change anything. His replacement could very well have a more brutal touch. Either way, he’s too well protected by the Order to be brought down, especially by someone like me. I now have not one but two weaknesses, and apparently, everyone knows it.
Shepherd looks at me blandly. “Take my suggestion, and your brother will do nothing more than the basics. Every man should know how to throw a decent punch.”
Fuck.
Fuck.
I was willing to drop Abigail and risk Spencer for the sake of having Reyna, but now that reality is in front of me, I don’t know if I can guarantee her survival, because Reyna will be the next hit that’s called out if I don’t keep my distance. If anything happens to her…
Begging will only feed into Shepherd’s agenda, and he’ll hang it over my head daily as a reminder that he doesn’t suggest things. Every order is a threat. Do it or else.
“Am I to turn away every student seeking assistance?”
“Yes. If it’s discovered that you are speaking with Reyna Sinaga, further, more drastic measures will be put in place.”
My breaths come out hard as I stare him down. Hearing her name come out of his mouth sends streaks of red across my vision.
“Such as?” I grit out.
“You require your hands to paint, do you not?” His head tilts to the side, staring down at me even though I’m standing above him. “Although, you won’t be painting if you’re dead.”
The Order is untouchable. But anything that happens to me or Spencer would impact my father greatly.
“A fortunate possibility for someone who doesn’t wish to see Roland as a high saint,” I say.
The grand magistrate has somewhat of a soft spot for Roland for reasons beyond me. He’s much too virtuous to pull strings to ensure my father’s election, and I find it difficult to believe Shepherd will take any steps to jeopardize Roland’s campaign.
I step back when he slowly rises to his feet, buttoning his jacket. “Perhaps,” Shepherd says simply, heading for the exit.
The object he tosses my way clatters onto the floor.
“I suggest you start wearing your ring.”