Chapter 28 Maddox
MADDOX
“Miss Sinaga, please ensure you have your essay emailed to me by midnight tomorrow.”
She doesn’t need the reminder. I say it anyway because it’s the only form of interaction I can have with her. The only thing she offers me in return is a curt nod. It’s killing me that she refuses to meet my eyes because she’s too busy staring at the band around my finger.
I want to melt the bloody thing into a bullet and put it between Roland’s eyes for ruining my relationship with her.
I’ve been tortured several times in my life. I’ve been waterboarded, electrocuted, beaten, starved, beaten again, whipped, burned, and other rather gruesome acts that I would rather not relive.
Out of everything I’ve endured, this is the worst torture. Watching Reyna live out her life without me. Looking at me with seething hatred. Acting like I don’t exist whenever I’m in her general vicinity. She even changed the premise of her final film project.
It hurt more than I’m willing to admit.
I got reckless, excited about something for once in my life, and became blind to my surroundings. It’s been two weeks since I saw her heart break in front of me, and I see it every time I close my eyes. I wish I could take back what I said.
My office fell victim to my rage. I ripped canvases, shattered sculptures, broke furniture, anything I could get my hands on to release the fury that burned through my veins.
I wanted to run out the door and apologize a hundred times over. Explain that this is for her safety. That I’m giving my happiness up so she can live. Hold her and tell her that I meant every word I said before that day; none of it was a lie, because she’s become everything to me.
I follow her out of class without waiting for the rest of the students to leave, turning onto the path that leads to my office. Reyna will be staying at the library late into the night anyway.
Once I’m in the confines of my studio, I slump into my chair, chuck my glasses onto the table and rub my eyes.
What a mess.
I can’t sleep. Can’t eat. Can’t think. My art has turned into glorified rubbish.
I feel like I need her more than I need air to breathe. My exhibition is in two and a half weeks, and I haven’t been able to pick up a paintbrush, because I’ve lost my muse. In the few months that I’ve known her, she’s become the sole source of my inspiration.
I need her to come back to me. I need her to look at me. To laugh. To call me out on my shit. Make me feel something other than the cloying air that’s suffocating me.
Threatening every professor in this university to give her good grades doesn’t make up for the things I said. Nor does offering her an “anonymous” scholarship grant.
I slip my hand beneath the collar of my shirt to rub the tension from my shoulders. My fingers skim across the ruined skin, and I grimace, yanking my hand away at the memory of Roland’s heated belt buckle tearing the soft tissue apart.
It doesn’t matter how far I run, the marks the Order left on me will never disappear.
Right on cue, my phone chimes with a text.
SHEPHERD:
Tomorrow night. Clean.
I clench my jaw, grateful the next kill will be made to look like an accident, because I’m not in the frame of mind to be creative.
My irritation spikes when another message comes through.
MOTHER:
I’ve arranged for you and Abi to have dinner at the yacht club tomorrow. She’ll be ready by 6:30 for you to pick her up.
A minute later, another from one of the few people in the Order I like—usually. Right now, he’s getting on my last nerve about the painting I promised to donate for his charity event.
THEO:
ETA on the donation piece.
I shut my phone off. I have neither the patience nor the willpower to deal with any of them tonight. If I get one more text, I might feel so inclined to tell all of them to disrespectfully fuck off.
Sighing, I put my glasses back on. I can’t remember the last time I slept more than a handful of hours, because I’m too busy worrying that something might happen to Reyna.
At least she’s safe in the library, so I can grade some papers on my laptop.
I pull up the tracker app I had installed into Reyna’s phone to have in the background.
“What the fuck?” I whisper, watching the little dot move through the city, heading in a direction that isn’t toward her apartment.
I’m on my feet and out the door in three seconds flat. She doesn’t have any work scheduled for tonight, so where the fuck is she going?
By the time the tracker stops moving, I’m on the sidewalk hailing a cab. I zoom in on the surrounding area, recognizing one street in particular that’s two blocks away from where she is.
The same street Lawrence happens to live on.
Jealousy, wild and hot, surges up my chest. I have no right to it when I can’t have her. She deserves to be free and happy, away from the Order and away from the danger I’ve put her in.
Reyna is too good for me.
I never felt the need to lay claim on anyone or be so utterly consumed by someone that the thought of another man touching them has the most lethal ideas flashing through my mind.
Reyna Sinaga is too good for me, and I want her all to myself.
Lawrence had been hanging around Reyna long before the Order set its sights on her. If there’s one acolyte she’d be safe with, it’s him. He might be a paladin, but from what I’ve gathered, he sticks to himself and isn’t that engaged.
What I should be doing instead of risking both of our lives is grading assignments and prepping for the hit Shepherd commissioned.
What I should be doing is keeping my brother safe and keeping Reyna as far from me as I can.
But I want what I want, and I want her. I need to feel like I’m worth more than what I create with my hands, and only she can make me feel human.
No one has to know.
I’ll kill Lawrence if I have to.
Out of an abundance of caution, I change cabs twice on the way there, ordering the drivers to take unnecessary turns before I head into the subway just to go right back out.
It takes far longer than I’d like to get to the restaurant her tracker stopped at, giving me more time to seethe and think of a thousand and one ways to turn Lawrence into a centerpiece. I’m going to gift her his head on a fucking spike.
Two weeks.
Two weeks.
That’s how long it took her to move on from me. Two. Reyna has been acting like nothing happened between us, and it pisses me the fuck off. It’s like she doesn’t give a shit about me. As if I’m some guy she hooked up with. Like it—I—meant nothing to her. Meanwhile, I’m losing my fucking mind.
The cab pulls up in front of the restaurant, and I drop a hundred-dollar bill on the seat before powering down the sidewalk.
