Chapter 31 Reyna #2
It’s a standard, open-plan studio, with a couch, desk, kitchen, and everything else I’d expect to find.
Dishes are on the drying rack, a glass of water on the coffee table, a container of saltines in the middle of the counter, and even a plant next to the TV.
The bed through the open French doors is unmade.
There’s a pile of clothes in the laundry basket and an unfolded pair of jeans on top of the duvet.
His safe house is more lived in than his actual house. It could be another one of his carefully calculated facades.
I deposit my coat and bag on the bench, hesitating before setting down the taser. I didn’t realize I still had it gripped in my hand.
Maddox motions for me to sit on the couch as he finishes pouring two cups of tea.
Seeing him behind the kitchen island hits harder than it should.
It’s a glimpse into the life we’ll never have—one where he makes us tea before bed and we have breakfast together in the morning before rushing off to work.
A vision of what could’ve been.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I do as he says. My back is ramrod straight on the edge of the seat. I’m here to get information about what my dad was involved with, then I’m leaving. There’s no need to be comfortable and hurt my feelings more.
When he sets down the mug and a packet of biscuits in front of me, I’m too stunned to do more than sip the warm drink and stare at last week’s newspaper on the coffee table. He relaxes into his seat on the opposite end of the couch.
“What were you doing there?” Maddox starts as if he knows I’m struggling to form words.
“I’m the one who will be asking the questions here.”
He lifts a shoulder. “Tit for tat.”
“That wasn’t what we agreed.”
“I’ll answer your questions, but I want something in return.”
“You’re a real asshole, you know that?” I shake my head. I was stupid to think he’d be a man of his word.
“I believe you’ve shared your sentiments before.” He’s more at ease than I’ve seen him in a while. “Now, why were you there? How did you find it?”
I grit my teeth. He has no right to any information or to look as impressed as he does. But what choice do I have? It’s not like there’s a line of people wanting to divulge sensitive information. Giving him what he wants will shave down time and energy.
Gripping the mug, I glare at him. “Lawrence was wearing cuff links with the bee insignia on them.” Maddox’s brows jump up to his hairline. “So I followed him through the catacombs.”
“Of course it was Lawrence. A brain-eating bacteria would starve in his skull,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Maybe you are a decent stalker.”
Lord, help me. “Tell me about the insignia,” I demand.
His forehead wrinkles, although he appears unsurprised by my demand. “Why are you looking for information on it?”
I return my drink to the table and sit sideways on the couch to not miss any of his reactions. “It’s my turn to ask the questions. What does the insignia represent?”
“A secret society.”
Oxygen leaves my lungs. I read about it and saw it with my own eyes, but hearing him say it somehow makes it undeniably real.
“You better not be fucking with me right now.”
“Did that look like a PTA meeting to you?”
As irritating as the sarcasm is, it does wonders at unwinding the threads in my brain and dispelling enough anxiety for me to think clearly. “What’s it called?”
“The Order of the Hallowed Hive.”
I frown. It’s not what I expected, but it’s better than being called the Order of the Beekeepers.
“And what’s the purpose of the Order?” It feels foreign coming out of my mouth. “Is it like on TV where they’re basically the underbelly of the city or whatever and call the shots? I heard someone talking about mergers and blocking a bill.”
He nods. “My turn. How do you know about the insignia? Did someone show it to you?”
“I found it somewhere.”
Green eyes narrow on me. “If you want to answer mysteriously, then so will I.”
I grind my molars. This is the path of least resistance, I remind myself. “I was looking for information on someone and came across the emblem.”
“Continue.”
“That’s it,” I say stubbornly.
“A complete answer, Miss Sinaga.”
I throw my hands up. “Fine. I saw a photo of that person in that room with the honeycomb ceiling, then an alumni book with the insignia, and in a shitload of other places. So I connected the dots and assumed they were linked.” Telling him I’m looking for information about my dad is a level of honesty I’m not prepared for when he’s kept so much from me.
“Then I found a case where someone from Cresswell was institutionalized, and in his diary he was talking about a secret society. And tonight, Lawrence’s fashion choice led me there. It’s your… base, I assume.”
He doesn’t confirm, but the look in his eyes tells me all I need to know.
I give him an accusatory once-over. “Now, how and why are you involved with them?”