Images flash in my mind of every possible thing I might find. If she’s on a date, they’re fucking dead. Reyna can scream at me and hit me for all I care; I’m going to steal her away.
She doesn’t get to forget about me. No one else gets to have her attention.
I’m her fucking man, even if we’ll never be together.
I’m the one she talks to. I’m the one who’s meant to be taking her out to dinner.
I’m the only one who can wine and dine her, and see what she looks like without her dress.
Not fucking Lawrence. Not any random men or women who don’t deserve her.
Who can’t cherish her the way that I can.
Desperate.
That’s what I am. I’m desperate for Reyna.
And she doesn’t get to move on from me in two weeks.
I walk straight into the restaurant. The panicked hostess scrambles to attention, spouting off her welcoming speech as I storm straight past her.
It’s a religious experience having my sights instantly land on the back of Reyna’s head when the entire restaurant is filled to the brim.
She deserves better than this dingy place.
I’ll take her to every single bloody Michelin-star restaurant in this city to prove I’m the only one who can treat her right.
Fuck the Order and their rules.
My heart beats erratically as I close the distance. I almost stumble when her date comes into view.
Are you fucking kidding me? She’s moved on from me with some scrawny kid in a Batman T-shirt?
Lawrence looks worse in person. There’s no way she could be into that. I refuse to believe it.
Steam practically blows out of my ears as I grab a chair from a nearby table—I don’t give a damn if someone was using it—and slam it down in front of the two lovebirds, dropping myself into the seat, hoping Batman has a brain aneurysm from the glare I’m shooting his way.
I want to grab her and drag her to my lap, either to put her over it or on it—I’m not sure. What the fuck does she see in this fuckwit?
Dear Lord, does this cop have braces? His stupid mouth is parted, gulping like a damn fish as he flicks his gaze from me to Reyna—I can’t explain how unnecessarily upset it makes me when he looks at her.
What pisses me off more is that I’m comparing myself to someone wearing cargo pants. Is this what her type is? Someone who’s the opposite of me in every way?
Fuck it. Even if he’s her type, there’s no way she could date him. He’s not good enough for her. He can’t be what she needs. He can’t take care of her or keep her safe or stoke her creativity. He won’t be able to satisfy her like I can.
Really, I’m doing this for her, not me.
“What are you doing here?” Reyna hisses, glancing around like someone might come over and yell at her for my intrusion.
Then her eyes land on me, and one look is all it takes for some of the tension to ease from my chest.
She’s finally looking at me.
“I was walking past and decided to stop by.” A slight growl makes its way into my voice, making her flinch before hardening into steel.
Reyna gives the wanker a reassuring smile before going back to glaring at me. She should be smiling at me, not that fuckwit.
“How kind,” she grits out. “Unfortunately—”
“Is there a problem here?” Lawrence must have a death wish if he thinks he can cut Reyna off.
It took the idiot fifteen seconds to read the room. Maybe I’ll get his badge taken from him, then cut off his tongue before I kill him.
“No,” Reyna says at the same time I say, “Yes.”
He blinks, puffing out his chest as if I might be intimidated by someone who wears a smartwatch. What’s more amusing is that he hasn’t registered who I am—if he had, the lowly paladin wouldn’t be speaking to me like he is.
Good. Everything is going my way. He’s not about to go running to Roland or Shepherd about my behavior.
“You’re the problem. Leave,” I demand.
Lawrence gapes at me like I’m out of my mind. I guess I am. “I don’t know who the hell you think—”
“Mr. Shaw, it’s been lovely to see you this evening,” Reyna interrupts, plastering on the fakest, most disgustingly sweet voice she’s ever used on me.
“If you don’t mind, I can email you any questions I have about the assignment.
” I mind. I very much mind. “There’s no need to discuss the classwork outside office hours. ”
“Assignment?” Lawrence unhelpfully speaks.
I ignore him. “No need. I’m here now. Let’s walk and talk.”
If looks could kill, I’d be dead at her feet from the holes she’s burning into me. “I’m in the middle of something, as you can see.” She nods at the dry, brick-level cheesecake they’re sharing.
Sharing.
My fingers curl into a fist. “I wasn’t asking for your opinion on the matter.”
There’s no universe where I would let her go out to dinner with someone who isn’t me. Let alone with Lawrence.
He stands to his full height. “Look, if she doesn’t—”
“No one gave you permission to speak,” I snap. His jaw goes slack, and I return my full attention to Reyna. “I think it’s past your bedtime.”
Oh, that does it. If she was angry before, she’s downright livid now. “How dare you? What’s your prob—”
Lawrence holds his hand up. “It’s time for you to leave, pal.”
The chair screeches and skitters back as I take a step toward him, leaving only a foot of space between us. “Cut her off again, pal. I dare you. Now, how about you do all of us a favor and take your bad breath to go.”
Reyna is turning me into a person I don’t recognize. I’d never do something so callous in public. Most definitely not to a police officer. One who happens to be an acolyte devoted to my betrothed’s house.
“Careful, Mr. Shaw,” Reyna whispers behind me, loud enough for only me to hear. “I do not tolerate abuse from my teachers.”
I can hear the chess piece click against the board as she finishes her sentence. Checkmate.
She leans closer, fire blazing behind her eyes as a pang of regret hits me in the chest. Her next words come out low and like barbed wire. “Fuck off, you piece of shit. It’s over.”
Forgetting about Batman, I turn to face her, letting her scent flood over me as I do something I may regret. It’s surreal to have her close enough to touch again. Satisfaction unfurls from her shiver when I brush my lips against the shell of her ear.
“You and I, love? We’ll never be over.” I pull away, resisting the urge to run my fingers over her parted lips. “I look forward to receiving your email tomorrow.”
Until then, I’ll be seeing a lot of you. Someone has to make sure you get home safe.