“My father is one of the leaders, and I frequently kill for them,” he answers without hesitation.
If you were going to tell a girl you’re an assassin, you’d think you’d spend at least a solid two seconds debating whether or not it’s a good idea to answer.
“The kills I investigated—were they carried out for them?” I don’t know what to call a secret society that dabbles in wide-scale political corruption and murder.
“I don’t think you need me to respond to that one. You already know the answer.”
The back of my neck prickles as I recall the photo of my dad in front of the beehive room, and the tears in Mom’s eyes as Dad was lowered into the ground.
“Where were you on July 23, 2022?” It’s the day my father died.
Maddox stiffens for a fraction of a second before composing himself. “Mind if I consult my phone?”
I nod, blood rushing through my ears as I keep my full attention on his screen. What if Maddox is the reason Dad took his last breath? What would I do then?
I swallow, silently willing him to move faster when he opens his calendar and scrolls back several years. “In Australia for an event.” He shows me the entry where he left a week before my father’s death, then flew to England for an exhibition.
My breath of relief is short-lived.
“I’m not the only killer they have on payroll,” he adds. “Who is it that you’re asking me about?”
I think I’m going to need a stronger drink.
Once I tell him, there’s nothing about me that he won’t know. Every secret I have will be out in the open while he keeps who knows how many. But if telling him is the only way for me to find out, then I’m willing to make that sacrifice.
“My… my father.” I wait for a reaction that he doesn’t give. “He studied at Cresswell University. He’s the reason why I’m here. I think he was in the Order, or connected somehow.”
“What’s his name?” His curiosity isn’t enough to mask the unmistakable hint of concern.
“Richard Talbot.”
Maddox’s eyes drop down to the floor, considering. It takes him a moment to answer. “What does he look like?”
“Light-brown hair, blue eyes, tall with broad shoulders.”
“Very specific. That really narrows it down.” His voice comes out monotone, but there’s a tilt at the edges of his lips.
I fight back the instinct to roll my eyes. Is it wrong for me to miss his banter? To feel special that he’s comfortable enough to take me here, let me in on a secret underworld while allowing his playful side to come out.
There’s no point showing him the photo I found under Mom’s bed. It’s too blurry and overexposed to make out his face. My shoulders sag. I’m not sure where this leads me.
My forehead wrinkles as I mull over the information I have about the Order.
“Have you…” I start, unsure how to ask the question.
“I’m guessing not all of your kills are creative, and some were executionary.
” I recall the victim with a bullet in his head and a honeycomb carved into his chest. Maddox might not have done it, but the society’s pattern is clear.
His hesitant nod confirms it. “Some were made to look like an accident?”
Again, he cautiously tips his head. “Sometimes I’m given specifics on how the scene should look—accident, execution, or someone who disappears from the face of the earth.”
“Do you know how to make a car explode while it’s in use?” The police told us there was a leak and a damaged fuse.
“Vehicles aren’t my forte, so I couldn’t say I’d know the first thing when it comes to that.
I find simple poison and freak accidents easier to execute.
I’m aware there are a few mechanics and engineers within our ranks.
But I’m unsure whether they’re killing for the Order.
We’re kept apart for insurance purposes. ”
My lips flatten. “You wouldn’t know what signs to look for?” If I knew, I could try to get my dad’s crime-scene photos to check if there was something amiss and the police didn’t notice.
He’s forlorn when he says, “No.”
Could it really just have been a simple car accident? Is there anything I’m not seeing? “How many assassins or killers—or whatever you call it—are there?”
Maddox runs his hand through his hair. “More than I’m aware of. People who aren’t trained killers can be made to kill. People who aren’t members of the Order can be coerced and blackmailed into doing things they’d never otherwise do.”
Even if I did receive a set of names, what would I do with it? I’d be going up against a secret society that doles out murders like it’s nobody’s business.
I was following a serial killer around; I wasn’t trying to hunt one down.
I’m not the type to go on a quest for revenge.
If my dad was murdered, I’d like to know the reason to understand his life.
Beyond that? I can’t bring him back, but maybe if I did know who killed him, I could bring him to justice.
I’m not sure what Mom would have wanted. The truth feels more important to me.
A sickening thought hits me. “Could he have been one of your—their assassins?”